Over a year later, I returned to the same Russell Island beach where North Stradbroke Island stretched like a giant crocodile across the channel. Last visit, the tide was high and the beach appeared no more than a metre wide, but on my next trip, the tide was out, and the rippled sand stretched for one hundred metres to the sea.
Mangrove roots lay exposed, poking their points above ground like antennae. We weaved our way along this unique stretch of coastline; unique because, although Queensland was loaded with sandy beaches, most of this island’s shoreline was mud.
I bumped my head on a branch only seconds after I took the above photo, and found myself at the doctor’s surgery requiring stitches. After my previous visit when I’d sprained my ankle, and this second accident, perhaps Australia was sending me a message not to come back, since I’d deserted the country in the 1990s.
