Chapter 3 Heading North
When I first laid eyes on Michael I thought he looked like a bit of an idiot, then, after getting to know him better, my suspicions were confirmed. I had been on the road, hitchhiking, for a few days already, heading from Melbourne up to Cairns. By that stage I was somewhere a bit north of Newcastle. As usual the relentless Australian sun spared nothing and no one. It was scorching everything in its path. Nothing escaped its fiery spears, shooting down from the clear blue sky. I was hot and sweaty, and badly needed a swim in the vast ocean that lay, out of my view, along the east coast of the sunburnt continent.
‘Hi there, is the beach much further along?’ I asked him.
‘No, man, it’s just around that corner. I’m heading there myself, I’ll show you.’
‘Cool. I’m Matt.
‘Hey man, my name’s Michael.’
He had long ginger hair, tied up in a sort of loose pony tail, an extremely thin, emaciated body, and a face that had a permanent grimace planted on it. He didn’t really seem to be a very happy sort of person, nor particularly healthy. He wore a loose fitting sarong, and a collarless, white, short sleeved shirt. His voice was so laid back, he almost seemed to be on the point of falling asleep. It was the late 70’s, and Michael was the epitome of an Australian hippy. He looked to be straight out of central casting. He was a hippy’s hippy. After a very short walk, we came into sight of the mighty Pacific Ocean. Power, and majesty, all rolled into one. As was always the case, I was absolutely blown away by its spectacular allure.
‘Shit, that’s nice! The coast is really beautiful around here.’
The sea was a deep blue colour, with grass and trees growing right down to where the golden sand started. It was a sight as beautiful as you could ever hope to find. The heat of the day only made it more attractive.
‘Yeah, I’m camping over there, under that tree. It’s a really cool spot. There are people staying all over the place, man.’
‘I’m on my way up north, so I really only want a place for tonight. I’ll find a nice spot to set up my tent somewhere around here.’
‘If you are only staying one night, make sure you catch the sunrise, man. When the sun comes up over the sea, you get all sorts of colours. It’s really far out. But you gotta get up early, around 5.’
‘OK, sure. Thanks for the tip. Hey, listen, I’ll catch you later.’
Before anything else I wanted to have a swim. I knew that further north you had to be careful swimming because of the constant danger of the Bluebottles, so I wanted to swim as much as possible while I could. I found a suitable spot to pitch my tent, in a little hollow just below a shaggy looking coastal tree. I dropped my backpack, took off my shirt and shorts, and raced down naked into the soothing waters of the great Pacific. The relief was instant. The coolness of the water washed away the constant sweltering feeling the blazing Australian sun always gave you. It felt timeless playing in the rolling waves that were crashing over me. I think I would have stayed in the water forever, if it wasn’t for the pangs of hunger that came over me. I had eaten little that day, and was paying the price for it. I walked out of the cool water, up to my new temporary shelter by the sea, and was about to tuck into a tin of pink salmon when Michael waved me over. Tin of salmon in hand I wandered over to his campsite. He had a lit joint in his hand.
‘You want some blow, man?’
‘Sure.’
‘This stuff is killer, they grow it up around Byron Bay.’
He passed his joint to me.
‘Hey, thanks, man.’
He wasn’t kidding about the strength, I got incredibly stoned. I could barely remember where I was. Where I was? I could barely remember who I was. It looked like he was pretty out of it too. We both pretty much crashed back on the ground for a while, enjoying the moment. After a while, as I started to return to my senses, my hunger pangs grew into full blown munchies. I opened my tin of salmon, and, with a knife that Michael had with his stuff, I started eating.
‘Hey Michael, you want some salmon?’
‘No, man, I’m vegetarian, I’ve got some… hey, don’t use that knife! It’s never touched meat!’
His dramatic touch seemed rather overplayed to me.
‘Oh, OK, I’ll wash it for you, man.’
‘It’s ruined now! It’s touched meat. It’s the only knife I’ve got. Now I can’t use it anymore.’
Man, was that guy a fanatic.
‘Sorry, Michael, I didn’t realise.’
It looked like he was almost going to cry, so I decided that my presence was no longer desired. I left him with his eternally ruined knife, and headed back to my campsite. It was starting to get dark, and there was quite a bit of activity on the beach. Further up the beach a group of people were stacking up tree trunks, ready for a monster bonfire. I could hear the strains of music, and laughter, coming from them. I thought about going over to see what was going on, but, with the stone wearing off, I was incredibly tired, so I thought I would just get some sleep. In any case I wanted to be up in time for the famous sunrise, over the ocean’s waves. I set up my tent, rolled out my trusty sleeping bag, and crawled into it. I dropped into a heavy sleep almost immediately.
The next morning I woke up incredibly early, too early. I had time to kill, luckily as it would turn out later, so while waiting for the sunrise, I packed up my small tent, and prepared my backpack. Slowly the sky started to lighten up, with streaks of a reddish glow colouring the distant clouds. As the sunrise approached the colours deepened, and then the sun made its appearance, just lazily rising out of the sea with great elegance. With the red hues seemingly painted on the clouds, and the sunshine reflecting across the water it was, indeed, a sight to behold.
The sun had barely exited the water when the raid started. Police cars came flying along the road just behind me. I ducked down until they passed, and then grabbed my stuff and took off. They stopped over by where the bonfire had been, and police officers began swarming out all around the area. Looking back I could see them gathering together the group that had been around the fire, and anyone else they could find. I doubted they would have put together such an operation just for an illegal fire, so I assumed it was a drug bust. Nothing particularly unusual in those days. Smoking pot seemed to be considered the worst crime you could commit. Busting million dollar white collar crime just didn’t seem to have the same sort of appeal as rounding up a bunch of social outcasts. Back then being a hippy was a dangerous occupation. Luckily I had crashed out asleep early, and I had already packed up my stuff, so I was ready to go. As I scurried back along the road, every now and then another cop car would come speeding along. The cop cars back then only seemed to have one gear. Flat stick. As soon as I saw one coming, I would dive into the bushes until they passed, and then jump back out onto the road, and keep on going. I didn’t have any weed on me, but that wouldn’t have made any difference. The cops in those days would hassle you just out of spite. They didn’t really need any reason. You were a hippy, an enemy of society, Public Enemy Number 1, so you must be doing something wrong. I wondered if poor hapless Michael had made it out, or, if not, whether they had vegetarian food, and untainted cutlery, in jail?
By the time I got back out onto the main highway, I didn’t really have too far that I wanted to go for my next adventure, probably just a few hundred kilometres. By Australian standards, that was just down the road. A stone’s throw away. In any other country, like my native New Zealand, that would be considered quite a long way. With the vastness of Australia, however, that was nothing. I had heard about Mount Warning, which was the first spot to get the sunrise in Australia, and had decided that I would like to climb up it, and camp there for a night. It hadn’t taken me long to walk back to the Pacific highway, and find a suitable spot for hitching, so I was getting an early start. The rides came pretty easily, it was a really busy road with a lot of traffic, and there were always plenty of kind souls around. Not everyone had the same opinion of us misfits from society as the cops. A lot of people who would stop for you had also travelled around by hitchhiking themselves, so they had plenty of good advice, and interesting stories to recount.
By mid morning the next day, I found myself at the base of the imposing mountain. Looking up, it appeared to be a bit of a climb, rather daunting, but I was brimming over with youthful enthusiasm. Nothing was going to stop me. The walk up was pretty steep, but afforded incredible views all along the way. There were benches placed strategically along the pathway, both to give you much needed rest, and to let you take in the spectacular view back over the ocean as it was getting ever further below. The lower part of the mountain was thick with lush, green bush, but as I got higher that growth started to thin out. The temperature was also dropping noticeably, the further up I got. Mount Warning is an extinct volcano with a very conical shape to it. Even though at times it was hard going, I think it only took a few hours for me to get up, including plenty of stops to admire the view, of course. The last part of the climb was the hardest. It was incredibly steep, but fortunately, there was a sort of thick wire handrail to grab on to. You almost had to pull yourself up. From the top the view was nothing short of breathtaking. On the eastern side you could see all up and down the coast, and far out to sea. Across the back you could see endless mountain ranges that went as far as the eye could see.
A friendly looking guy with long hair, and the shabby clothes that were the standard uniform of hippies, came wandering over. I could see that he also had a backpack.
‘I see you’ve got your backpack. Are you staying the night too?’
‘Yeah, I was just looking around for a good spot to pitch my tent.’ He replied.
‘Why don’t we put them up over the side here.’
I pointed to a nice spot I had already picked out.
‘Sure. Actually the top is smaller than what I was expecting. Just this small flat part, and then it really drops off.’
I waved my arm around in a circular motion.
‘Yeah, but that certainly makes it better for looking around! Look, 360 degrees of fantastic views.’
‘Man, that’s for sure. I’ve never seen anything like it.’
While chatting away, we pitched our tents on the agreed upon spot.
Right then a helicopter appeared, and landed just a short distance from us, almost blowing us over the edge with the wind it blew around.
‘Bloody hell, these are some lazy bastards,’ said my new mate, whose name I had found out was Kevin.
A few guys, dressed in suits, got out of the helicopter, and started pointing in various directions. It was almost surreal.
‘What the hell are they up to?’ I wondered aloud.
Meanwhile, a photographer, who was in their group, took photos of them, while they were pointing! It felt like a scene out of a Monty Python film. The whole episode lasted less than five minutes, and then they were back in the helicopter and gone. I was slightly stunned by the whole experience.
‘What the hell was that all about?’
‘No doubt some politicians looking for a nice photo opportunity, to put in the papers.’
‘Right, with the taxpayer paying for the helicopter.’ I answered sarcastically, not that I had been much in the business of paying taxes. But still…
By then most of the daytrippers were well on their way down, after having dutifully taken their photos, and admired sufficiently the view. Their day’s work was over. They could happily head off to other magnificent places that were on their must do/must be able to talk about list. It seemed like we would have the mountain top to ourselves for the night. Unfortunately that was not to be the case. A group of scouts with their scoutmaster arrived, complete with loads of camping equipment. The kids, all boys, looked to be around ten years old. It was starting to get dark as they set up their camp, not far from us, as there wasn’t a lot of room up there. Kevin and I already had a little fire going, because it was getting quite cold, and we were having something to eat. As darkness fell, the view became even more spectacular. Up and down the coast you could see lights from the many towns, and roads. The whole coast was lit up in an array of different colours, and different patterns of light. Conversely, looking inland you could still just make out the shapes of the mountain tops, with barely a light to be seen every few hundred kilometres, it seemed. It looked like something out of the Hobbit’s Middle Earth. Both sides were equally stunning, and formed an incredible contrast. One side a formidable light show, the other the sombre darkness of impenetrable isolation.
Our silent admiration of the view was interrupted by the excited voice of one of the scouts.
‘Dad, dad, look, it’s a UFO!’
We both turned to look. You could see the lights of a plane, high above us, heading down the coast. It was probably out of Brisbane airport, heading down to Sydney, or possibly across to New Zealand. The other scouts were snickering, as the scoutmaster patiently said to his son:
‘No, Peter, it’s a plane.’
The snickering, and chuckles, had barely died down when Peter decided to have another go.
‘Dad, dad!’
Everyone fell silent. We were all waiting expectantly, we knew it would be a good one.
‘It’s flying upside down!’
The whole mountain top erupted with laughter, quite possibly even with that of the boy’s father himself.
The next morning everyone was up early for the sunrise, and no one was disappointed. That day we were the first people in all Australia to see the sun rise, and it was nothing short of spectacular. There were layers of cloud in the sky, reflecting the sun’s rays in different shades of red and yellow, and every mixture in between. As the sun rose out of the sea, we could see it all happening far below us. We felt like Gods, witnessing the dawn of creation from high above in our lofty temple. There could be no better way to greet the arrival of a new day.
I had been dropped off in some town centre, somewhere in southern Queensland. I can’t remember its name. After a long while on the road each town starts to look the same. The rides, mainly short ones, had been coming easily. After having had something light, and cheap, to eat, I walked out to the edge of the town, looking for a suitable spot to start hitching again. Ahead of me I could see a guy already waiting for a lift. By following the hitchhikers etiquette, the unwritten rules of good form, I would have to let him get the first ride. I would have to move further along the road. That wasn’t going to be a problem for me, I was enjoying the trip, and was in no hurry to reach my destination. I was just enjoying the journey itself. Every day was a new adventure for me, meeting new people, and seeing new places. I almost felt like I didn’t want the journey to end.
In all honesty, as I approached him, I wasn’t particularly impressed with where he had chosen to take up his stand. There wasn’t really a good area for a car to stop, without partially blocking the road. I had become somewhat of an expert on those things by that time, and felt that it was my duty, as a fellow traveller, to inform him of the matter.
‘Hey, this isn’t really a good spot for hitching, you know. It’s a bit of an awkward spot for a car to stop.’ I told him.
‘Hi there. Maybe, but it’ll do for me.’
He wasn’t really overly impressed with my abundance of hitchhiking knowledge.
‘Where are you off to?’
‘I’m heading up to Cairns. What about you?’ I asked.
‘Yeah, me too. I’ve been on the road a while, I started out from Adelaide.’
‘No shit? I left from Melbourne. Yeah, it’s a bloody long way, I’ve been at it for a while myself.’
He was slim, with longish, dark hair and a stubble. He had a friendly looking face, and a ready smile.
‘OK, man, I’ll leave you to it. No one is going to pick up two guys together, so I’ll head further up the road, and get out of you way. Good luck, maybe I’ll see you somewhere along the way.’
‘Thanks, good travels to you too.’
I wandered further up the road, looking for a good spot for a car to stop. After about half an hour, the other guy got a lift. I stuck my finger out as well, knowing full well how hard it was for two males to get picked up by the same ride. Anyway, there was no harm in trying. You had to be optimistic about your possibilities. Unbelievably, the car stopped for me as well! That was almost unheard of. The driver was a friendly looking man of early middle age. He wound down his window to address me.
‘Hi there, I’m only going about 40 k’s up the road, but you are welcome to a lift.’
‘Hey, thanks, man.’
I jumped in the back, with my fellow hitchhiker.
‘Hello there, again, fellow traveller.’
The kind stranger dropped us off at a crossroads, in the middle of nowhere, and turned off. That might not seem like a good thing, but actually the middle of nowhere was a pretty good spot for hitchhiking. I was an expert at those things, remember?
‘My name’s Matt, my good fellow.’
‘Hi there, I’m Paul.’
‘We should flip a coin to see who gets the first shot at a lift, and who has to head up the road. What do ya reckon?’
‘No, that’s OK, you go first. I had the first spot before, so it’s only fair.’
‘You, kind sir, are a gentleman.’
I rolled up and smoked a cigarette while we had a chat about where we were from, and various generalities. Paul was softly spoken, and obviously very intelligent. He had a constant cheeky smile playing around the sides of his lips, which made me feel really at ease with him. After a while duty called. It was time to get back to work. He threw his backpack over his shoulder.
‘It’s been nice to meet you Matt. Hopefully we will meet up again, further along the road.’
‘Yeah, same to you, man. Take care.’
Sometimes when you meet someone, things just click. I had that feeling with Paul, so I was a little sad as he walked off along the road.
I got back to the business of seeking a lift. As usual, along that highway, there was a perpetual stream of traffic. It didn’t take long before an elderly couple stopped for me. Both wore friendly, welcoming smiles, and were dressed in unpretentious clothing. Exactly the sort of people who would cheerfully give a lift to a young social outcast like myself.
‘Hello there, young man. Hop in. We’re not going far, but there’s plenty of room for one more.’
‘Thanks very much. Any distance would be most appreciated.’
I threw in my pack, and jumped in the back. As the car headed off towards where Paul was hitching, I thought I would give it my best shot.
‘Would there be any chance of giving a lift to my friend, as well?’
‘No problems, at all.’
They happily stopped, and let Paul in as well. We had defied the general rule of hitchhiking, which stated that two males could never get a lift together. What’s more, we had done it twice. We were breaking new ground, and forging new guidelines. The rule book of hitchhiking would have to be rewritten, or, at the very least, amended.
At the next drop off point, we decided that we may as well continue our journey together. Some force was working in our favour. Besides, a friendship was starting to grow between us. A friendship which would continue for many years to come, and which would see us in and out of each other’s lives frequently. Over the years we would share a lot of adventures, both in Australia, and in New Zealand. That, to me, was the beauty of travel. Out of such a chance meeting, the direction of your life, and those with whom you share it, could change forever. Unexpected people could enter your life, enriching it, and changing who you were.
‘Shit, man, slow down a bit.’
His reply to my request was just to laugh, even more hysterically. The situation was getting out of hand.
‘Don’t freak out, man, it’s cool. No fucking worries!’
The two of us had been hitching together for a couple of days by that time, mainly getting a series of just short rides. Then, as luck would have it, the maniac had picked us up. Apparently, he had heard on the radio that they wanted someone to drive a rental car back to Cairns, from Brisbane. All expenses paid. As he was on the dole, and looking for some fun, he jumped at the opportunity. A bag of dope to keep him stoned, and someone else’s car to try and destroy, all seemed pretty irresistible to him. He was going just about as fast as that car could manage, taking all the corners at excessive speed. Around every corner we risked skidding off the road. I was absolutely terrified. I’d never been very trusting as a back seat driver anyway, but that was killing me. On most corners he would end up at least partially on the gravel at the side of the carriageway, where the traction was far worse. I was just about shitting my pants. Paul and myself were exchanging distressed glaces. There was no way we would be able to handle that all the way to Cairns, even though he was in fact going directly to our final destination. That was if he was going to actually make it to Cairns, which seemed dubious, to say the least. A stopover at a hospital along the way seemed far more likely. To make matters worse, he had shared a joint with us, so being totally stoned just magnified the precariousness of the situation, and made it all seem even more wildly dangerous. We had to get out of that car, fast. Luckily, Paul came up with the perfect solution.
‘Hey, stop here! Look! See those dying trees? I would love to get some photos of them.’
Reluctantly the mad man pulled over, he was a guy in a hurry.
‘I don’t want to stop for long. Get some shots, and let’s hit the road again.’
There was no way we were ever getting back into that car. Now it was my turn.
‘While we are here, we can light a fire, and cook up some lunch. I’ve got some sausages.’
That was too much for the speedster. He had already lost enough time. Time that could have been spent racing. His blood was pulsating in his veins.
‘Sorry guys, I’ve got to get going. You’ll have to get another lift.’
The two of us pretended to be surprised, and slightly disappointed by his decision.
‘OK, man, that’s alright, I understand. Anyway, we are not in a hurry. Bye.’ said Paul.
As he screeched off, we both burst out in a relieved laughter.
‘Bloody hell, Paul, well done. Brilliant move. I was shitting my pants.’
‘I have serious doubts whether he will make it to Cairns alive, that guy. Anyway, apart from the fact that I wanted to get out of that car, I really would like to get some photos of these trees.’
I turned my attention to what I had merely thought of as having been only a pretext for escaping the almost certain death awaiting us at the hands of the maniacal driver.
It was an eerie scene. A scene of the gradual approach of an unequivocal death. All the trees of the forest had been ringbarked, a process where a circle of bark is completely cut away, resulting in them slowly dying off. It was a slow, unhurried death, which required little effort on the behalf of the executioner. Little effort, but a lot of patience. The death of the trees took time, a lot of time. I guessed that the land had been destined for cattle use in the future. At that stage the trees were totally dead, but still firmly standing. They were completely devoid of their once flourishing foliage, but still showing the strength of their former glory. Their bare branches were stark, and strange looking, ghostly, as they twisted around in the sunlight. Paul was silently wandering through the trees, taking some photos. Those photos would have been a great reminder of our time together, and of the slow carnage we had been witnessing. That is, if the camera hadn’t been stolen somewhere further along the way. Still, the memory lives. Walking among those monumental testaments to former glory, I felt a sadness that such beauty could be so heartlessly destroyed. Was that the price we had to pay to have our meat available, neatly packaged, in our supermarkets? Was it a price worth paying? The two of us were awed into silence. It felt as if we were walking through a cemetery, surrounded by magnificent Gods of days long past.
After a while, I reluctantly returned to the mundane acts of daily life. Lunch. I got a fire going, and put on some sausages.
‘You know, Paul, I feel a bit guilty eating these sausages. For me to be able to buy these sausages in the supermarket, these trees, and many others like them had to die.’
‘Yeah, I know what you mean. People usually don’t see what happens behind the scenes. They just see the end product. Neatly packaged, showing no signs of the devastation left in its wake. Probably life is all just one big compromise. Maybe we should consider becoming vegetarians? The whole process of killing off the forests, to raise animals, and then killing off the animals, all just to feed us, is pretty horrendous.’
Normally, the two us had plenty to say, but, in that moment, we both just sat staring into the fire, in deep reflection about life’s unforeseen complications.
‘I really like the fact that you are a Kiwi.’ he said eventually.
‘Why’s that, man?’
‘Most Kiwis I have met are nice people, generally nicer than Australians. Over here we have a real redneck culture. One day I would like to head over there. Maybe live there for a while.’
‘I’m sure you’d love it. We have plenty of still untamed forests. Make sure you look me up. You know what would be fun? Doing a tour together of the South Island. It’s incredibly beautiful, and actually fairly devoid of people. It’s like a big national park. There are plenty of wide open spaces, lots of bush walks. It’s all really green, a shade of green you can only find there. Plenty of good scenery for you to practice your photography on. We should really do that. Anyway, I hate to break the mood, but it’s time to get back on the road.’
‘Yeah, I know a good hostel for you. I will take you all the way.’