Tag Archives: Rainbow Beach

Byron Bay Blues

Byron Bay was once the land of hippies and burnouts, but these days it’s better known for multi-million-dollar properties and overpriced drinks. Despite this drastic change it remains a beautiful place, and the gang and I thought it would be the perfect place to party after a week spent in sleepy ol’ Rainbow, where everything closes before 8pm. Little did I know that our detour into the popular beachside village would lead to rivers of blood and unspeakable violence. And some people reckon that flying is the most dangerous part of a paragliding trip!

Dunno who the prick in the middle is

It was getting late by the time we rocked up, so Hamster, Phil, Asian Scotty, Round-Eye Scotty and I raced up to the Beach Hotel to glug back some uber-expensive beers while checking out the totty on offer. If you’re not wearing a three-piece suit there you’re underdressed, so we wobbled up to the nearby Rails Hotel, which was overflowing with backpackers, tradies, surfers and other troublemakers. My memory gets a bit fuzzy at this point, because we were throwing down Coopers Red as if our guts were on fire, but I think we went to the Great Northern Hotel, and ended up at Woodies Surf Shack, which is located in the Woolies carpark. Top place, Byron – where else could you get a good deal on Tim Tams and a lapdance off a 21-year-old Canadian in the same place?

Can you spot Hamster chundering in the corner?

I was waiting for a big-titted French maiden to return from the bar with my pina colada when I heard a commotion outside and, fearing the worst, raced out to the carpark.
“What’s going on?” I asked Phil.

“It’s Scotty,” he gasped. “He’s punching on with the bouncers.”

“Big deal. He’s a career criminal and one of the most violent people I know. I’d be surprised if he wasn’t having a fight.”

“No, not the Asian Scotty – I mean Round-Eye Scotty. Y’know, the bloke who’s spent the whole trip reading books on Spanish history and learning the moves to the Macarena. Apparently they caught him pissing in the corner of the club and he flipped out when the bouncers told him to stop. He started slapping their faces, so now they’re kicking the crap out of him. I think I just saw one of his eyeballs pop out of kiss skull.”

“They might I have to call him One-Eye Scotty from now on,” I smirked, and someone slapped me a high five.

Round-Eye Scotty (left) gets knocked the fuck out by an enraged bouncer (right) as Hamster (centre) looks on in horror

The bouncers eventually scraped what was left of Round-Eye Scotty off the concrete and handed him over to the police, who didn’t know whether to arrest him or bury him. As the broken shell of a man was taken away in the cop car, we all joined together for a hearty rendition of, ‘You’re going home in the back of a divvy van’ and then returned to the bar for more beers.

I swear I took this photo, and didn’t just download it off the internets

I woke up behind an Otto bin a few hours later, and when I finally made it back to the hostel the others were ready to leave. Hamster sheepishly told me that he’d pissed his last pair of clean shorts and would have to go home, so he gave me a soppy hug and started walking back to Perth. That just left me, Phil and Asian Scotty to continue on to Laurieton, with dreams of epic paragliding spinning around in our minds. But on the way, there was something big that we just couldn’t miss…

Look at all that potassium!

That’s right, the most a-PEEL-ing roadside attraction in the world, and one that promises a whole BUNCH of fun, the Big Fuckin’ Banana! Built in 1964 and longer than Mandingo’s meat rocket, the Banana is undoubtedly the most famous Big Thing around. More than one million fascinated tourists gape in awe at it every year, and I’m happy to say that the freakish fruit is looking better than ever (unlike the poor bloody Big Cow). There are new attractions there, such as a water park and a giant slippery dip, making it the perfect place for a fun day out.

He was asking for it

Our afternoon was set to become decidedly un-PG, however. Phil, Scotty and I were enjoying banana smoothies and banana jam sandwiches when a group of attractive blonde backpackers walked over to stare in wonder at the banana. In turn, I stared in wonder at the blonde backpackers. Scotty, however, took things a step too far.
“Hey lady, if you want big banana, I have one in my pant,” he crooned, whilst thrusting his groin at them. “OK, it no so big, but it yellow and taste funny, so why you no give it a try?” We left before there were any further arrests.

Being able to see where you’re flying is for pooftahs

We finally made it to Laurieton at dusk, and raced off to Southeast Bonnie Hills to see if we could get a fly in. The sun was down and it was getting dark quick, but the wind was good, so we set off. After a week of frustration, it was incredible to get back up in the air. In fact, it was so good that, after landing in the pitch dark and drinking ourselves stupid, we got back into it the next day. Beautly, it was even better when I could see where I was going! SE Bonnies was the first site I ever flew back when I was on my course, and it was ace to get another crack at it now that I’m (slightly) more experienced.

Mr Handsome 😍

That night, we were enjoying some well-earned beers while watching the sunset, when we received the news that Round-Eye Scotty had been brutally raped in prison and had died of extensive rectal haemorhaging. Asian Scotty started pissing himself; “He no even the one who was pissing in nightclub!” he guffawed. “It was me, but I blame him so that bouncer bash him. My plan work so well, I so smart. Please hand me party pie.” But in more important news, I beat Phil in a game of Jenga! All in all, it was a fantastic week, and my condolences go out to Round-Eye Scotty’s family.

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I had a WHALE of a time in Hervey Bay!

Our first day in Rainbow Beach provided paragliding perfection, but after that things went downhill fast. With a cyclone swirling off the coast, the winds picked up and the rain came through and our wings remained tucked away in their rucksacks. Instead of flying, our little group of pilots fell into a cesspool of heavy drinking, overeating and debauchery. Before long, cabin fever was setting in and things were looking pretty grim.

Hamster would disappear for hours at a time to drink a supply of paint he’d discovered under the house. Scott seemed to be running an illegal sweatshop out of his bedroom. Some Pommy bloke named Dave, who nobody seemed to know, had started sleeping in our kitchen. Round-Eye Scott, by contrast, spent most of his time locked away in the toilet, practising his lines for his upcoming role as Samuel in a production of The Pirates of Penzance at Laycock Street Theatre. I knew I had to get the gang out of the house before we all lost our minds, so I organised a nice, long walk along the beach.

Unfortunately, there’d been some sort of natural disaster down there and the sand was littered with dead marine animals. As soon as we got back to the house, Hamster headed for his paint supplies to drown his misery, so I bundled him and the rest of the nincompoops into the car and drove them out of there. I was racking my mind to think of somewhere to take them that would cheer them up, and then an idea struck me harder than an enraged stepmother. There was still a few Big Things to check out, so I started rolling out to find them.

Maryborough might be 2000km from the Victorian town of Glenrowan, but that didn’t stop them building an eight-metre-tall tribute to legendary bushranger Ned Kelly. I dunno, maybe he took a holiday up this way or something. Ned’s in good condition, even if he does look a bit gangly and had a bird’s nest between his legs. He’s also one of the most fearsome Big Things around, because he looks like he wants to blow your head off with his shotty and then steal your PlayStation. He kept Hamster amused for a few minutes, but the statue’s right next to a petrol bowser and The Ham was looking thirsty, so I chucked him back in the car and headed off again.

Hervey Bay’s a popular backpacker destination and I was expecting it to be a quaint seaside village, but it’s actually a sprawling city. I knew they’d knocked up a Big Whale in the last few years and figured it wouldn’t be hard to find – apart from the fact there are whale statues all over the place. Honestly, I haven’t seen that much blubber since I porked Rebel Wilson’s sister. We finally found the real deal, and it is fucking massive. The big bastard is definitely one of the most impressive Big Things I’ve seen, but Hamster wasn’t impressed.

“It’s not really a Big Thing, is it,” he said, whilst leaning against a lightpost in an attempt to look cool.
“What do you mean? It’s bloody huge!” I replied.
“Yeah, but Big Things are supposed to be a bit shit, aren’t they? Peeling paint, badly proportioned, and a bit stupid looking. I mean, that pelican looked bloody goofy, and the cow looked like it had been built by a team of one-armed mongs who had only vaguest idea what a cow actually is. But this thing is really well done. It’s artistic and beautiful and not at all cringeworthy. So as far as I’m concerned, it doesn’t fit the criteria for being a Big Thing. Get some bloke to concrete over it and paint it pink and then we’ll talk.” I guess he has a point.

There’s plenty to see and do in Hervey Bay, with most of it revolving around water-based activities such as kitesurfing or whale watching. Unfortunately the weather was a bit shithouse and the thought of popping into the ocean for a dip was as inviting as dropping the soap in front of Bob Brown. Instead, we took a long walk on an even longer jetty, which offers pleasant views back on Hervey Bay’s waterfront. It is a very lovely town and it’s easy to see why so many people stop off there (I was hoping to bump into some Norwegian backpackers with their tits out, but the conditions weren’t condusive to that).

Everyone was thirsty and keen to get on the piss again, but as we got ready to leave we realised that Phil was nowhere to be seen. Me and Hamster spent a good hour-and-a-half looking for him in the pub, but to no avail. We finally found Phil, who’s usually a very level-headed and rational bloke, having an animated conversation with a statue.
“You’re the only one who really understands me,” he told the statue, before nodding his head as he listened to the reply. “Yes, I think it is time for us to run away from these people before they start acting even weirder. What’s that? You should kill them? It’d be doing the world a favour but, to be honest, I can’t be bothered.”

I realised I had to get everyone out of Hervey Bay, out of the path of the cyclone, and back into the air before they went bananas and started eating each other. It was time for a hero to stand up and make the tough decisions. There was only one place we could go to save the holiday, and I decided we’d all head there in the morning – after another epic night on the piss, of course.

Somewhere Over The Rainbow

After being amazed by the Sunshine Coast’s plethora of giant roadside attractions, it was always going to be a big ask for Rainbow Beach to wow me. Really, what’s the point of looking for wonderment when you’ve already been spoiled by a pelican the size of a VW Beetle? Rainbow Beach was more than up to the task, however, by providing an astonishing paragliding experience that ranks right up there with the very best I’ve ever had.

I really like corn chips

Hamster was almost sober by the time I rolled him out of the car near launch, and before long we were standing atop the formidable sand dunes that rise high above the sparkling beach. A few locals were dancing through the skies and enjoying the five kilometres of flyable coastline, so Hamster and I slapped each other a high-five and started unpacking our gliders. That’s when I heard a familiar, if not entirely welcome, voice coming through the sand.

Here’s a potential Tinder profile pic

“Hello you guy, it me, Scott!” I looked back to see a heavily-tattooed Asian with a flowing black mullet stumbling down the sand dunes. I was shocked to see Scott because the last I’d heard, he was embroiled in the Hollywood sexual misconduct scandal and had gone underground. Hamster pulled out a knife but I told him to relax – Scott has killed men for looking at him the wrong the way, and if Hamster wound up dead I’d probably have to pay his share of the rental car.

Scott strikes his iconic pose

“This my friend, he also name Scott,” Scott said, gesturing towards a handsome, charismatic gentleman standing next to him. “But he no Asian, so we call he Round-Eye Scott. We meet in prison – he there to teach us about God, me there for attempted genocide. Now we best friend, whether he like it or not. I will kill Round-Eye Scott if he ever leave me.” Scott, Round-Eye Scott, Hamster, Mel and Phil ‘Don’t Call Me Dean’ Wheen and I unpacked our gliders, strapped them on, and headed out for a life-affirming airborne adventure.

Bye bye, sun

Rainbow Beach has a glowing reputation within the paragliding community, and there’s a reason that it’s a place of pilgrimage for many pilots. The tropical scenery is stunning, and the gently curving dunes allow for plenty of height and kilometres to explore. We launched late, as the sun was already sinking towards the horizon, but we made sure to get the most out of the unreal conditions. We flew until we couldn’t see anymore, before landing out the front of the surf club and ducking in for a few well-earned beers.

Our home away from home

And then we had some well-earned beers back at our beach bungalow we were staying at, and a few more at the local pub, before ending up in a backpackers’ hostel watching sunburnt Poms squabble about their rapidly diminishing supplies of goon. They’d purchased 13 five-litre casks for their impending three-day trip to Fraser Island and were getting stuck into their supplies early, which was causing all sorts of trouble. When a deadbeat northern lass with a face tattoo accidentally knocked over half a plastic cup of Berri’s finest, I thought World War III was about to start.

The Hamster in his natural environment: a state of drunkwn stupor

“Fuckin’ hell, if I wanted to listen to this shit I would’ve stayed at home in ‘uddersfield,” lamented Hamster, before skolling another beer and pissing himself. Scott let me know that he’d had enough by kicking a hole in the hostel’s wall and threatening to murder everybody, so I bundled the repribates I call my mates out into the night and called the only person I could think of to pick us up – Round-Eye Scott, who doesn’t drink, smoke, take drugs or even listen to music with swear words in it. As I dragged a drunken Hamster and a psychotic Scott into the car and looked back at the hostel, which was being torn apart by the penny-pinching Poms, I couldn’t help but think how nice Round-Eye was by comparison. Unfortunately, I was about to find out that every rose has a thorn, and that Round-Eye Scott has a very dark secret.

Round-Eye Scott is sweeter than the ripest pineapple

Big in Queensland

After a month spent fending off sleet and snow in the depths of Siberia, I was paler than Beetlejuice’s arsehole and in desperate need of some Vitamin D, so I headed to the Sunshine Coast for a paragliding trip with my mates. As soon as I stepped off the plane at Maroochydore, I was met by glorious rays of sunshine that felt like a drug to me. I was also greeted to a scene that will remain with me until my final days; my mate Hamster was being pushed through the terminal in a wheelchair, with a can of beer in his hand and chunky vomit on his shirt. His pants were around his ankles and he had obviously soiled himself on the long flight from Perth to Queensland.

The airport staffer dumped him outside the front doors, and I somehow managed to drag Hamster to his feet. “Hey brother, how the fuck did I get here?” he asked in his distinctive northern English accent, before taking another slurp of his beer. “The last thing I remember, I was enjoying a few quiet drinkies while waiting for my flight. Mind you, I did get to the airport 15 hours early, so maybe it was more than a few. Come on, gimme a kiss and let’s go flying.”

Hamster was in no state to walk down the street, let alone pilot an aircraft (a point he emphasised by attempting to urinate on a street sign, only to collapse into his own bubbling pool of piss), so I loaded him into the hire car and tried to think of something to keep him occupied until he sobered up. Southeast Queensland is home to more Big Things (giant roadside attractions, like The Big Golden GuitarThe Big Axe and The Big Koala) than any other region on the planet, and I figured they’d amuse a simple mind like his for a few hours. “Hey Hamster,” I said, “how would you like to see the biggest pineapple around?” “How big is it?” “Big enough to live in!” “Sure matey, as long as I can get a beer, I couldn’t care if we went to Julia Gillard’s undie drawer. Lead the way!”

With Hamster singing 5,6,7,8 by Steps the whole way, we somehow survived the 20 minute drive out to The Big Pineapple at Nambour. Its 16 metres tall, so it’s a fair bit larger than any pineapples you’d find at Coles, and I was mightily impressed as we pulled into the carpark. As Hamster poured himself out of the car and crawled towards the fiberglass fruit, I had flashbacks to my visit to South Africa’s own Big Pineapple just a few months earlier.

I’m a proud Aussie and reckon we have the beautest roadside attractions on the planet, but I’ve gotta say that the Saffas have trumped us on this one. The Queensland version is a lot smaller than the one I visited in Bathurst, Eastern Cape – it’s shorter and thinner than the competition, like Kevin Rudd’s penis. The South African version has also never been used as a toilet by Hamster, so it’s got that going for it.

Hamster wasn’t close to sober yet, so I drove him up the road to The Big Cow. A major tourist attraction for decades, the behemoth bovine has been left abandoned for years, and these days is looking a bit sad. I guess you could say the rest of the world has moo-ved on, but you’d be milking it. The site the cow sits on has been converted into some sort of halfway house for druggos and drunks, who were loitering around, arguing with each other and exposing their privates. Hamster thought it looked like a great time, so I had to chuck him back in the car and get him out of there. Unfortunately, he managed to slam his penis in the car door, and rushed off to a bush to make sure it was alright.

I thought that would sober him up, but it didn’t, so I climbed behind the wheel again and drove us up to the quaint seaside village of Noosa. The town is renowned for its lovely restaurants and laid-back vibe, but I had my sites on something a bit grander – The Big Pelican! Known to locals as Percy, he was originally built as a parade float back in the 70s, and has lived a colourful life ever since. He’s lived in various locations, and even spent a spell at the bottom of the sea after falling off a pontoon. The locals still trot him out during street parades, and his wings and beak are able to flap – he’s quite a suave chap!

“I was hopin’ there’d be some good-lookin’ birds up here,” Hamster slurred, before sneaking up behind poor old Percy and trying to hump him from behind. I dragged him away before a group of angry fishermen could bash his brains in for molesting the treasured symbol of their district. I was running out of options to keep Hamster entertained, but there was still one very large, very famous attraction that we could visit.

Matilda the Kangaroo melted our hearts at the opening ceremony of the 1982 Commonwealth Games in Brisbane, when she was wheeled out in front of a capacity crowd and circled the stadium winking at awe-struck sports fans. But that was just the start of her love affair with the people of Queensland, because after the Games she found a permanent home at the Wet ‘n’ Wild water park, where she remained until behind pulled down in the early 2000s. The big, beautiful woman was forgotten about until 2009, when she was relocated to the Matilda service station at Kybong in 2009.

Standing 13-metres tall, Matilda is still an impressive sight, and is in remarkably good shape for such an old lass. Hamster, however, was not impressed. “That fuckin’ kangaroo’s lookin’ at me,” he bellowed, before walking up to Matilda’s mammoth left foot. “You want some, cunt? I’ll fuckin’ smash ya!” With that, Hamster started punching and kicking Tilly, who didn’t bat an eyelid (possibly because the mechanism in her head that causes her to wink has long since worn out). After 30 seconds, Hamster collapsed to the ground, his knuckles torn to the bone. He sobbed for a minute or two, obviously wondering where it all went wrong, then something came over him and he looked at me with remarkably clear eyes.

“Right, I think I’ve bled out all the alcohol,” he chirped, climbing to his feet. “Let’s go for a fly, or do you want to stand here all day, staring at this big idiot?” And that, my friends, is how Hamster and I made our way to the remote paragliding site of Rainbow Beach – and one of the best days of flying anybody could ever ask for.

Today I lost my pants at the beach

image

I enjoyed my last paragliding visit to Port Macquarie so much that I’ve come back – but the locals are wishing I’d stayed where I bloody well come from. But hear me out, it wasn’t my fault!

There’s less wind than on the moon today, so I decided to head to the Rainbow Beach to have a dip. It’s a top spot (although it could do with a few less dogs. The four-legged kind, I mean, not ugly women. Although, truth be told, it could do with a few less of them, too) and I had a great time reading a book and listening to some music. And then it all went wrong.

I decided to go for a swim, and chose to go in only my underpants, so my board shorts will be nice and dry when I went to the shops afterwards to buy a Curly Wurly. Bad choice, bro, bad choice. After paddling around in the vibrant water for 10 or 15 minutes, I was hit by a monster wave, and when I resurfaced, things felt a bit different downstairs. A bit lighter, a bit roomier, a bit more like my undies had been knocked off and were floating away.

I looked around frantically, and saw them being picked up by a wave. I swam in that direction, desperately trying to grab them before they disappeared forever. I reached out, stretching my arm further than it’s ever been stretched before, and finally grasped them. And that’s when I realised I’d been chasing a chunk of seaweed. My underpants were gone, and I was naked in public.

Luckily, Rainbow Beach isn’t very crowded, and I figured that, if I was quick, I could get back to my towel without being seen. I waded back to shore, carefully looking for a chance to get out. And that’s when a family of five decided to sit down to eat their lunch about five metres from where my stuff was. Mum, tide two little kiddies, and even Nana was there. Shit.

I swam around in the shallow water, terrified a fish would mistake my doodle for a worm,and hoping the family would finish their lunch and fuck off. But they had a lot of lunch and they were slow at eating it, and when they finally finished they all lay back in the sun, obviously with no intention of leaving. I was pruning up and getting tired from fighting the tide, but I couldn’t exactly barge up the sand with my water noodle flapping about.

I needed a plan. I thought about wearing the seaweed as a kind of cock cover, but decided the family would simply thought I had a lot of pubic hair and would start screaming. There are a lot of trees at the back of the bush, so I figured that if I could get to them, I could circle behind the Addams Family, reach my bag, and get my boardies back on. Well, it was worth a shot!

I swam up the beach and darted out of the water, then raced across the sand like some sort of demented crab. I dived into the bushes just as a fisherman turned my way, and barely missed being impaled on a stick. Then, like a naked Rambo, I made my way through the trees as the family started singing a song about bananas. I know, I thought it was weird, too.

I waited until they were in mid-singing, then burst out of the bushes and made a bee-line for my bag. Unfortunately, I didn’t see the log lying in my way. I smacked my shin on it and flipped like a gymnast, then rolled along the sand before ending up five metres from the family, with my sandy Willy flapping in the gentle breeze.

It was not my finest hour.