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.
Thursday, January 27, 2011
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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