A Full Quota of Quokkas

At the end of the earth, off the coast of Western Australia and on the edge of the vast Indian Ocean stands Rottnest Island, an interesting lump of limestone that has served the same function as a magnet for shipwrecks much like a trailer park for tornadoes. Discovered by a Dutchman in the seventeenth century, the island's name literally means "rat's nest," because the seafarer thought the creatures he saw on shore were giant rodents. They were actually a cute little species of marsupial called quokkas, but more about that later.

The Perth locals refer to the place as "Rotto," and it is a popular destination in the summertime for swimming, snorkling, and bicycling. This last activity is pursued in the wintertime as well since the island has a bewildering network of roads that lack any traffic save the occasional golf cart and obnoxious tourist buses. In that sense, Rotto

is much like Catalina Island in attracting those traffic weary souls who just want to pedal around and look at the sights. This is what drew our attention, and I signed us up for a ferry ride and bike rental on Monday that promised an idyllic time in an ocean isolated paradise. We enjoyed the sensation of being farther from the United States than we have ever been before, (9,796 miles) but several factors came into play when we tried to enjoy the bike ride.

First there was the wind. A gale was howling on the ocean that swept over the island in punishing gusts, and try as we might we discovered our course always included a headwind. Then there was the geography of the place. I believe Rottnest Island is unique on the planet as being a place where all the roads are uphill. Our bikes had three speeds, but we could never shift out of the lowest gear, and many times we had to push our machines up the most brutal inclines. We did a 10 kilometer route which, by the time we drew near our starting point, taxed our aging bodies to the limit. Jayne was a real trouper, managing to finish the ordeal in spite of her constant neck pain. It was not all a negative experience, though.

The ocean was arrayed in such a beautiful shades of blue that the effect was absolutely stunning. All around the island are a number of old shipwrecks that are a boon to snorkelers who wish to commune with the fish that live among the rusting hulks. Some of the wooded areas of the route were also lovely, especially the path that took us past the "lake district" of several large salt ponds. It was here that we encountered our first quokkas, and they were indeed much like rats with their large, nude tails and pointed faces. Tame enough, they posed for photographs like champs.

It was not until we returned to the settlement for our late lunch and some cold drinks that the true nature of our journey was revealed to us. The small museum on Rotto tells the sad story of the island's history as a prison for aboriginals in the late nineteenth and early twentieth centuries. To think the quaint buildings that we viewed, and that vacationers

rent for the night or week, were actually constructed as cells by the prisoners themselves was a sobering realization. It almost makes one feel guilty to enjoy oneself on Rotto. Add to that an invasion of quokkas who scurry about the outdoor dining facilities, leaving deposits of excrement visible everywhere, and one almost wishes he or she had never come. I say "almost" because in spite of a return voyage that seemed an eternity, I think we enjoyed our visit to the ends of the earth.