Some island destinations off Queensland are just tropical clichés, but the Fraser Coast has an adventurous Aussie spirit all its own.
“Don’t worry, as we get closer to the island the water gets bluer,” explains our bus driver, who is shuttling us from the River Heads Ferry Terminal to the barge that will take us to Fraser Island.
He has noticed some concerned expressions as we pass the mouth of the Mary River where it flows into the Great Sandy Strait south of Hervey Bay. Many aboard hail from the UK and the river’s gravy-coloured waters are disturbingly reminiscent of the Thames back home.
Fraser Island
The water does become bluer during our 50-minute trip across the strait, but it’s a visual reminder that, while Fraser Island might be off the coast of Queensland, it’s more than 800km south of the Whitsundays and has a sub-tropical rather than tropical climate.
We disembark at Kingfisher Bay Resort, which is on the south-western side of the island, and take the golf-cart train to reception. This is my son’s undisputed highlight of the trip and he’s still talking about the “green bus” a week later.
Whereas many Whitsundays resorts are about landscaping, luxury and coral reefs, Kingfisher feels like a tropical resort dropped into the Australian bush. On arrival, we follow a timber boardwalk to our room, get settled, and then head back to the bar for some afternoon refreshment (it’s late February and, in summer, sub-tropical feels decidedly tropical).
Once we’ve quenched our thirsts, my wife buys some provisions at the little shopping village across from reception while the kids enjoy the nearby play equipment.
Dinner at Maheno Restaurant is to the raucous accompaniment of wallum rocketfrogs, and we spot one of the amphibious choir by the pool. He isn’t fazed as we approach for a closer look; in fact, we get so close we can see his vocal sac ballooning in and out with each note.
On our way to breakfast the next morning we encounter a lace monitor sauntering away into the scrub. It’s another reminder that Fraser Island is largely ‘untamed’. We’re about to find out just how untamed as we join ranger Megan Wilson for a personal tour of the island. Megan left her hometown of Broken Hill at 19 and tried living in the Thredbo area for a while before finally discovering home and happiness on Fraser. She knows every square inch of the island and can rattle off facts and figures about its history, geography and wildlife.
The animals everyone wants to know about, of course, are the dingoes. These days, Fraser’s resorts are fenced off, the island’s dingo population is closely monitored, and visitors are adjured not to leave food lying around, which can attract the animals and lead to dangerous encounters.
“I think there are about four or five campgrounds that are fenced, and the others are open, so anyone with children up to 14 are recommended going in the fenced camping areas,” Megan explains.
Some of what she knows she has learned from the indigenous Butchulla people. While we’re at Central Station, a large sand fly lands on her leg. One well-timed slap later and she’s pulling it apart to reveal a sac of golden fluid that apparently has a sweet taste (I take Megan’s word for this). She also regales us with the tale of how K’gari (the island’s Indigenous name is pronounced “gurri”) got its European name.
Captain James Fraser, perhaps not the most competent of seafarers, managed to run aground near Gladstone and he, his wife Eliza, and the crewmen who decided not to mutiny spent a torrid time in lifeboats before landing on K’gari quite by accident.
“He had an argument with one of the Aboriginal men one day,” Megan explains, “and he was speared and consequently died of those injuries because he was quite sickly at the time anyway. Eliza ended up being the only survivor. She was rescued by a search party and had stayed on the island with the Butchulla for quite a few weeks.”
However, according to Megan, when Eliza arrived back in England and told others about her experience on Great Sandy Island (as it was briefly known), the story seemed to be different every time.
The first instance she recounted Fraser’s death, he was speared below the shoulder and died eight or nine days later. Another account said the spear went right through him from front to back and he died that day. “So it’s hard to say what happened during that time. That’s when it started to be referred to as Fraser’s Island,” says Megan.
A futile search for Fraser’s grave following his death in 1836 kicked off the island’s logging industry. While Fraser’s encounter was inauspicious, some white loggers later established good relations with the Butchulla people.
In the 1860s, two ‘timber getters’, Pat Seary and George Dempster, brought their wives to live on the island, traded tea and flour for fish and crabs, and even organised friendly boxing matches with the Butchulla.
The sand tracks that cross Fraser Island are remnants of the timber industry that once thrived here, taking advantage of the island’s wide variety of trees suitable for construction and woodworking.
In later years, its satinay trees became particularly sought after for marine applications, such as for ship masts and jetties, because the timber is resistant to marine borers.
It was famously used in building the Suez Canal and reconstructing the London Docks after World War II. Believe it or not, there was even a light rail system on Fraser that ran on wooden tracks and carried lumber out to the coast.
For our second night on Fraser we eat at the Sand Bar and Bistro, the place to go if you have kids. Skill testers, air hockey, whack-a-mole and loads of other games keep the rugrats entertained, while simple and delicious staples like pizza and fish ‘n’ chips suit younger palates.
This article was originally published in the Open Road magazine.
