Eventually we get Bruce’s paperwork sorted; transfer documents from Victorian number plates (nothing to do with William Morris or tapestry, but ones that originate from the State at the bottom of Oz) to Queensland ones: the Sunshine State! We say goodbye to Michelle and Andy from Lancs and take their, now our, Bruce for his first drive in far north Queensland. Just out of Cairns, Raz asks if we will see a kangaroo today. I’m about to say we might see one as it gets dark, then as we glance to our right and see a field full of them just hanging out in the late afternoon sun.
The Cook Highway takes us into sugar cane country where the landscape is empty and horizontal. We cross the Daintree River (poor little Elmo) and drive on to Cape Tribulation, or Cape Trib as they all call it in these parts. Anything with more than a couple of syllables doesn’t stand a chance here.
Although Bruce is clearly not a natural Australian by birth; being a Toyota Hiace Hightop, he has lived much of his life in 5th gear on the Bruce Highway; so if not Australian by nature, he is certainly by nuture. He has nocks and crannies best suited to beer, bananas, sunscreen, yabbie bait, board wax and a mozzie net. Five of us live, eat and sleep in Bruce: 2 up top, digs and me below and either Bear or Magi in the wombat hole – the void under our bed - with their head poking ou
|Bruce waiting to cross on the Daintree River Ferry.|
|Bear keeps banging his head as he gets in and out of the van and says "Bruce is hurting me!"|