Return to the rainforest from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Descending from the high Atherton Tablelands back towards the Queensland coast, Ken describes his sudden return to tropical rainforest.
Ken's Blog
Return to the rainforest
April 8th, 2011Welcome refusal
April 8th, 2011Turned away. From a backpackers hostel in Innisfail. "I wouldn’t want to errr… put you in with the rest of the clientele" explained the owner. Discreetly. Friendly chap. Early 50s. Trying to be helpful. Instead directing me towards a camp ground half a mile or so away. Best such site so far. Appreciative of the earlier refusal.
The earlier descent from Millaa Millaa back to the Queensland coast slowed considerably by the weather. Sustained tropical downpours so heavy as to render it difficult to see where the road went through my glasses. Peering over the top as best I could. Eyes stinging from the rain. Surface water inches deep in places. Beginning to wonder if a bicycle could aquaplane.
They’d been respites. Albeit brief. Crawford’s Lookout. A roadside water stop. Passing car tooting. Sue, Simon David and Heather I’d met back in Atherton.
High pastures
April 7th, 2011
Tough afternoon. More steep climbs and plunging descents. Not the gentle undulations I’d half expected. There’d been a few clues. For, one I was crossing the Herberton Range. Then there was mention in my dubious guide book of Queensland’s highest road. Cie la vie.
But rewarding. No longer the dense, lush, green tropical rainforest. Rather, open pasture. Cattle grazing. Might have been Devon, Somerset. Much of Wales. But for the humidity. And the extreme ultra-violet.
Take the high road
April 7th, 2011Take the high road from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken reaches Queensland’s highest road. And finds some surprisingly different scenery.
Hard bargaining
April 7th, 2011Hard bargaining from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Camp ground waterlogged. The ground saturated. Realising that if he wants a dry night, best to sleep in a dingy. So, still the low season, visitors thin on the ground, time for some hard bargaining…
Historic Herberton
April 6th, 2011Historic Herberton from Ken Roberts on Vimeo.
Ken describes historic Herberton. A little tongue-in-cheek. His own cottage quite a bit older. But that could be said of much of Australia. Aborigines excepted of course.
Gone clubbing
April 6th, 2011I’d seen a few of these clubs around Queensland. No. Not one of those. Well, perhaps in Cairns. This a very respectable establishment. Members affair, but suitably attired visitors could be admitted. On the outskirts of Atherton. Similar to the Royal British Legion back in Blighty. I’d been invited out by Sue, together with husband Simon and friends David and Heather. All from Melbourne, three hours flying, over three thousand kilometres to the south.
We’d finally met at a leisure park on the outskirts of the town. Quite unbeknown to me, they’d spotted me on the road several times earlier during the day. Simon a keen cyclist. And then I’d just missed them at the Tourist Information Centre in the centre of Atherton. Finally meeting up in the park’s reception.
I’d been given the steer that it’d be better to stop in the town, rather than push on to Herberton. Few more options. Backpackers hostel. Leisure park. And the usual expensive hotels. But the first was out. Workers only. Long-term residents. Farm workers. Fruit pickers. As was the latter. And something just wasn’t gelling with Atherton. Niggling. Security.
Opted to take a unit at the leisure park. Encouraged by sage advice from a very helpful woman in the information centre. "Bargain hard". Low season. Visitors deterred by the recent run of natural disasters. A small chalet secured for the night, it at least meant I’d be able to leave Emma, my trusty steed, and all the kit in safety and join Sue and her friends for a sociable evening out.
Found the club very convivial. Charming in a rather quaint sort of way. Neat lines of tables. Small queue to order. Shades of school dinners. But generous portions. Uncomplicated choices. Not cheap – perhaps double the cost of a similar meal in one of those family-friendly chain pubs in the UK – but still pretty good value. For Australia.
A little bit of history
April 6th, 2011“How did you ride up from Atherton?” she asked. I paused. Contemplating my response. “Slowly” I said. Deliberately. After the gentle, almost imperceptible inclines of the previous day, a tough, sustained climb up to over three thousand feet. Flowing descent. Then a sharp final pull into the village of Herberton.
Ascribed the “historical” moniker in the tourist literature, Herberton does have genuine charm. Wooden clad shops, corrugated iron roofs, tasteful pastel shades. Post Office, small library, pharmacy, family butchers. Quaint. But part of the fabric of everyday life. Regular stream of locals popping in. Obligatory 4×4’s looking a bit out of place.
The town purports to have a museum devoted to spies and secret cameras. Couldn’t find it. Presumably a discrete affair. Admittance granted only to those who quietly utter “The geese have already flown south from Karingrad“. Fronted by a very respectable looking woman. Distinguished only by her ordinariness.
Only clues to her double existence a few dusty tomes on Russian politics, hidden amongst her extensive collection of horticultural books. Or perhaps a small glass paperweight. Paltry reward for decades of service. Her frequent trips abroad lost amongst the cake baking and charitable good causes. Or so I imagine.
Don’t confuse me with the facts…
April 5th, 2011Recent spate of natural disasters seems to have woken the conspiracy theorists from their slumber. Beginning to think they’d been abducted. By aliens. Or a sinister Government organisation. Usually with some suitably intriguing initials. HARPIC. MENTOR. Internet buzzing. Providing the advocates of doom with a readily accessible platform for their musings. Just like this one I suppose..
Start to get a following and you’re quickly blessed with a modicum of credibility. Add some colour. I’ll refrain from using the term "evidence". Videos. Photos. Grainy ones are ideal. Open to favourable interpretation. All lending weight to your ramblings.
The clever ones are very persuasive. Their arguments coherent. Like clairvoyants. Believable. The facts, such as they are, seem to fit. Surely there must be something in their assertions? Surprisingly, there probably is. Mathematics. I’d want to ascertain which facts they’ve excluded. Invariably those of similar merit to the ones they’ve admitted. The inconvenient ones. Those that either don’t support their case, or just plain undermine it.
For, truth is, assemble enough of just about anything – facts, coloured beads, tea leaves – and you’ll see patterns. Subconsciously excluding those elements that don’t fit. Seeing what you want to see. Even if it isn’t really there. Like the sky at night. Billions of stars. Just a few forming recognisable patterns. Like the Plough. But hardly evidence of farm implements in Outer Space.
Sceptical? Suspecting I’m simply spreading dis-information. Seeking to undermine credible conspiracy theorist. Those that are actually on to something. Sorry to disappoint. Rather, let me leave you with a rather terrestrial example. From my own travels.
Over the last eighteen months I seem to have just missed riots in Bishkek, bomb attacks in western China, a whole host of natural disasters in Queensland, devastating earthquake in New Zealand. To the extent I’ve been asked, on more than one occasion, how many lives I’ve got. Evidence of a sixth sense? Not at all. No doubt influenced by my proximity to these events, I’ve subconsciously excluded all those of similar nature from across the planet that don’t fit the pattern. Dull I know.
It’s not rocket science. And, trust me, I think I’d know if it was…
Left turn
April 5th, 2011Beyond the crest of the Kuranda Range, an undulating descent onto the Atherton Tablelands plateaux. Wisps of cloud. Distant. Dense, lush rainforest fading away. Gradually. Giving way to more open woodland.
Coffee stop a little short of Mareeba, the first settlement. A small coffee plantation. Warm and humid, comfortably so now. Civilised affair. Sitting on the veranda. Mellow jazz playing gently in the background. Breeze barely perceptible.
Pondering the map. Far too early to finish the day at Mareeba, despite the advice of yet another dubious guidebook I’d picked up in Cairns. On to Atherton I decided. But left wondering if a brief foray into Mareeba would be worthwhile. Turn right at the next junction? Or left to Atherton?
I sought Joanne’s advice in the cafe. "What was there in Mareeba?" I enquired. "Subway, KFC, Red Rooster" she explained. Left turn.
Terms & Conditions of Use | Copyright © 2009-2024 Ken Roberts