Population: approx 22 million
There are good and bad aspects to living on an isolated desert island. In the end, being away from the people who really care for you is the thing that becomes most intolerable. The snakes and sharks and fierce sunshine . . . . I could deal with all of that. The endless conversations about fishing . . . . . okay, now I’m know a bull chin groper from a red snapper . . . you never know when that information will come in handy. Having no access to anything . . . . you do eventually get used to that and simply stop wanting things you can’t have.
I left the island at the end of Term 3 to give me more time to be with the people who really matter before I head off on the next chapter.
Stay tuned . . . . . January 2012 . . . . . “How to Raise a Village”.
I have a year-long contract to set up a computer classroom at a village high school in Ghana (West Africa).
Wednesday, October 26, 2011
Friday, September 09, 2011
Up the creek without a paddle (aka living on an island with no boat)
Population 3
The supply boat has been barely kept afloat all year. One of the staff used to have to swim out to it every four hours to pump out the water that was leaking into its hull. The engine wasn’t great either. Anyway, it finally gave up the ghost and is probably not repairable. It’s strange to live on an island without a boat.
So for the last two months I haven’t left the island. All guests and supplies have been flown in using charter flights. Spring has sprung and with all the rain this year, the island is a blanket of wildflowers. Life just seems to flow by. You give up wanting things you simply can’t have and enjoy what’s here.
I had given up on the idea of replenishing my chocolate and wine supplies until I head off the island for the school holidays in a couple of weeks. Suddenly, yesterday, at the last minute I was asked if I wanted to go on the fuel run into town. I had ten minutes to decide and get ready. I guess I didn’t have time to think it through.
Now that we have no working boat, we use the car transport barge on occasion to get supplies. It is a rather rickety, flat bedded barge that will hold two vehicles. It’s like a small, floating platform with a couple of motors attached and a small sunshade over the wheel. It’s moored at the south end of the island where there is only a narrow stretch of water to the mainland. Four wheel drives have to brave 200kms on corrugated sand tracks to get to the barge pick-up point. To transport your car costs $1,200, not negotiable because we are the only barge allowed to ply it’s trade to the island. It takes a very hardy camper to get here, but once you arrive, you have the whole island to yourself (except for us at the homestead and we have hot showers . . . . . and gourmet food . . . . . and we won’t let you past the gate unless we know you or you have a limb hanging on by a thread ).
Yesterday the seas were rough, the wind had picked up, the barge trip into town took three hours, all the time being buffeted by high seas and covered in sea spray. By the time we got to town I was literally encrusted in salt. I had half an hour to run to the shop while they loaded supplies.
Then the three hour trip back. The “captain” was exhausted, gave me the wheel and pointed me towards a sand hill on the horizon. We had left the run a little late and by the time we were getting towards the island, night had already fallen and we were navigating by the light of the moon. Jumping into shark infested waters in the dark, we waded ashore.
Tired, covered in salt, wet up to the knees, we were finally on the track back to the house. The “roads” on the island wouldn’t look out of place at the Dakar Rally. The driver had a beer in one hand and was texting his wife with the other to let her know we had arrived safely. I was leaning over clutching the steering wheel with one hand and my precious chocolate purchases with the other as we hurtled along the dark sand track back to the homestead.
Oh the lengths I have to go to in order to get chocolate.
But that’s not the end of it. It seems that getting off the island is going to get even more difficult. We use a charter plane company to take guests and supplies on and off the island. Sometimes there are three or four flights a day and if the plane is going back empty, I can jump on it for free. The Fisheries Department have a rule that all fish fillets have to be flown off the island (not taken off by boat) so that they can check you didn’t exceed your quota in the Marine Park. It has always struck me as funny when flying in a tiny plane full of fish fillets, what fabulous shark bait you would be if you crashed into the water. I mentioned this, in jest, to the pilot last time I flew with the fish fillets. He assured me the sharks would be the least of our troubles. Getting out of the plane without drowning would be the real problem. He had seen the statistics.
Last week a guest was being flown off the island when there was a “mid air incident”. The door flew open in mid flight. The charter plane always reminds me of a 1980s model station wagon that has been sitting in the Australian sun. It feels like the rust is the only thing holding it together. The guest was not impressed and immediately reported it to the Civil Aviation Authority. If the charter flight company gets put out of business, they are the only option within 500 miles. The barge might soon be the only way off the island.
The supply boat has been barely kept afloat all year. One of the staff used to have to swim out to it every four hours to pump out the water that was leaking into its hull. The engine wasn’t great either. Anyway, it finally gave up the ghost and is probably not repairable. It’s strange to live on an island without a boat.
So for the last two months I haven’t left the island. All guests and supplies have been flown in using charter flights. Spring has sprung and with all the rain this year, the island is a blanket of wildflowers. Life just seems to flow by. You give up wanting things you simply can’t have and enjoy what’s here.
I had given up on the idea of replenishing my chocolate and wine supplies until I head off the island for the school holidays in a couple of weeks. Suddenly, yesterday, at the last minute I was asked if I wanted to go on the fuel run into town. I had ten minutes to decide and get ready. I guess I didn’t have time to think it through.
Now that we have no working boat, we use the car transport barge on occasion to get supplies. It is a rather rickety, flat bedded barge that will hold two vehicles. It’s like a small, floating platform with a couple of motors attached and a small sunshade over the wheel. It’s moored at the south end of the island where there is only a narrow stretch of water to the mainland. Four wheel drives have to brave 200kms on corrugated sand tracks to get to the barge pick-up point. To transport your car costs $1,200, not negotiable because we are the only barge allowed to ply it’s trade to the island. It takes a very hardy camper to get here, but once you arrive, you have the whole island to yourself (except for us at the homestead and we have hot showers . . . . . and gourmet food . . . . . and we won’t let you past the gate unless we know you or you have a limb hanging on by a thread ).
Yesterday the seas were rough, the wind had picked up, the barge trip into town took three hours, all the time being buffeted by high seas and covered in sea spray. By the time we got to town I was literally encrusted in salt. I had half an hour to run to the shop while they loaded supplies.
Then the three hour trip back. The “captain” was exhausted, gave me the wheel and pointed me towards a sand hill on the horizon. We had left the run a little late and by the time we were getting towards the island, night had already fallen and we were navigating by the light of the moon. Jumping into shark infested waters in the dark, we waded ashore.
Tired, covered in salt, wet up to the knees, we were finally on the track back to the house. The “roads” on the island wouldn’t look out of place at the Dakar Rally. The driver had a beer in one hand and was texting his wife with the other to let her know we had arrived safely. I was leaning over clutching the steering wheel with one hand and my precious chocolate purchases with the other as we hurtled along the dark sand track back to the homestead.
Oh the lengths I have to go to in order to get chocolate.
But that’s not the end of it. It seems that getting off the island is going to get even more difficult. We use a charter plane company to take guests and supplies on and off the island. Sometimes there are three or four flights a day and if the plane is going back empty, I can jump on it for free. The Fisheries Department have a rule that all fish fillets have to be flown off the island (not taken off by boat) so that they can check you didn’t exceed your quota in the Marine Park. It has always struck me as funny when flying in a tiny plane full of fish fillets, what fabulous shark bait you would be if you crashed into the water. I mentioned this, in jest, to the pilot last time I flew with the fish fillets. He assured me the sharks would be the least of our troubles. Getting out of the plane without drowning would be the real problem. He had seen the statistics.
Last week a guest was being flown off the island when there was a “mid air incident”. The door flew open in mid flight. The charter plane always reminds me of a 1980s model station wagon that has been sitting in the Australian sun. It feels like the rust is the only thing holding it together. The guest was not impressed and immediately reported it to the Civil Aviation Authority. If the charter flight company gets put out of business, they are the only option within 500 miles. The barge might soon be the only way off the island.
Sunday, August 21, 2011
Sand dunes and the ancient sea bed
Population 30
The family took me on a trip to the sand dunes today. The dunes are constantly shifting and revealing hidden treasures. At the moment nearly a kilometer of ancient sea bed and fossilized coral is exposed in a gap between the dunes. There is fan coral and brain coral some of it a meter high and perfectly preserved in stone. You can see the intricate structures of the ancient organisms. I’m told it dates from approximately 750,000 years ago.
Also newly revealed by the shifting sands is the ruins of a car. The origins are no mystery. The father of the boys I am teaching bogged it when he was 14 years old. He’s now in his mid-30s. He took the brand new car for a joy ride, bogged it, lost the keys in the sand and there the vehicle has sat for nearly 20 years as the sands covered it up and hid it. In the last six months it has reappeared to remind him of his youthful adventures.
The family took me on a trip to the sand dunes today. The dunes are constantly shifting and revealing hidden treasures. At the moment nearly a kilometer of ancient sea bed and fossilized coral is exposed in a gap between the dunes. There is fan coral and brain coral some of it a meter high and perfectly preserved in stone. You can see the intricate structures of the ancient organisms. I’m told it dates from approximately 750,000 years ago.
Also newly revealed by the shifting sands is the ruins of a car. The origins are no mystery. The father of the boys I am teaching bogged it when he was 14 years old. He’s now in his mid-30s. He took the brand new car for a joy ride, bogged it, lost the keys in the sand and there the vehicle has sat for nearly 20 years as the sands covered it up and hid it. In the last six months it has reappeared to remind him of his youthful adventures.
Monday, August 15, 2011
The Island Goes Hollywood
Population 30-ish
A film crew descended on the island yesterday. They are filming a commercial for a new 4 wheel drive utility vehicle and the island is considered the most rugged and remote place to show it off.
It was also a perfect excuse to cut school. It didn’t seem fair to the boys to have them in class when there was so much excitement going on (and I didn‘t want to miss out either - school be damned). So we all piled into the car and followed the crew to film at the blowholes.
The west side of the island has around 60km of cliffs that stretch along the coast. They are pretty treacherous which is part of their appeal for macho types. A few months ago we had a group of staff go for an outing to the cliffs. A king wave came and nearly washed them over. They clung on, battered and bleeding as they were dragged across the jagged rocks. They turned up back at the homestead where I tried to get all the sand and coral out of their cuts, disinfect and patch them up around the kitchen table. All part of the governess’ job. Good thing I got my first aide certificate before I came here.
So our film convoy headed for the blow holes. It was a perfect day for it. The swell was huge and the water was blowing 30 meters into the air. They parked the brand new car in the mist and got some great shots. We were just standing out of the way debating how long it would take for that lovely new car to fall apart with rust after sitting in the salty sea spray.
I thought I might pitch the Hollywood people a show about a San Francisco city slicker who takes a job as a governess on a remote island. Whimsy, hilarity and drama ensue as she comes to terms with the isolation, weird characters, and dangerous animals. A bit like Northern Exposure . . . . okay . . . .almost exactly like Northern Exposure . . . except this time with a shiela instead of a bloke. . . . . okay . . . . . never mind.
A film crew descended on the island yesterday. They are filming a commercial for a new 4 wheel drive utility vehicle and the island is considered the most rugged and remote place to show it off.
It was also a perfect excuse to cut school. It didn’t seem fair to the boys to have them in class when there was so much excitement going on (and I didn‘t want to miss out either - school be damned). So we all piled into the car and followed the crew to film at the blowholes.
The west side of the island has around 60km of cliffs that stretch along the coast. They are pretty treacherous which is part of their appeal for macho types. A few months ago we had a group of staff go for an outing to the cliffs. A king wave came and nearly washed them over. They clung on, battered and bleeding as they were dragged across the jagged rocks. They turned up back at the homestead where I tried to get all the sand and coral out of their cuts, disinfect and patch them up around the kitchen table. All part of the governess’ job. Good thing I got my first aide certificate before I came here.
So our film convoy headed for the blow holes. It was a perfect day for it. The swell was huge and the water was blowing 30 meters into the air. They parked the brand new car in the mist and got some great shots. We were just standing out of the way debating how long it would take for that lovely new car to fall apart with rust after sitting in the salty sea spray.
I thought I might pitch the Hollywood people a show about a San Francisco city slicker who takes a job as a governess on a remote island. Whimsy, hilarity and drama ensue as she comes to terms with the isolation, weird characters, and dangerous animals. A bit like Northern Exposure . . . . okay . . . .almost exactly like Northern Exposure . . . except this time with a shiela instead of a bloke. . . . . okay . . . . . never mind.
Monday, July 25, 2011
Island Fever and Snake Bites
I’ve been here long enough now to know and recognize the strange symptoms of “Island Fever”. There is something about being cut off from the rest of the world that has a weird effect on people.
Eventually all the staff get Island Fever. Some get weepy and angry. I’ve seen one girl stare at her cell phone all night when she KNEW there was no reception. Maybe she thought it would magically start receiving texts if she stared at it. Others start bemoaning the lack of pizza. One staff member who was here for four months was almost disowned by her parents because they thought “I’m on a desert island with no access to communications” was a ridiculous lie and just an excuse not to talk to them.
My fever came as an obsession with potato chips. The weather had been cold and rainy for a month. My clothes had been worn to rags. I was in bad need of a haircut. Frankly, I had been on the island too long. I took a tumble on slippery tiles and thought I broke my leg which would have been pretty rotten bad luck considering how far away from help we are. Whatever I fell on had two prongs that gouged two little holes in my shin that looked exactly like a snake bite.
I don’t usually eat potato chips when I’m in the city and we don’t keep any on the island. So I sat there with my ragged clothes and my wild hair and my snake bitten leg and I thought “if I don’t have potato chips soon, I’m simply going to die.” Suddenly, just knowing that I couldn’t have them was enough to start the fixation. It took about a month before I could get on a supply run to town. By which stage I was crazed with the idea even though shopping involved having to wade ashore through shark infested waters! I finally got to the shop and bought five huge bags. After spending three days gorging on them, I remembered I really didn’t like potato chips.
Thankfully school holidays happened in mid-July. I went and met my man (who shall remain anonymous) in Sydney. We stayed in a “Deluxe Grand Harbour View” room with a 270 degree view of Sydney Harbour. I was looking so ragged when I turned up, I thought the five star hotel would take one look at me and boot me out the door. But somehow I got past reception and we drank champagne, ate expensive cheese, took advantage of all the decadence the city had to offer.
Now I’m back on the island. I feel much better now. The craving the chippies (and everything else the outside world has to offer) has subsided for the moment.
The island is beautiful again.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Camping with the Boys
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| The campsite (tent is just a prop - we don't actually sleep in it. We wander home to our nice warm beds by 8 o'clock) |
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| The view from the camp at sunset |
The elusive sand frog and the axe incident
The boys and I went for our usual camping expedition last night on the beach about 100 meters from the homestead. It’s just far enough away, and around a little bend, so you don’t see the house and it feels like you are a million miles away from anything. But you can still wander down to the homestead if you get too hungry or need to use the loo.
Yesterday we set up camp and were just watching the fire burn down, when we saw a little movement in the sand. It was a tiny sand frog that only exists on this island!!! A very rare and very strange creature that burrows into the sand and can sleep for up to three years if there is no rain. It’s croak is an odd squelching sound.
This frog was feeling pretty sleepy. We weren’t sure it was alive at first, but it did move a little and bat its eyes at us.
After running back to the homestead and showing our frog to everyone we could find, we set the frog free back in the sand dunes and settled next to the fire to roast our potatoes.
We get a view of the whole of the Bay from our campsite and we were noticing some very strange boat activity. Someone going out in a kayak after dark and fetching the dingy from the mooring. A mysterious boat that was traveling very fast, came to meet the dingy and then left. Very curious indeed.
Once we got back to the homestead, we found out someone camping at the north end of the island had been chopping fire wood and missed. The axe had gone into his shin right to the bone. The Homestead had got a frantic call from his fishing buddies saying that he was drifting in and out of consciousness and they were having trouble stopping the bleeding. Then the cell phone reception crapped out.
The camping sites are three hours drive from the homestead it was already getting to be late afternoon. They contacted the flying doctors, but there was no way they could land at the island airstrip after dark. They had called in a rescue boat.
From what I hear, the fishing buddies put $500 cash in the injured bloke’s pocket for the flight home, put him on the rescue boat, and went back to fishing.
Monday, June 06, 2011
The Genesis of a Classic Fishing Story
Population 35-ish
A group of homestead guests came back from fishing the cliffs yesterday in a very raucous mood. Fishing the cliffs is a very foolhardy thing to do. Huge waves crash into the sharp rocks and standing on the rocks there is no quick escape and no quick rescue if something goes wrong. But you get 10 blokes together, away from their wives, and hand them an esky full of beers, well, what do you expect is going to happen.
I heard from the much repeated and embellished story that was drunkenly told over dinner, that a huge wave had come and knocked one of the fishermen off the rock and back towards the cliff. They had seen him tumble 10 meters backwards and he had been submerged long enough for his fellow fishermen to think he might be dead. Just when they were silently writing his obituary in their heads, he pops back to his feet, fishing reel still in hand. His mates yell, “get off the rocks!!!” and other choice expletives. His reply was “No! I’ve got a fish!!!” which he then proceeding to reel in.
He had a good sized laceration to his buttocks and his fishing jacket had been torn to threads, but he was otherwise in good health.
This is surely the genesis of a classic fishing story that will be retold and exaggerated for the next 30 years.
A group of homestead guests came back from fishing the cliffs yesterday in a very raucous mood. Fishing the cliffs is a very foolhardy thing to do. Huge waves crash into the sharp rocks and standing on the rocks there is no quick escape and no quick rescue if something goes wrong. But you get 10 blokes together, away from their wives, and hand them an esky full of beers, well, what do you expect is going to happen.
I heard from the much repeated and embellished story that was drunkenly told over dinner, that a huge wave had come and knocked one of the fishermen off the rock and back towards the cliff. They had seen him tumble 10 meters backwards and he had been submerged long enough for his fellow fishermen to think he might be dead. Just when they were silently writing his obituary in their heads, he pops back to his feet, fishing reel still in hand. His mates yell, “get off the rocks!!!” and other choice expletives. His reply was “No! I’ve got a fish!!!” which he then proceeding to reel in.
He had a good sized laceration to his buttocks and his fishing jacket had been torn to threads, but he was otherwise in good health.
This is surely the genesis of a classic fishing story that will be retold and exaggerated for the next 30 years.
Thursday, June 02, 2011
Sunday, May 29, 2011
Vegetable Painkiller
I’ve developed a collection of pottery shards that I find along the beach. Some of them have very old fashioned patterns on them. I’m convinced they come from old shipwrecks. Maybe pirates!!! There have been at least five documented shipwrecks on the shores of this island.
I was walking along the beach last week when I came across an intact glass bottle with the words “Davis Vegetable Painkiller” embossed on it. What on earth is a vegetable painkiller!? I looked it up on the internet. It seems that from 1825 to around 1880 the Davis Pharmaceutical company made and distributed a mixture of opium and alcohol and called it a vegetable painkiller. It was classic snake oil , but I’m sure it would have stopped the pain!!! It was distributed by missionaries in the local area and my new little bottle must have been bobbing around in the ocean waves for at least 130 years.
Now I’m convinced that my pottery shards were the property of Blackbeard.
Saturday, May 28, 2011
The disappearing mullet
Population 25-ish
You can see the bay from the school room window. I was extremely surprised last week when we saw a huge commercial fishing boat pull up in the bay in front of the homestead. This is a World Heritage listed Marine Park and protected waters with extreme and rigorously enforced sports fishing limits. The fishing vessel threw out a large net and caught the entire school of mullet that used to jump out of the water in front of the homestead.
It seems that when they created the Marine Park, the aboriginal community retained traditional fishing rights. I just didn’t expect them to turn up in a whopping great trawler and grab all our leaping mullet!!!
You can see the bay from the school room window. I was extremely surprised last week when we saw a huge commercial fishing boat pull up in the bay in front of the homestead. This is a World Heritage listed Marine Park and protected waters with extreme and rigorously enforced sports fishing limits. The fishing vessel threw out a large net and caught the entire school of mullet that used to jump out of the water in front of the homestead.
It seems that when they created the Marine Park, the aboriginal community retained traditional fishing rights. I just didn’t expect them to turn up in a whopping great trawler and grab all our leaping mullet!!!
Thursday, May 26, 2011
One enormous sand dune
Population 35-ish
One of the guests took the boys and I to the sand dunes today. Massive, pure white dunes surround one of the bays. The two boys jumps on snowboards and skied down them. I thought they would break their necks, but they had obviously done this before. I tried it myself. It was a fun skid to the bottom but a long, steep scramble back to the top.
The guest had been coming to the island for 20 years and was telling me that the island had been one enormous stretch of sand. He couldn’t believe how it had changed into scrubland in the last five years. The sand is now held together by huge clumps of wiry grass and green bushes waist high. There are some tiny trees that grow about knee high that looks like a miniature mature forest because of their gnarly, bonsai shape.
I guess that’s what happens when you remove 25,000 sheep that have been eating everything green for the past 120 years. The particularly wet summer has helped. He pointed out one small tree (about six feet tall) amongst the grass and the scrubs “this used to be the marker for the road,” he said. It used to be the only thing growing and the only way to plot your way across the sand. Now the scrub is so thick the tree has almost disappeared and it’s almost impossible to drive off road.
One of the guests took the boys and I to the sand dunes today. Massive, pure white dunes surround one of the bays. The two boys jumps on snowboards and skied down them. I thought they would break their necks, but they had obviously done this before. I tried it myself. It was a fun skid to the bottom but a long, steep scramble back to the top.
The guest had been coming to the island for 20 years and was telling me that the island had been one enormous stretch of sand. He couldn’t believe how it had changed into scrubland in the last five years. The sand is now held together by huge clumps of wiry grass and green bushes waist high. There are some tiny trees that grow about knee high that looks like a miniature mature forest because of their gnarly, bonsai shape.
I guess that’s what happens when you remove 25,000 sheep that have been eating everything green for the past 120 years. The particularly wet summer has helped. He pointed out one small tree (about six feet tall) amongst the grass and the scrubs “this used to be the marker for the road,” he said. It used to be the only thing growing and the only way to plot your way across the sand. Now the scrub is so thick the tree has almost disappeared and it’s almost impossible to drive off road.
Sunday, May 22, 2011
Camping at the End of the World
Population: 35-ish non-zombies (except after a big night on the booze)
It seems a man named Harold Camping had predicted the end of the world to occur last night. I bet you all thought I was crazy when I moved to a desert island in one of the most remote places on the planet. You would all have been laughing on the other side of your zombie faces when I was safe and sound and surrounded by shark infested waters to protect me from the apocalypse. It’s a well known fact that sharks love to feast on left-behind zombies.
Maybe I took the whole thing too literally. Or maybe I mis-heard. I thought we were meant to go “camping” for the Rapture. So I grabbed the boys (I thought I might need minions later) and we took my new tent and went camping about 100 meters up the beach from the homestead. We had the camp fire going and I threw a few cheesy potatoes in foil onto the fire. The boys’ grandmother was visiting and came to join us with a bottle of red wine. One of the woofers brought us a big plate of fresh caught, fried calamari for dinner from the homestead kitchen. We had a gorgeous sunset at exactly 6 o'clock and the world kept turning. It was a lovely evening.
Not that we would have noticed the Apocalypse out here even if it had happened.
It seems a man named Harold Camping had predicted the end of the world to occur last night. I bet you all thought I was crazy when I moved to a desert island in one of the most remote places on the planet. You would all have been laughing on the other side of your zombie faces when I was safe and sound and surrounded by shark infested waters to protect me from the apocalypse. It’s a well known fact that sharks love to feast on left-behind zombies.
Maybe I took the whole thing too literally. Or maybe I mis-heard. I thought we were meant to go “camping” for the Rapture. So I grabbed the boys (I thought I might need minions later) and we took my new tent and went camping about 100 meters up the beach from the homestead. We had the camp fire going and I threw a few cheesy potatoes in foil onto the fire. The boys’ grandmother was visiting and came to join us with a bottle of red wine. One of the woofers brought us a big plate of fresh caught, fried calamari for dinner from the homestead kitchen. We had a gorgeous sunset at exactly 6 o'clock and the world kept turning. It was a lovely evening.
Not that we would have noticed the Apocalypse out here even if it had happened.
Friday, May 20, 2011
A day in the life of an island schoolroom
Population 40-ish
I've been back on the island for a couple of weeks and have slipped right back into the daily routine. School starts at 9 o’clock but I usually get in at 8:30 to prepare the lessons for the day. The boys pop their heads in, grab clothes from the chest of draw and ask “how many minutes to school time.” Their toddler sister and the new puppy usually come to visit. There is a kiddies gate to keep them both out during the day, but in the morning I let them wander in and out.
I have a musical triangle that I use as a school bell. Strangely, the boys respond instantly to the “bell” but you can barely get them moving if you just find them and say “school time boys!”. I let the toddler ring the bell even though she doesn’t quite have the hang of it. She puts her hand all the way through and tries to bang the triangle with her forearm.
Lessons come straight out of the “School of Isolated and Distance Education” packs that are sent to us once a term. The boys also do “Air Lessons” once a day for about 45 minutes. These lessons used to be over CB radio. Now it’s all on the internet, but they retained the “Air Lesson” label.
An “Air Lesson” is conducted by the teacher at the School of the Air. The school only has 30 students spread across the stations and tourist camps along the coast. Each class has about 5 students who log onto the lesson. There are buttons to press to put your hand up. These are numbered so you can tell who put their hand up first. Then an “applause” button and a “laugh” button that flash little clapping or laughing icons next to your name if you find something amusing. There is usually a powerpoint type presentation and students are able to write on the screen with the mouse or point to things with their cursors. Of course they are also able to talk using a headset with a microphone.
There is a constant battle for the “comfy chair”. It’s my office chair and it has padding, goes up and down and twirls around. So of course everyone wants it but little boys whose feet can’t touch the ground tend to fall off spectacularly when bending down to write on the little student work desks. I find if I just stand behind them and keep poking them with my finger and repeating “I need my comfy chair“, they eventually get off. It’s all part of the game. I can’t stand up for two seconds without one of them nabbing it.
If we get all our lessons done before lunch, then we do art after lunch. This doesn’t happen too often. The lessons are pretty time consuming and the teachers expect the sets to be completed in two weeks.
The little puppy likes to come into the classroom whenever the kiddies gate is left open. Unfortunately he hasn’t quite got control of his bladder yet, and whenever you grab his collar to lead him out of the room, he pees. After cleaning up quite a bit of puppy pee, I now have a method of herding him out of the room.
School ends at 3:30 with reading time. Sometime we let the toddler and the puppy in for reading time too but that usually dissolved into chaos.
I've been back on the island for a couple of weeks and have slipped right back into the daily routine. School starts at 9 o’clock but I usually get in at 8:30 to prepare the lessons for the day. The boys pop their heads in, grab clothes from the chest of draw and ask “how many minutes to school time.” Their toddler sister and the new puppy usually come to visit. There is a kiddies gate to keep them both out during the day, but in the morning I let them wander in and out.
I have a musical triangle that I use as a school bell. Strangely, the boys respond instantly to the “bell” but you can barely get them moving if you just find them and say “school time boys!”. I let the toddler ring the bell even though she doesn’t quite have the hang of it. She puts her hand all the way through and tries to bang the triangle with her forearm.
Lessons come straight out of the “School of Isolated and Distance Education” packs that are sent to us once a term. The boys also do “Air Lessons” once a day for about 45 minutes. These lessons used to be over CB radio. Now it’s all on the internet, but they retained the “Air Lesson” label.
An “Air Lesson” is conducted by the teacher at the School of the Air. The school only has 30 students spread across the stations and tourist camps along the coast. Each class has about 5 students who log onto the lesson. There are buttons to press to put your hand up. These are numbered so you can tell who put their hand up first. Then an “applause” button and a “laugh” button that flash little clapping or laughing icons next to your name if you find something amusing. There is usually a powerpoint type presentation and students are able to write on the screen with the mouse or point to things with their cursors. Of course they are also able to talk using a headset with a microphone.
There is a constant battle for the “comfy chair”. It’s my office chair and it has padding, goes up and down and twirls around. So of course everyone wants it but little boys whose feet can’t touch the ground tend to fall off spectacularly when bending down to write on the little student work desks. I find if I just stand behind them and keep poking them with my finger and repeating “I need my comfy chair“, they eventually get off. It’s all part of the game. I can’t stand up for two seconds without one of them nabbing it.
If we get all our lessons done before lunch, then we do art after lunch. This doesn’t happen too often. The lessons are pretty time consuming and the teachers expect the sets to be completed in two weeks.
The little puppy likes to come into the classroom whenever the kiddies gate is left open. Unfortunately he hasn’t quite got control of his bladder yet, and whenever you grab his collar to lead him out of the room, he pees. After cleaning up quite a bit of puppy pee, I now have a method of herding him out of the room.
School ends at 3:30 with reading time. Sometime we let the toddler and the puppy in for reading time too but that usually dissolved into chaos.
Wednesday, April 20, 2011
Back to the Mainland
Population: Minus one
I’m back in Brisbane for a few weeks to go shopping and replace all my ragged clothes. The bore water used for washing really takes a toll on your laundry. It is such a great feeling to be wearing clothes that I haven’t worn into rags.
We didn't have any guests on my last night, so the staff had a bonfire on the beach. It was beautiful. The housekeeper tried to make damper (camp bread) but it didn't work which was a shame because I hadn't had much dinner. She tried to wrap the dough around a stick and wave it over the fire, but the dough was too runny and fell into the flames. The mix of beer and wine and an empty stomach nearly killed me. I didn't drink that much!!! I dragged my sick head out of bed around 7am to get coffee. It was then that I found out that I wasn't going to be flying off the island at midday as originally planned. I needed to get on the boat in 10 minutes. I had to pull myself together in a big hurry and hope I didn't make a scene and spew into the sea in front of three generations of the family. Not very dignified for a governess.
It doesn’t feel weird to be back in the city. The island seems very far away
I’m back in Brisbane for a few weeks to go shopping and replace all my ragged clothes. The bore water used for washing really takes a toll on your laundry. It is such a great feeling to be wearing clothes that I haven’t worn into rags.
We didn't have any guests on my last night, so the staff had a bonfire on the beach. It was beautiful. The housekeeper tried to make damper (camp bread) but it didn't work which was a shame because I hadn't had much dinner. She tried to wrap the dough around a stick and wave it over the fire, but the dough was too runny and fell into the flames. The mix of beer and wine and an empty stomach nearly killed me. I didn't drink that much!!! I dragged my sick head out of bed around 7am to get coffee. It was then that I found out that I wasn't going to be flying off the island at midday as originally planned. I needed to get on the boat in 10 minutes. I had to pull myself together in a big hurry and hope I didn't make a scene and spew into the sea in front of three generations of the family. Not very dignified for a governess.
It doesn’t feel weird to be back in the city. The island seems very far away
Monday, April 11, 2011
Salty Sea Dog
Population 35 (and one puppy)
Yesterday the new puppy arrived. It’s a floopy little golden retriever who is about six weeks old. There is nothing more adorable than seeing a seven year old boy get a new puppy. The puppy is a bit confused. The boy is grinning ear to ear. They have named him Salty.
We finally have a compliment of staff who fell in love with the island and are planning on NOT running away for the next few months. It’s good to have some jolly company. Two housekeepers, a fisherman and an au pair.
Yesterday the new puppy arrived. It’s a floopy little golden retriever who is about six weeks old. There is nothing more adorable than seeing a seven year old boy get a new puppy. The puppy is a bit confused. The boy is grinning ear to ear. They have named him Salty.
We finally have a compliment of staff who fell in love with the island and are planning on NOT running away for the next few months. It’s good to have some jolly company. Two housekeepers, a fisherman and an au pair.
Friday, April 08, 2011
Crossing over the abyss
Population 20-ish
The lights of the channel markers are just visible flashing in the bay between the island and the mainland. It’s a very pleasant place where people I wouldn’t normally meet just turn up and sit at my table over looking the calm blue ocean. Money doesn’t exist. I romp around in a fog of surreal blue water and white beaches where the waters are infested with sharks that come into ankle deep water and come jogging with me along the beach in the morning.
I head back to Brisbane next week for the school holidays. I have this strange fear that the channel markers I see from my bedroom window could be hospital monitors blinking in my subconscious. Maybe crossing the water to the mainland is crossing back into reality. Maybe this is all going on in my head.
Tonight a fisherman is having his 37th birthday with four of his mates. Lots of booze and a chocolate cake. They are taking the barge off the island in the morning. Maybe they are crossing over the abyss.
Do they play Red Hot Chilli Peppers in limbo?
Maybe I should cut down on the booze.
The lights of the channel markers are just visible flashing in the bay between the island and the mainland. It’s a very pleasant place where people I wouldn’t normally meet just turn up and sit at my table over looking the calm blue ocean. Money doesn’t exist. I romp around in a fog of surreal blue water and white beaches where the waters are infested with sharks that come into ankle deep water and come jogging with me along the beach in the morning.
I head back to Brisbane next week for the school holidays. I have this strange fear that the channel markers I see from my bedroom window could be hospital monitors blinking in my subconscious. Maybe crossing the water to the mainland is crossing back into reality. Maybe this is all going on in my head.
Tonight a fisherman is having his 37th birthday with four of his mates. Lots of booze and a chocolate cake. They are taking the barge off the island in the morning. Maybe they are crossing over the abyss.
Do they play Red Hot Chilli Peppers in limbo?
Maybe I should cut down on the booze.
Monday, March 28, 2011
How Scary can a Kindergarten teacher be?
Population 26-ish
Ollie’s teacher and the principal from the School of the Air came for their yearly assessment visit this week-end. It’s not an easy task to get to the island. You either have to charter a plane or a boat or catch a lift on a supply run. The teachers ended up chartering a small plane. In an area of the world that is labeled “remote”, we are beyond “outback”. The teachers consider us the most far flung of their students in an otherwise extremely “far flung” part of the world.
The airstrip is scratched out of clay around 6km from the homestead. Sometimes the pilot will call before he takes off. It takes only 15 minutes to fly from the mainland and it takes us about 15 minutes to drive to the airstrip. Or we wait until we hear the sound of the plane and then go for a mad dash so the poor devils on the flight don’t think they have been abandoned in the middle of nowhere.
The boys and I waited anxiously in the little sunshade that the dune buggy provided us. How scary can a kindergarten teacher be? At times the school seems to operate in a vacuum. The boys both have on-air lessons with their teachers for half an hour a day. After each two-week set of work, I send the completed work back to the teachers for marking and assessment. It takes about six weeks to get the marked work back by which point we can scarcely remember what the set was about. So the boys and I operate with very little feedback on their progress and I operate with no real validation on whether I’m going my job properly and whether they are accomplishing what is required.
So I was trepidatous too. I had visions of the mean teacher and the principal tearing our efforts apart, telling me I couldn‘t teach my way out of a paper bag, and putting the boys into remedial classes. It was a long wait for the plane to circle and touch down.
The flight touched down and taxied to the “terminal” (aka where the car track hits the runway). The boys went to hide. The teachers wanted to take photos. I think the teachers were having fun on their big adventure too. The airstrip is full of holes and we always wait for the pilot to get the plane back into the air before we leave. If they were to loose a wheel or crash, we want to make sure there is someone to get help.
The ride back from the airstrip is bumpy and sandy and lots of bugs fly into your face, so it’s a good idea to wear sunglasses. It meanders through the low scrubby bushes that survive in the sandy soil and then the vista opens up to the sea when you drive over the final hill to the homestead. It’s very rugged and hot and dusty. The homestead is a revelation in the hostile environment. The homestead is it’s own little cluster of buildings and it’s own little community and it appears out of nowhere on this very large desert island.
The old shearers quarters has 8 guestrooms facing the sea with a long covered veranda dotted with deck chairs. There are 24 large solar panels and a shed filled with batteries that give us constant electricity. The 100 year old shearing shed is next to the house and fun to explore (if you keep an eye out for snakes). The family house with the classroom is behind the shearers quarters and very modest.
The teachers spent two days assessing the boys. I was extremely relieved that they didn’t have any major criticism of they way I was running the schoolroom. They seemed downright complimentary. Most school of the air students are taught by their mothers who really don’t have the time to dedicate to the kids’ education. Both boys came out ahead of the curve in their assessment. It felt like I received a good report card too.
Ollie’s teacher and the principal from the School of the Air came for their yearly assessment visit this week-end. It’s not an easy task to get to the island. You either have to charter a plane or a boat or catch a lift on a supply run. The teachers ended up chartering a small plane. In an area of the world that is labeled “remote”, we are beyond “outback”. The teachers consider us the most far flung of their students in an otherwise extremely “far flung” part of the world.
The airstrip is scratched out of clay around 6km from the homestead. Sometimes the pilot will call before he takes off. It takes only 15 minutes to fly from the mainland and it takes us about 15 minutes to drive to the airstrip. Or we wait until we hear the sound of the plane and then go for a mad dash so the poor devils on the flight don’t think they have been abandoned in the middle of nowhere.
The boys and I waited anxiously in the little sunshade that the dune buggy provided us. How scary can a kindergarten teacher be? At times the school seems to operate in a vacuum. The boys both have on-air lessons with their teachers for half an hour a day. After each two-week set of work, I send the completed work back to the teachers for marking and assessment. It takes about six weeks to get the marked work back by which point we can scarcely remember what the set was about. So the boys and I operate with very little feedback on their progress and I operate with no real validation on whether I’m going my job properly and whether they are accomplishing what is required.
So I was trepidatous too. I had visions of the mean teacher and the principal tearing our efforts apart, telling me I couldn‘t teach my way out of a paper bag, and putting the boys into remedial classes. It was a long wait for the plane to circle and touch down.
The flight touched down and taxied to the “terminal” (aka where the car track hits the runway). The boys went to hide. The teachers wanted to take photos. I think the teachers were having fun on their big adventure too. The airstrip is full of holes and we always wait for the pilot to get the plane back into the air before we leave. If they were to loose a wheel or crash, we want to make sure there is someone to get help.
The ride back from the airstrip is bumpy and sandy and lots of bugs fly into your face, so it’s a good idea to wear sunglasses. It meanders through the low scrubby bushes that survive in the sandy soil and then the vista opens up to the sea when you drive over the final hill to the homestead. It’s very rugged and hot and dusty. The homestead is a revelation in the hostile environment. The homestead is it’s own little cluster of buildings and it’s own little community and it appears out of nowhere on this very large desert island.
The old shearers quarters has 8 guestrooms facing the sea with a long covered veranda dotted with deck chairs. There are 24 large solar panels and a shed filled with batteries that give us constant electricity. The 100 year old shearing shed is next to the house and fun to explore (if you keep an eye out for snakes). The family house with the classroom is behind the shearers quarters and very modest.
The teachers spent two days assessing the boys. I was extremely relieved that they didn’t have any major criticism of they way I was running the schoolroom. They seemed downright complimentary. Most school of the air students are taught by their mothers who really don’t have the time to dedicate to the kids’ education. Both boys came out ahead of the curve in their assessment. It felt like I received a good report card too.
Wednesday, March 23, 2011
Survivor vs Iron Chef
For a while it felt like I had landed in a bizarre cross-over episode of Survivor and Iron Chef. “Who will be voted off the island next? Whose cuisine will reign supreme?”
There had been a several new staff members and backpackers who had come to the island and freaked out with the isolation. A new housekeeper spent the first three days she was here very very drunk and then ended up wandering the shark infested beach at midnight in a stupor. She didn’t have the money to get back to Perth. She was very quickly voted off the island as soon as she had earned bus fare.
Another married couple were hired as a general handyman and a housekeeper. She was a 30 year old German girl, the husband was pushing 60 years old and an Australian. Was it a visa marriage? They spent two days looking glum and unhappy and then demanded off the island. There wasn’t a boat going off the island for nearly a week so they refused to work and just walked around looking miserable. It was like a cloud lifted when they left.
I was started to feel like the final four in Survivor. It was nice that I got to be on the jury. The staff would usually come to talk to me before they went to the boss. I give the boss a heads-up if I know people are getting island fever so they will have time to find a replacement.
It was also nice to be on the jury when the competing chefs were visiting. They took it all so seriously and I was happy to partake in their gourmet offerings.
There had been a several new staff members and backpackers who had come to the island and freaked out with the isolation. A new housekeeper spent the first three days she was here very very drunk and then ended up wandering the shark infested beach at midnight in a stupor. She didn’t have the money to get back to Perth. She was very quickly voted off the island as soon as she had earned bus fare.
Another married couple were hired as a general handyman and a housekeeper. She was a 30 year old German girl, the husband was pushing 60 years old and an Australian. Was it a visa marriage? They spent two days looking glum and unhappy and then demanded off the island. There wasn’t a boat going off the island for nearly a week so they refused to work and just walked around looking miserable. It was like a cloud lifted when they left.
I was started to feel like the final four in Survivor. It was nice that I got to be on the jury. The staff would usually come to talk to me before they went to the boss. I give the boss a heads-up if I know people are getting island fever so they will have time to find a replacement.
It was also nice to be on the jury when the competing chefs were visiting. They took it all so seriously and I was happy to partake in their gourmet offerings.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
UFO landing (aka “When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie”)
Population 24-ish
I’m settling down into the routine of having guests on the island. Every night there is a big dinner on the front veranda overlooking the bay. The guests seem to be all super rich wine makers and foodies. It isn’t cheap to stay here. So far there has been some insane competition on who can impress the rest of us with their cooking skills and access insanely expensive or homemade ingredients. Some bring their own wine from their vineyards or beef from their farms. There are fishing expeditions nearly every day. They dragged clams from the bay in front of the homestead one day for a clam and chilli pasta. Ten huge lobsters ended up turned into a green thai curry. Huge fish are rolling up onto the table expertly cooked by foodies on a spree.
Last night was the super moon. It was the closest the moon was going to come to the earth in the next thirty years and was supposed to be the brightest and biggest it’s been for decades. The light falling off the rising moon and glistening on the water made it look like a UFO landing on the horizon. Fresh caught Salt and Pepper Squid appeared and then a slow roasted goat. The 80 year old Italian family patriarch was holding court on the lawn with his sons and nephews smoking and watching the moon rise. He had given me a lot of strange and sometimes incomprehensible advice on life and love over the last couple of weeks. He jokes that I’m his new girlfriend. It seems that he owns half of Perth. Will and Ollie and I used the Ipad SkyWatch app to map some of the stars. We found the saucepan (otherwise known as Orion’s Belt).
Then we all sat around drinking homemade wine and eating goat under the super moon.
I’m settling down into the routine of having guests on the island. Every night there is a big dinner on the front veranda overlooking the bay. The guests seem to be all super rich wine makers and foodies. It isn’t cheap to stay here. So far there has been some insane competition on who can impress the rest of us with their cooking skills and access insanely expensive or homemade ingredients. Some bring their own wine from their vineyards or beef from their farms. There are fishing expeditions nearly every day. They dragged clams from the bay in front of the homestead one day for a clam and chilli pasta. Ten huge lobsters ended up turned into a green thai curry. Huge fish are rolling up onto the table expertly cooked by foodies on a spree.
Last night was the super moon. It was the closest the moon was going to come to the earth in the next thirty years and was supposed to be the brightest and biggest it’s been for decades. The light falling off the rising moon and glistening on the water made it look like a UFO landing on the horizon. Fresh caught Salt and Pepper Squid appeared and then a slow roasted goat. The 80 year old Italian family patriarch was holding court on the lawn with his sons and nephews smoking and watching the moon rise. He had given me a lot of strange and sometimes incomprehensible advice on life and love over the last couple of weeks. He jokes that I’m his new girlfriend. It seems that he owns half of Perth. Will and Ollie and I used the Ipad SkyWatch app to map some of the stars. We found the saucepan (otherwise known as Orion’s Belt).
Then we all sat around drinking homemade wine and eating goat under the super moon.
Saturday, March 05, 2011
We've been invaded!
Population: 26
We’ve been invaded!!! All of a sudden the guests started arriving. The population of the island more than doubled overnight.
A family group of Italian fisherman are amongst the guest that arrived this week-end. They are rugged, outdoors types with deep tans and a love of coffee and food. The father is from “the old country” but the middle aged sons are Aussie to the core. They brought their own espresso machine just in case they couldn’t get proper coffee on the island. The brothers made dinner last night by barbecuing the fish they caught and made pasta with a ragu made out of emu meat. Bush tucker at it's finest! We all sat on the front veranda overlooking the bay and swapped island stories of sharks and emergency rescues and improvised medical procedures.
There are wild muscles on the beach and the Italian brothers are going to attempt to de-sand them sufficiently to eat.
There was another snake sighting in the children’s playroom last week, except this time the mother had to rush to the schoolroom to hand me the one year old daughter before she could grab the shovel and behead it. In the meantime, the snake disappeared. It’s likely hiding somewhere in the homestead. BUT the good thing is that the mother then went on a mission to rid the playroom of anything that snakes could hide behind and I scored the bookshelf for my bedroom!!! Woooo hoooo!! I guess now the snake can hide behind it at the foot of my bed.
We’ve been invaded!!! All of a sudden the guests started arriving. The population of the island more than doubled overnight.
A family group of Italian fisherman are amongst the guest that arrived this week-end. They are rugged, outdoors types with deep tans and a love of coffee and food. The father is from “the old country” but the middle aged sons are Aussie to the core. They brought their own espresso machine just in case they couldn’t get proper coffee on the island. The brothers made dinner last night by barbecuing the fish they caught and made pasta with a ragu made out of emu meat. Bush tucker at it's finest! We all sat on the front veranda overlooking the bay and swapped island stories of sharks and emergency rescues and improvised medical procedures.
There are wild muscles on the beach and the Italian brothers are going to attempt to de-sand them sufficiently to eat.
There was another snake sighting in the children’s playroom last week, except this time the mother had to rush to the schoolroom to hand me the one year old daughter before she could grab the shovel and behead it. In the meantime, the snake disappeared. It’s likely hiding somewhere in the homestead. BUT the good thing is that the mother then went on a mission to rid the playroom of anything that snakes could hide behind and I scored the bookshelf for my bedroom!!! Woooo hoooo!! I guess now the snake can hide behind it at the foot of my bed.
Friday, March 04, 2011
Indoctrinating members into my Cargo Cult
Will and Ollie come out to the front veranda in their pajamas last night with a pair of binoculars watching the horizon for their father to return with a boat full of supplies. They ran up and down on the beach, tussled for control of the ‘noculars, made bets on who would see the boat first, discussed in detail which direction he would first appear. I thought “these are the type of sturdy, impressionable young fellows I need in my Cargo Cult.”
Of course, the most anxious devotees of my cargo cult are smokers. They stand on the beach, fidget, pace back and forth, mutter a couple of oaths and say a prayer that their precious cigarettes have not been forgotten. I haven’t seen any attempt to construct mobile phones out of coconut shells, but that might just be a matter of time.
But I shouldn’t make fun. My chocolate supplies are running low. It’s not that I need chocolate every day, I just like to know it’s there just in case. The first three weeks on the island I had no chocolate. I can’t let that happen again.
Of course, the most anxious devotees of my cargo cult are smokers. They stand on the beach, fidget, pace back and forth, mutter a couple of oaths and say a prayer that their precious cigarettes have not been forgotten. I haven’t seen any attempt to construct mobile phones out of coconut shells, but that might just be a matter of time.
But I shouldn’t make fun. My chocolate supplies are running low. It’s not that I need chocolate every day, I just like to know it’s there just in case. The first three weeks on the island I had no chocolate. I can’t let that happen again.
Tuesday, March 01, 2011
The Wwoofer experience
Population 11
Imagine you are 20 years old and away from your family for the first time on a trip overseas from Europe. You answer an ad on an internet site asking for volunteers on a remote island. It sounds like a fun, adventurous idea. So you drive to literally the ends of the earth where a man you have never seen before in your life and with whom you have only exchanged a couple of e-mails, beckons you to get on his boat. You have recently watched the movie “Wolfe Creek - Based on a True Story” of the backpacker murders. You look to the departing volunteers for assurance that this guy in the boat isn’t a psycho. Their only advice (after a hearty laugh) is “look out for sharks”.
So it is that three new German volunteers arrived a couple of days ago. They are very young and very timid, but I guess just getting this far proves they are either foolhardy, naïve, or have major intestinal fortitude.
The truth is, once you reach the island, the family is terrific, the beach is lovely, everyone is very welcoming (including the resident Governess). But I understand it takes a major leap of faith to get on that boat.
Imagine you are 20 years old and away from your family for the first time on a trip overseas from Europe. You answer an ad on an internet site asking for volunteers on a remote island. It sounds like a fun, adventurous idea. So you drive to literally the ends of the earth where a man you have never seen before in your life and with whom you have only exchanged a couple of e-mails, beckons you to get on his boat. You have recently watched the movie “Wolfe Creek - Based on a True Story” of the backpacker murders. You look to the departing volunteers for assurance that this guy in the boat isn’t a psycho. Their only advice (after a hearty laugh) is “look out for sharks”.
So it is that three new German volunteers arrived a couple of days ago. They are very young and very timid, but I guess just getting this far proves they are either foolhardy, naïve, or have major intestinal fortitude.
The truth is, once you reach the island, the family is terrific, the beach is lovely, everyone is very welcoming (including the resident Governess). But I understand it takes a major leap of faith to get on that boat.
Monday, February 21, 2011
The Wwoofers are revolting!!!!
Maybe I've been reading too much Scarlet Pimpernel, but the wwoofers are revolting and planning to get the hell off the island at their first opportunity.
I understand that I get the best deal on the island. I don't do any heavy work, the classroom is semi-air-conditioned and I get paid. Wwoofers are officially “Willing Workers on Organic Farms”, or volunteers who work 6 hours a day in return for free room and board. The poor wwoofers couldn't believe their luck when they got the job on the island. When they arrived they were in awe and so happy. One of them DROVE all the way from Sydney to get here. Less than two weeks later, they have been scrubbing and cleaning in the heat and the mosquitoes until they are too exhausted at the end of the day to enjoy the island. The clouds of mosquitoes make sleeping almost impossible (poor things don't have a mosquito net like me). Now they want off. It takes a lot of work to keep a desert island clean. And they aren't getting paid and it's been the hottest summer in living memory. And that's not even mentioning all the damn cyclones.
Anyway, they are all planning to take the next boat back to the mainland. We have three new hapless victims (ummmm. . . . wwoofers) arriving next week. More German girls. Let's see how long they last.
I understand that I get the best deal on the island. I don't do any heavy work, the classroom is semi-air-conditioned and I get paid. Wwoofers are officially “Willing Workers on Organic Farms”, or volunteers who work 6 hours a day in return for free room and board. The poor wwoofers couldn't believe their luck when they got the job on the island. When they arrived they were in awe and so happy. One of them DROVE all the way from Sydney to get here. Less than two weeks later, they have been scrubbing and cleaning in the heat and the mosquitoes until they are too exhausted at the end of the day to enjoy the island. The clouds of mosquitoes make sleeping almost impossible (poor things don't have a mosquito net like me). Now they want off. It takes a lot of work to keep a desert island clean. And they aren't getting paid and it's been the hottest summer in living memory. And that's not even mentioning all the damn cyclones.
Anyway, they are all planning to take the next boat back to the mainland. We have three new hapless victims (ummmm. . . . wwoofers) arriving next week. More German girls. Let's see how long they last.
Saturday, February 19, 2011
The Hermit was not "taken".
Population 11
The two German girls and I were planning to borrow the dune buggy and drive nearly three hours to the other end of the island to see the turtle nesting beach. The truth of the matter is that once you are away from the homestead, you are completely without communication to the outside world. There is no cell phone reception. If you get bogged or get bitten by a shark or snake, there will be no help coming. The owners of the island said “no worries, as long as you know how to change a tire and get out of a bog, you’ll be ‘right”. Frankly, my knowledge of getting out of a sand bog comes straight off Discovery Channel and episodes of “I Shouldn't be Alive“. I asked the German girls. They shrugged. We decided to go to Surf Point instead since it was only 25km away and we could still walk home if absolutely necessary. Besides, the tide was so high with the latest cyclone to pass our way that turtle beach would likely be covered with water.
Surf Point is just as lovely as the other beaches on the island. I dunked myself into the water and THREE TIMES had to run out because I saw a shark coming. One got within five feet of me, but it was only a little one. It’s quite nice to add some extra excitement to a dip in the ocean.
I overheard a story of a hermit on the island. There have been a few over the years. This one set himself up in a shack with a goat (a man needs some company). He went swimming and had his leg bitten off by a shark but managed to drag himself back to his shack and there he died. So when the locals insist that "noone has ever been 'taken' by a shark", I guess that doesn't include being 'bitten' if you manage to get back onto dry land before you keel over and bleed to death.
Friday night we had a pizza and wine party with the family. There are now 11 people on the island. It’s nice to have some company. Once the guests arrive, then it’s a party every night.
The two German girls and I were planning to borrow the dune buggy and drive nearly three hours to the other end of the island to see the turtle nesting beach. The truth of the matter is that once you are away from the homestead, you are completely without communication to the outside world. There is no cell phone reception. If you get bogged or get bitten by a shark or snake, there will be no help coming. The owners of the island said “no worries, as long as you know how to change a tire and get out of a bog, you’ll be ‘right”. Frankly, my knowledge of getting out of a sand bog comes straight off Discovery Channel and episodes of “I Shouldn't be Alive“. I asked the German girls. They shrugged. We decided to go to Surf Point instead since it was only 25km away and we could still walk home if absolutely necessary. Besides, the tide was so high with the latest cyclone to pass our way that turtle beach would likely be covered with water.
Surf Point is just as lovely as the other beaches on the island. I dunked myself into the water and THREE TIMES had to run out because I saw a shark coming. One got within five feet of me, but it was only a little one. It’s quite nice to add some extra excitement to a dip in the ocean.
I overheard a story of a hermit on the island. There have been a few over the years. This one set himself up in a shack with a goat (a man needs some company). He went swimming and had his leg bitten off by a shark but managed to drag himself back to his shack and there he died. So when the locals insist that "noone has ever been 'taken' by a shark", I guess that doesn't include being 'bitten' if you manage to get back onto dry land before you keel over and bleed to death.
Friday night we had a pizza and wine party with the family. There are now 11 people on the island. It’s nice to have some company. Once the guests arrive, then it’s a party every night.
Tuesday, February 15, 2011
The Shining
Population 13
Last night we had an unexpected visitor. It wouldn't seem weird to have a lost traveler turn up in the middle of the night, except WE LIVE ON AN ISLAND!!!
The night was hot and steamy. There was a storm approaching and lightning hanging in the distance. I was the only one awake with the light on reading at 9:30pm when the stranger came along the homestead veranda yelling "hello, anyone there." There are three other blokes sleeping in the homestead at the moment, including the owner of the island and two burly laborers who are here to pull down a shed. They didn't stir. Finally the stranger went to the only light he could see and was banging on my door!!! I finally got myself up. This rough looking blighter said he was "camping at 'the block' and was getting eaten by mosquitoes." I thought it a likely story. He had probably knocked off all the blokes before he came knocking on my door. Maybe now there was just me and the two young German backpackers to run through the empty guesthouse, barricading doors and improvising weapons out of fish hooks.
I told him I was just the teacher and would take him to the owner's house around the back. The moon was almost full as I took him, clad only in my pajamas, through the evening gloom to the house. The light was still on. I pointed and said "Just knock and they'll sort you out." I slunk back into bed and huddled under my mosquito net with fear.
Somehow it seems we all survived the night without incident. I sure had some weird nightmares afterward. You have to be a pretty intrepid soul to come camping on this island. There are no facilities except for the Homestead which is the only inhabited structure on the huge island. The abundance of rain this season has brought the mosquitoes out in force. They come in clouds and bit through clothes. Add a hot and steamy night to the mix you can bet the poor chaps had to be pretty miserable to be desperate enough to trek through the night to get to the homestead. Now I feel sorry for them. I shouldn’t have presumed they were axe murderers. We gave them a lift off the island the next day. The island had kicked their intrepid asses.
Last night we had an unexpected visitor. It wouldn't seem weird to have a lost traveler turn up in the middle of the night, except WE LIVE ON AN ISLAND!!!
The night was hot and steamy. There was a storm approaching and lightning hanging in the distance. I was the only one awake with the light on reading at 9:30pm when the stranger came along the homestead veranda yelling "hello, anyone there." There are three other blokes sleeping in the homestead at the moment, including the owner of the island and two burly laborers who are here to pull down a shed. They didn't stir. Finally the stranger went to the only light he could see and was banging on my door!!! I finally got myself up. This rough looking blighter said he was "camping at 'the block' and was getting eaten by mosquitoes." I thought it a likely story. He had probably knocked off all the blokes before he came knocking on my door. Maybe now there was just me and the two young German backpackers to run through the empty guesthouse, barricading doors and improvising weapons out of fish hooks.
I told him I was just the teacher and would take him to the owner's house around the back. The moon was almost full as I took him, clad only in my pajamas, through the evening gloom to the house. The light was still on. I pointed and said "Just knock and they'll sort you out." I slunk back into bed and huddled under my mosquito net with fear.
Somehow it seems we all survived the night without incident. I sure had some weird nightmares afterward. You have to be a pretty intrepid soul to come camping on this island. There are no facilities except for the Homestead which is the only inhabited structure on the huge island. The abundance of rain this season has brought the mosquitoes out in force. They come in clouds and bit through clothes. Add a hot and steamy night to the mix you can bet the poor chaps had to be pretty miserable to be desperate enough to trek through the night to get to the homestead. Now I feel sorry for them. I shouldn’t have presumed they were axe murderers. We gave them a lift off the island the next day. The island had kicked their intrepid asses.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Blood and decapitation (and chocolate cake)
Population 10
Wednesday last week turned out to be a snake killing day. We had a dugart (one of the world’s top ten deadly snakes) in the homestead. It was in the children's playroom before they cornered it with a shovel. I somehow ended up with the job of mopping up the snake blood. Oh, the life of a governess, making the playroom safe so the children don't slip in poisonous snake blood. I tend to wander around the homestead in the dark with flip-flops on my feet. Maybe I should be more careful.
The same day I was sitting in my room, reading a book, when the mother started calling my name. She had spotted another snake outside, but near the house. She needed to keep an eye on it so it wouldn’t disappear. I went running down the beach to find the father, found him working on the barge and we came roaring back in the jeep with the shovel. All very dramatic. Turned out to be a diamond python and totally harmless but still we didn't want it around the house.
But that wasn’t the end of the decapitation. There must have been something in the air this week!! Will was riding his motorbike down the beach before school and didn’t see the rope that attached the barge to the post. He went straight into it and it caught him on the neck and flung him backwards off his bike. He hit his head hard on the sand (thankfully wearing a helmet) and the rope burned an enormous graze on his neck. But with the resilience of youth, he still made it to school and had forgotten the whole incident by the next day.
It was my 40th birthday yesterday. The father was taking the boys into town to run some errands and I joined them for a ride on the boat and a trip to the shop. There isn’t much to recommend the local town - except, the SHOP!!!! Not quite a supermarket. More of a corner store with groceries and everything is three times the normal price because it has to be shipped to the middle of nowhere. But a SHOP all the same. I went wandering and found a sign that pointed to “Town Centre”. I wandered in that direction for a couple of blocks and then found another sign saying “Town Centre” pointing the opposite direction. I must have blinked and missed it. Two cafes, a couple of small food stores, a tiny shop that crammed the bank agent, post office, surf shop and internet café under one tiny roof and a few lost tourists spread out along the beach waiting for the next boat out onto the Bay. But I hadn’t been off the island in three weeks, so it seemed like “the big smoke” to me.
The family made me a wonderful lamb roast dinner for my birthday. We managed to organize a couple of bottles of champagne and a traditional chocolate cake. The boys made me a card and blew up some balloons. A couple of German volunteers had arrived on the island this week as well as the Grandfather, so we had a proper little gathering on a very hot night with a thunder storm brewing outside the door. The flies and mosquitoes were out in force before the storm, otherwise we would have had the party outside overlooking the beach. Instead we all hunkered down in the family house so the mozzies wouldn’t make a meal out of us.
Wednesday last week turned out to be a snake killing day. We had a dugart (one of the world’s top ten deadly snakes) in the homestead. It was in the children's playroom before they cornered it with a shovel. I somehow ended up with the job of mopping up the snake blood. Oh, the life of a governess, making the playroom safe so the children don't slip in poisonous snake blood. I tend to wander around the homestead in the dark with flip-flops on my feet. Maybe I should be more careful.
The same day I was sitting in my room, reading a book, when the mother started calling my name. She had spotted another snake outside, but near the house. She needed to keep an eye on it so it wouldn’t disappear. I went running down the beach to find the father, found him working on the barge and we came roaring back in the jeep with the shovel. All very dramatic. Turned out to be a diamond python and totally harmless but still we didn't want it around the house.
But that wasn’t the end of the decapitation. There must have been something in the air this week!! Will was riding his motorbike down the beach before school and didn’t see the rope that attached the barge to the post. He went straight into it and it caught him on the neck and flung him backwards off his bike. He hit his head hard on the sand (thankfully wearing a helmet) and the rope burned an enormous graze on his neck. But with the resilience of youth, he still made it to school and had forgotten the whole incident by the next day.
It was my 40th birthday yesterday. The father was taking the boys into town to run some errands and I joined them for a ride on the boat and a trip to the shop. There isn’t much to recommend the local town - except, the SHOP!!!! Not quite a supermarket. More of a corner store with groceries and everything is three times the normal price because it has to be shipped to the middle of nowhere. But a SHOP all the same. I went wandering and found a sign that pointed to “Town Centre”. I wandered in that direction for a couple of blocks and then found another sign saying “Town Centre” pointing the opposite direction. I must have blinked and missed it. Two cafes, a couple of small food stores, a tiny shop that crammed the bank agent, post office, surf shop and internet café under one tiny roof and a few lost tourists spread out along the beach waiting for the next boat out onto the Bay. But I hadn’t been off the island in three weeks, so it seemed like “the big smoke” to me.
The family made me a wonderful lamb roast dinner for my birthday. We managed to organize a couple of bottles of champagne and a traditional chocolate cake. The boys made me a card and blew up some balloons. A couple of German volunteers had arrived on the island this week as well as the Grandfather, so we had a proper little gathering on a very hot night with a thunder storm brewing outside the door. The flies and mosquitoes were out in force before the storm, otherwise we would have had the party outside overlooking the beach. Instead we all hunkered down in the family house so the mozzies wouldn’t make a meal out of us.
Saturday, February 05, 2011
Cargo cult (aka internet shopping)
Population: 6
The cyclone and the belly flu both blew over and the seas (and stomachs) are calm again. The pontoon broke its mooring and lost the engine. We had to drag it out of the water with the tractor at the peak of the king tide while the winds were howling and the sea was churning.
The family got the boat into the water today and went for a supplies run to town. It was so exciting to watch the boat come in and unload boxes and boxes of fresh supplies Not having access to any shops does take a little getting used to. I haven’t even touched my purse since I got here. No money. No keys. No credit cards. Ahhhhhh, it’s nice to be off the grid.
I thought it might be a good idea to develop my own personal cargo cult. I didn’t think I would have to sit sadly on the beach with a scale model of a boat made out of bark and twigs and a pretend radio made out of tin cans. I thought internet shopping would make that unnecessary in the modern world. Alas, I found out the hard way that eBay and most on-line stores don’t deliver to PO boxes. Street address!!! You’ve got to be kidding me! There are no roads on the island and even the “road less traveled” is miles away from here. The mailman sure isn’t going to swim the 20 miles to the island to deliver mail. We just pick it up from the post office whenever someone is in town.
So I had better find some bark and twigs and maybe a couple of tin cans. Or ship things to my Mum’s place and have her forward them to the PO box. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Otherwise, I’ll just have to go cold turkey on consumerism.
School started in earnest on Wednesday. The school of the air provides very detailed lesson notes and activities lists as well as library books, puzzle boxes, craft supplies. More than we could ever get through. The boys are exceedingly polite and surprisingly follow all directions without arguing. Really very sweet boys.
After school on Friday we went for a drive to the vast sand flats about 10kms from the house. The landscape is spectacular. Huge sand dunes give way to rolling sandy scrub land and then a huge bay as white as snow with unnaturally blue water. They were telling me that a paleontologist had visited several years ago and found dinosaur eggs in the sand dunes. They were all black and charred because the local aborigines had used them as cooking pots.
I’m still in awe of this place. Everywhere I turn there is something amazing. I was . . . ummm . . . on the porcelain throne last week when I noticed the exposed stone walls around the bathroom are huge blocks of fossilized sea life. I could say I almost peed myself with the excitement of discovery . . but that might be taking cause and effect a bit far. No need for magazines next to the dunny in this place. You can just study the walls.
The cyclone and the belly flu both blew over and the seas (and stomachs) are calm again. The pontoon broke its mooring and lost the engine. We had to drag it out of the water with the tractor at the peak of the king tide while the winds were howling and the sea was churning.
The family got the boat into the water today and went for a supplies run to town. It was so exciting to watch the boat come in and unload boxes and boxes of fresh supplies Not having access to any shops does take a little getting used to. I haven’t even touched my purse since I got here. No money. No keys. No credit cards. Ahhhhhh, it’s nice to be off the grid.
I thought it might be a good idea to develop my own personal cargo cult. I didn’t think I would have to sit sadly on the beach with a scale model of a boat made out of bark and twigs and a pretend radio made out of tin cans. I thought internet shopping would make that unnecessary in the modern world. Alas, I found out the hard way that eBay and most on-line stores don’t deliver to PO boxes. Street address!!! You’ve got to be kidding me! There are no roads on the island and even the “road less traveled” is miles away from here. The mailman sure isn’t going to swim the 20 miles to the island to deliver mail. We just pick it up from the post office whenever someone is in town.
So I had better find some bark and twigs and maybe a couple of tin cans. Or ship things to my Mum’s place and have her forward them to the PO box. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Otherwise, I’ll just have to go cold turkey on consumerism.
School started in earnest on Wednesday. The school of the air provides very detailed lesson notes and activities lists as well as library books, puzzle boxes, craft supplies. More than we could ever get through. The boys are exceedingly polite and surprisingly follow all directions without arguing. Really very sweet boys.
After school on Friday we went for a drive to the vast sand flats about 10kms from the house. The landscape is spectacular. Huge sand dunes give way to rolling sandy scrub land and then a huge bay as white as snow with unnaturally blue water. They were telling me that a paleontologist had visited several years ago and found dinosaur eggs in the sand dunes. They were all black and charred because the local aborigines had used them as cooking pots.
I’m still in awe of this place. Everywhere I turn there is something amazing. I was . . . ummm . . . on the porcelain throne last week when I noticed the exposed stone walls around the bathroom are huge blocks of fossilized sea life. I could say I almost peed myself with the excitement of discovery . . but that might be taking cause and effect a bit far. No need for magazines next to the dunny in this place. You can just study the walls.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
The Plague and the Cyclone (or what Australians would call “stomach flu and a bit of wind”).
Population: 7
The whole family has come down with a nasty stomach bug. It is one of those mean belly aches that makes you unable to get out of bed for several days (I am taking poetic license when I call it “the plague“). I am still 100% healthy but watching them one by one fall victim to the dreaded belly bug. The nearest town 20 nautical miles across the water has a medical clinic once a week, otherwise there are no doctors within 400kms. All six of my fellow islanders are laid low and ensconced in the family home with the torment of their knotted guts and I’m rattling around the guest house watching the cyclone approach.
Cyclone Bianca is on it’s way. It is currently a category 3 and about 400kms north of us hovering near the local town that has recently been devastated by two major flooding events. The sea in the bay outside the door is in a crazy lather. The king tide is so high almost all the sand is underwater right up to the lawn. The pontoon (pictured below) is on the brink of running aground. Random things are starting to become airborne and mysteriously clanging to earth. It might be time to batten down the hatches (so to speak).
The local radio calmly labels the fire danger brought on by the fierce winds as “extreme to catastrophic”. The locals don’t seem too worried but that might be because they are all down with the plague and beyond caring. The cyclone is supposed to mostly miss us and hit Perth on Sunday.
The guest house was built cyclone proof so I’m in no danger (except maybe for the plague). I’m just bouncing off the walls with no-one to talk to. Where is Wilson when I need him?! Maybe I can rig something up from the kids’ soccer ball and some paints from the schoolroom.
The whole family has come down with a nasty stomach bug. It is one of those mean belly aches that makes you unable to get out of bed for several days (I am taking poetic license when I call it “the plague“). I am still 100% healthy but watching them one by one fall victim to the dreaded belly bug. The nearest town 20 nautical miles across the water has a medical clinic once a week, otherwise there are no doctors within 400kms. All six of my fellow islanders are laid low and ensconced in the family home with the torment of their knotted guts and I’m rattling around the guest house watching the cyclone approach.
Cyclone Bianca is on it’s way. It is currently a category 3 and about 400kms north of us hovering near the local town that has recently been devastated by two major flooding events. The sea in the bay outside the door is in a crazy lather. The king tide is so high almost all the sand is underwater right up to the lawn. The pontoon (pictured below) is on the brink of running aground. Random things are starting to become airborne and mysteriously clanging to earth. It might be time to batten down the hatches (so to speak).
The local radio calmly labels the fire danger brought on by the fierce winds as “extreme to catastrophic”. The locals don’t seem too worried but that might be because they are all down with the plague and beyond caring. The cyclone is supposed to mostly miss us and hit Perth on Sunday.
The guest house was built cyclone proof so I’m in no danger (except maybe for the plague). I’m just bouncing off the walls with no-one to talk to. Where is Wilson when I need him?! Maybe I can rig something up from the kids’ soccer ball and some paints from the schoolroom.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Shaking out the snakes and spiders
Population: 2 and about 4 goat shooters
It’s very quiet here.
The tiny regional airport is a small shed that receives three flights a week from Perth. We transferred to a light 4 seater aircraft with an interior that looked like it came out of a 1982 sedan complete with lambs wool seat covers and a dashboard made up of antiquated dials.
The landing strip on the island is scratched out of the clay and about 6kms from the house. There was a helicopter parked at one end of the runway. The goat shooters from the Department of Environment Conservation are on the island for a few days. They hadn’t wanted us back on the island while they are here, but the owners managed to convince them with a loud “we LIVE here!” argument but we aren’t allowed beyond the homestead acreage until they are finished with their cowboy goat shooting from a helicopter.
The homestead has been empty since November with only a caretaker staying to keep an eye on the place. There has been two years worth of rain in the past month. The main town has been flooded twice and is completely devastated. But the island is very green. Greener than anyone can remember.
The mother and I are here alone for the first few days. We are shaking all the deadly snakes and spiders out of the house and classroom before the others arrive on Wednesday. Dugart snakes are amongst the world top 10 deadly species, but aren’t terribly aggressive. They are everywhere on the island and the long grass from all the rain isn’t helping. I asked what I was supposed to do when I saw a snake. It seems running away in fear isn’t very helpful if the snake is in the house. I should yell “snake” and keep my eye on it because they slither away quickly. That should give another brave soul the time to grab a shovel and come to kill it.
There are also mice everywhere. I don’t usually like cats and I shudder to have them in my bedroom, but Lucy the resident cat is my new best friend if she wants to hunt mice in my room.
My room is at the front of the homestead/guesthouse overlooking a sandy bay. The view is spectacular and peaceful. The water is so clear you can see the sand dunes and the rocks all the way to the bottom. The family live in their own house around the back so until the guests start arriving in March, I have the whole guesthouse to myself including two lounge rooms, a commercial kitchen, and plenty of chairs on the veranda to sit and watch the world go by.
Maybe I’ll go skinny dipping with the sharks before the others arrive. I’ll just hope the goat shooters don’t come whizzing by in the helicopter.
It’s very quiet here.
The tiny regional airport is a small shed that receives three flights a week from Perth. We transferred to a light 4 seater aircraft with an interior that looked like it came out of a 1982 sedan complete with lambs wool seat covers and a dashboard made up of antiquated dials.
The landing strip on the island is scratched out of the clay and about 6kms from the house. There was a helicopter parked at one end of the runway. The goat shooters from the Department of Environment Conservation are on the island for a few days. They hadn’t wanted us back on the island while they are here, but the owners managed to convince them with a loud “we LIVE here!” argument but we aren’t allowed beyond the homestead acreage until they are finished with their cowboy goat shooting from a helicopter.
The homestead has been empty since November with only a caretaker staying to keep an eye on the place. There has been two years worth of rain in the past month. The main town has been flooded twice and is completely devastated. But the island is very green. Greener than anyone can remember.
The mother and I are here alone for the first few days. We are shaking all the deadly snakes and spiders out of the house and classroom before the others arrive on Wednesday. Dugart snakes are amongst the world top 10 deadly species, but aren’t terribly aggressive. They are everywhere on the island and the long grass from all the rain isn’t helping. I asked what I was supposed to do when I saw a snake. It seems running away in fear isn’t very helpful if the snake is in the house. I should yell “snake” and keep my eye on it because they slither away quickly. That should give another brave soul the time to grab a shovel and come to kill it.
There are also mice everywhere. I don’t usually like cats and I shudder to have them in my bedroom, but Lucy the resident cat is my new best friend if she wants to hunt mice in my room.
My room is at the front of the homestead/guesthouse overlooking a sandy bay. The view is spectacular and peaceful. The water is so clear you can see the sand dunes and the rocks all the way to the bottom. The family live in their own house around the back so until the guests start arriving in March, I have the whole guesthouse to myself including two lounge rooms, a commercial kitchen, and plenty of chairs on the veranda to sit and watch the world go by.
Maybe I’ll go skinny dipping with the sharks before the others arrive. I’ll just hope the goat shooters don’t come whizzing by in the helicopter.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Heading to the Island
Tomorrow I finally start my journey to the Island. I’ve seen photos, I’m met the whole extended family, but setting foot on the island for the first time is where the whole adventure really begins.
The grandfather was a wealthy supermarket mogul who bought the island in 1969. For the next twenty-five years, the whole 620 square kilometer island (10 times the size of Manhattan Island) was used as a private family retreat. The island had been leased for sheep farming for nearly 100 years but the family went about eradicating the sheep and all non-native species in order to restore the natural eco-system. They turned the island over to the government in 2005 to create a National Park, but retained several hundred acres of freehold property around the homestead and the most spectacular of the beaches. The grandchildren now live there and run the old homestead and shearing quarters as an eco-tourism lodge. It is the only dwelling on the Island and the little family of 5 are the only permanent residents.
My arrival will bring the population of the Island to a grand total of six. Mother, father, three children and the governess. As soon as tourist season hits in March, there will be four staff (usually foreign backpackers on a big Australian adventure) and up to 20 guests (mostly avid fisherman).
My job is to supervise the classroom for the two boys. Because they are so remote, the boys attend “School of the Air” broadcast from a school in a town about 4 hours away. School of the Air used to be conducted on CB radio to educate the isolated children of the Outback. Lessons are now on the internet and governesses are hired to go through the lessons with the children, make sure all the course work is completed correctly, and run the school room with some discipline.
I love the term “governess”. I’m not sure if I’ll be more Mary Poppins, Anna from “the King and I“, or Maria from “the Sound of Music”. Maybe I’ll be the more modern version. I’ll be the governess with the magic Ipad and the Cancer Council approved sun umbrella.
I’ve already met the boys - William is 7 years old and Oliver is 5. They are exactly what you would expect from young boys who have spent their whole lives running around the beaches of their own desert island. They are a cross between Robinson Crusoe and Crocodile Dundee - carefree, barefooted, self reliant, laid-back but polite and well mannered. The type of boys that you know, if you can get them talking, will have wild stories to tell of sharks and snakes and spiders and feral cats. And it will all come naturally to them because this is the only life they have ever known.
Better get my bags packed!!!
The grandfather was a wealthy supermarket mogul who bought the island in 1969. For the next twenty-five years, the whole 620 square kilometer island (10 times the size of Manhattan Island) was used as a private family retreat. The island had been leased for sheep farming for nearly 100 years but the family went about eradicating the sheep and all non-native species in order to restore the natural eco-system. They turned the island over to the government in 2005 to create a National Park, but retained several hundred acres of freehold property around the homestead and the most spectacular of the beaches. The grandchildren now live there and run the old homestead and shearing quarters as an eco-tourism lodge. It is the only dwelling on the Island and the little family of 5 are the only permanent residents.
My arrival will bring the population of the Island to a grand total of six. Mother, father, three children and the governess. As soon as tourist season hits in March, there will be four staff (usually foreign backpackers on a big Australian adventure) and up to 20 guests (mostly avid fisherman).
My job is to supervise the classroom for the two boys. Because they are so remote, the boys attend “School of the Air” broadcast from a school in a town about 4 hours away. School of the Air used to be conducted on CB radio to educate the isolated children of the Outback. Lessons are now on the internet and governesses are hired to go through the lessons with the children, make sure all the course work is completed correctly, and run the school room with some discipline.
I love the term “governess”. I’m not sure if I’ll be more Mary Poppins, Anna from “the King and I“, or Maria from “the Sound of Music”. Maybe I’ll be the more modern version. I’ll be the governess with the magic Ipad and the Cancer Council approved sun umbrella.
I’ve already met the boys - William is 7 years old and Oliver is 5. They are exactly what you would expect from young boys who have spent their whole lives running around the beaches of their own desert island. They are a cross between Robinson Crusoe and Crocodile Dundee - carefree, barefooted, self reliant, laid-back but polite and well mannered. The type of boys that you know, if you can get them talking, will have wild stories to tell of sharks and snakes and spiders and feral cats. And it will all come naturally to them because this is the only life they have ever known.
Better get my bags packed!!!
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