Evans Head (about an hour south of Byron
Bay) was a surprising treat and a
little sample of absolute paradise. Knowing we would be kayaking the following
morning, we pulled into the nearby
caravan park. We were surprised to discover it was
completely full, save for a handful of un-powered sites in less-than-optimal
locations. Since we felt short on other options, we took it anyway.
We immediately understood the appeal when we went on an
extremely short
walk and ended up at a pristine almost deserted stretch of
beach. Now, we know beaches. We lived in Hawaii
for six months after all. But it was upon landing on this beach that we
realized why most Australians choose to live on the coast. It was one of the
most beautiful sights we had seen yet on our World Nomads adventure.
Before we left Hawaii,
a friend of ours said that there is a beach on the
east coast of Australia
that has sand so fine that it actually squeaks. We figured that after his
passing through Nimbin, he was probably a little too high to be a
reliable source of information on this topic, and sloughed it off as rhetoric.
But when we stepped onto the beach, and actually heard the
sand squeak under our feet, we were shocked.
“This is the squeaky sand Zero talked about!” we exclaimed,
dragging our heels all around the beach and feeling the unbelievably soft sand
between our toes and fingers. Who knew.
One sunset and about a million pictures later, we came back
up to the park to see (or rather, hear) another amazing thing: birds. Birds of
all kinds were noisily announcing their resting place for the night and calling
on their spouses to join them in the nest. One tree in particular was so full
of birds that the tree itself appeared to be screaming. Each leaf was crying
out in miniature fits of agony, and all together they formed a chorus of tiny
tortured souls.
Once the trees stopped screaming as much and darkness
encroached, the flying foxes began their dance. We were camped directly under a
section of forest that held (no exaggeration) hundreds if not thousands of
flying foxes. What are flying foxes, you ask? Bats. Big bats. Really big bats.
We spied our foxy friends earlier in the day, all hanging
upside down in the trees. One tree devoid of leaves actually looked to be in
full foliage for all the bats resting up for a night of….well…bat stuff.
And at dusk when the bats started to wake up, the activity
(and noise)
kicked up a notch. Messenger bats seemed to flit from one tree to
the next, as if coordinating the evening’s plans. We imagined the bats saying
“Okay mate,” (We’re in Australia
after all – I’m sure even the bats call each other mate). “Everybody in our
tree wants to go to the rocks tonight. What’s your plan?”
Once they worked out their itinerary, more and more flying
foxes took to the skies, forming a silent cloud cover of activity less than 15
meters above our heads. It was truly something out of a horror movie, but in reality
was more fascinating than scary.
Turning into bed with squeaky sand on the bottoms of
our shoes, screaming trees put to bed, and the smell of bat urine and guano
everywhere (ssnifff…aahhh….an unsavoury smell that reminds us of caving), we tucked away for a wonderful night of rest. We were already thankful
that our kayak adventure scheduled for the following day (which was the sole
reason we rolled into Evans Head) brought us here. And the adventures of the
next day were certain to deliver too.
