After a pretty fun first day, I wake up full of beans after what was, all things considered, a fairly decent night sleep in a swag, only to find a second, much bigger python about six feet away from where I’m sleeping. Everyone said it was much bigger than the first one but I’m pretty sure it was the exact same one because what are the chances of there being two pythons in the same place and it turns out pretty fucking high because I’ve checked the photos and they’re totally two different pythons and what the fuck would I know?
The plan for the day was to head off to an Island called Maslins and while I don’t usually get my kit off I figured when in Rome and all that, and it was just good fortune I found out it was actually Massillon Island before things got really awkward.
We shot out there in no time and at this point I’m still thinking this island hopping thing is all pretty relaxed and cruisey and seriously, spoiler alert, what the fuck would I know?
We take the gaiters supplied in anticipation of getting off on an island that is apparently crawling with tiger snakes even though I’m not entirely sure snakes crawl. Perhaps it’s slithering with them and all I can think about is that scene in Indiana Jones and you know what? Fuck. That.
In any case, we end up not being able to get off for some reason or other that I don’t really even know or care about because I am literally zero percent disappointed that I don’t have to test how snake-proof my gaiters are, or how poo proof my pants are, because, obviously. Although I do start to wonder if I can have an entire outfit made out of the same stuff they make the gaiters out of. Perhaps not and maybe it’s the same reason they don’t make entire planes out of the same stuff the black box is made out of. But who really knows? Not me.
We pass a section of the island that shall be henceforth known as Shit Rock and fuck me there was a lot of shit there. As in, an inordinate amount of shit. Especially considering those birds aren’t that big. There’s possibly literally centuries of shit. And sure, ‘Shit Rock’ isn’t the most imaginative name going around but if they can call eagles that live near the sea and have a white belly White Bellied Sea Eagles, I can call it Shit Rock.
Speaking of, we see a couple more White Bellied Sea Eagles which I am super excited about, and I do more wee in my pants, and actually, maybe that’s why we don’t end up going on the island – not because of my mild, excitement induced incontinence, but because the sea eagles are endangered and we have the fun police with us AKA Ranger Shelley who says we basically can’t go anywhere near anything ever. But not really, Shelley was awesome, but not as awesome as White Bellied Sea Eagles.
Instead we end up dropping anchor in a small bay where there’s an Osprey nest, and a couple of seals come out to say “hi” or perhaps they’re actually saying “what the fuck are you doing here?” because they don’t seem overly impressed that we’d like to share their nice little bay for a bit. The captain’s deck hand starts making hot dogs before they realise there’s no hot dog rolls and they only have wraps instead so everyone ends up having Wrap Dogs which sounds much better when you say it because it sounds like Rap Dogs and the potential for things to go a bit gangster is high. But instead, everyone just drinks wine and enjoys the view.
After lunch we head back around the back side of the island we’re staying on and yes, I just said back side, he he he, and we see another White Bellied Sea Eagle, I get another shit photo, and I start to wonder how the fuck they’re endangered because there’s more of them than pythons out here. After the previous day’s practise I realise I’m still no good at taking pics of birds from a moving boat.
We get back to camp and I decide to go for a quick snorkel but actually I’m a bit scared so am pretty relieved when Ranger Shelley decides to join me so at least now I’m down to a 50/50 chance of being eaten by a shark. Because it’s a marine park and no one except the local dolphins, sea lions, Ospreys, White Bellied Sea Eagle and various other predators are allowed to fish there, we see heaps of massive fish including some ginormous Gropers. Ranger Shelley later explains how the top dog Groper is a bloke (obviously, because like Trump he likes to… oh, never mind) and he’s blue, and all the other Gropers are green and female, but if Gropey old Bluey carks it, the next most senior female green groper gets a lobotomy, loses the ability to multi task, and become a male blue groper and what. the actual. fuck. I’m still not entirely sure Ranger Shelley wasn’t just taking the piss, but whatever.
We see a pod of dolphins coming our way so I get my GoPro ready and hit record to film what is about to be the experience of a lifetime as they swim all around us. In my excitement, I apparently press something other than the record button which is pretty impressive considering there’s literally only one button on a GoPro. Instead, I end up recording some water for a grand total of literally one second and please kill me now. Not one single shot of the dolphins. Thankfully, Ranger Shelley gets some video and I post it to social media pretending it’s mine so I don’t look like such a massive loser.
Ranger Shelley wears a wetsuit because she’s a ranger and she’s smart and knows how to operate a GoPro and I wear my board shorts and two weeks later am still hoping my nuts reappear at some stage.
That evening we sit on the hill top in the cold with our hoods on and I think how that would make a great name for a rap band. That may or may not be eating rap dogs. We wait for the hundreds of thousands of shearwaters to come back to roost at sunset and again see pretty much fuck all and I’m now 100% convinced Rod the tour guy was on a different island when he filmed all those birds a week earlier. We discuss all sorts of theories about how maybe it’s the wind or the this or the that, but honestly, none of us know shit. So the ladies just drink more wine and I’m pretty sure if they had to choose between shearwaters and bottles of wine I know which way they’re going.
It’s at about this point we start to see the forecast for the next few days is looking absolutely shithouse and there’s some early talk about not being able to get back to the mainland as scheduled because of wild wind and seas and I start to hate my friend Kelly for inviting me in the first place.
I go to sleep and dream about Gilligan’s Island and wonder which one I’d be and figure it’s probably Ginger.
YOU CAN READ CHAPTER THREE NOW
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