Being Easter and readily accessible makes some of these places a bit of a hit and miss affair as to who your fellow campmates are. The night started quietly enough until the booze took its effect on four lads who decided to flambe a little stingray in petrol then try and eat it. Problem was that there were four of them. It was just as well that they left early the next morning as the combined number of annoyed males from adjoining campsites might have done something similar to them. These idiots continued north to disturb The Bedrooms and Blakesleys. Thankfully the Ranger kicked them out of The Bedrooms so they were a day ahead of us. Their antics left a substantial wake of really hacked off campers.
The kayaks were packed down on the beach and floated off on the incoming tide. The Easter traffic was plentiful. The size of the
wash related to the number of storeys on the boat. We warned Malcolm to watchout for the claptosis at the entrance to Sanctuary Cove. But, hey, this is Malcolm, he has to try it for
himself. He was dumped on big time by a rogue rebound. The float plane was doing a roaring trade and made for another dimension of risk. As Malcom and I were paddling just north of Tipplers he was fixated by the plane as it took off. Next thing I hear him cry 'PULL OUT, PULL OUT'. Can't have heard the advice as right in front of an overcrowded Tipplers the plane, with a full complement of tourists went smack into the mangroves. I bet they weren't expecting that view out the window.
Probably a bit of booze flowing as it took a while for boats to zoom over and lend a hand to wretch the plane free. As we were eating our lunch the plane taxied over to its pontoon. When we left the guy was sitting on the wing bashing the dents out with a rubber mallet. Obviously not a CASA job. Think twice before joy riding in float planes.
That afternoon Robyn, Graham and Allan turned up at the campsite under the cassurinas 800m north of the toilets at The Bedrooms.
The next day was a pull against the tide and Robyn decided to turn in at Slipping Sands to camp. Not surprisingly Malcolm's lead filled paddle (it's a part of his gorgeous masochistic honour) was taking its toll. He struggled into Blakesleys and it was some time before he had recovered enough to put up his tent.
A beautiful sunset.
|
