Hinchinbrook

Hinchinbrook is about half way between Townsville and Cairns in north Queensland

Day 1: Brisbane to Cardwell

It’s 5 a.m., the four of us, Anderson, Pam, Richard, and I, are on our way to the airport for our early morning flight from Brisbane to Townsville. While none of us is a morning person, Pam is having an especially rough time. She had stumbled back at 4 a.m., after a long night of partying to celebrate the end of a rotation. And now the three of us are dragging her, drunk and delirious, through check-in and onto the plane. Two hours later, we land in Townsville.

After picking up some fuel for camping and having a leisurely breakfast, Pam is starting to sober up. We head for the train station for the train up to Cardwell, where the ferry leaves for Hinchinbrook.

Upon boarding the train, we are all pleasantly surprised at how comfortable it is: wide plush seats with a TV for each seat, the train travels so smoothly we can hardly feel it moving. After hanging out at the dining car for a while and watching the scenery go by, we are lulled to a sleep by the slight rocking rhythm of the moving train.

Pam is sober and is on her way to a sugar high

Richard and Anderson are finding something funny

Two-and-half hours later, we arrive at the tiny town of Cardwell. After settling in at a backpacker’s hostel and getting some last-minute groceries for the walk, we spend the rest of the afternoon walking along the beach and generally enjoying the sun.

Day 2: from boat to trail – walk to Nina Bay, 5 km

In the morning, the sun is shining with not a cloud in the sky. It’s going to be a good day for walking. In mid-morning, we are picked up by the minivan to take us to the harbor where the ferry leaves. A hour later, after a quick stop at the resort on the island, we get dropped off at one of the creeks where the walking trail starts. The boardwalk to the beach is closed for maintenance, so the trail starts from a different creek and adds another hour to the walk. Although our packs are at their heaviest, we are all fresh and our steps are light.

Between Richard, Pam, and Anderson, there are three bum knees and one previous ruptured Achilles tendon. Ironically, being the oldest one in the group, I am the only one without any previous musculoskeletal injury. The Thorsborne Trail, deceptively short at only thirty-two kilometers in length, is considered a difficulty one due to the terrain. Rock hopping, swamp wading, creek crossing are all part of the deal. While they may not be that difficult on their own, put twenty-five kilos of pack on your back and the challenge is not hard to appreciate. So we will take it slow.

Looking back at Port Hinchinbrook as the ferry pulls away

Jagged peaks form the skyline of Hinchinbrook

Our party of four: still smelling fresh, our clothes still clean, and our muscles still loose

The ferry cruises up one of the creeks lined with mangroves. Mt Bowen looms in the distance.

The temporary disembarkation site: just a couple of planks tied to mangrove roots, an apt introduction to the walk.

Walking down Ramsay Bay

We want to have lunch at a place with a view, so we walk to up Nina Peak via a side trail. At 312 meters elevation, Nina Peak offers spectacular views of the Island, with Ramsay Bay and the numerous channels to the north and Nina Bay, Little Ramsay Bay, and Zoe Bay to the east and south. After a few reconnaissance missions, we find a rock ledge in the shade, perfect as our lunch spot. One by one, we slide up the ledge. With our feet hanging over the edge and a couple of hundred meters sheer drop just inches away, we start making our lunch of salami and cheese wrap. Away from the midday sun, with an awesome view of the bays to the south, Mt Bowen directly to the west and sheer rock directly under us, it’s hard to imagine a better place to have lunch.

Richard, Anderson, and Pam taking a break

View of Ramsay Bay and the channels snaking their way into the island

Lunch spot with Mt Bowen in the background

The view from our lunch spot

After lunch, we reluctantly leave our awesome lunch spot and head back down to the trail. An hour or so later, we arrive at our camp site at Nina Bay. The hammock I got for my cycling trip in New Zealand comes in handy again. I string up my hammock while the other guys pitch their tents right on the beach.

Hammock is the way to go, as long as there are trees to string one up.

At night, we cook a filling meal of instant soup, followed by rice with curry, then tea with roasting marshmallow over an open fire. We sit on the beach under the full moon, chatting away until late and not worrying about disturbing anyone – we are the only group at this campsite for the night.

Day 3: Nina Bay to Little Ramsay Bay, 2.5 km

After a good night of rest, we get up as the sun comes over the horizon. After some hot tea to warm ourselves up, we have a yoga session led by Pam the Yogi right on the beach.

The sun peeks over the Coral Sea

Anderson staring at the rising sun

I need to work on my warrior pose

After a leisurely breakfast and getting our water bladders filled, we set off for a short walk to Little Ramsay Bay.

Anderson says, “Let’s get crackin’!”

View of Nina Bay from the rocky headlands

Richard picks his way through the pile of rocks at Boulder Bay

We arrive at Little Ramsay Bay before lunch time. After setting up camp and eating another lunch of salami and cheese wrap, we head to the lagoon for a quick dip.

Anderson walks down Little Ramsay Bay toward the campsite amongst the bush

Pam is out cold in the hammock

Day 4: Little Ramsay Bay to Zoe Bay: 10.5 km

We wake up to another day of beautiful weather. Today is the longest walking day, so after a quick breakfast, we pack up camp and head off towards Zoe Bay, 10.5 kilometers to the south. En route, we will climb over rocks, cross a couple of swamps and creeks.

The lagoon at Little Ramsay Bay in the morning with Mt Bowen dominating the skyline

Anderson and Pam gathering water before the day’s long hike

The beach at Little Ramsay Bay ends at this pile of rocks we have to climb over

The view north from the rocky headland

Walking sticks are essential for this trail

We are standing at the saddle between Banksia Bay and Zoe Bay. Zoe Bay is the sliver of blue at the base of the mountain in the distance.

Crossing one swamp with slippery tree roots

Crossing North Zoe Creek. The water may not be deep, but the rocks are very smooth and slippery.

Crossing a palm swamp with ankle-deep mud. A couple of days ago someone fell while hopping from tree root to tree root. He ruptured his Achilles tendon and had to be airlifted out. So, be very careful and just step right into the mud. Better be dirty than be hurt.

We pass another mangrove swamp, which is dry enough that we can walk around it.

With another hour of sunlight to spare, we arrive at the campsite at Zoe Bay. A sign warns us of the crocodiles active in this area. After dinner, we set up another fire on the beach damp from dews. The temperature is dropping more than previous nights. We huddle around the fire, drying our boots and socks that were completely soaked from earlier in the day, and chat late into the night.

We collect our drinking water from South Zoe Creek, just downstream from Zoe Falls.

South Zoe Creek in at dusk, with the sounds of rushing water and chirping birds, is quite the tranquil place to be.

Day 5: Zoe Bay to upper Zoe Falls: 1 km

Today’s goal is to walk to Sunken Reef Bay, with a stop at the base of Zoe Falls.

The dampness on the beach evaporates as the sun comes up over Zoe Bay

The sound of Zoe Falls gets louder and louder as we walk up along South Zoe Creek. As we round a bend on the trail, the waterfall comes in full view. What a welcoming sight: a natural rock pool at the bottom of the cascading falls with crystal clear water flowing through. Add the bright sun and blue sky, we can spend all day here!

The picture-perfect Zoe Falls

After a little asthma attack, Pam makes it to the bottom of the falls and is rewarded with the best water massage.

After the invigorating swim and water massage, we sit on the rocks to admire the view. Eventually, we decide that we would have to make a move if we were to make it to camp before nightfall. Reluctantly, we put our packs back on and follow the trail up to the top of Zoe Falls.

Anderson pulls himself up on this steep section

A ten-minute walk takes us to the top of Zoe Falls. Zoe Falls may be nice, but the view up here is amazing! We look around, and come to the simultaneous conclusion that we have done enough walking today. We will set up camp here and spend the whole afternoon on these rocks. The water has carved numerous tubs into the rocks. We decide this is our spa day. Jump into this one for a soak, get into the next one for a shoulder massage, lay on the warm rocks to dry out, back to step one and repeat as needed. This is the best decision we have made.

With a view like this, it’s hard to keep moving.

Just whiling away the afternoon

Richard is enjoying a world-class shoulder massage.

Another view of the pools with Zoe Bay in the distance

In the late afternoon, I go back to the bottom of Zoe Falls to take more pictures of the creek.

Zoe Falls at dusk

The low-light condition at dusk is perfect for taking pictures of moving water.

At night, we set up our stoves on the warm rocks and cook up another satisfying meal of mapo tofu over rice.

Day 6: upper Zoe Falls to Mulligan Falls: 6.5 km

In the morning, clouds start to roll in from the east. It looks like rain is a definite possibility today. We will skip Sunken Reef Bay and head straight to Mulligan Falls.

Breakfast on the rocks

Rich and Pam negotiating their way down rocky steps

As we stop for lunch, rain starts to come down. Although it passes quickly, the trail is quite slippery now. After a quick break, we press on.

From this point, the mainland to the south is visible, with the long jetty from Lucinda cutting across the water.

The rain makes everything that much greener

Walking past the side trail leading to Sunken Reef Bay, we come upon the mighty Diamantina Creek. These creeks can swell up fast after the rain and signs are there to warn walkers of the danger of crossing one right after the rain. We check the condition of the creek and the water level on the rocks and decide to cross. With every rock carefully selected for foot hold and every step carefully tested, the going is slow.

Contemplating the creek crossing

Following the arrows on the rocks, we start to cross the creek.

It may look like a tranquil picture, but the rocks are very slippery, especially after the rain.

After crossing Diamantina Creek, it’s only another half-hour to the Mulligan Falls campsite. We set up camp, and it’s time for another swim. Despite the overcast sky and slightly cooler temperature, the swim is still refreshing.

Waterfall and rockpool, the winning combination

Mulligan Falls at dusk

As we finish dinner, rain comes down again. We abandon our gear on the ground and quickly get into our tents. Swinging in my hammock, dry and toasty in my sleeping bag, I am soon fast asleep as the rain hits the rainfly just above me.

Day 7: Mulligan Falls to George Point: 7.5 km

Sadly, this is our last day on the island. The rain has stopped. We eat a leisurely breakfast while waiting for things to dry out a bit. All we have to do is walk to George Point 7.5 kilometers away, most of it along the beach. Easy day.

We gather around the spread of water bottles and stove for breakfast. Our packs and food are hung up on ropes to prevent the native rats from getting to them.

The walk out to the beach takes us through a forest reminiscent of Lord of the Rings country, with sprawling tree roots winding among rocks.

The walk on the beach is so easy compared to the rest of the trail, it almost gets a little boring. With our shoes off, we wander down towards George Point. Without having to worry about where to put the next step, all there is to do is to listen to the waves on the left and admire the cloud-covered peaks on the right.

Crossing Mulligan Creek with Mt Straloch in the background

The ragtag army strolls down the beach

We made it to George Point!

From George Point, another boat takes us back to the mainland. And our walk on Hinchinbrook comes to an end.

Looking back at Hinchinbrook from the boat to Lucinda

From Lucinda, a minibus takes us back to Cardwell. We check back into the backpacker’s. First order of business is showers! Throwing on some semi-clean clothes, we celebrate the completion of an awesome walk.

Cheers!

Day 8: Cardwell, Cairns, and back to Brisbane

To get back to Brisbane, we catch a bus from Cardwell to Cairns, 180 kilometers to the north. After an afternoon of walking around the tourist district of Cairns, we catch a late-afternoon flight back to Brisbane.

Our trip comes to an end. This may be the last time in a long time that the four of us would be able to make a trip like this. In six months, we will graduate from med school and will head our separate ways; and we may be scattered all over the world.

But guys, remember what I mentioned on the trail – cycling the Silk Road, 2012.

Seven Down, Three to Go

The exam this afternoon marks the end of specialties 1 rotation, which means a one-week break is coming up.

It has only been eight weeks since I’ve been back in Brisbane, but I am already getting itchy feet. So three of my friends and I will be taking off for a week of camping on Hinchinbrook Island National Park in tropical north Queensland where Nim’s Island was filmed. The walk on Hinchinbrook is supposed to be among the world’s top hikes. The last time I camped was back in January in New Zealand; it will be good to go out there and brave the elements again.

Camping gear, check; camping food, check; plane tickets, train tickets, bus tickets, ferry tickets, check, check, check, and check. Hinchinbrook is hard to get to, but good things never come easy.

I’m psyched!

In Retrospect: Yellowstone National Park

Yellowstone National Park, the world’s first national park, is world-renowned for its geysers, springs, and wildlife. So, on my cross-country drive in July, 2004, I spent two nights camping at one of the campgrounds inside. Two-and-half days are definitely not enough for a national park of this size and diversity, but that was all the time I had.

Yellowstone National Park is located in the northwestern corner of Wyoming

All traffic stops and crowds gather as an elk crosses the road

Looks like something out of a Petrie dish. The thermophilic bacteria grow along suitable streams and ponds, the species and color changes depending on the temperature and pH of the water.

Over here the bacteria take on a reddish-brownish appearance

And along this stream, green and brown grow side by side

The Old Faithful – thar she blows!

Many of these creeks are replenished by run-offs from geysers and springs

Hot springs with boiling water like this one are so numerous, many are unnamed

Steam from springs blowing in the late afternoon glow gives the landscape a surreal appearance

Porcelain Basin is encrusted with calcium carbonate

The water of the springs can be clear, or it can be emerald-green, depending on the minerals dissolved in it

Grass and trees are constantly trying to reclaim the land

This spring next to a picnic area looks inviting, but it’s probably not a good idea to jump in - it's boiling

People watching yet another geyser erupt

The size of the Grand Prismatic Spring can only be appreciated from the air, this is just a sliver of it

Morning Glory Spring

The Grand Canyon of Yellowstone, although nowhere near the size of the one in Arizona, is still quite impressive

The raging torrent looks like a smooth ribbon from this height

With the spring dried up, the white calcium skeleton is what’s left of Minerva Terrace

These unfortunate trees stood in the way of the water spilling out of a spring

View from top of Minerva Terrace

A herd of bison grazing at the foot of the mountain

The road out of Yellowstone and into the big sky country of Wyoming

The road winds its way up the side of a mountain just outside of Yellowstone

Regression of the Mind

At memory clinic today, one of the patients was accompanied by her daughter. The patient, in her mid-eighties, was originally from Poland but has lived in Australia for the last forty years. She was diagnosed with Alzheimer’s Disease four years ago and came in today for a follow-up visit. As her daughter described it, the progression of her Alzheimer’s Disease, and her dementia, has made her more and more dependent on her daughter. Besides the lost of her short-term memory, she has almost completely lost her ability to speak English, which she was able to speak fluently before, and now relies on her daughter to translate for her. She happily recounts in Polish stories of her, as a girl, gathering firewood from the forest to make dinner at the eave of Germany’s invasion of Poland.

Ah, the ravage of time, that great equalizer. When people live long enough, few can escape the its grasp. As dementia sets in, the awareness in the early phase evaporates, leaving its victims blissfully oblivious even as it becomes increasingly distressing to their family members. It doesn’t matter whether he might have once been the CEO of a multinational corporation or an ordinary farmer, he simply regresses back to a child-like state. The loss of the ability to make critical judgment, the ability to remember where one lives, the ability to recognize one’s family member, and the loss of skills learned later in life, such as speaking a second or third language, are all part and parcel to the disease. At the end, one becomes dependent even in simple things like feeding and toileting. And thus he leaves this world just like he entered it.

Sometimes I do imagine that if I get to live to the ripe old age when I am babbling in Cantonese, with Mandarin and English, my second and third language, respectively, just a glimmer in the deepest recesses of my atrophied brain, what kind of stories would I be telling my grandchildren or my geriatrician.

In Retrospect: Mandalay

As the internet carries the news that a cyclone in the Indian Ocean is threatening Myanmar, it brings back memories of my trip to that beautiful country in February 2004. I didn’t spend much time there – just two weeks, but I was especially struck by the beauty of the country and the friendliness of the people. Despite the poverty, the oppressive government, and a generally grim future, the local people I met managed to find something to laugh about everyday.

Mandalay was the capital of the Burma kingdom when it came under British control. Situated along the Irrawaddy River, Mandalay is Myanmar’s cultural and religious center of Buddhism.

Mandalay is in the center of Myanmar

Myanmar is nicknamed the Land of Pagodas for a good reason

This sign is posted on the door of the toilet on the boat we took up the Irrawaddy to Mandalay. There were no local passengers on the boat at the time, so I wasn’t sure if it was enforced.

The Irrawaddy is a major transport route down the length of the country

Dinner at a sidewalk eatery under the buzzing street lamp

Washroom haiku, posted over the toilet at the guesthouse I was staying in

On sale: wheels made with folded low-denomination bills – for offerings at pagodas, for funerals, I’m not quite sure

The street market just outside of my guesthouse, with the bell-shaped pagoda of a monastery at the end of the street

The reconstructed royal palace is now a sterile museum

Intricate woodwork on one of the buildings in the royal compound

The golden paint on the building glint in the afternoon light

A VW Beetle makes its way out of the eastern entrance to the royal compound

People’s Desire: something straight out of 1984

The climb up Mandalay Hill is made easier with the covered walkway

View over the city from top of Mandalay Hill

Novice monks taking a break

The monastery building is bathed in the low afternoon light

Burmese script on the pillar: poetry? scripture? warning signs?

Tourists watching the sunset in the haze at the top of Mandalay Hill

Geriatrician or Social Worker?

It’s the second week of geriatrics. And my first impression of this specialty is – it’s a lot of social work! In fact, I would say it accounts for the majority of the work by everyone from the resident up to the consultant. The ward I am attached to is mainly for elderly amputees to go through rehabilitation after their amputation so they can go home with the skills to live as normally as possible.

Although the patients are mostly elderly people who have multiple co-mobidities like diabetes, heart failure, COPD, peripheral vascular diseases, etc., which make them very interesting patients as far as pathology is concerned, their conditions have largely stabilized by the time they are ready to go to the geriatric and rehab ward. So the main focus on the ward is their rehabilitation; their medical conditions have almost become a secondary issue. As they go through the process of going to the gym to gain their strength back and learn to use the wheelchair with help from physiotherapists, the doctors are busy coordinating the allied health team to work on their discharge – home visits to assess access issues in and around their houses, arranging Meals on Wheels for them, booking the Blue Nurses to care for them post-discharge, arranging house-cleaning, and for those not fit enough to live in their own homes, plan for discharge to nursing homes. A meeting is held weekly for doctors and allied health professional to discuss each patient on the ward and to assess their progress and the progress of the work being done to address the patient’s living situation.

While it’s great to see that patients get such thorough treatment to make sure their transition from hospital to home go as smoothly as possible, it appears that this specialty involves more social work than the practice of medicine. Is this the result of the break down in the social fabric of Western societies? Traditionally, people go to the hospital when they are sick; and when they go home, their immediate or extended families take on the role of care takers. Now that role has been assumed by the health care system and, at least in Australia, largely by the government. From a rational point of view, it makes sense – the patients’ family, now unburdened with the work of caring for them, is free to devote their time on work and, by extension, contribute to the national economy. But from the humanistic point of view, the care the patients receive from the various government agencies and professionals, however great, cannot make up for the feeling of being cared for by someone close to them. Of course, many of these patients are fortunately enough to get the best of both worlds: they are under the care of a family member, with help and subsidies from the government. Their main carers can get various benefits like pensions from the government and carer respite to prevent burn-outs. It is reassuring to see that, under the generous welfare state and the social safety net in Australia, people can age with dignity, even with debilitating illnesses.