Attempting to push my jumbled, confusing thoughts aside, I distractedly prepared for my early morning trip. A tour bus was taking me to Cape Tribulation, promising scenic stops at places of interest along the way. The bus arrived at 7:45, along with an obnoxiously upbeat driver named Paul. No offense to Paul, but in my present state of mind, I just couldn't stand him. I tried to block him out by losing myself in the pages of "The Client," but I was only partially successful.
The "tour" was not all I had hoped it would be -- a cynic might deem it glorified transportation. Our "scenic stops" at Mossman Gorge and Port Douglas were incredibly brief (little more than bathroom breaks) and largely uninteresting. Only in Daintree did we actually stop for any quality time, but most of it (about an hour) was spent on a bogus crocodile tour down the Daintree River (we saw two or three glimpses of small, mostly hidden crocs -- it was bush league compared to my earlier "Yellow Waters" tour). We also had a few minutes at the Daintree Eco-Center, where I saw butterflies, emus, crocs, wallabies and some flying foxes (fruit bats, which were admittedly cool to see so close up).
------------------------------A Flying Fox Fruit Bat------------------------------
Fortunately, the ends did indeed justify the means. Our final destination was Crocodylus Village, a youth hostel smack dab in the middle of Cape Tribulation National Park. Far removed from tourists and shops, Crocodylus Village is an idyllic haven of tranquility, where you can relax amidst the sights and sounds of a living, breathing rainforest (as long as you heed the sound advice of the "welcome sign" posted to the Stinging Tree near the hostel's entrance, which warns all visitors to avoid that particular tree and its friends sprinkled throughout the area, as they are "home to the most poisonous leaf in the world" -- a single touch can lead to a burning rash that lasts for weeks).
My accommodation was a handsome tent house, surrounded by a host of tropical ferns and covered by the rainforest canopy. Once I saw the place and heard about the wide range of things to do in the area, I immediately regretted my short stay. But I vowed to cram in as much as possible (while still allowing time for some simple relaxation and contemplation). After exploring my options, I decided to go on a mountain rainforest hike in the afternoon and a guided night walk in the evening.
The day hike set out straightaway, and I attached myself to two Brits (their names escape me) for the duration. It was a good introduction to the Australian Rainforest and provided a pretty decent view of the Daintree River. The highlight of the hike was a rare sighting of a wild cassowary (a large emu-like flightless bird with a blue neck and a red waddle). Although the bird is very dangerous -- it's been known to disembowel several sorry tourists with its razor-sharp middle claw -- I couldn't resist a closer look. I shadowed the five-foot bird through the forest until he suddenly stopped, sensing my presence. I cautiously approached to within four feet of him (leaving some protective foliage between us), and he stared at me every step of the way. We studied each other critically, simultaneously sizing up one another. We stayed that way for quite a while, mesmerized and paralyzed by each other's unrelenting glare, until my dangling camera made itself known by slapping against my thigh. Barely daring to breathe, and keeping constant eye contact, I worked my hands over to the camera and brought it up to my face with slow, controlled movements. I quickly snapped several photos, hoping the flash wouldn't disturb my feathered friend. The English girls hesitantly approached and beckoned me away for my own safety. I gave a final look and headed off. The cassowary continued on its leisurely way, eventually disappearing into the trees.
---------------------------------------The Cassowary--------------------------------------Back at Crocodylus Village, who should I run into but my old Contiki pal Mark Day, he of the growing didgeridoo skills. He'd stayed here the previous night and would remain for another two. He was serving dinner tonight (in exchange for a free meal -- great idea!) and said he would catch me later. More than a bit financially strained myself, I resisted the temptation to buy dinner and whipped up my own meagre meal (eight slices of toast with Vegemite and some water).
An hour later, I met up with Mark and three of his friends: Phil (a local who worked for the National Park ); Anna (an attractive Scottish lass); and Robin (a girl from Melbourne who bore an uncanny resemblance to Elaine from "Seinfeld," which coincidentally, happened to be her favorite TV show). They were involved in a game of cards and kindly dealt me in.
At 9:30 p.m., it was time for my nighttime rainforest trek (Mark, Phil and Anna decided to join me). We met our guide and donned a rather bulky flashlight mechanism (the cumbersome battery strapped around my waist and was quite heavy) that made us look like coal miners. So equipped, we headed off into the night. The darkened rainforest was peaceful, but not entirely still. An occasional screech above or scampering below reminded us that even at nighttime (or especially in the nighttime), the rainforest harbored life. Our nocturnal exploration uncovered Boyd's Rainforest Dragons deceptively camouflaged on tree saplings, hunter spiders with torch-induced golden eyes crawling silently on the forest floor, cockroaches scampering over decayed logs, a rat scavenging for a late-night snack, a stick insect laying eggs in the bark of an ancient tree, a butterfly in enclosed wings dozing upside-down on a palm leaf, a white bird with its sleeping head nestled under a feathery wing, and a bandikeet doing . . . whatever it is bandikeets do. We also stumbled upon a massive ground nest, built over a period of several years, by two very determined and industrious brown ducks.
------------------------------A Boyd's Rainforest Dragon------------------------
Strangely enough, I was almost as excited by what I didn't see as I was by what I did: things like fruit bats and possums hanging from the rainforest canopy by their various appendages and pythons slithering along the forest floor without the aid of any. I didn't need to see them -- it was enough to know they were out there, somewhere. Indeed, my favorite part of the night tour was when I literally couldn't see anything at all. It was the moment when the guide stopped us, made us extinguish our lights, and instructed each of us to find an isolated log to sit upon, where we could sit in the dark for a private "listening experience." For the next 15 minutes (it felt longer), I stared out into the nothingness and focused my ears on the rainforest. Just like a blind person who displays raised awareness in his other senses, I found my hearing to be more acute, and I picked up sounds I hadn't noticed before. Each rustle and cry seemed magnified and triggered an urge to turn my torch back on and locate the source, which I thankfully suppressed. The only thing I did manage to see during the "blackout period" was a singular glowing fungus, the sole bioluminescent star in my dark botanical universe.
"Lights on" was the magical incantation which returned me to my own world -- a world of light, shapes and colors. As we walked back to the Village, we heard a possum calling out in the trees above us. Try as we might, however, we never managed to find it (as I later learned, the so-called possum was just Phil "playing possum" and pulling our communal leg -- Anna told me the next morning that she barely contained her laughter when the lot of us shined our expectant beams within a few feet of her and Phil's hiding place).
When we returned, it was almost midnight, and time to join my diurnal tentmates in sweet slumber.
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