Cooktown

From the festival, we headed back to Cooktown, still dodging rainstorms. The campsite in Cooktown was nice and jungly, with all sorts of contraptions just back from Cape York and covered in red dust.

Bush turkeys were doing their usual zany stuff, like rolling on their side and sunbathing as if dead. Gen found juicy caterpillars with weird red antennae and defended them from the bush turkeys long enough to get pics.

Meanwhile, the mobile seafood van rolled through the site playing the apt tune from the Beatles: I'd like to be beneath the sea in an octopus's garden, that's where I'd like to be.

Dodging showers again, we strolled the botanic gardens with their Victorian charm, then puffed up the Grassy Hill to a splendid lookout.

A quick look at the museum yielded interesting stories from the landing of Captain Cook and insights into the aboriginal view of what happened. Such raw happenings, can only be good that the emphasis nowadays is on reconciliation.

Also exhibited were the salvaged original anchor and cannon from The Endeavour.

The feel of the town is easygoing, open space, strolling through the lovingly set up points of interest along the seashore, including a musical ship.

At one of the shops, a kind of souvenir and anything else place, we meet a red cattledog, clearly in sleek good health, but the grey muzzle and failing hind legs a sign of old age. Toby's owner, Laura Rowe, is the shop owner, a friendly older local selling her book of Cape York adventures from her croc hunting days.

She is now into Reiki healing and recounts when Toby looked like he was on his last legs, she did a reiki session to call in his spirit friends to say goodbye. All the horses, cattle, cats and dogs from his busy past life crowded in around his basket to wish him well. Suddenly there was a whoosh of imbued energy and he jumped up with a burst of vigour, not ready to leave just yet.

Leaving Cooktown, we popped in to Keatings Lagoon with its flowering lilies and delightful path where we were mobbed by enthusiastic mozzies.

Next stop was the Lions Den pub, a favourite stop for those doing the 4wd Bloomfield track along the coast to Cape Tribulation. A lone camel munched nonchalantly in the field next to the pub which is named after an old nearby tin mine.

From there we headed over the Black Mountains, strewn with black boulders.

And on to Farm and campsite at Bustard Downs. Will, the owner, was chatty and showed us where tocamp and where to look for Australian bustards, the heaviest flying bird in the country.

Night time was heaven for bugging. We spotted praying mantis, crickets, and down by the creek some ace spiders, including an orb spider which Robert triggered into a lightning quick abseil when he tickled the web with a leaf.














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Cooktown, Lion's Den, FNQ, Bustard Downs