The First Adventure

For every lifelong endeavor, there are the first steps—the courage you force upon yourself to take the leap into uncharted territory. Holding a crush's hand for the first time, getting up on a stage to present, or stepping off the road into a foreign jungle. It’s all the same. Thirty seconds of courage and then don’t look back. I have put myself in some pretty dangerous situations in my life, unsure of the outcome. Each time I muster those first steps by reminding myself of one truth. I would rather die being the person I authentically am, over living a long, safe life, too afraid to be my true self.   

Sure, I had travelled before. Road trips across North America, backpacking in the United Kingdom, and living in another country away from my family at 21. However, all of those experiences were pretty safe, in places where help was never too far away. The truth was, I still felt untested. While I was living in Florida, the building I was staying in had a small “Borrow a book” library. There wasn’t much in there that interested me; however, it did have a small collection of travel guidebooks. I was leafing through one on Australia when I came across a section on the Daintree Rainforest. 

I always thought the Amazon was the king of rainforests, and in terms of size, it is. But if you are looking to get prehistoric, nothing beats the Daintree. The Amazon is 55 million years old, whereas the Daintree is 180 million years old. It is home to ancient wildlife found nowhere else on earth. There, time has stood still; predators have perfected their hunt, and it is one of the most poisonous places on earth. Two years later, I was on a plane headed there. It would be my first true adventure.  

I was meant to fly through Hawaii, a trip which I would ultimately make later in life. Sept 11th had recently happened, which threw flight itineraries into chaos, and my stopover became a two-day event in Hong Kong. I am thankful I ended up in Hong Kong by myself at that young age. Talk about ripping off the travel band-aid. I loved exploring that massive city, its markets, alleys, and surrounding natural beauty. It opened me up culturally in the same ways the Daintree would geographically. 

I spent a month in Australia by myself. My parents thought I was crazy, and I had left out the part about the rainforest. I started in Cairns, visited the Whitsunday Islands, and then made my way north. From Cairns, I caught the train to Kuranda, but this isn't just any train. Built in 1891, this old historic beauty travels through the jungle, past waterfalls, and over rickety bridges. You can’t help but feel you are in a scene from Murder on the Orient Express or Indiana Jones. What an amazing ride, and a spectacular entrance into the far north of Queensland. 

As you disembark at Kuranda, you quickly stumble across a WWII-era plane wreck in the jungle. This only further heightens the “Mysterious Island” appeal of the place; however, research will quickly reveal the plane was placed there after being used in a film titled “Sky Pirates.” Regardless, it certainly sets the scene. Then by 4x4 you take dirt roads and make your way to one of the small outpost villages, in my case, Cow Bay. 

The goal was to do a full-day hike by myself into the Daintree. Sounds simple enough, but I wasn't following some boardwalk through a manicured park. This was bushwacking through some unforgiving terrain. Though even in my early twenties, I wasn’t crazy. I knew this was going to take more than fortitude and a pair of stones. I didn’t want to go in blind, so I took some measures to prepare myself. First, since this was a self-induced rite of passage, I arranged a short walkabout with an Aboriginal mentor. He pointed out several plants worth noting. The wait-a-while was a thorny vine that would tangle you up, and as its name suggests, it makes you wait a while as you try to untangle yourself. Next was the Gympie-gympie plant. That one is covered in fine, small hairs that, if you brush against it, feel like a blow torch on your skin. Oh, and the pain lasts at full intensity for months. He said the pain is so bad that people have been known to cut the affected appendage off to make it stop. There was also a type of seed you could eat, but if you touched it and then rubbed your eyes without having washed your hands, the toxins would make you permanently blind, and as I said, I didn't want to go in blind. 

I opted to sleep in a cabin where the walls were constructed out of mesh. At night, you could shine your headlamp around and see all the nocturnal reflective eyes staring back at you. The walls were covered in creatures and insects. It wasn’t that thought that kept me up at night; it was how loud those combined insect noises would become. There were other travellers staying at the same accommodation, and together we tried to find a way to beat the unrelenting heat. You see, you couldn't hazard a swim in the ocean at that time. It was Box Jellyfish season. They were everywhere, and their sting would kill you in under five minutes, that is, of course, if the Saltwater Crocs didn't get you first. We opted to hike out to a freshwater river, reasoning that a Freshwater Croc bite or “Freshy” as they are called would be closer to a pitbull attack. Luckily, we didn’t encounter any issues at the watering hole, little did we know the real danger was the freshwater Bull sharks that hunt in those rivers.

The next day, I learnt about the various poisonous snakes and spiders at the local wildlife center, such as the Death Adder and Taipan, and the large, colorful Cassowary bird, which, though flightless, can charge fast enough to kill a human in an attack. This particular area was a hot spot for them. Suddenly, I recalled reading that travel guidebook about the Daintree, and for a moment wondered what the hell I was doing. Thankfully, that self-doubt was short-lived.

Finally, the day had come. In the distance, I could see a lush mountain top, straight out of a lost world. I gathered my water supply, put my gear in a pack, and let the check-in desk know where I was headed. They tried to talk me out of it, but I was determined. A girl in her early twenties who was also staying there overheard my plans. As I headed down the road, she ran to catch up and asked if she could join me. I was conflicted, I really did want to do this alone, but I figured having two people in case something terrible did happen was likely a solid plan. Especially factoring in my inexperience at that point in my life. So the girl, whose name I can’t remember, and I took our first steps into the unknown. 

As we hiked and bushwacked our way up the side of the mountain, it became clear she, for whatever reason, assumed I knew what I was doing. It was likely a good thing she had come along, as in a youthful attempt to look cool, I couldn't allow my nerves to get the best of me. It then occurred to me that I was wearing a shirt that said “Official Guide” on the back. It was a graphic shirt I had picked up at “Old Navy,” but this girl didn’t know that. I felt increasingly responsible for getting her into this. She was wearing long pants, though, due to the heat, I was in shorts, a mistake I would never make again. 

The bottom of the mountain was fairly dry. The vegetation was brown and struggling for water. However, the top of the mountain seemed to be perpetually covered in a lingering cloud. As we made our way higher, the vegetation became more lush and damp. We eventually encountered gigantic, low-lying frond leaves that looked straight out of Jurassic Park. As I brushed against them, I could feel the wet morning dew on my bare legs, a welcome relief in the heat. A relief which quickly ended as we entered a clearing. 

The girl stopped me and pointed down with a terrified look on her face. I looked down and noticed my bare calves were covered in black, squirming leeches. I did my best Harrison Ford impression, reached for the lighter I had brought, and tried to burn them off. On the outside, I acted like this was just another day for me, but on the inside, I was far less calm. The lighter wasn’t working, so I scraped them off with the edge of a credit card. That did work, but my legs suddenly looked like I was in the final act of a Die Hard film. I was concerned about the smell of blood attracting more of them, or something larger, but we were near the top of the mountain, so I pushed on.

Just as we were about to reach the summit, I walked between two trees. I felt a strong, invisible force restraining my movement, then I felt it on my face: a few strands from a massive web. I stopped in my tracks. I recall thinking, Okay, I found the web, but where is the spider? I slowly looked down apprehensively. There on my chest, like some sort of grotesque 3d Spiderman Logo, was a massive dinner plate-sized Golden orb weaving spider. Most of that size was made up by spindly sword-like legs, but that did little to diminish its appearance. They are known for having some of the strongest webs on earth. That was the final straw. I grabbed my Old Navy T-shirt at the waist and shook the spider off while doing a slightly less than masculine dance. I then tried to recompose myself as quickly as possible. 

The view from the mountain's summit was spectacular, and despite some setbacks, I had achieved what I set out to do. We made our way back to the road, then to the accommodations, without incident. That night, the girl invited me to join her and a local friend in a sport ute, heading further north to Cape Tribulation. I gladly accepted, and there on the beach of Cape Tribulation (no one dared swim), I found my tribe. It was a small gathering of people from all walks of life who had come together on this remote patch of sand to seek an experience off the beaten path. Someone had a guitar, someone started a campfire, and the stars overhead had never shone so brightly. 

Most people spend their lives waiting for the right moment, the right permission, or the right companion. Adventures don’t begin that way. They begin the moment you stop negotiating with fear and take the first step anyway. That trip didn’t make me an explorer; it reminded me that I already was one. The real risk isn’t the jungle, or the ocean, or the unknown. It’s living a life small enough to avoid them. If there’s a place, a question, or a pull you’ve been ignoring, listen to it. You don’t need to have all the answers. You just need thirty seconds of courage, and then don’t look back.