Wild animals can be troublesome. Take for example big, black ravens. There must have been 35 that called Lake McKenzie campground their home and feeding ground. At exactly 6:00 a.m. every morning they went nuts with that awful, raucous creaking- screeching-squawking racket. It was unbelievable. As much as I love the wilderness and everything that comes with it, there are certain critters that I can do without. Little did I foresee how acutely that reality would be revealed that sub-equatorial summer. It would be an educational experience on Fraser Island, an 80-mile long, 15-mile wide sand finger off the north east coast of Queensland, Australia, in the relatively warm waters of the South Pacific.
Despite the daily avian irritant interrupting my otherwise sound and restful sleep, I was feeling pretty good that sunny, warm January morning when I reached out to open the tent flap and greet the day. I stretched my arms, yawned and began to anticipate my plan to hike 15 miles through the forest that day. Peter, my adventure companion, remained snoozing in the sleeping bag next to me. He looked quite content so I tried to avoid waking him. I lay in my bag, checking out the scene that glimmered before me in the early morning light.
In and around the campground, a woodland cleared of underbrush, smooth-barked eucalyptus trees gracefully stretched towards robins egg blue skies.
Several tents were scattered here and there amidst the firepits and picnic tables. In the distance I could see Lake McKenzie herself - an unusual sight of shimmering black-green water rimmed with a band of bright aquamarine where swimmers had rubbed the aquatic plants from the white sands below their toes. Twisted and stunted paperbark trees, beaten down by the wind, mixed with sea oaks and stands of tall, segmented reeds along the shoreline. A dark, dense forest of Kauri, Hoop and Bunya pines framed the lake's clearing, further contrasting the stark blue sky above.
Psyched for my hike south to Lake Birrabeen, I reached around the corner of the tent in search of the shoes we'd left outside to dry the evening before.
As I blindly groped about under the fly, my hand felt first one Teva sandal and then one of my hiking boots. Slightly frustrated, I pulled myself up and peered around to inspect our footwear cache. To my surprise, I learned that my hand had not been wrong - all I saw was a single, solitary Teva and a single solitary boot, both of which, I immediately noticed, were for the right foot.
Alarmed, I pulled myself out of the tent, wondering what kind of idiot would steal one shoe of a pair of shoes. I eyed the other tents for a moment, trying to muster up x-ray vision, before I decided that no one could be that stupid. But what would steal a shoe? About 50 different thoughts raced through my addled brain.
