Camping is the best way to experience Lizard Island
Jenni Ogden, 68, is the author of Fractured Minds and Trouble In Mind and her first novel, A Drop In The Ocean, was published in May. She lives on Great Barrier Island in New Zealand.
Lizard Island. I’d yearned to go there ever since my days as a volunteer turtle tagger on Heron Island on the southern end of Australia’s Great Barrier Reef. Lying 1,197 kms north of Heron, Lizard had almost mythical status amongst the laid-back turtle research team on Heron. Its remoteness, beauty and fascinating history made up for the fact that our favorite beasts, green turtles, didn’t nest there in great numbers.
Over the years I checked it out on the internet; not only was it much harder to get to than Heron or the many other islands we’d stayed on, but the only accommodation Lizard offered was in the boutique hotel, rumoured to be one of the top ten in the world, with prices to match. There was a research station, but my husband and I had moved to New Zealand and had different research interests by then, so staying there wasn’t an option.
A few years ago, after retirement from our university careers, we purchased a small apartment north of Cairns, in order to escape our New Zealand winter for a few months every year. To ensure we didn’t become too boring we added camping trips in remote places to our winter activities, and I became an expert online booker of Queensland Parks and Wildlife campsites. And there it was; Lizard Island, a campsite for $10.60 a night for two, ten nights’ maximum stay. How come I’d never heard of this before? Looking at the August 2012 bookings online, there were not a lot of takers for the five sites. Even better.
Getting there with our camping equipment and all food for ten days was the first challenge, but for a retired couple who that same winter intended to spend seven weeks driving our 4WD to the tip of Cape York and sleeping in a tent on the ground (“Geez mate, don’t wanna do that. Crocs. Get a roof-top tent.”) it was easy-peasy: Stick the camping stuff and boxes of food and wine on the resort barge a few days in advance, and then fly over in the hotel resort plane, direct from Cairns, making sure to arrive after our supplies. The resort plane cost what 8-seater planes do, but when divided by ten blissful nights costing only $106 for the entire time, it was a done deal.
Aha. Second challenge. Getting our 100kgs of camping gear and food from the airstrip to the campground. No help from the boutique hotel. Each return trip of 2.4kms took an hour in the hot sun, much of it through deep soft sand. Eight return trips between us, staunchly ignoring the beckoning turquoise sea. But it was a delightful campsite and just us. Out on the bay ten or more catamarans were anchored; later we discovered these were the Grotty Yachties, the sea-faring versions of the 4WD camping Grey Nomads, babyboomers from the colder southern parts of Australia who took off for the tropics every winter.
Challenge number three: We hadn’t brought a stove (weight considerations) because we’d read there was a gas barbeque and had stupidly assumed that it would be functional. Or that if it wasn’t there would be someone around to fix it. Nope. Fires strictly forbidden. Could John build a sneaky fireplace and leave no sign of it should any ranger ever come here again? I couldn’t possibly comment. We did note ample signs that past campers had chosen eating over the no-fire rule.
Challenge number four: The pump. Salt-free water on an island in the middle of the Great Barrier Reef can be hard to come by. We had been reliably informed on the Parks’ website that there was a historic pump near the campsite which would supply fresh water. The pump may have been installed by Captain Cook back in 1770 when ‘altogether at a loss, which way to steer’ he stopped by to climb to the highest point, naming the island for the monitor lizards that still roam here like prehistoric beasts. The pump first had to be primed. No instructions of course. We worked out that this could be accomplished by one person pouring water from the large container of salt water beneath it into the top of the pump, while the other pumped for dear life. Pity if you were a sole survivor. It was definitely a two-person operation. After five long minutes and much sweat, a spurt of water shot out of the spout, flushing with it the ghostly white belly and long back legs of a large frog. It clung tenaciously to the spout, its head and front legs still in the pump. After a few more vigorous pumps it plopped into the container below, its back vivid green cut through with a yellow line. It leapt superfrog-like back into the spout of the pump, but I was ready for it. We identified it as a tree frog and I carried it as far away from the pump as I had the energy to walk, depositing it in a tree by the brackish creek. Next day it was back in the pump, this time with a friend. Three days later the pump’s seal completely distintegrated, giving John a new way to exercise – trudging to the resort’s bar set up for the yachties, and trudging back again with two now-full 20 litre water containers in his backpack.
But then there was the snorkeling, climbing in Captain Cook’s footsteps to Cook’s Look, drinking G & Ts with the Grotty Yachties every evening when they rowed to the beach for their sundowners, and a highlight for me; explaining to a group of resort guests as they gazed in envy at our pretty camp on the very beach they had to walk to should they wish to snorkel: “It’s $10.60 a night if you desire a more challenging holiday next time!”
Find more information about camping on Lizard Island here.
To read more of Jenni’s writing, please visit her website here.
If you have a story to share please get in touch at melody@oversixty.com.au.
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