Transformation: The grip of Oz

“You what?” the rest of us responded.

Nigel looked slightly uncomfortable but nodded. “You can lick their bums.”

Mac, who according to his mother never ate anything, was the first to step up. He plucked an ant from the shrub and took a few cautionary licks. Once he got the hang of it, no ant was safe. The rest of us figured if Mac could do it why couldn’t we, and an ant-licking fest was begun. Nigel commented later that he had never been able to get anyone to sample the ants, much less a whole crowd of people. Mob mentality, I suppose. Later that evening, Mac confessed that his tongue had gone a bit numb. He’d overdone it on the ant smorgasbord. Lesson learned: One bum licking is probably enough.

It was difficult to say goodbye to the Whitsundays, but our journey had two more stops before we headed home. We were on our way to Dunk and Bedarra, in the Family Islands.

Just north of the Whitsundays and two miles off the coastal town of Mission Beach, Dunk Island was called Coonanglebah by the Aboriginal people, it was renamed Dunk Island by Captain Cook in honor of the Earl of Halifax, George Montagu Dunk. There is one resort on the island, a small artists’ colony, campgrounds and miles of walking trails; most of Dunk is designated a national park.

Ty Sawyer / Islands Magazine

While on Dunk, we learned of its former famous resident, E.J. Banfield. I immediately felt a kinship with him. In the late 1800s, Banfield had been a newspaper reporter and editor for the Townsville Daily Bulletin of Queensland, and as the demands of his job became more and more taxing, his health began to fail. In 1897, his doctor told him he had only months to live, so a weak and ailing Banfield, with his wife, Bertha, made the dramatic decision to quit everything and move to uninhabited Dunk Island. It is reported that he was so frail when he arrived he literally had to crawl up the beach into the shade while others unloaded his boat. On Dunk, he grew strong and lived for 26 more years, championing wildlife preservation, conservationism and simplicity. Having just begun to emerge from my own state of hyper-stress, I was struck by a quote from Banfield’s book The Confessions of a Beachcomber:

“Better this isolation and moderation in all things than, racked with worries, to moan and fret because of non-success in the ceaseless struggle for riches, or the increase thereof. … These writings are for those who see something in life beyond the mere ‘getting on in the world,’ or making a din in it.”

Ty Sawyer / Islands Magazine

I had lost sight of what was beyond “making a din in” the world. On Dunk, I began to feel the pulse of the Earth.

Later that day, Ty and I hiked through the rain forest. I will never grow tired of places where you can walk out the door and step into a world uninhibited. Birds were calling to each other through the dense foliage — haunting, otherworldly calls — and wild turkeys roamed across our path. The roots of buttress trees rose up around us, twisting and twining through each other in spontaneous sculptures superior to human artistic endeavor. After walking across a suspension bridge, we came across Banfield’s grave, a fitting resting place for the wisest of souls. E.J. Banfield had been a lucky man. He could have died defeated and miserable, but instead he chose to live simply and died, full of years, in a place he dearly loved.

I thought there could be nothing better, but Ty had saved the best for last. We were headed to Bedarra.

A launch service, operated by private and exclusive Bedarra Island, shuttles guests from Dunk to Bedarra. The night before our departure, the normally placid weather in this part of Australia took a turn. It poured rain and the winds began to blow. By the next day, the Family Islands were covered in thick, drenching mist. By the time we reached the jetty, 15 minutes later, we were exhilarated. We were finally on Bedarra.

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