The

The
last time I found myself in Queensland,
Australia I worked on a banana farm. I, like many others, had
been seduced by the promise of a healthier bank balance, affordable
accommodation and a backpacker’s holy grail: a second year
Australian visa.

No one had thought to mention that I’d wrestle snakes,
tarantulas and toads in an attempt to salvage bunches of bananas
from troughs of muddied water, or that so little entertainment
could be found in Tully (population 2,390). I’d avidly wait until
Friday night when I’d gather with fellow farm workers in the hostel
kitchen and pass round a bag of Goon – a $5 imitation wine that
tasted like sour kiwis and caused your throat to burn in
protest.

The work was backbreaking and I was so bad at sorting my good
bananas from my bad that I got sacked. Three times. On my fourth
(and final) farm I was asked if I would like to help with the
irrigation. Tully was the wettest town in Australia and I was armed
with nothing but a watering can – the irony was not lost on me.

Once I completed my required 83 days of agricultural work I hung
up my gumboots and presumed I’d never visit the Sunshine State
again, too traumatised by the menacing wildlife and my lack of
farming capabilities. I’d never classed myself as “outdoorsy” –
even as a child I’d rather practice the dance routine to Wannabe
than build a treehouse, and god forbid if I lost one of my Barbie
shoes in the process of practising cartwheels. I did, however,
always try.

When I was invited to explore tropical north Queensland for the
second time (farm work not obligatory) I thought I’d at least try
to get on board with the Australian spirit of adventure. After all,
this is the nation from which a 16-year-old girl sailed into the
Guinness World Record Books as the first female to sail solo and
unassisted around the world. If Jessica Watson could spend 210 days
alone at sea aged 16, then I could spend ten days in the tropics
aged 26.

Almost seven times the size of Great Britain, home to five of
Australia’s listed heritage sites and over 200 national parks,
Queensland supports thousands of ecosystems spanning from the
steamy rainforest that tumbles into the kaleidoscopic reef to the
swathes of cricket-white sands that tickle the rugged coastline.
Mirror-still waters beckon you to dive in, wooden boardwalks
criss-cross through luscious jungle canopy, Skittle-coloured fish
dart in and out of UV coral and temperatures rarely dip below
25℃.

For the days you don’t fancy slipping into this season’s hottest
wetsuit, there’s nearly 7,000km of palm-dotted, pristine sands to
rest (read: flop) on. If you’re going to embark on a wholesome
Australian adventure there’s far worse places you could pick.
Unlike bona fide explorers we started our escapade in the same
place as many others before us, the gateway to the Great Barrier
Reef: Cairns.

I missed out on exploring Queensland’s most visited attraction
during my fleeting career as Farmer Fleur, so I was more than happy
to slip on a snorkel and dive into the deep blue – especially since
I’d spent plenty of Sundays snoozing to David Attenborough’s
soothing tones urging us to see and save the great reef. Pulling my
rattan beach bag on my shoulder (equipped with flippers so new that
they still had the price tag on the bottom), I boarded the Sunlover
catamaran and set off for Moore Reef, 26 miles off of the coast of
Cairns.

Pablo, the onboard marine biologist, brought me up to speed with
a barrage of facts. You’ll often find in Australia that you
underestimate the size of things whether that’s a Huntsman’s Spider
(roughly the size of your palm), a flying cockroach (the size of a
small robin but with the attitude of a chip-stealing seagull) or
Sydney
(four times the size of Barcelona).
The reef is no exception. Spreading 348,700km² – the size of
Italy
– it’s the largest living thing on Earth and visible from space. It
consists of nine islands and some 2,900 reefs – and some 2,000km of
it can be found in Queensland.

The marine fleet that ferries tourists from the mainland to the
reef is the largest in Australia, clocking up over one million
passengers a year. I did not fancy sharing the reef with that many
other people. Call me spoilt, but if I was going to foray into this
new and exciting underworld I wanted it to be without having a
loose go-pro float pass by me every thirty seconds. Thankfully,
Starlight by Sunlover caters for
those wanting to spend quality time with the reef’s 1,500 species.
Once the “day-trippers” had had their fill of diving, dunking and
snorkelling they would depart, leaving my group of eight
voluntarily marooned in the Pacific Ocean. Then it was our turn to
venture beneath the waves.

All the Attenborough documentaries on iPlayer can’t prepare you
for your first glimpse of this underwater utopia. Humphead Maori
wrasse fish brush your shoulders, boisterous trevally barge past
with such pace that your goggles steam up, and angelfish rival
Joseph’s technicolour dream coat with their changing hues. Clusters
of giant clams resemble a symphony orchestra as they elegantly open
and close, playful clownfish dart in and out of anemone and baby
whitetip sharks circle the reef on patrol. I saw spotted
coral, striking yellow coral, striped coral and coral so
translucent it was as if looking at an X-ray.

I quickly realised I had just witnessed the effects of global
warming first hand and it was terrifying. Coral bleaching is a
direct result of climate change, and not just because the seas are
heating up. Increasing cyclones ravage the reef, battering,
bruising and breaking its already fragile ecosystems. Agricultural
fertilisers are being washed into the ecosystem causing
crown-of-thorns starfish to hit plague proportions. They may look
pretty, but they are actually vermin to the ocean when they reach
unmanageable numbers. Theses so-called rats of the sea devour coral
the size of their body every day.

The reef desperately needs our help. Surfers
have been wearing coral-friendly suncream for years and we should
too (try Stream2Seas). Staying aboard Starlight by Sunlovers you’re
forbidden from using anything but its rigorously tested,
reef-approved products including everything from aftersun to
shampoo. Every ticket to the reef includes a Marine Park Authority
charge, which goes towards supporting conservation programmes. Of
course, it goes without saying that reducing our plastic use would
help immensely. I made a mental note to reboot the recycling rota
in my house when I got home.

For the first time in my adult life my skin care regime went out the
window. I was too engrossed swapping snorkelling stories beneath
the starlit sky and comparing notes on who saw what and where, and
what we were hoping to discover tomorrow. I had my sights set on
swimming with a turtle or two. As I buried into my swag – a deluxe
version of the trusted sleeping bag that zips all the way over your
head to protect you from the elements – I realised this explorer
lark wasn’t all too bad.

This newfound wisdom was cemented as I awoke to a sunrise that
displayed all the colours of a fairground; candyfloss pinks fused
with clown-nose reds and the gold of popcorn morsels. Everyone rose
naturally and we suited up quickly when we realised we’d have a
whole five hours to relish before we were joined by anyone
else.

I may not have discovered a new country or broken a world
record, but traversing Queensland’s underwater gem had awoken a
side of me that wasn’t so scared (or shallow). The rest of my group
glowed differently too. Jon, one of our eldest members, hadn’t been
able to swim up until a few months ago and was now diving in and
out with all the grace, poise and confidence as an Olympic
synchronised swimmer; Alex had faced her fears and completed her
first open-water scuba dive despite swearing she’d never have the
nerve, and Kiera hadn’t even flinched when a reef squid whipped at
her heels beside the pontoon. Previously she’d refused to dip her
toes in at Brighton Beach for fear of fishy feet-nibblers. And I
hadn’t brushed my hair for ten days. If only I’d have possessed
this new outdoorsy spirit on the banana farm, I might not have got
sacked so many times.