Moreton Bay Islands Tour

If you look at a map of Australia, Brisbane is fairly easy to spot, on the right-hand side just above the bulge occupied by Byron Bay, Australia’s most easterly point. If you zoom in you’ll see that, unlike Sydney, Brisbane is not actually on the coast but set inland, along the Brisbane river by about 60 kilometres.
Just nearby, where the river joins the sea is Moreton Bay, formed by the three larger islands; Bribie, Moreton and North Stradbroke. Zoom in a bit more and look a little to the south and you’ll see a group of smaller islands, only some of which are inhabited or accessible by public transport.

Ferries, both car and passenger varieties service the inhabited islands on a frequent basis and our plan was to spend a day hopping on and off these and to explore a number of the islands by bike.

We drove to Redland Bay and rode from the car park to wheel our bikes onto the ferry bound for Russell Island. Fellow passengers consisted of a few day-trippers but mostly island residents who had been into town to stock up on supplies. We noticed that they were a very laid back bunch and could only assume that hairdressers and shoe shops would not be in abundance once we docked on the island.

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The small passenger ferry docked and we wheeled our bikes up the ramp to begin exploring. We soon happened upon a local on an electric bike but when we asked him for some inside knowledge of the best route to take to explore, he seemed very secretive and loathe to share too much information.
So, after a coffee and a look at the map, we decided to head off down a picturesque looking street towards a lookout point called Canaipa Point. The road ran alongside the wonderfully named Ooncooncoo Bay. It was quite hilly and, as we rounded a corner we came across our silent friend from the ferry terminal admiring the view. Obviously, he had been wary of sharing his favourite vista with a couple of townies.

We continued along the path in the direction of the lookout but were disappointed to find, on arrival, that the land which would have afforded the best views was privately owned and guarded by two ferocious dogs. We headed off down a side street where we could glimpse something of the beautiful bay between houses, some of which, it seemed to me, were perched precariously close to the mudflats bordering the bay.

We rode around the lookout point and headed towards the main town via a leafy back lane. Our destination was the library where we hoped to discuss them stocking copies of our cycling related books.

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We struck lucky at the library as the Events coordinator was visiting from the mainland and we chatted at length with her about the possibility of doing a reading and presentation of our books at a later date. We then asked for recommendations about cycling routes on the island and were directed to a lady called Desolie who had been perusing the shelves. It turned out she was a cyclist herself and happy to provide a few tips. It also transpired that the secretive gentlemen we had encountered earlier in the day was her husband.

We mentioned a friendlier fellow we had seen on a 3 wheeled bike zooming along the back lanes and she said that must have been Barry, one of three local brothers.
This experienced confirmed the fact that in small communities everyone knows everyone else and what they are doing.

Desolie recommended we visit Macleay, the next biggest island and we rode down to the terminal with the intention of boarding one of the local ferries which ply between the islands.

We could see a large car ferry docked at the terminal and wondered if we might be allowed to take our bikes on board. I approached the loadmaster, a wild-looking but affable fellow who said “Sure mate, just let me get all the trucks on first.” A few cars and trucks of various sizes, some so large they barely fit were loaded and finally, we were allowed to board, along with a lady pushing a pram containing a small boy. I asked about payment, “Nah mate, it’s free for pedestrians and cyclists”. Our luck seemed never-ending.

The lumbering ferry reversed from the dock and swung in a wide arc out into the bay. We stood on the deck admiring the scenery and after fifteen minutes or so, arrived at Macleay where once again we had to wait for the vehicles to disembark before wheeling our bikes onto the island.

It was lunchtime and a restaurant had been recommended so we climbed the steep hill away from the ferry dock and headed down the main street of the island via a short detour to another lookout. Once again our view was obscured by newly built houses but it was a quiet road and pleasant riding.

The recommended restaurant was closed, apparently it only opened on weekends and to avoid the rush we were visiting on a weekday. The alternatives were a pie shop and a fish and chip shop. We vacillated between the choices eventually going for two steaming meat pies – invariably the dish of choice for hungry cyclists.

We sat under a beautiful frangipani tree eating our lunch. An hirsute local was quietly strumming his guitar and regaling anyone who would listen with tales of his experience playing with fabled jazz guitarist, Django Rheinhardt. I thought this an unlikely story as, ancient as the amiable fellow was, it seemed unlikely he had ever met Django, who died in 1953.

The maestro didn’t really answer questions, but continued telling his tales while his colleague, who seemed to be some kind of acolyte to his genius, told us there was a burgeoning music scene on the island and we should definitely return “next Sunday when the local band plays at the pub”.

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We promised to do so and left them to their musical rambling while we rode back towards the ferry terminal. As luck would have it the departing ferry was going directly back to Redland Bay (I never worked out the complex system of the time table or routings) so we decided to call it a day.

The ferry was surprisingly crowded and all of the spaces normally used to secure bikes were taken. Fortunately, the helpful first mate showed us a space where we could safely secure our bikes. We took our seats and the ear-ringed Captain headed out across the bay for home.

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