And so it began… After a last-minute supermarket stop at Mossman, we hauled our fully loaded camper trailer up a mountain to the Tablelands Caravan Park, a small but lovely family-owned park with a pool – oh how we’d miss that pool.
This was our rendezvous point for the group of six vehicles, including 11 adults and three kids. At 8am on Monday morning, as planned, we gunned out of there in convoy, crawled down the hill onto the stunning coastal road that sashays north through the Daintree Rainforest.
The general feeling was to push forward and get north as fast as possible, then take more time coming back down. This and leaving at 8am on Monday morning are pretty much the only things that went to plan throughout the trip but, as we soon learned, that’s the nature of travelling to Cape York.
We didn’t stop anywhere in the Daintree although we would have pulled over at Thornton Beach except that the car park was packed with police cars. It wasn’t until that evening we learned that a woman had been taken by a crocodile at that very spot the night before. Welcome to croc country.
We took the Bloomfield track and eventually stopped at the famous Lion’s Den pub at Helensvale, a fascinating little shack decorated inside with coasters, notes, postcards, clothing and other memorabilia from however many thousands of tourists that have passed through.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get much of a chance to explore the room full of pickled snakes (or finish my beer) because Alfie, who had been sick back in Mossman, redecorated the bathroom. Judging by the surprised “thanks for telling us” from the Swedish backpacker behind the bar, the Lion’s Den is pretty rough after dark!
It was only a quick stop and we pushed ahead through Hopevale community to Elim Beach. This part of the world is managed by its traditional owners and Eddie is the man to speak to if you want to pitch a tent. Eddie himself was holding court on the verandah when we pulled into the sandy campground. A chat with him and his mate confirmed what we already knew: everything was closed. A “rain event” the week before our arrival had closed most of the tracks we wanted to conquer on the Cape and they were unlikely to open in the near future.
Once we heard about the croc attack in the Daintree, I was feeling more than a little nervous. Eddie reassured us that the crocodiles at his beach wouldn’t give us any bother. There was a nest in the mangroves just to the right of the campsite but they weren’t cheeky. And if a croc tried anything, Eddie assured us, he’d shoot its brains out. Eddie is at least 80, partially blind and reasonably deaf, what could possibly go wrong?
Needless to say, we survived the night and the next day half of us drove onto the beach in a happy convoy past Coloured Sands to visit the site of Australian Kitesurfari. Jon has spent a number of very enjoyable holidays here with Ant and Pauly, and was eager to show us his little slice of paradise.
At this point the group split. We all came back through Cooktown then half headed to the beach and the rest headed for Archer Point, where we first tried to set up camp on a wild and windy bluff before realising we would at best break our tent and at worst tumble down the cliffs into the shark-infested sea (that may be an exaggeration, but either way the kids did ask fearfully “are we going to die?” as we were hurriedly packing down the camper to move to a more secluded spot; again, we didn’t die).
The next day was our first experience of a roadhouse. I don’t know what I was expecting but it was something more structurally impressive than Laura Roadhouse, which is just a couple of petrol bowsers and a little shack selling postcards and Chicko rolls.
Not far from there is Old Laura Homestead, which has been preserved and gives you a great idea of how the white pioneers lived out here in this wild country. It was also a great spot to roll out the picnic mat and make a coffee.
We weren’t sure where to stop that night but there was no way we were getting across Kalpower River and the campground had a shower so we dropped anchor there for the night. After dark even the most blasé of our group got spooked when he saw several glowing eyes in the river and not very far away.
By this stage, we’d lost half the group but had an agreement to meet in Coen at midday. The morning’s drive through Lakefield (Rinyiriu) National Park was beautiful; the wetlands are bird paradise and we saw brolgas, jabirus, a flock of black cockatoos and a lot of very stupid wallabies playing chicken with our bulbar. We stopped at the Red Lily pond, which must be stunning in full bloom but only had one perfect pink flower to show us.
From there we travelled the beaten path, stopping at Musgrave and Archer roadhouses, both of which were more like what we’d been expecting: huge carparks, roadtrains going past, shops full of postcards (but not a loaf of over-priced TipTop in sight).
By this stage, everyone was worn out and tensions were rising with two groups wanting to travel in different directions. Someone had the genius idea to make a pit-stop to Chili beach in the Iron Range (Kutini Payamu) National Park, north of Lockhart River township, for a two-night stop, and this gave everyone the chance to chill out, dry some washing, fish, do schoolwork or whatever else makes you happy. Jon flew a kite, I played my uke, the kids got out their magnetic blocks, others shucked oysters off rocks at low tide or gazed out to sea. It’s amazing how two nights in the one spot can seem like such a luxury.
The next part of our journey was where the fun would really begin – the Old Telegraph Track. But, as you know, nothing goes to plan in Cape York
