Magnetic Island (Round 1) involved no less than scaling a waterfall (albeit was rather diminutive), fighting off an army of green ants from my nether regions, and getting hopelessly lost in the bush. Though it has a reputation of being a party island as it hosts a monthly full-moon party, I was treated to more adventures of the wildlife variety than nightlife. After two visits, I am still itching to go back for more.
On both trips I was able to befriend fellow travelers before even arriving at the hostel. Backpackers are easy to distinguish from the locals as soon as you embark onto the ferry and as Magnetic is a tiny island with few (three) hostels, it feels like you are all headed to summer camp…so why not just speed the process along and get chatting prior to arrival?
To Moke Or Not To Moke?
Renting a Moke (i.e. a mini jeep or convertible, not unlike the big wheels you drove as a tot) is one of the staple tourist attractions of the island. It is an easy revelation to see why they are so successful in this endeavor: these Mokes are wildly fun if not just a bit juvenile. You succumb to your inner child and suddenly every activity becomes much more exciting with your toy car in tow. I have only rented the convertible Mokes as they are the epitome “Barbie Car,” but now made for adults – happy days.
Don’t Go Chasing Waterfalls:
My first trip to Maggie (as the locals refer to the isle) stemmed out of an attempt to escape the monsoonal rains of Cairns’ wet season. Townsville (the outpost for the island) is said to boast 320 days of sunshine a year; and though my travel agent had assured me the whole East Coast was steeped in rain due to the cyclone – subsequently luring me into staying in Cairns for five more days – Magnetic greeted me with bright and sunny skies.
Unfortunately this was still in the midst of stinger season, so exploration of the island had to be primarily land based. With four other backpackers we rented a standard car (no Moke…yet. Five people is one too many).
Seeking relief from the heat we went in search of a waterfall/swimming hole in the bush. The waterfall was not particularly grand or impressive and the plunge pool was only slightly larger than that of a hot tub – but I was happy to be immersed in natural water without the burden of a full body lycra stinger suit.
Feeling confident and adventurous, we went climbing up the falls in search of a larger and more secluded pool upon the recommendation from a couple making their way back. As I am not the most sure footed person, this endeavor was a great deal more challenging than I had anticipated. My new friends soon disappeared into the distance – hopping from one rock to another with an effortless grace that I dare not even dream of. While I heaved my limbs across the rocks, I made sure to stay on all fours so as to prevent any face plants (and expensive dental work).
With sweat dripping from my brow, I clutched onto any sturdy object that would aid in propelling me forward. Seeing a well-rooted tree, I leaned my body against it and no sooner than my torso pressed against the bark I felt suddenly as though my body was covered in burning embers. Green ants had dropped down from the tree and were crawling in and out of my bikini – spitefully biting me to cause seriously unpleasant stinging sensations across my skin. I shrieked and tried vigorously to slap them away, but this only aggravated them on. Then after two minutes of bitch slapping myself and screaming bloody murder, the ants relented and scattered back up to their nest. I stood panting and sweating, now noticing the reddening hand prints all over my body; it was then I turned around, only to see an English bloke staring back at me in disbelief. He did not look particularly impressed by my raucous gyrations. Tentatively asking if I was alright, I quickly tried to rationalize this odd looking scenario…but he remained unconvinced.
I never did get to see that other plunge pool and it took about 45 minutes for me to make my way back to the starting point. It was much harder to traverse the rocks when you are afraid to graze any trees, roots, or bark and are smack in the middle of the forest.
The next day I managed to get lost in the bush when following directions from the island’s visitor brochure, which suggested an easy walking trail (something along the lines of, “Saunter over a couple of sand dunes to see fantastic views of the island’s best beaches”). This ended up with me clinging to a massive boulder trying not to drop into a massive thorned bush, bleeding from my feet and arms (now covered in said thorns), and a trip to the infirmary that made me tardy for the ferry back to Townsville. Such is life on Magnetic.
The Yes Girl's Travel Odyssey 