Kangaroo Island

Daniel woke us early as promised the next morning and took us for a bit of a bushwalk to look at koalas which were still a bit active, but just about to settle down for their nap.  Apparently "koala" in Aborigine means "no water" because they drink only kahlua - no, hang on - that's Caro.  

The reason koalas don't drink is because they get all their nutrients from eucalyptus leaves.  A diet purely of eucalyptus means two things; firstly it means your farts will smell like Vick's Sinex and secondly it means that you'll spend most of your time digesting and so won't want to move around a lot (much like when you eat a deep-fried meat pie and chips).  

So the koalas are fairly sedentary little creatures who sleep for about 20 hours a day, and the other four hours eating.  A lot like myself now that I think of it.  
 
So we walked amongst the trees, trying our best to spot the furry little bottoms in the branches, saying "Awwwwww!!!" when we saw babies clinging to their mother's backs and taking loads of pictures.  Daniel pointed out that it was only one koala per tree as they are quite agressive little things.  "They look mellow, but they're actually really naughty," as he put it.  The koala population has gone through the roof in Kangaroo Island as their only predator is the Wedge-Tailed Eagle, as a result the conservation authorities are trying to give the koalas birth control, but it doesn't seem to be having any effect.  Maybe they're all Catholic or something.
 
We left the koalas as they settled down for a kip; but not before Daniel had informed Caro that she could take koala poo as a souvenir if she wanted, "It's all free," he added helpfully.
 
The next stop was a field of roos and Cape Barren Geese who, like the rest of the wildlife on Kangaroo Island, were confident enough to come up and say hi to us.  The rule is, they're allowed to touch you, but you can't touch them - otherwise the animals would start associating humans with food and scritchies and it's best if they continue to view people as just rather odd-looking animals that sort of wobble along on the landscape, taking pictures and eating Daniel's cookies.
 
Daniel also took us to one of the more impressive local landmarks, The Remarkable Rocks ("And don't fall off the edge".)  These are rock formations, battered by the wind which Mother Nature has sculpted into shapes so unusual as to say, "See??  Fucking Henry MOORE is it???  Art is it???  I dinnae fucking think so!!"  
 
Seriously, they are quite striking.  And Matisse, as an Austrian, had to climb to the very top of them.  "Oh you LUNATIC!!!" said Daniel, quite delighted.  "Quick!  Let me take some pictures for my brochure!!  Sell the rock baby!!!  No, don't take your glasses off!!  You're beautiful!!"
 
"He cracks me up," said Caro, "he's just this old hippy."
 
He was too.  Daniel, it turned out was an ex-stockbroker who, having made his fortune, came to watch the birds on Kangaroo Island and just never left.  He was like this surfer dude hippy guy who took great interest in New Zealand's bird life.
 
"Have you been to the South Island?" he asked Caro.  When she replied in the negative, he hit her with his coat.  In the words of the Rough Guide to Australia, Daniel is "voluble and enthusiastic" and full of fun, this I can confirm.  As when Caro knelt down on the Remarkable Rocks next to me and he shouted across, "Look out!  She's going to propose!!"

He seemed quite put out that she didn't.  "A Canadian guy once proposed to his girlfriend on the tour, but she turned him down.  It's all very disappointing."
 
Next we were taken to see fur seals at Admiral's Cove, an amazing rock formation they live in.  It's basically a rocky cove, with a huge arch of rock over the top and stalagmites hanging down.  (Is that right?  I can never remember).  The seals couldn't care less about us tourists cooing over them, as a pup ARF-ed loudly and a huge male threatened to squash him.  Then Daniel informed us we would be going for a closer look.  In order to do this we had to go down a cliff that was, "a bit steep".  

A bit SHEER is how I would put it, and as me and Caro slid down the scree the rather unpleasant realisation that we would have to go back UP was in the back of our minds.  I just hoped there was an escalator or something.
 
So anyway, we got to the bottom of the cliff, where Daniel informed us that the rocks were sharp, so be careful, and watch out for seals - and oh - the waves were quite rough so try not to be washed off the rocks and JEEESUS as a wave crashed over my legs and I clutched onto a rock to stop myself from slipping and sliced some skin off my hand.  
 
However, it was worth it - as just two feet away from me two fur seal pups played in the surf.  It seemed incredible that they weren't bashed against the rocks, but Daniel explained how the water acted as a cushion and how - SPLOSH -
 
Another wave.  Right over me.
 
"We'd better go," said Daniel.  "It looks like rain."  Like that really made any difference to me in my soaking and shrinking underpants.
 
So back we go up the sheer face of this bloody cliff like Tom Cruise in "Mission: Impossible 2".  Of course, Matisse and the Japanese skipped up the rocks like fucking mountain fucking goats while I struggled behind Caro with my face as red as a baboon's arse that's just been paddled by a Swedish dominatrix and my thighs begging me to stop, to sit down and let nature take its course.  

I suppose the reason it was more of an effort for me is that while the others were jumping up and over rocks, I was doing the whole two-hands-two-feet-and-a-bottom-way of making SURE that I was secure before progressing.  The reason for this is simple; I KNOW me.  I'm a clod.  If there's a stone, I'll trip on it; if there's a rope, I'll get tangled in it; and if the cat's been sick on the carpet, I'll plant my bare foot squarely in it.  It's The Law of Symon and I don't mess with it.  Consequently, it was a bit of a struggle to get up the cliff and would've taken longer if I'd thought to bring crampons.
 
"Go on without me," I wanted to say, but Caro struggled gamely on and so must I.  Eventually we made it back to the van, chests heaving and struggling for breath.  This nature stuff is far better experienced via "Wildlife on One".  Trust me.
 
From there we went on to Little Sahara which is a wandering sand dune that has been making its way from the west of the island to the east at the rate of 5 inches a year, which is almost as sluggish as a group of people dancing to a Leonard Cohen record.  I dragged myself to the top of the dune where the wind whipped the grains up until I felt like I was being sandblasted.  Then Daniel produced his sandboard.
 
Oh no.
 
The Japanese were first up.  Itoshi was pretty cool, but the younger ones were like puppies, excitable and bouncing about.  However, none of them could really handle the board, as the principle is entirely different to snowboarding.  But what Daniel REALLY wanted was for The Kiwi to have a go.  Now I have to admit here that I missed her moment as I was taking off my boots as Caro dashed off with the sandboard.  All I heard was the "Oooooooooooh!" as she athletically SURFED THE DUNE, MAN.  
 
Fortunately, she had done this before as a girl and was a bit of a diva.  Unfortunately, her audience put her off and I turned around just in time to see Caro's arse hanging in mid-air as she did a somersault and plunged headfirst into the sand.
 
"Whoooo!!  That's the MOST SPECTACULAR spill ever!!!" cried Daniel in appreciation.
 
I complained to Caro that she could at least have waited for me to get my camera out, but she explained that was she "in The Zone".  "You were EXTREME, man," added Daniel.
 
I too had a bit of a go, but didn't fall as spectacularly as Caro, falling sensibly onto my arse and depositing half the sand dune into my daks.  By the time we got back to the van, both arsecheeks had been effectively exfoliated.  But Caro had sand EVERYWHERE, up her nose, in her ears, in her hair - we were finding sand for WEEKS later.  Giving her a hug was like cuddling an Emery board.  
 
After this, we needed to do something a bit more sedate and Daniel kindly took us back to his farm, to cook us up a bit of Bush Tucker.  As you may recall, I have this whole Bush Tucker Man fetish, in which I stride through the outback, eating things and saying that they taste a bit like bread.  Most of you don't understand my obsession.  The rest of you don't care.  But the point is, I was very excited as we strode through the woods next to Daniel's farm to retrieve some yabbies (freshwater crayfish) from a trap he had placed in the nearby creek.  

Unfortunately, he had only managed to snare a few of the little fellers, and they weren't worth eating.  I had salad instead.
 
Refreshed, Daniel took us out to see some sealions which fortunately for me were lounging about on a beach that didn't require mountaineering skills to get to.  

Again, they didn't fuss about our group milling amongst them, although I would SWEAR they know when you're taking a picture, as they tend to turn to you, flop over onto their sides, open those big brown eyes and flap their eyelashes.  These guys were CUTE, and they knew it.  Daniel explained, in hushed David-Attenborough tones about the behaviour of the sealions, how the beach was divided up amongst the males, how they demonstrated and fought for their individual patches, and how high the rate of sealion pup mortality was. 

You could see it yourself actually, as previous year's pups come back to feed from their mothers (recognising them by sound and smell) if the current season's pup has died.  There were an awful lot of VERY mature pups getting a free feed.  "It might seem cruel," said Daniel, "but the population is stable, so we don't interfere."  Matisse the Austrian said their life looked quite idyllic, lying there on the hot sand.  "Well, I'm sure a sealion would say the same about Austrians," replied Daniel, "if he could see you in bed at 3am."
 
We left the sealion beach, for a brief spot of pelican watching, then we followed a few more wallabies hopping about while the sun went down.  It was all very peaceful, and I would've felt very At One With Nature if it wasn't for the fact that I had been paranoid about sitting on a spider ever since landing in Australia.  

On our way back to the van, we came across a mating pair of penguins, squawking away.  "They're saying, 'Stop watching us having sex!'" explained Daniel.  And that was the end of our trip to Kangaroo Island, and all we had to look forward to was a 3 hour ferry and bus ride back to Adelaide.  But it was TOTALLY worth it.  
 
The next day, upon waking up in Adelaide, I found my legs had completely seized up, and I had to walk stiff-legged to the showers like I had just shit in my pants.  Meanwhile, Caro had hurt her neck due to her spectacular sandboarding adventure.  

So we spent the rest of our time in Adelaide doing very little, hanging out at the backpacker's and watching videos.  This was only partially due to our injuries.  It appears that Adelaide, (the "City of Churches") is quite a religious place and pretty much closed down for Easter.  I had trouble even finding a sandwich shop.  Don't get me wrong, the churches are pretty spectacular, but I don't like any sort of religion that gets in the way of my stomach.  

p.s. Sadly, we heard two years later that Daniel had been drowned just off the Remarkable Rocks, along with another man while trying to save a German tourist who had fallen into the water.  I can’t claim to know Daniel well, but he struck me as a sweet-natured man who genuinely loved nature and I’m very sorry that he’s not with us anymore.