New Ways to See Places

Part 2 Cycling: An Interactive Way to see Australian Wildlife

Danger is exciting, and few places represent danger like the Australian wilderness. As Bill Bryson put it, “this is a country where even the fluffiest of caterpillars can lay you out with a toxic nip”.

Many people have entertained the dream of one day travelling to Australia to discover postcard-worthy beaches, a hassle-free lifestyle and yes, the barbeques on which the clichéd shrimp can be thrown. But one other major draw is the plethora of wildlife that fills every corner of the land down under.  Nature reserves and tours offer safety along with the experience,  but  I discovered a different way, and in doing so emphatically confirmed the adage that Aussie animals are “out to get you”.

It began in Cairns, the heat of the day weighing down on my sweat-soaked shoulders. With some final mechanical alterations, I clipped my shoes into the pedals, and rolled out with a friend, Alan, onto the scorching tarmac of the Bruce Highway. A colony of ants marched, dutifully single-file, across the hard shoulder. We pointed our tyre treads south. My very own Australian safari was about to begin.

Relatively speaking, our first run-in with the local fauna was just around the corner, a few kilometres south of Babinda. We were faced with allegedly the most aggressive bird on the planet. Armed with a fearsome reputation and a horn, the dinosaur-like cassowary has huge talons that extend from muscular, sinewy legs that stretch ground-ward from a large, dark torso. If Alan and I were under any illusions about the bird’s menace, we had Leo, a local child, to squeal reminders at us that if we got too close to our avian friend, “his claws would be the laaast thing we’d seeeeeeee!!!!!!”. Pedalling away, the danger had been averted. For now.

The further south we rode, the more the tropical greenery was being replaced with browns and yellows. Echidnas, dead and alive, made fleeting appearances. Our river baths came with fear, the threat of crocodile attack always an outside possibility. A sleepless night spent in the mud with an ocean of croaking cane toads was followed by two mornings where we peered out of the tent to find herds of calmly grazing wallabies through the pale light. It was all terribly exciting.

But real scares started to come thick and fast. Alan nearly suffered the wrath of an angry, hissing snake bathing in the warm sun, while I, much more embarrassingly, actually yelped when a green tree frog presented itself inches from my face. Sometime later, and I was cycling into the night, tracing my path only by the few feet of visible white line. The uneasy silence was broken by an ominous rustling in a roadside bush off to the left. In a split second, a black form emerged and, thumped, louder and louder, towards me. Terror gripped me as the monster closed to within 5 meters, then 4, then 3. My heart pounded, legs screaming as I turned the pedals over as fast as I could. Veering left, my headlight illuminated the face of my predator; a wild, disorientated Kangaroo. Terrified by the light, the kangaroo skidded to a halt before retracing its tracks into the undergrowth, and I forced a relived chuckle through my panting.

I didn’t know it yet, but I had run out of luck.

Alan and I found a strikingly pretty spot in the wilderness near Yalboroo. Fighting through the tornado of mosquitoes, we pitched our tent. There was an edgy, almost sinister air about the place. I couldn’t put my finger on the exact scent, but the air smelled damp. The lapping ripples of peacefully swimming turtles and the wandering eyes of bearded dragons added to the eerie ambience, before fireflies lit up the river banks in their hypnotic attempt to inform us that we were not alone.

Fast forwarding and I found myself in an unfamiliar bed, now with a noticeable absence of wildlife. Consciousness forced itself upon me, along with sterile smells, muffled sounds and blurred, fragmented vision. Coming to, I craned to look down at my bandaged foot, and saw blood seeping to the surface. This was the result of two surgeries and a week on intravenous antibiotics. I was lucky nature had only nibbled back as I found myself in Logan hospital on grounds of a “suspected spider bite”. Bill Bryson was spot on.

The road to recovery stretched into the distance, but wasn’t as endless as it first seemed. I did begin to cycle again, and before too long, the finish line in Sydney had rolled into the crosshairs. I couldn’t imagine a richer way than cycling to experience Australian nature, but the utmost care must be taken. Australia is exciting and naturally vibrant, but also, importantly, a dangerous place.

WORDS BY DANNY GORDON