2004-12-11 - 8:05 a.m.

G'day from the field. I have indeed slipped back Down Under. I am managing to survive, despite the devastating loss of Adam and Wil (comedians/radio hosts) from Triple J's breakfast show. Otherwise, life in Mackay is much the same in its laid-back, unpredictable style. Here's just a little sampling from last week:

One Day in Mackay

5:15 am and it was already daylight. The birds announced it with trills.

“If you sleep until 5:45,” I told myself, “you can still make it out the door by 6.” But my mind raced to organize the morning.

--Take 50m tape

--Get GPS from office

--Get plot locations off spreadsheets

--Don’t forget the army knife or you’ll have to use your teeth like the last time.

I was out of bed, pistachio nuts in hand, and in the car by 6 am, only an hour after low tide. Rainbows peeked through storm clouds and I cursed myself for forgetting the underwater paper. It has happened before and work was thwarted by a soggy notebook. But as I arrived at Barnes Creek Site B, the sun greeted me, along with a pack of seemingly starved sandflies. Aahh, life in the mangroves. I got to work, attempting to document erosion while clutching at shreds of my sanity as the voracious sandflies feasted on my flesh.

At some stage in my struggle not to scratch, I heard a rustling and realized that I was not alone. An old man eased himself across the muddy gully, crab trap in hand.

“G’day,” I said.

He looked surprised, so I tried to help solve the mystery.

“I’m doing research, on the mangroves.”

“When’s the road coming?” he asked.

“No,” I corrected. “Not that kind of research.” The Mackay City Council has recently reinstated plans to run the East-West connector road right through my study site. Yippee. I tried in two sentences to explain my project, to examine the consequences of mangrove dieback on water quality at the nearby coral reefs.

“Dieback,” he said, “there is no dieback.”

“What do you call that?” I questioned, pointing to a skeletal tree behind me. “Or that? Or that? . . .”

“That’s natural,” he replied. “When I was a boy, there were no mangroves here. We used to play cricket on the salt pans. Right here.”

He had a point. There were no mangroves in this region of Barnes Creek when he was a child. But after he had returned from he job as a fighter pilot in WWII, wetter years encouraged mangrove growth in the area where he had probably spent many happy hours bowling successive overs. Meanwhile, mangroves in other parts of the estuary were being cleared for railways and shopping centers. And some time in the early 1990s, dieback set in.

“Are you Dutch?” he asked, suddenly.

“Uh, no,” I replied. “American.”

“Are you married?”

“Not yet.”

“Marine Conservation Biology Symposium,” he smirked.

Huh? I glanced down at my t-shirt. He had been reading the logo across my chest.

“I may need to know that for trivia tonight at the pub!” he continued.

Yeah, right, old man.

The tides rose quickly and by 9 am I was chased out of the gully by the water. I checked my phone messages. For some reason, I get the best reception in the mangroves.

“G’day, Stacy. This is Eddie. I saw your sign at the marina. I am interested in coral reef research. I have a boat. The Jessie II. Twin engine. I’m really interested.”

Wow. That was the second time someone fell for my old cartoon-fish-on-a-sign trick. Too easy. Although the last time never really panned out: Rico, the South African spearfisherman/sharkdiver with a penchant for morning brews and penetrating stares, left me in the lurch by inexplicably calling off the dive trip at the eleventh hour. But that’s old news. I called Eddie back and he said to meet him at the marina straight away.

Walking down the dock to reach the Jessie II, I passed Rico’s boat.

“Bastard,” I mumbled to myself, but put the smile back on in time to poke my head in the galley and say, “G’day, you must be Eddie.”

Eddie and a mate were sitting on board, sipping a 10 am cuppa (coffee). He offered me one as well, a surer sign than the 10 am XXXX’s Rico always offered whenever it came down to begin negotiating a price. Eddie explained his terms.

“I work for myself, you see. So I think this would be great. If you just chip in for fuel.”

“That’s it?” I asked, incredulously. “We’ll buy you some beer, then.”

“Yeah, great, mate. I just like to get out on the water. Help out with the research. Meet some university girls.”

“Uh, Eddie,” I said. “Sorry to disappoint, but I’m the only chick. The other two are guys. Well, one Guy and one Chris.”

He paused and reflected a moment. “No worries, just tell them I like Tooheys New.”

**

Apparently he likes them a bit too much. O, captain my Captain Eddie was not quite in a functional enough state this morning to pilot the Jessie II. Perhaps we shouldn't have left such a big stash on board after the last day out. No worries, we'll try again tomorrow.

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