The Rainforest Journals: Outing #19 – Day 1

(Friday 23-January-2015)

Note: Due to a fast, huge storm ripping through the valley I’ve been delayed a bit in posting this. Call me paranoid but I don’t want to transmit electrical signals *through* a storm when I can see the lightning all around the area seeking-out ground-points.


Giant Chess Set: Only the faggy christian happy-joys were lame enough to actually play with it.

Giant Chess Set: Only the faggy christian happy-joys were lame enough to actually bother using it.

A good week spent in town, and though I had to use a different backpackers – a much larger, more mainstream and cleaner one – I found the increased size came with an increase in population to match and thus; more people for me to earfuck with my yarping. WOO!

It’s a strange thing really: I spend ten days down in the middle of the bush with nobody to talk to barr the lizards, birds and possums and then go back up to town where I quickly find people to spend while nights talking to for for days on end, so when I come back down here again – having been surrounded by people albeit for just a few days – I miss sitting around, shooting the shit with my fellow bipedal hominids. I’ve grown exponentially better at socializing too, each time I’ve gone back up.

Usually, it takes two or three days once I’m down here to get out of that mental “social mode” but once I do, I spend the rest of the outing perfectly happy with just the animals and myself until the last day or two; when I start to simultaneously run out of supplies and start getting the urge to be back around people again. The few times I have stayed in town a full week, though, I’ve grown tired of talking to the same people: No matter how varied they are, they just start boring the shit out of me at about the five day mark. Soon possums, soon I think, on those days.

Rinse and repeat, every fortnight.

I have to back-up a bit though, and rewind, to Tuesday.

Very soon after checking-in that afternoon I met a Queenslander while out back having a smoke and he ended-up being the one I spent the majority of time with. We smoked, talked shit and rated the women around us on the standard -/10 scale. It was established over the week, incidentally, that he rated a lot more women much higher than I did; with my average woman-rating being 5/10 to 6/10, though it should be noted that while I was rating on both personality and appearance, I tend to doubt whether the personality of said women even entered the Queenslanders mind.

Among the other guests at this new backpackers were several from the one I usually stay at – (who all went back today when rooms became available), a lovely South American couple and a dull, yappy American chick.

Though the yappy American chick only got there Thursday, she… yeah she was yappy.

Asked me if I wanted to go out for drinks with her – because she felt like “doing something” but I just didn’t really care for it, and told her so. Not only do I not drink, I (a) still had biscuits and a few other things to pack for the Possums and this outing, (b) it was already 9:30pm when she asked, and (c) I’d already rated her 5/10 so she just wasn’t alluring enough to distract me from my mission: Finalizing preparations for Outing #19. Said she was from Texas, which means naught to me, and did nothing but talk about herself, which would’ve been alright if she’d had some amazing story to tell but she was just another white, middle-class bore with a mortgage.

Between you and I, she’d already grown a bit irritating before wanting to go out for drinks, and five more hours of her dribbling-on about herself and her dull, predictable suburban life in ‘merica would have me regretting I’d gone at all. Stupid American. Just like any tired-looking, boring, middle-class white drop-kick Australian but with an accent that tortures dogs in the area and grates on you. Yuck.

The South Americans though, well they were a lovely couple. I was out the back having a smoke the first time I spoke to them and the moment I heard the Latin in their speech, turned around and asked “Italiano? Espanol?”.

Spanish, they both took turns warmly saying, and I replied “ciiii ci. Such a secksee language”.

I told em I had a Latina a couple years ago, and that I hadn’t given a donkeys scrote’ about foreign languages until she’d stood up on her toes and whispered little Spanish things in my ear.

“Te amo mi chico. Tu muchas hermosa.”

Soon as she did it the first time, accompanied by her soft breath tickling my ear, I was hooked and wanted to know exactly what she said. Over the subsequent weeks, I learnt a whole bunch of intimate Spanish and she certainly didn’t mind teaching me.

Faking the accent was probably the only difficult thing about it but fake it I did – and well too after a bit – ’cause Spanish with an Australian accent just sounds .. so gringoesque.

Anyway these two were a lovely couple, and although I cannot remember whether we even exchanged names or not – I certainly don’t remember theirs if they did tell me – I gleaned that they’re here on a casual-working holiday, the Latina of the two hails from Chile and her Latino boyfriend from middle-central South America. Honestly I can’t remember the name of the country even though it was only the night before last they told me. They both came from somewhere on planet earth though, I know that.

I made a mental note, rating the chica a 9/10 – 4 for Looks, 5 for Persona – not only cute and attractive, but intelligent, warm and genuine and although I don’t ‘swing’ that way, I reckon most women would’ve rated her boyfriend 9/10 too: he could’ve been a young Antonio Banderas.

They were both a well matched, warm, friendly pair yeah.

I should’ve taken a photo of em for this journal post really, they were both good looking, in their twenties and wouldn’t have minded I’m sure, but I didn’t think of it so there ya have it; no photos of them.

Felices fiestas tanto de ti!

Good luck you two!

Other than those two, the week was one long flash of random people who’d come out the back for a smoke and either socialize with me and whoever else was out there, or stare at the table they were sitting at and keep to themselves like fuckin losers do. Everyone ignores these kind of whining sooky bitches anyway and they usually only stay out for a few minutes until their smoke is gone then leave. No loss. We all carry on taking the whole time like they were never there to begin with.

There’s heaps more I’ve left out – there’s always heaps more I always leave out – but I will find myself days behind on the journal entries if I try to write down every little exchange, funny thing or strange-ness so I have to just gloss-over and summarize. Maybe I’ll append more in coming days as I remember bits and peices, though I’ll most likely not have time since there’ll be another entry to do for upcoming days as well.

On Friday night, the Queenslander, myself and the Taiwanese girl Cathy (Cathy usually stays at the same backpackers I do), decided that we’d all throw-in a few bucks each and have a big cook-up since I was leaving the next day.

The other two already had some ingredients – bacon, pork, noodles, onion, eggs and garlic – so we only needed a few more items and what we created was a fucking thing to behold: a multi-dish meal so big, we could’ve invited at least another two additional people to help us eat all the food and still had leftovers.

Cathy gets the fried rice started so I can stir it for an hour, like the gimpy kitchenhand.

Cathy gets the fried rice started so I can stir it for an hour, like the gimpy kitchenhand I was.

Being Asian and female, I had come to the only rock-solid conclusion logic could provide: that she’d be good in the kitchen. I was right like always, and my Queenslander roomie and I gave her our unquestioning obedience while cooking the meal. All three of us went shopping together, she told us what we needed to get, then we returned and did what she told us to.

The rest of the backpackers ate like famine-starved dogs compared to us.

The rest of the backpackers ate like famine-starved dogs compared to us.

In the end we churned-out a table full of Asian dishes: Korean Noodles, Fried Rice, Taiwanese err Eggy sorta stuff in two different varieties and some other oniony salady stuff that was all kick-arse. We even had a dish full of Jellyfish. Who’d have thought right? It tasted kind’ve like a cross between fishy rubber-bands and fried onion rings. I liked it as a condiment on the other meals, and although I found the sauce I’d mixed into it earlier made the Jellyfish a bit too salty to eat on it’s own (she wouldn’t tell me what I was mixing while I made it; just “add all that and mix it. Mix. Mix.”), it was just fine as a topping or condiment on the rest of the dishes.


By the end of the meal, all three of us had eaten ourselves sick and although the leftover noodles and fried rice made it to the fridge, the rest got scraped in the bin because there wasn’t enough of the other dishes left to warrant saving for later.


A lush understory of ground-cover and wild-flowers covers almost of this a week ago. Fucking Council cockheads.

A lush understory of ground-cover and wild-flowers covered almost all of this a week ago. Fucking Council cockheads.

It was a pretty standard walk back out here today, until I got to the upper creek. First, I arrive down at the fire trail and see some cocksucker has bulldozed entire sections of track, with the area around the creek – once beautiful and cool, with wildflowers and ferns edging the trail – now a fucking dust-bowl; all the ground-cover wiped-out completely. The walk down to the water is now mostly through dust, and that sucks.

While filling the one, empty juice bottle I had with me a Rosella flies down and takes a bath in the water upstream; apparently unconcerned that I was just a few meters away. They’re usually more flighty than this so I took a photo of that.

Bad photo, bad luck. I was there, I got to watch the whole bath ;)

Bad photo, bad luck. I was there, I got to watch the whole bath 😉

Moments after taking the photo I hear the crunching of leaves off in the distance and – turning my head to face the source of the noise – see another Lace Monitor slowly ambling down the trail towards me in a very casual manner. They’re so funny to watch walking. He spots me moving around and stops for a few minutes, then continues walking right-on down the hill to where I am, sniffs-out the plastic grocery bag I have sitting in the dirt *flickyflicky* then casually walks to it and begins to stick his head inside the bag. That’s when I took a few steps toward him, he doesn’t run away. Couple more steps.. I’m standing right above him, he still doesn’t run away.

*flickyflicky* for me?


Finally, when I actually reach-down and grab the bag up of the ground, he starts shuffling away but not in any great hurry I might add.

Some good news now: Rats make excellent dishwashers. Before leaving last time I had the brilliant idea, that rather than carrying my dirty pots up with me and scrubbing them I’d simply leave them outside and see what happens. Being aluminum of course, the animals can’t chew holes in them so I figured the worst thing that could really happen is the animals don’t chew them clean, but simply shit in them and walk away.

Rat-chewed to spotless perfection.

Rat-chewed to spotless perfection.

Well, the results are in and not only was there no shit in either pot, both were almost spotless, as the above image shows. A little wipe with 99.9% gem-killing alcohol gel, a quick rinse, and they’re ready to go.

It’s totally a WIN-WIN situation: The rat’s got something to chew on while I was gone, and I get to have flawlessly scrubbed pots upon my arrival back here.


Guido, male alpha and the pimpest possum of the lot.

Guido, male alpha and the pimpest possum of the lot.

Technically, I’m not sure whether I’d classify it as an inter-mammalian bromance or a father-son deal, but Guido’s got the feels for me and I reckon he’s alright himself; though a little greedy.

Guido gets a neck-rub.

Guido gets a neck-rub.

Last night saw the Possum in question – along with Bobby a bit later on – break the tent-door “threshold”. Apparently now comfortable enough in my presence and safe in the knowledge I don’t plan on eating them, the two males decided last night to simply walk inside the tent to check-out what food is on offer this week.

Guido with an Arnotts Ched cracker.

Guido with an Arnotts Ched cracker.

At one point early in the evening Bobby came into the tent and was followed moments later by Guido, who cornered Bobby inside and the two got their snottties on; lost their shit at one another with me in the middle. Bobby stayed where he was – kinda making himself small to avoid another round of beatings from Guido, while Guido sat right on top of my knee crunching his arrowroot buiscut, just starting at Bobby.

Bobby saw a break in Guidos concentration shortly after this and took the opportunity to exit the tent – rapidly.

Just like Indias "Untouchables"; the less arrogant under-class spent most of the night picking through the leavings.

Just like Indias “Untouchables”; the less arrogant under-class spent most of the night picking through the leavings.

Guido spent most of the rest of the feeding session inside with me while four other Brushtails (Bobby, Martha, Daisy and an un-named female) stayed outside milling over the buiscuts, bits of bread and dried fruit I’d scattered out there. The only time Guido left the tent was to sporadically beat the shit out of the other Possums, before returning; where he’d continue the *crunch-crunch-crunch-crunch* as he worked his way through the broken buiscut at the bottom of a bag I’d left pen for him.


Anyway, that’s how I spent the night and I did notice something in their behalf worth noting; no matter how noisy or intense they fought among themselves, they never accidently targeted me or my hand even when I put it between them while they were growling and screeching at each other.

Also, when Guido started biting bags with other food he liked the smell of I was able to shove him away without any reaction at all; just like shoving a puppy away from their bowl when you haven’t finished filling it with their dinner yet, he just .. got shoved and was cool with it.

Purely for the hell of it, here's a photo - taken later when Guido had left - of little Daisys prehensile tail holding onto my hand. Only the top of a Brushtails trail has fur on it: The underside - shown here - is bare skin and has a leathery/rubbery feel to it.

Purely for the hell of it, here’s a photo – taken later when Guido had left – of little Daisys prehensile tail holding onto my hand. Only the top of a Brushtails tail has fur on it: The underside – shown here – is bare skin, has a leathery/rubbery feel and is capable of gripping things, like my hand.

The Rainforest Journals: Outing #19 – Day 1
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