Turns out that Jim had the day off work, picked me up and took me to his house. No fuss made. Coffee was quickly sourced and went some way to extinguishing a hangover made up more of total lack of sleep than too many to drink the night before (though it certainly contributed) and plans were made to go out for a snorkel pretty much immediately. My experiences with snorkelling have been mixed. For the most part, my efforts were from when I was too young to remember, too hairy to make a clean seal on the mask or too drunk/hungover to not panic at being underwater and/or maybe vomit down the snorkel. When Jim gently inquired about my swimming ability and confidence with snorkelling, I kept close enough to the truth with, "sure, I've done it before, I shouldn't have any dramas".
We stopped at a bay in Cape Range National Park which was spectacular enough from the shore.
Wading out leaving Sal and Zach behind, I submerged in about three feet of water to see schools of fish - well beyond bait fish size - frolicking around no more than five feet away from me. This would be pretty much par for the course for the following five days. The swimming and snorkelling all occurred drama free and we headed out toward the reef where we'd find a couple of bombies, an awful lot more fish and most excitingly for me, a shark. It's hard to say exactly what sort of thoughts were going through my head at the time, but let's say it was curiosity that drove me to swim after it. Maybe it was the same sort of curiosity that they endorse when getting "close" to surfers.
"Bet you never thought you'd chase a shark around a reef on your first day, eh Cam?"
No, Jim; I really can't say that I did.
A second swim at a bay a bit further north had a greater practical purpose; Sal had charged us with catching her dinner, something that we didn't do so well with. Regardless, meat appeared on a hot plate and we each drank enough to kill a small mammal. Day 1 was a success.
Friday morning we ducked out for breakfast and again, it was coffee that stymied any unpleasant feelings about the night before. With Zach in daycare and Sal at work, we were left to our own devices for the day. I'd made it clear to Jim some time before that I'd like to spend some time on the ranges in the national park instead of just the water. At sometime just before midday with expectations somewhere between my mostly fond memories of Charles Knife Canyon and Jim's much less fondly regarded memories of its neighbour Shothole Canyon, a lot of the hard work was done by the car instead of any serious bush clobbering on foot. A couple of hours were passed just taking in the canyon (still fondly regarded by myself and much more warmly received by Jim than I suspect he anticipated) and it wasn't until mid afternoon that we descended and just pissed the rest of the afternoon around in a haze of booze, RC helicopter smoke and talking shit.
The following two days marked a return to the water. At times it felt as though Jim was pressing me into abandoning the terrestrial altogether and at times it was truly hard not to be swayed. Whale sharks, leopard sharks, turtles, dolphins, countless fish and just general aquatic excellence make a compelling case for never going home. Twice, I was the last out of the water and on one occasion it took the threat of being left behind to really accelerate my departure.
It was tough to tell who was trying to impress who more. Jim and his colleagues who were inimitably impassioned by all things marine (plus a more than able supporting cast of marine animals) or me with a bit more of a bookish and investigatory appreciation of the land component of the Cape Range National park. With little fear of overstatement, it felt as though we were both prospering from each other's proclivities and interests.
Rounding out the trip was a no holds barred night that started with bloody mary shots loaded with oysters. How it finished is a little beyond me, but I finally got the hangover I really deserved before heading home...
