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Reef and rain forest
Daintree Eco Lodge
Named by Captain James Cook, whose ship was mangled by sharp reefs. The Eco Lodge is in the Greater Daintree Wilderness Area, a lush, steamy rain forest preserve that's a UNESCO World Heritage site. The forest, which contains the genes of the earth's first flowering plants, is thought to derive from Gondwana, the 110-million-year-old supercontinent that once joined land masses in the southern hemisphere. Today, as tourists flock to the spot where the continents came apart and Cook reluctantly landed, the appellation he gave the place seems inappropriate.
"We're sorry it's raining," said the desk clerk when I checked in. "Isn't this the rain forest?" I replied. The Eco Lodge, established in 1993, was one of the first resorts to lodge guests in the rain forest (in 15 treetop-style villas, no less). By working closely with local Aboriginal people, the lodge also spurred the area's cultural tourism. I took a guided walk with Linc, a sweet guy who showed me how to distinguish wild ginger from wild garlic and a termites' nest from a nest of medicinal green ants, the sniffing of which is said to clear a stuffy nose. In other ways, the rain forest is unforgiving. The lodgings now show their age, reflecting the difficulties of maintenance in a hot, humid climate.
From my villa built on stilts, I went to the spa, where Kelda Maloney, the "director of tranquility," recommended a rainlike Vichy shower on a wooden table carved into the shape of a ylang-ylang leaf. The simultaneous spraying from several jets felt like the work of three massage therapists.
That evening I headed back into the outdoors. "Is that a log? It's probably another log that just looks like a crocodile," I said to Dan Irby, whose teeny boat carried us down the saltwater Daintree River on a twilight wildlife-spotting trip. Truth be told, I'd thought I'd signed up for the Australian wine and cheese cruise in a canopy-covered boat. Instead, I found myself in a slow-moving open-air trawler, deliberately seeking out crocodiles like Steve, the crazy crocodile hunter on Animal Planet. And then I spotted a real one. I knew so because Dan quickly backed up the boat that he'd nearly docked on the tiny beach.
He explained to his frightened passengers that crocs are generally lazy; they store up their energy for one big kill and otherwise lie in wait, ideally on a sun-warmed shore, for an unwitting animal to wander their way. And they move faster in water, which was less pleasant to learn, since that's where we were. The croc must have already eaten, though. He didn't follow us.
As dusk fell, drama gave way to calm, as we appreciated the river's simple beauty: Mangroves and their aerial roots were mirrored with astonishing clarity in reflections along the water's edge. More than a dozen mullet fish, excited by our spotlight, sprang out of the water, splashing us and once knocking into our boat, causing another woman and me to grab onto each other for dear life.
We saw flying foxes (fruit bats) sail over our heads to feed, and after dark we spotted several sleeping fairy warblers, each tiny beak tucked into a fluffy wing. One after another was balanced on the edge of a flimsy branch; should a predator approach, I learned, the bird will detect its weight and make a getaway. Our guide also pointed out a white-tail rat, a nocturnal and endangered forest creature, and a tiny white-lipped tree frog. Although they weren't kangaroos or ostriches, I felt I'd seen what Dan could: Australia's overlooked and underrated wild creatures.
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