Meanderings ~ Not all who wander are lost: Rock-tober 04, 2022

At the end of 2014, Andrea and I did Christmas and New Years exploring along Australia's east coast. For a good portion of our time, we were in Newcastle, about 2 hours north of Sydney. Every day was a mini adventure as we scouted nature parks, beaches, and local pubs. Conversations were easy, as I found Aussies to be as laid back as I imagined them to be. I was reveling in being fully immersed in that distinctive accent and found the locals genuinely curious about this Asian guy who talked like a Yank.

It wasn't just the townsfolk who had their own distinctive sound. Our hotel backed onto a nature preserve, and one evening while enjoying the view from our balcony, a cacophony of noise welled up from the forest below. The sound was familiar but still jarring, almost inhumanly creepy. Andrea and I just looked at each other, a shared "What the hell was that?" look passing between us. It turned out to be a flock of kookaburras settling in for the evening.

One day we decided to make a day of hiking a state park and spending the afternoon at the adjoining beach. We made our way to the trailhead and checked the map. A rabbit's warren of trails splintered off from the starting point, but the route we wanted seemed straightforward enough.

"X" marks the destination.

We set out. For a while, forks in the path came when expected while markers confirmed we were on course. And then we weren't. The first inkling of trouble was finding ourselves back at a trail marker we'd passed some 20 minutes prior. Annoyed with my orienteering skills, Andrea set out on a different fork, "I told you it was this way!" Only it wasn't. We found ourselves back at the same trail marker. We'd been lost for the better part of an hour, with the sun overhead it was sweltering, and we were getting swarmed by buzzing gnats.

So near, and yet, so far.

It was then I remembered all the stories of everything in Australia that can kill you. It may be true that we didn't have to worry about lions, tigers, and bears, but the eastern brown snake has the 2nd most toxic venom in the world. Their bite can drop you in minutes. The highly aggressive bull ant will latch on to you with its pincer-like mandibles and sting you repeatedly. All the guide books say don't let them jump on you. Wha? Jumping mutant-jawed, stinging ants? Even the cute, cuddly kangaroo can eviscerate you with its kick.

While Andrea mopped her brow and berated our combined failed sense of direction, I'm doing threat assessments of literally everything that moves in a 3-foot radius. Then we hear it. A few yards away, something was tromping through the bush making a continuous garbled noise. It was so like the movies with the high grass and branches swaying from side to side as something was forcing its way through. Suddenly it burst into our little clearing. "It" turned out to be a guy who might've just stepped off the set of Crocodile Dundee. Tall, lanky, and dressed in safari shorts, a short-sleeved shirt, and a bush hat, Dude was packing an overstuffed rucksack that rose a good foot above his head. The garbled noise we heard was an AM radio dangling from a carabiner off his kit playing some Aussie talk show.

He was as surprised by us as we were by him. "Crikey! Yous near had me packing my dacks. Out for a walkabout, are ya?"

I had no response. Not wanting Dude to realize he'd stumbled across two completely discombobulated tourists, I hastily shut my gaping mouth and managed a simple, "Um, yeah, we're making for the beach but must have missed a turn."

"Awww. No worries, mate, she'll be all right." He then gave detailed instructions on how to trek across the remainder of park and finished with, "And Bob's your uncle."

I was still having difficulty processing his appearance while simultaneously running a mental Aussie to Yank translation of his directions but recovered sufficiently, "Thanks, man. We really appreciate the assist!"

"No worries! G'day mates!" He then stepped back into the bush and was instantly gone from view. As the noise of his radio trailed off, the only thing marking his passage was the swaying grasses and branches as he passed below.

Andrea and I just stood as another, "What the hell was that?" look passed between us. We eventually did make it to the beach, and it was definitely worth the effort.