I’m sure the first few days of the Australia Biogeoscience Program (taught by geologist Clint Cowan and biologist Phil Camill) were illustriously educational, but, honestly, my memories of them are rather hazy. I attribute this to the effect of gathering thirty-two Carleton students in one hotel in a foreign city which names its suburbs Dee Why and Curl Curl, whose city parks are populated by gigantic bats and flocks of cockatoos, where a bad situation is said to have “gone pear-shaped…”
My experience Down Under began at 8 a.m. on December 31, 2005 as I navigated Kingsford Smith International Airport trying to not to be bitter about losing my good night’s sleep somewhere over the Pacific. By the next day, two spectacular fireworks shows and one set of dress sandal-induced blisters later, I was starting to wonder whether Australia was entirely populated by borderline-nudist surfer trash or whether that was just the public holiday. Certainly it seemed like the entire city had turned out the night before and gotten enthusiastically smashed, and now they were all wandering the beach as if the 41 degree C (110 F) heat were nothing.
In short, it was easy for us students to see why the country’s nicknamed “Oz.”
I think our general, giddy impression of the country after those first days can be summarized by my reaction upon first receiving Australia’s multicolored dollars from an ATM: “Like Monopoly money! Too silly to be real.” Like good Carls, we had spent the beginning of the program (dedicated to “getting over jet lag”) eagerly exploring Australian culture. We went museum-hopping, consumed large quantities of dim sum in Chinatown, and attempted to use public transportation. We dared each other to eat Vegemite, which looks like something you’d scrape off the bottom of the oven and smells worse, and learned that the surprisingly prevalent Speedo-type men’s swimsuits are called “budgie smugglers” in Australia (this is funnier once you realize that budgie is Aussie-speak for parrot). Our bemusement increased after we attended our first lectures, which featured tidbits such as how Uluru (Ayers Rock) exists because it’s harder than the stuff around it, and the phrase “Land of Gondwanaland” (coined by a professor who several people independently dubbed “Scabbers” after a character in the third Harry Potter movie).
But finally we were off to school, work, and Beauty Point, Tasmania, on the way taking advantage of our total domination of the plane by playing telephone. For the next two weeks we were to live at the Australian Maritime College (AMC), enjoying Tasmania’s lovely Mediterranean climate, gorgeous scenery and the “bloody great hole in the ozone layer” (according to our native coordinator Rob Elvish). Our usual days proceeded with getting up before 7 a.m. and mucking about the Tamar Estuary. This could mean anything from sailing in the 40-foot M/V Pinduro and learning Australian sailor profanity to sampling thigh-deep in an intertidal mudflat to driving around the estuary and jumping out at random jetties with water bottles, YSI water chemistry meters and secchi disks. Later in the day, we’d analyze our samples and watch the underwater video footage collected by the day’s boat group, as well as play Frisbee on the AMC football field and havoc with their Internet connection (causing the occasional “kerfuffle” among our authority figures).
Generally, we looked to the locals like the circus had come to town, and we enjoyed every minute of it. We made Carleton’s debut on Tasmanian TV, pretending to sample things and mostly refraining from faking Texan accents. We also got to work with AMC researchers Dave Maynard and John Gibbons, who everyone (in awe) agreed were basically pirates transplanted into an honest scientific living. Aside from knowing everything about the Tamar Estuary, they taught us important phrases such as “let’s f**k this puppy,” (a crude equivalent to “let’s do this thing”) and its natural extension, “the puppy’s getting away!”
Tassie, as it’s affectionately called, set the bar pretty high for our next stop at Coffs Harbor and the Solitary Islands Marine Park. Coffs gave us our first taste of Australia’s very tropical north with mangroves, palm trees, intrepid National Marine Science Center researchers who used Brillo pads in their experiments, and a set of mildewy little cabins to inhabit. Also, as usual, we managed to make a spectacle of ourselves by descending upon the local grocery store en masse in order to concoct our own meals, and later exploring the small-town Australia club scene. Our daily activities tended to consist of roughly equal proportions of science and beach time (these often overlapped, too): we disturbed sunbathers and surfers alike by pulling out our sampling gear in the middle of the sand. We also went on our first scuba diving excursions (apparently a somewhat hair-raising process for our professors), where we cooed over coral growth morphologies and wobbegongs (sharks which looked like rolled-up Persian carpets, fringe and all).
Our program’s only shark attack involved Sarina Yospin ’07 and a cat shark like this one. The vicious creature apparently didn’t like being picked up, and doubled back to bite her arm (apparently it took quite a bit of flailing to dislodge it), leaving her with what looked like a hickey and quite the fish tale. (photo by Phil Camill)
Next, we breezed through Brisbane and were off to North Stradbroke Island, a gargantuan lump of sand off the coast of Brisbane. Our time at “Straddie” taught us an object lesson in respecting Aussie marine life, which continually foiled our efforts to do science: we chickened out from snorkeling at one point after learning that a shark had recently killed someone at the same place, and at a different site, we snorkeled about one hundred meters from the shore before conceding the field to an overabundance of stinging bluebottle jellyfish. Once again, therefore, we dedicated significant amounts of time to lounging on beaches.
Our next stop at did a great deal to re-endear us to Aussie wildlife, though. After a 3-hour catamaran ride through 30-knot winds and 3-meter swells (the boat was aptly termed the “Chunder Cat” after the Aussie verb for vomit), we finally stumbled out onto what looked like a postcard, complete with turquoise waters, white sand, and clear skies. One of the first things we noticed at Heron Island was the abundance of birds, from the black-capped noddies that lined all of the trees and threatened to decorate anyone below, to the lovably peculiar mutton birds. Aside from their general inability to land, which resulted in them smacking into anything in their way, the mutton birds would spend all night huddling together and making moaning noises which fell short of creepy and instead achieved pathetic (we decided they sounded like baby werewolves).
Heron also boasted hordes of other, equally captivating wildlife. We marveled at corals on our frequent reef walks and snorkeling excursions, and ruined ourselves to dive in cold U.S. lakes with some truly amazing scuba trips. We melted while indescribably cute baby turtles motored their way down the beach, and strained our vision by watching mother turtles dig their nests in the dark. We used bioluminescent dinoflagellates as war paint, and captured cat sharks (so named, I think, for their size, squishy quality, and the fact that they can only be petted in one direction).
By the time the program was winding down – at a yummy Greek restaurant in Brisbane, where we spent most of the time engaged in a limerick game from one of our professors’ college drinking days. It had begun to seem completely normal to be in a land where you have to specify if you want ice cream in your milkshake. It no longer bothered us to call fries chips and chips crisps, half of us had slurred “good on you” at least once, and we no longer whipped out cameras every time we saw a mangrove or turtle. What can I say? Our Oz was more brown than emerald, and the program involved more beaches than yellow brick roads, but it had started to feel like home.
Smiling for the camera on our final night in Oz. (photo by Susan Schnur ’07)