Fraser Island

Largest sand dune island in the world + 4X4 + abundance of delicious food +adoring wife + superb weather = bloody good time.

Spending 4 days and 3 nights on a giant sand dune of an island with no tarmac in sight and having to be completely self-sufficient was a pretty good way of marking the final leg of our Australian holiday.

Waking up early for the blood-red sunrise,

sitting on the soft sand with a hot pot of tea,


spending the day driving on the beach,


stopping to take photos of rusting shipwrecks,


looking out for humbling humpback whales,

(not like this, Ju, you need to put the map down...)
avoiding getting stuck in deep sand,


setting up camp with an ocean view, enjoying the spectacular sunset with a glass of red and chasing cheeky savage dogs was truly a memorable experience.

The highlight, however, was the savage dog.

Fraser Island is the last bastion of the pure-breed dingo. Despite its cute name, golden fur and friendly face they must not be trusted nor their cunning under-estimated. They are the ninja of the canine world. They have been known to stealth their way into campsites and sneak out with clothing, beer cans, tools and small children. As we came to realise, they are more cunning than a particularly cunning fox.

One morning, Ju and I were enjoying our breakfast on the beach when a cute looking dingo approached our campsite. Once it had our undivided attention it caught a fish and ran up into the dunes. Armed with our Olympus E410 DSLR camera and notions of a prize winning National Geographic front cover in our minds, we launched into pursuit. It managed to remain just within sight as we chased it, clicking away between pants and pauses. While adjusting the settings on our camera, we lost sight of the hound. We could see our campsite a hundred metres down by the beach and a few moments later we saw movement. Julie whipped out the zoom lens and took a closer look. ‘It’s the dingo... it’s sniffing around our campsite... it’s got something in her mouth... expletive deleted, she’s got our camera... she’s running away... quick Philip run after it’.

It hit me, we left our other camera on our seats and in a moment of tactical genius the dingo had lured us away from our campsite before racing back to snatch and grab some food. Only it had taken our camera and now my wife was asking me to chase after a rabid, possibly rabies infected, savage, wild dog.

Not to be outdone by a mutt, I launched myself down the dunes and chased after it. In my athletic youth this would have taken moments and I would have wrestled the beast into submission but being victim to over indulgence and general bouts of laziness, my physique was not exactly at its prime. They say the body is a temple and if this is true, mine is one that is not only built out of breeze block, balsa wood and dandelion leaves but it has just been hit by a tsunami. So I wasn’t exactly sprinting towards it, more hobbling and limping at speed. Think Hunchback of Notre Dame running.

The chase took us onto the beach and the mutt would stop, drop the camera and when I got close, pick it up again and sprint away again. It repeated this a few times and my lungs felt they would explode at any minute, my legs began to weaken and my semi-digested toast was making its way back up north. I was losing out and the beast was getting further away from me, I screamed and wailed in desperation and began swinging my camera bag over my head, hoping to get close enough to whack the rabid hound. Despite the distance, I saw its eyes widen and its jaw drop, the camera falling into the surf and I gained ground. Now I am not sure why, but the beast decided enough was enough and it bolted, leaving the camera. To my relief, the canine tooth potted camera case protected the camera from getting wet and it was saved. Expecting my loyal wife to be in close pursuit, I turned around and I could see her in the distance rolling around in hysterics, oblivious to the clear danger this chase had put me in. Tut tut.