Aussie Nasties
I realize that over the course of my Australian blogs I've mentioned numerous creatures you would not like to meet on your travels. I hope I haven't put any of you off from venturing to this extraordinary part of the world. The chances are, unless you go out of your way to do so, i.e., a trip to the zoo, a foolish dip in a remote estuary, you won't. There are actually very few deaths per year caused by "the nasties." This low number is most likely due to awareness and a high level of emergency response. Here are a few stats on average deaths per year related to particular creatures and other causes. I hope they will put things in perspective:
Crocs: 2
Sharks: 2
Jellyfish: 2
Cassowari 0 (though a teen recently died after taunting one)
Horses: 20
Drownings: 300
Car accidents: 1700
However, "a high level of emergency response" tells you that there are a lot of life threatening encounters! And from what I've learned, they've got to be painful!
The following are a couple more "nasties" I could have encountered at Four Mile Beach:
The Stonefish
Named for an ability to camouflage itself by looking like a piece of rock, the stonefish is equipped with sharp spikes all around. If you step on one you will not die, but apparently people have found the pain so excruciating that they beg to have the afflicted body part cut off. If you think that this creature's life as a fish prevents an onshore sting, you're wrong! This versatile fish is capable of remaining alive on the beach over twenty-four hours. Wear shoes!
The Blue Bottle Jellyfish
Referred to by Australians as "blueies," they are what I grew up knowing as the Portuguese Man o' War. Deaths can occur but they are rare. Annually, it stings about ten thousand Australian beach goers. A sting usually causes fever, shock and, occasionally, it hampers your heart function and makes a temporary muddle of your respiratory system.
The Lion's Mane Jellyfish
The Lion's Mane's sting doesn't hold a candle to other jellies I've listed in this and other blogs. But these are my favorite not only because of their lack of potency in the venom department, but because of the more intimate name the Australians have invented for them. If I had a photo of one to post here, you would immediately understand why they are called by this nickname. On second thought, perhaps just seeing the name in print will be enough of a visual cue. They are known as the snotties.
I just came across this YouTube, which will give you an idea how aggressive cassowaries can be. National Geographic ranks it as the world's most dangerous bird:
As for drownings, they are not only caused by people who simply can't swim, but by notorious rip currents, or what the Australians refer to as rippies. In 1967 Australia lost a prime minister to one. Harold Holt, an accomplished swimmer and diver, went into the ocean one morning never to return. This was the 1960s when Australia and a number of other nations, the U.S. included, had a more than rocky relationship with China. A number of Australians thought Mr. Holt had been abducted by a Chinese submarine. But, no, it was later concluded that it had likely been a rippie.
Of course, rip tides are a world-wide hazard, but Australia's rippies are known to be about as bad they can get. Here is a YouTube presented by Dr. Rob Brander, professor at the University of New South Wales. He explains the nature of the beast and how to tame it:
Salties and freshies (salt and fresh water crocodiles), jellies, blueies, snotties, mozzies (mosquitoes), and rippies--what's with all these diminutives? You might remember from language class that diminutives reduce an object or person in size but also often ascribe feelings of affection, intimacy, and endearment to the diminutive named. It's as if all these fearsome creatures and forces have been invited into the nursery and, by being invited, have been rendered less fearsome, even endearing, to the Australians, like stuffed animals. I wonder if this is a way of coping with the real threat to life they present to Australians. My guess is yes. After all, 94% of the population lives along the coast--a very long coast.
Leaving On A Jet Plane
The next day I flew from Cairns to Sydney--3 hours--but had a wonderful companion sitting next to me, a psychologist from Wellington, New Zealand. We talked about Aborigine issues contrasted with the indigenous New Zealand Maoris, and also about Australian and New Zealand accents, not dissimilar to the differences between Canadian and American English. She, too, had just snorkeled the Great Barrier Reef. Her daughter rode horses growing up.
Meeting wonderful people (as I did on this trip) is for me one of the greatest pleasures in traveling. But it also brings sadness. I would like to get to know those people better, spend time, experience things in their company, but time, distance, home obligations, and the fact that Father Time has it in for me sooner rater than later makes all this unlikely.
When I landed at Sydney I took a cab to a grubby hotel where I spent the night. My flight was not until the next morning and my New Zealand friend urged me to take a harbor tour of Sydney. But no, nervousness about taking that long flight and memories of my miserable DFW airport experience made me determined to stay put. The only place I went was a local convenience store to buy something to eat. I walked past shabby houses surrounded by metal typhoon fences. Most yards contained scraps of errant litter and the occasional unfriendly dog.
The offerings were slim to none. I bought a small pack of nuts, a stale Krispy Kreme doughnut, and a beer. To give you an idea about the sort of place I was temporarily residing, the store's most prominently displayed magazine was entitled "Zoo" but did not feature stories on Jack Hanna or Australia's late lamented Steve Irwin on its cover. Instead, the banner read, "How To Download Free Sex Apps." I will spare you a description of the babe on the cover.
That evening I wrote more notes in my iPad about the trip. For all that I've written about Australia's somewhat unwelcoming natural environment--those nasties--I really enjoyed my adventure tremendously. In the early seventies, just back from Japan, I drove with my mother to Nova Scotia, where she had spent summers as a young girl. I was fresh out of a frenetic city of millions (Tokyo). Though I usually loved being in rural areas, I found Cape Breton, with the exception of the Cabot trail, just too pastoral for my blood. There had to be better things to do than gaze at cows and go to strawberry fests at local churches. (I probably also wanted to get away from my mother.) So, I caught a ferry to rocky, hardscrabble Newfoundland and had a lot of fun. I even attended a fishing exhibition where I was able to translate Japanese for a Canadian concern trying to sell equipment to a Japanese fishing company. It was strange, speaking Japanese in a Canadian province whose English--vocabulary, and accent--were akin to the English spoken at the time of Shakespeare.
So, for me, Queensland--with its striking tropical beauty, amazing Great Barrier Reef, and wildness--was right up my alley. And, as you saw by the stats, chances of death by the Aussie Nasties, in actuality, are slight. As I read over my notes, I thought of those I was unlikely to see again but for whom I felt attachment and affection, from the baker who wrapped up my Lamingtons to the hunch-backed young man at the small Port Douglas pharmacy who loved to talk about Christmas and scrap booking. I'd had a remarkable trip, spent quality time with my high quality son, and learned--not enough--but a lot.
After being by myself for five days after my son left, in another full day and a half I would be back in the company of those I loved and who loved me. And I would also be with my wonderful horses and dogs.
When I was in the third grade our music teacher taught us "The Kookaburra Song." I had no idea what a Kookaburra was or where it lived, but my classmates and I loved that song. It was written by Australian Marion Sinclair in 1932. Here's the first stanza, which I am sure many of you--at least, many of you my age--will recall.
Kookaburra sits in the old gum tree,
Merry, merry king of the bush is he.
Laugh, Kookaburra, laugh Kookaburra,
Gay your life must be.
I will leave you now with a YouTube of a real Kookaburra "laughing":
See you soon, and thank you for reading The Windflower Weekly--
Ainslie
Sources:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Synanceia
http://www.australianfauna.com/bluebottlejellyfish.php
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Lion%27s_mane_jellyfish
http://www.bobinoz.com/migration-advice/australias-killer-creatures-the-truth-about-deaths/
http://alldownunder.com/oz-u/songs/kookaburra-song-9.htm
Links:
http://www.amazon.com/Trophies-An-Equestrian-Romance-ebook/dp/B00998J2B2
http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-kaleidoscope-pony-ainslie-sheridan/1114272809?ean=2940015948592
http://www.allhorsestuff.com/
http://www.facebook.com/YonkersShelter
http://www.saveyourassrescue.org/foradoption.html
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