Heading North 

It was nearly June in Brisbane and my thoughts started to head North to the Wet Tropics again. 

The cold had now set in and my locale had already experienced minus two in recent weeks with continuing morning temperatures swinging between two and four. 

This was persuasive in my current state and mood to pack up the car and head off with my paint box, some paper and fishing rods. 

I now craved the sweet smell of the forest and air on Dunk as well as at El Arish and the Turquoise Sea.

With time running away it had been almost two years since I visited my favourite Shambhala (Shangri-La) on planet Earth. 

In a past time I had been lucky enough to visit the Sky Cave realm of Mustang in Western Nepal where this term has been used and I could see the possibility that this was the place although it was the original gateway from India to Tibet and China it now faced risks and challenges from 

political upheaval and progress with a proportion of the caves raided by local robbers looking to make easy money from collectors of the old 

documents and paintings they contained. 

Nothing was being documented for the records as the ancient books were being torn apart and sold page by page. 

This area was no longer protected or being saved from these encroachments. 

On arrival at the beach I was here almost home once again. I could see my objective in the distance hung with heavy cloud. 

They hugged Dunk in the clear morning air as if embracing the green undulation of its wonderful rain forest. 

A drip dripped on my nose and made its way down to my lips so I could taste its sweetness.

A tear dropped from the sky. 

Out there further were the Coral Bommies and Swim Throughs as diverse as they could ever be at Taylor and Beaver and beyond. 

Ben and Eva. 

A memory sprung up of remembering feeding the Reef Sharks with chicken bones from the edge of one of the Cays and a Bronze Whaler as big as a VW Beetle floating motionless sucking in the morning tide on the Southern side of the Reef.

In those days encounters were common especially with Reef Sharks and Scorpion Fish. 

Nothing has changed.  

The Plate Coral and Gorgonian were prevalent and stunning as the last cyclone Winifred had past almost ten years before. 

The reef had shown resilience. 

Soon there will be new encounters of the Toothy kind as I guide my Ship of Fools to greater depths. 

I was aware of the sixteen foot hammerhead that inhabited Yamacutta swimming through the clear blue with its dorsal cutting more than  sixty centimetres above the surface.   

A perfect line in the blue. 

Somehow these memories are never forgotten or lost, they are just stored for further reference,  remembering and writings. 

The ghosts of the past come floating back to take on new life and to spur you on to your next adventure in the sunshine and the blue. 

Don't go too deep as the colours will fade although the shape of the “Friendship’ far above you speaks to you of safety. 

Do your deep dive first and earn your sit time amongst the waves and tell stories to your buddies. 

The next will be shallow, full of colour and uncaring consciousness. 

Welcome to the Blue.

This is the in between to the edge, the wall of the fall from the peak where the Dog Tooth Tuna play and dodge the bigger sharks that snarl and 

point their fins down in anger to protect their mythical territory against you the invader. 

The vis stands clear and unmeasured and fades away into the depths to nothingness. 

Banfield encouraged me as did James Mason and John Coburn on this journey. 

Nothing is forgotten or even forgiven. 

The Tinny glided across the glassy water towards Dunk crossing the pond.

A morning so calm and clear was worth a Toby Lure out the back of the boat for good measure just to see if anything was around.

It was now warming up.  

On this particular day I headed down towards the Hull River keeping close to the shore until I came across the grey cliffs that dive into the sea. 

No stopping in this area as the salties are big as well as active and hungry.  

I made the left turn back towards Dunk with an idea I might head towards Bedarra.

Thoughts and Visions of John Coburn, James Mason, Helen Mirren and Cora burned in my thoughts and head 

as the boat bobbed up and down on the near non existent waves. 

I could almost hear Norman Lindsay writing and narrating this yarn of so many years ago. 

I had a copy of his book published in the 1930's and not being able to find it in Australia 

I purchased it from a bookstore down in Kentish Town the last time I was in old London.

Coburn’s tapestries and geometric compositions played with my aquatic libido and I realised how great he was with his art. 

Years earlier I had swum around the Peer at Dunk alone as well as up and down the point. 

Nothing happened. 

Something that would never be attempted again as the water is murky and you don't know what is eyeing you off. 

The resort was now gone on the island as the last cyclone smashed it to pieces. 

There was two metres plus of sand through the resort and structures with no hope of resurrecting it at all as it had to be demolished. 

It used to be beautiful and you could walk through the resort without question eyeing off the food which was laid 

out on Mahogany tables stretched around the inside perimeter.

This was very different to the Sands of Kooringal.