With good weather in the forecast for today, Vilis and I decided an excursion was in order. To that end, we headed south from Townsville along the Queensland coast on the Bruce Highway and arrived at Alligator Creek campground in Bowling Green Bay National Park, about 25 kilometres south of Townsville, in mid-morning. As we drove into the park, Vilis spotted two bush-hens pecking at grass flowers and other vegetation at the roadside. The sturdy-legged birds flicked their tails upward while they walked, exposing reddish undertail feathers that contrasted sharply with the rest of their plumage of olive-brown and grey.

In the campground, agile wallabies grazed on grasses and groomed their fur, their haunches appearing disproportionately large compared with their small, deft forepaws which they employed to tidy and smooth their belly fur. Obviously well-accustomed to the presence of humans, the wallabies nonetheless shied away when Vilis attempted to photograph them.

From the campground and picnic area, which was almost empty, we followed a boardwalk to a sandy beach edging a broad pool in Alligator Creek. Mounded rocks protruded from the serene pool, which was bordered by slabs of granite bedrock and thrusting granite outcrops. From a lookout high above the swimming hole, we enjoyed the view upstream, where the creek frothed over boulders and swept into serene pools.

Beside the track that headed to Alligator Falls, figbirds plucked orange berries from shrubs, the male’s body all shades of green and black, his eyes circled with red; the female subdued in her brown upper plumage and white, brown-streaked belly. A family of spangled drongos, all black with flared tails, twittered high in the trees.

The initial section of the trail, which led us uphill through open savannah woodland dominated by poplar gums had been heavily eroded by water. Once the trail leveled off, leading us parallel to the river’s course, evidence of erosion was minimal. The narrow path was edged with a thick growth of grasses and herbaceous plants, many of the latter in flower. Two slender beetles mated on the soft crimson blossoms of a wild hibiscus, and yellow butterflies and clear-winged swallowtails with forewings like veined glass flitted among patches of what looked like a species of mint, the butterflies resting briefly on the herb’s small, lilac-coloured flowers to sip nectar.

The voices of kookaburras resounded from faraway slopes, like cackles of madmen plotting murder. Rainbow lorikeets whizzed by overhead, releasing a few raucous squawks and drawing my attention to nests of green tree ants that looked like brown globes hung in trees. Where the track skirted the creek, Vilis and I scrambled down water-worn mounds of bedrock onto huge slabs of granite lining the bed of Alligator Creek. Here, willows clung to cracks in the bedrock and cycads grew among waterside boulders. All would have been under water last weekend, as indicated by the height of debris stranded on creekside vegetation.

Returning to the trail, we hiked on and soon waded Cockatoo Creek, the water wonderfully refreshing in the morning’s still heat. Then we proceeded on through the open woodland savannah, sunlight pouring down between the trees and encouraging lush growth of understory grasses. We found little shade, but did explore more of the boulder-ridden landscape with its cycads, massive ant hills, and hotspots of cicada and cricket music. The rocky and gravely ground surface under the grasses resembled that of the Oak Valley hills we hiked last Saturday. “Maybe last weekend, water was running over this like it was on those hills,” Vilis mused. “There’s no humus to hold it.”

We munched apples and cookies in a rare patch of shade and then retraced our steps, vowing to tramp the entire 17-kilometre return trip to Alligator Falls during cooler winter weather. The whooping calls of pheasant coucals hidden in hillside thickets encouraged us back to the campground, which in late morning was filled to capacity with vehicles. We changed into swim suits and joined several families in the serene swimming hole edged with sand and rocks, the gently cool water a balm to our heated skin, and the laughter of a baby held in her grandfather’s arms soaring like sweet music over the pool.