Cooktown lies at the northern end of the bitumen road on Australia's east coast. We had just finished shooting the annual re-enactment ceremony that celebrates Captain Cook's landing there in June 1770. It was the climax of a few days of festivities, and was much fun, but now it was time to head back home. It was about 200 kilometres to the next town of Mareeba so we decided to break the journey, as we did on the way up, at the caravan park at Mount Carbine. Mount Carbine was once a busy Wolfram mine, but ceased operations there in the 1980's when the price of Wolfram fell dramatically. Now it was just a pub, a roadhouse and a caravan park run by an enthusiastic friendly fellow called Robert. He was a very gracious host on the way up, and we promised to call in on the way back. We arrived at around 2.30pm and a beaming Robert again bounded out, crushed our hands and said, if we'd like, he would drive us out to the old tailings dam to see the waterbirds. "Come down about three." he said, so we thought "Why not!" as Mount Carbine is supposed to have more bird species than Kakadu, and is now part of the Brooklyn Wildlife Sanctuary. Unfortunately when we arrived at the dam, there weren't many birds to be seen, except two beautiful Jabirus, that quickly flew away when we arrived. "Not to worry" says Robert, "We'll go down to Mary Farm, there should be some Bustards there". I must add here that Robert is not blaspheming and the spelling is correct, as a Bustard is a bird of the Turkey family that roams the northern plains. Our new destination, Mary Farm, used to be a tobacco farm, but has lain neglected since the Queensland Government banned tobacco farming. Anyway, sure enough there were Bustards wandering around the now deserted field and we got some reasonably good footage of them. We then drove along a little further and saw a large flock of Sulphur Crested Cockatoos in another field. "I'll let you out here, and then I'll drive down a little way and make them all fly up for you." said Robert. So we did as he suggested and watched as he drove the car down the road and parked near the flock. He then got out of the car and began running wildly down the road towards them waving his arms in the air and giving the occasional high leap for good measure. He looked like some poor demented person having a fit, so naturally the huge flock took off in fright and filled our camera's viewing screens with hundreds of fluttering white wings. We had to return then as it was time for his 4 o'clock tour of the old mine. He would not take any reimbursement for petrol, so we thanked him and went back to review our footage. On our way back, Lance, a permanent resident who has a caravan just near us said, "Would you like to see some Blue Wing Kookaburras?". Naturally we jumped at the opportunity as these are rather rare birds and not seen in the south. "Sit just there" he said, indicating a seat at his outdoor table. He then brought out a huge pet food sausage that he said he had bought at a supermarket in Mareeba that morning for only two dollars, and proceeded to cut it up. In no time a couple of Butcher Birds had appeared together with three Magpies. They all took bits of sausage that Lance threw their way, and one Magpie even jumped up on the table and began taking food from his hand, eyeing us cautiously as it did so. "She knows you're okay, because you're with me" he said. Suddenly we heard some strange noises and saw blue flashes in the trees. The Blue Wing Kookaburras had arrived! Lance then put some of the food in what he called the old Galah feeder and backed off. In no time at all there were five magnificent Blue Wing Kookaburras jumping all about the feeder. Their beaks are much larger than their more common cousins, the Laughing Kookaburras, and they have blue on their tails as well. They do not "laugh" but emit an occasional odd sounding "croak". We obtained some great shots and in the course of conversation Lance mentioned that he had a problem with a new piece of computer software that he had just bought. As that was Roger's territory I thanked Lance and retired to the motor home. When Roger returned some time later we discussed what we could do about compensating Robert for his nice drive around the Mount Carbine area, and decided that he may like a copy of one of our movies. As we had a few spares, Roger found a copy of one of our best ones and took it down to him the next morning, booking us in for an extra day as he did so. Robert was delighted and offered to take us down to Julatten to see the Golden Bowerbird, a round trip of 100kms. "We can leave at half past two and be back in time for the 4 o'clock tour" he said. Roger and I discussed it and felt that it was putting him to too much trouble, but Roger said, "He really seems keen to go!". Now the Golden Bowerbird is one of the rarest of all the Bowerbirds and it is found in only a few highland rainforests inland from Cairns. We had earlier obtained some good footage of the more common Great Bowerbird as one had a bower right in the caravan park. However, a chance to get footage of the rare Golden was too good an opportunity to miss. Roger went down later and told him that we would take advantage of his kind offer, but insisted on paying for the petrol. He wouldn't agree to that and insisted that it was no trouble at all. When we went out with him the day before in his Nissan, he told us about the car, saying that it was especially imported, and that it was "one of a kind" and had "certain modifications" made. It all washed over my head however as I always thought that Nissans were one of the least successful of the Japanese cars. The type of car that comedians used to make up jokes about. I think one model was called "Cedric". What self respecting motorist would drive around in a car called "Cedric"! Although tempted, I refrained from asking Robert if his car was called a "Cedric". The day was beautiful and sunny so we took the opportunity to do some washing and then hung it out to dry before we left. Mount Carbine has a dry climate and is in savannah country, yet 30 kms away the climate is tropical, with rainforests and mountains. This was apparently where we were going to go. At the appointed time we met Robert and climbed aboard the Nissan, with me in the back and Roger in the front with Robert. As we drove along the savannah grasslands soon gave way to thicker more dense vegetation. On the approach to the little township of Mount Molloy, Robert said "Oh, it looks like we might be going into a little rain." "Should we turn back?" Roger suggested. "No! we'll keep on going as it may clear up." Robert replied, and then continued "Anyway, I can show you where to go and you can pop in yourselves on the way down to Port Douglas". I looked over at the mountains in the distance and said "Is that where we are going?" "Yes", answered Robert, "The big one in the middle". I looked across at the big dark mountains shrouded in mist and cloud and saw to my dismay that the big one in the middle looked like Mount Doom from "The Lord of the Rings"! As we reached the junction where the road turned towards the coast, the rain that had been falling, was replaced by a light mist. The country now had changed dramatically and was lush and green, with tropical vegetation on all sides. We came to a place where thick jungle reached to the edge of the road and a sign said "Kingfisher Lodge". "This is where all the birdies go”. said Robert, "We'll drive in and have a look around." ("birdies" is Robert's term for birdwatchers). It was a very nice place, though rather wet looking, with many campers in tents amongst the trees. Robert drove through the place waving to everyone in sight, as if they were old friends. Many, I think, were tourists from overseas and looked a little bit startled, but waved back anyway. So we both joined Robert in waving to everyone that we saw. Now I know how the Queen feels!. Back on the main highway we passed a Barramundi fish farm which advertised Barramundi at $10 a Kilo. "Get yourselves some of that" he said "it's very good." A short time later we came to the mountain road turnoff. The track to the hide, that overlooked the Bower-Birds bower, was supposed to be only 5kms along this gravel road. Now we had driven our motor-home 4kms along a gravel road to reach the Lion's Den Hotel south of Cooktown, and it was no problem at all as the road was well maintained and flat! The problem with this road, however, was that it ascended rapidly, was wet, very greasy and had huge drainage humps every few metres. I felt that this was a road for four wheel drive vehicles only, and Robert, it turned out had only been driven there by a friend a few years ago in a four wheel drive, and had never driven there himself. He was relying on his memory and some vague directions given to him by one of the American students in the caravan park who was engaged in World Heritage work on the mountain. I was beginning to feel a little uneasy about the whole thing! Still, it was only 5 kilometres, so it should not take too long. Once we started driving along the road however, it rapidly narrowed, and began to ascend dramatically, with many sharp curves. It seemed to go on and on, getting worse and steeper as it did so. I kept glancing across at the speedo and when it reached the 5 kms mark it was clear that there would not be any side roads for some time yet. We were still enclosed in the jungle-like vegetation and dodging fallen trees, protruding rocks and water filled pot holes. The car continued lurching over drainage humps and, at times, venturing close to the edge of the road that looked as if it would collapse if any weight was put on it. My ears "popped" several times with the increasing altitude, as I sat in the back and clutched my camera tightly. Out of the side window I could see huge trees and what appeared to be an almost a sheer drop to the valley below. Having a vivid imagination is mostly regarded as a plus, but here I would have to say it was a minus, as I kept imagining what one mistake by Robert would do to us. We couldn't turn back as the road was far too narrow to make a turn, we couldn't hail a passing motorist should we get into trouble, as there weren't any, and we couldn't call for help on the mobile phone, as there was no coverage where we were. If we went over the side nobody would find us for days. We had earlier passed two 4WDrives from the Cook University going down, who returned Robert's waves with worried glances, but they were well and truly gone now. Still the Nissan roared along ever upwards negotiating one tight turn after another, often seeming to be on the brink of an uncontrollable skid that would plunge us over the edge, yet recovering with deft gear changes and gentle accelerator use. The drainage humps seemed to be getting bigger and more frequent, and tossed the vehicle about like a ship in a wild sea. Another hazard were fallen logs that seemed like icebergs that were part of the conspiracy to sink the good ship Nissan. Robert kept saying "Not far now!". I must say I wasn't frightened!. Terrified yes! After what seemed to be like an hour of tottering on the brink of disaster (although Roger reckons it was only 30mins), we reached a small clearing where Robert said the trail started. Thankfully it was not raining, just misty. Though pleased to have reached our destination I knew that it was only a temporary reprieve, as we had to go down the mountain to return and the descent could be as bad if not worse than the climb up. Robert charged off into the rainforest like a general leading his troops saying "at 500metres in we should find the path to the hide." After walking in over 1.5Kms, some of it through thick miserable mud, we decided that either our directions were wrong or we had missed it. I, of course, by this stage didn't really care about the Golden Bowerbird, I just wanted to be back home safely in the Winnebago! To make things worse light rain had begun to fall. We checked carefully on the way back and needless to say we had not missed any path and had to conclude that the directions given to Robert were probably wrong. Time was now running out for Robert to be back for his 4pm tour anyway. He reluctantly admitted that our mission to find the Golden Bowerbird had failed and that it was time to turn back. It was all much of the same on the return journey, only a bit more perilous as Robert had the weight of the car to contend with as he braked and manoeuvred it in the slippery downhill conditions. Before we set out we had a talk about cars and Robert said that he would never have an automatic car. "A manual gear shift gives you much more control." he said. Watching him drive I now understood why. By using the gear shift constantly, with very limited braking that car was always under perfect control. I breathed a huge sigh of relief when we reached the bitumen, but this was rather premature as he took all the road curves on the way back, at about twice the speed we would have in the motor home. Even at high speed the Nissan rode the curves beautifully and again the car seemed to be under perfect control. On our return to the caravan park (only about 15mins late), I thanked Robert and congratulated him on his driving. He was disappointed that he was not able to get us to the Golden Bowerbird's bower, but quickly said "Like to go red clawing to-night?". Although we had no idea what "red clawing" was, we both politely refused. On our way back to Winnie, Roger said "I enjoyed that!". "You WHAT" I yelled! "That was good." he added. "Weren't you just a wee bit frightened?" I asked. "There were moments" he said "but Robert said he was once a rally driver so I knew that he could handle the car!" "Well you might have told me." I said indignantly."He told us in the car. Didn't you hear him?" I guess it must have been the part of the drive when I had my eyes closed. I must have closed off my hearing as well. We gave Robert another DVD for his trouble, though I suspect that he would never have the time to actually sit down and watch them. The students may appreciate them though. He checked with the student who gave him the directions to the hide, and said that we were on the right path, but we didn't go quite far enough. As we were leaving he called out "You should have come red clawing with us last night. We got a bucket full!" (red claw is a type of Yabby, we found out). " Next time!" we called back..........
