Dingoes at Dusk

​It was about 4:45pm when the tour guide, Jean, realized the bus was stuck in the sand. The sun was setting, the tide was advancing, and we were in the remote northern part of Fraser Island where few cars would be passing. Getting increasingly nervous, Jean worried the bus could be swallowed by the tides if we didn’t act quickly, and contemplated how much trouble he would be in. The bus was not full – only 11 of us onboard. We also realized the gravity of the situation and sprang into action. Even though there was a wild dingo nearby (and a pack that had been chasing it), we ignored the previously established rule of keeping our distance from these wild dogs and exited the bus. The fourth wall had been broken. We frantically scooped the sand away from the tires, but it was to no avail – the trenches filled with seawater with each new wave. Jean started deflating the tires to spread out the bus’s weight and increase its traction. We even pushed on the back of the bus. Still stuck. Was this the end of the tour? Would our bus end up like the nearby shipwreck, stranded on 75 Mile Beach?

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This chapter actually begins with another tumultuous, canine-themed bus ride: Greyhound Australia. When I hopped on the Greyhound in Surfer’s Paradise, my assigned seat was occupied and the person sitting there made no effort to acknowledge the situation. Turns out the seating had devolved into a free-for-all. I settled for an empty seat. A few hours later, I changed buses in Brisbane. The second driver was real character. When loading our bags, he asked if we had any drugs, and feigned disappointment when the answer was no. At one of the pickup locations, he started driving with the luggage compartment open, freaking out many of the passengers. He drove fast. This was a ride that merited the seat belt. While going up a hill, the engine began to periodically seize and threw a system error. He had to pull over and call the dispatcher on how to proceed. Thankfully the bus chugged on. I felt bad for passengers going all the way to Cairns, a 29 hour journey. At least there was a rest stop, where I had meat pie for dinner.

When we arrived in Rainbow Beach, unloading the luggage was a hot mess. People were climbing into the depths of the compartment, and a minefield of backpacks accumulated on the curb. My bag was buried at the bottom of the stack, out of sight. Good thing most people were also getting off, otherwise I don’t think I would have found it again. It was a chaotic and stressful scene.
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The hostel at Rainbow Beach was my first impression of the Queensland backpacker scene. Most hostel guests that I’ve encountered globally are disproportionately men, but Queensland seemed the opposite. The average traveler was a 20-year-old English girl on a working holiday. The fellow occupants of my dorm room were hypersocial and talked to each other from their beds until 11pm or so, the kind of energy I remember from freshman year of college. Though I was aiming for an earlier bedtime, I didn’t mind overhearing what they had to say. They seemed wary of the traditional life pathways from universities into careers. They didn’t necessarily know what they wanted to do and were taking time to figure it out. Some of them had just been to Fraser Island on a day tour and hadn’t seen any dingoes. Some were going south to Brisbane, others north to Cairns. This counter-current flow made it easy for backpackers to strike up conversations and advise each other on hostels and activities. It was like I had stumbled into a parallel Australian universe.

The next morning, I was picked up by a tall, boxy, turquoise bus from K’gari Explorer Tours. The driver was a walking Aussie caricature named Keith, adorned with a leather hat, a red bandana, a khaki shirt, and cargo pants. He cheerfully welcomed everyone aboard and played stereotypical Aussie songs like “Down Under” on the drive.

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Fraser Island is traditionally known as K’gari. The “k” is silent, so it’s pronounced like “garr-ee.” It means “paradise” in the indigenous language of the area, and it could not be a more fitting descriptor. The name was officially changed in 2023. Now that you're up to speed, I’ll call it K’gari.

​K’gari is the largest sand island in the world. I was surprised to discover that it’s mostly covered in forest. There are some unique tree species like Satinay, whose timber can resist seawater degradation, making it valuable for building piers. Or the Scribbly gum trees, which get their name from zigzag patterns eaten into their bark by moth larvae. The island is also significant for its mineral-rich sands, which attract marine life. At one point, there were even “sand mining” operations that sifted for valuable minerals.

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​The blue bus was powerful in more ways than one – my tour company had priority ferry access and zoomed past the other 4WD vehicles lined up at Inskip Point. These rival “utes” (utility vehicles) were part of a Tag-Along tour, where a guide in a lead vehicle is followed by a caravan of tag-along vehicles. I had briefly considered this format, but given the treacherous island terrain, and the fact you’re riding in a vehicle with a potentially unqualified tourist behind the wheel, I went for the fully guided version.

​The bus drove off the ferry and started cruising north on 75 Mile Beach. This famous beach spans the entire eastern side of the island and is the “newest” part of the island where sand is accumulating. It was almost perfectly flat, making it the de facto highway on K’gari. I never imagined it would be possible to drive comfortably on sand at 80 km/hour. Now THIS was the Great Ocean Road. No lanes, no lights – just sand, water, and rocks. There were speed limit signs posted on the edge of the beach, slowing down to 40 km/hour when approaching rocky areas. It was mesmerizing watching the waves fly by through the bus window. Every now and then, we’d encounter a ditch where a stream eroded its way into the ocean, with the deeper ones creating a massive jolt. During the safety briefing, Keith joked that he would drive like we had our seatbelts on, but there was truth in jest.

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​The first stop was at the K’gari Beach Resort, a dingo-proof fortress with cow grates and electric wires at the entrances. Then we turned inland, braving the bumpy logging trails into the heart of the island. The bus had a TV screen showing the view directly ahead. At times we encountered a 4WD headed the opposite direction on these narrow roads. As the bigger vehicle, we had the right of way. Keith told stories of frazzled drivers backing up into trees. I was glad to be on his bus.

Eventually we reached Lake McKenzie, a crystal-clear lake made of pure rainwater. The water was cold, but the pure silica sand felt good on the feet. Did I mention the weather was perfect? Sunny and warm, and it held for both days. Keith said it was some of the best weather all year.

The water was so clear!

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​​The two main base towns for visiting the island are Rainbow Beach and Hervey Bay. I picked Rainbow Beach because it was closer to Brisbane and had a shorter ferry ride. The tour company offered departures from either town. As it turned out, I was the only person doing the 2-day itinerary from Rainbow Beach. Everyone else on Keith’s bus was doing a day trip. The other members of my 2-day trip were on Jean’s bus starting in Hervey Bay.

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At Lake McKenzie, Keith introduced me to Jean and I transferred my bags to the other bus. Jean served his group snacks and coffee in a fenced, dingo-proof picnic area. Here, I finally got to meet the other members of the 2-day tour. There were four people from the UK, four from Switzerland, a French couple, and me. Considering the bus could hold 40 people, we were lucky to have a small and intimate group.

The next stop was a nature walk near an old logging station. Jean enthusiastically explained the flora and fauna, perhaps more enthusiastically than the group was listening. But I loved it! We walked along a stream that was lined with ancient king ferns. The streambed was made of sand, and so the water flowed silently. The stream was so clear and quiet, it wasn’t obvious there was a stream at all.

Can you spot the stream?

​As we walked back to the bus, I spotted the first dingo of the day and alerted the group. It was poking around a covered picnic area and was initially hidden in the shade. When it stepped into the sunlight, the vibrant colors of its reddish orange coat were revealed. It eventually wandered off. Jean noticed that it didn’t have a tagged ear, meaning it hadn’t demonstrated any problematic behavior in the past. Dingoes that are aggressive around humans have their ears tagged with a color and number so these encounters can be tracked over time. We also learned that dingoes generally are solitary during the day, and hunt in packs at night.

​We returned to the hotel-fortress for an underwhelming buffet lunch. Then we were back in the bus, continuing our journey along 75 Mile Beach. Jean made a substitution in the itinerary: we headed all the way to the distant Champagne Pools to increase our chances of seeing dingoes on the return journey. Along the drive, I spotted our second dingo of the day, which had dug a giant hole in the sand and pranced off with a fishbone, presumably buried by a fisherman in accordance with the local rules. These sightings earned me the nickname “hawkeye” with Jean.

​Jean let everyone in the group take turns riding shotgun, which made the beach highway even more enjoyable. Near a rock formation called Indian Head, there was a very steep dune. Jean had to build up the bus’s momentum and go barreling up the hill, which took two attempts.

The Champagne Pools were a little slippery, but a few of us ventured into the water. The pool was constantly being filled with fresh bubbly seawater, courtesy of the crashing waves on the other side of the rock wall. The water was murky, but we could see a few small fish.

​It was on the way back from the Champagne Pools that we spotted the pack of three dingoes who had chased their rival into the water. There are about 250 dingoes on the island, organized into a dozen or so packs. The one that had been chased into the water looked a bit dejected. Jean wouldn’t allow us to get out of the bus and approach the dingo, but he did open the door so we could have an unobstructed view. The Swiss couple sitting in the front had nice cameras with zoom lenses, and very much benefited from Jean’s courtesy. I also sat near the front and was able to get close to the open door.

​As we were all distracted by our dingo photoshoot, a strong wave snuck under the bus. Jean tried to drive the bus forward, but it was now lodged in the wet sand. Everyone sprung into action, hopping out of the bus into the ankle-deep water, excavating sand and helping deflate tires and waving for help. The wet dingo was confused, and then bored. It sat down in the sand, head on paws, and waited to see what happened. It was probably just glad that our bus situation had deterred the other pack.

​Thankfully, a family with two cars spotted us and pulled over to help. Jean connected a tow cable to the bus (we pushed from the back for good measure). When the bus lurched forward, we all let out a cheer of celebration and relief. The family was lauded for their effort, and soon we were driving again.

​As Jean had initially hoped, dusk was an excellent time to spot dingoes. We encountered several more packs, totaling around 10-15 (it was harder to count in the dark). They’re naturally lean animals, with the streamlined build of a greyhound, and graceful as they run across the sand. It was special to see them in the wild, with the beach as the backdrop.

At the dingo-proof resort, we were given our hotel keys and all dispersed for the evening. I was upgraded to an enormous triple room, which was the perfect place to unwind after such an eventful day. I made some instant noodles for dinner, updated the blog, and got the best night of sleep I’d had in ages.
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The second day was also wonderful, with nothing quite as crazy as the bus rescue. The hotel breakfast buffet was surprisingly good, including a raw honeycomb you could scoop yourself and the ingredients to assemble a Benedict. We loaded up the bus and headed for Lake Wabby.

​There was a 30-minute walk to reach the lake, and Jean handed out “dingo sticks” for self-defense. There were PVC pipes about the length of a walking stick. The path went through a peaceful forest and across a sand dune. With my dingo stick and towel protecting my neck from the sun, I dubbed myself Obi Wan K’gari.

"Watch out for the Sand Dogs… they’ll soon be back, and in greater numbers."

Wabby Lake was green and murky, unlike the crystal MacKenzie; it was formed when a stream was blocked by sand. A few catfish lazily swam alongside the steep shore. Cormorants dried their wings on the tree branches across the lake. It was a peaceful place for a swim.

​On the walk back, I chatted with an Argentinian who had joined the tour for the day. She was on the 3rd year of a working holiday and was currently employed at the K’gari Beach Hotel. She mentioned she had Celiac’s; being stuck on an island with no grocery store sounded like hell. To combat the isolation, she fostered a community with other Latin Americans working at the resort. She also mentioned that a dingo managed to get inside the fences a few weeks earlier. So much for dingo-proof.

​One of the most famous landmarks on 75 Mile Beach is the shipwreck of the SS Maheno, a New Zealand ship that brought soldiers to Gallipoli. It was later sold to a private buyer. While being towed, it was hit by a cyclone and washed ashore on K’gari. The current level of damage was caused by bombs dropped during WWII pilot training runs. Its rusted metal skeleton was a striking contrast to the pristine sand and waves.

​The final stop was called Eli Creek, named after the indigenous word for the little crabs that dig holes nearby. Eli Creek was set up as a lazy river – you walked on a boardwalk upstream, then floated on its silent crystal waters towards the ocean. Getting into the water was a burst of cold, but the float was so enjoyable that I did 5-6 runs. The tubes were hard to steer, and there were some near misses with the tree roots and branches. In many places, it was so shallow that I could steer by reaching into the sand.

At Eli Creek, there was also a scenic flight that some group members signed up for. The plane took off from and landed directly on the beach! 75 Mile Beach can add “runway” to its growing list of uses.

​Just when we thought the excitement was finally over… more dingo sightings! Though we generally didn’t stop for an extended photoshoot, one dingo stood out. It was running fast along the beach and had scars on its muzzle; Jean thought it was the alpha of its pack. This alpha also had an ear tag and a collar, meaning it had been aggressive around humans. Jean drove the bus alongside its running path and opened the door for photos.

The dingo slowed down, so Jean slowed the bus too, and the dingo ended up in his blind spot. It walked up to the open door and looked up at us with a toothy smile. It was just feet away, and very clearly considering hopping aboard. When Jean looked over his shoulder and saw what was happening, he got spooked by the dingo’s behavior and drove a safe distance away.

We continued watching the alpha, the spell only broken by a 4WD that went whizzing past the bus, almost running over the dingo, and angering Jean. We stopped for a sandwich lunch near a mini waterfall.
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Even the process of retracing my journey to Rainbow Beach was an adventure. Jean dropped me off at the hotel, where the energetic Keith picked me up and introduced me to his new bus full of people. The only seat left was in the last row, so I squeezed in next to a grumpy Polish guy who didn’t put on his seatbelt and bounced in the air every time we drove over a stream. Being in a full capacity bus made me appreciate the small group on Jean’s bus.

I stayed another night in Rainbow Beach, at a different hostel that got better reviews. It was indeed more spacious and had better amenities. I also briefly visited the town’s namesake beach, accessed by a lovely rainbow staircase.

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​Two days on K’gari was adventure travel at its finest: swimming in pristine water, cruising along the beautiful 75 Mile Beach, and thrilling wildlife encounters. The dramatic bus rescue was an instant highlight of my entire time in Australia. You could say that a lack of traction has never been more gripping.