The prodigal keys

There is only one thing worse than losing your mobile phone.

That is losing the keys to your caravan.

And especially on your wife’s birthday when you’ve both arrived ‘home’ on a hot afternoon after a long and exhausting walk.

Not only are you locked out of the van, but also the car, because the car keys are inside the van.

This happened on our second day at Cardwell, a delightful beachside town right opposite the northern tip of Hinchinbrook Island, Australia’s largest island national park.

Right: Carol enjoying 'the best' cream bun on her birthday.

On our walk I wore a small backpack with water bottle, insect repellent, camera and the keys.

The walk took us to the Post Office, the bakery where we were told they make the best cream buns on the coast, a mobile pie shop selling the best pies, a bush trail and then return – all up about 8 kilometres.

Right: The marina at Port Hinchinbrook and below, view of the port with Hinchinbrook Island across the channel.

“The keys must have fallen out when I was taking your photo eating the cream bun or the pie, or when I took out the water bottle,” I said.

But nothing could forestall the inevitable tirade, after which I decided to don backpack again and retrace our steps, leaving a forlorn and angry Carol with $20 and a promise that all would be well soon.

No-one had handed keys into the Post Office or the cream bun shop. The mobile pie shop had sold out and left. So I pushed on to do the bush walk again and return back along the roadway.

It was at this point that I came by a mobile coffee vendor that we’d previously avoided. Something within me suggested I check with them.

Had anyone handed in a set of keys? The woman barista gave me a knowing look, put her hand under the counter and held up…yes, yes, YES! The keys! Someone had found them nearby.

At that very moment Carol turned up in the Pajero. Russel, a neighbouring vannie, had removed a fly screen from an open window (see picture above) and accessed our car keys.

After expressing our gratitude to the coffee people, we headed back, with Carol’s admonition ringing in my ears that I could never again be trusted with mobile phones, keys, wallets or anything else of value.

"Well, you married me," I said, in a voice too low to be heard.

That evening, we invited our neighbours over for a drink to celebrate her birthday and our good fortune.

And yes, we will be making a duplicate door key.

Magnetic Island revisited

Before we relegate memory of Townsville, I should mention our ferry trip to Magnetic island.

We last visited the island as star-struck teens in 1963 (see the black and white photo below taken around that time in Brisbane).

Right, Carol says goodbye to one of our friends at the Townsville Show.

Back then we’d travelled on the Sunlander to Cairns where I met many of Carol’s iconic relatives, people like Auntie Doreen and Uncle Arthur Maunder, Ron and Lorraine Doolan, Pat and Joy Baird, Malcolm and Fay Earle, Pam Dosseto, Brian and Pat Conlan, and many others.

(We hope to catch up with those who are still around and their progeny when we hit Cairns in a couple of weeks).

Right, the Red Baron taxis out of Townsville marina as we board the ferry to Magnetic Island.

Anyhow, on that trip Malcolm and Fay loaned us their car - a Morris Oxford I think - and we drove to Townsville, staying at Louth’s Hotel which was owned by another of Carol’s myriad relations.

Right, the old jetty at Picnic Bay.

It was then, on a hot and blissful day that we were drawn to Magnetic Island. We took the ferry over, spent a few hours exploring Picnic Bay and headed back, feeling like intrepid adventurers.

Now, as ‘old heads’, nostalgia got the better of us and we simply had to revisit. We took a fast ferry, disembarked at Nelly Bay, now one of those condo-marina combos, and rode the bus around the island.

Not unexpectedly, we found a lot of new development but the old jetty at Picnic Bay once used by ferries was still intact, and the beach just as it was 46 years ago.

Right, the strip at Horseshoe Bay.

We agreed that the most interesting and romantic part of the island is Horseshoe Bay on the far side, with its beach, anchorage for yachts and comely village.

We went for a stroll along the beach and passed a young German couple sunbaking. The fellow, who was naked except for a hat covering his groin, asked if I would take a photo of them, which I did, recalling our own brash youth.

Right, Horseshoe Bay.

The spell was broken when I had to admit to Carol before boarding the ferry that I couldn’t find the return tickets and we had to shell out another $30 to get back.

Right, on the Strand at Townsville and below what we looked like 46 years ago.

Fond farewell

Before heading off to Cardwell, we had a farewell coffee on Townsville’s Strand with Carol’s cousin Margaret Anstey and her husband Jim whom we mentioned in our last web log.

Have another look at the old photo and note Carol’s outfit. Margaret, a couturier, made it for her when they lived in Brisbane in the early ‘60s. Carol recalled that Margaret also made her engagement outfit.

We can report that Margaret is still as busy and creative as ever with her designs.

Right, farewell coffee with Jim and Margaret Anstey on the Strand.

Golfer’s dream

One final word before we depart Cardwell for Mission Beach. I have to mention that we played golf here on a course that must be the best value of any we’ve encountered.

It’s a nine-hole course with 18 tee-up points, challenging in parts with water, a couple of dog-legs and long par 5 holes. If you’re a visitor you are entitled to the ‘corporate rate’, which is $15 for unlimited games. Not bad!

I also have to say a big 'thank you' to Rossco, our neighbour in Cardwell, for the generous gift of of frozen fish and prawns. The fish he'd caught a little while back, but when Rossco took me fishing, all I caught was a golden toadfish and he a sunken log.