If you drive slowly through a blind creek crossing to get drone footage for your social media account and then attempt to blame everyone but yourself when you nearly cause an accident, you’re probably not going to make many friends on your Cape York adventure, says editor Lyndon Keane. Photo: Facebook.
It’s been a month since I penned my answers to some of the most common questions I’ve heard during my dry season travels, however, during the past five weeks, my inbox has been inundated with feedback from Cape York locals and visitors alike. Some of the commentary was glowing of my apparent satirical genius, while several emails detailed in no uncertain terms what some of our southern caravanning cousins wanted to do to me if our paths crossed on the PDR.
Notwithstanding the risk to my personal wellbeing, I figured it was time to provide a sequel to my 9 July letter from the editor to offer wisdom on another five questions that seem to be asked 150 times a day at this time of the year, whether in person or on social media.
If you’re one of the dozens who sent hate mail in response to the first Q&A session, this is your official warning to stop reading now. Turn the page. I mean it. There’s a great story about underwater hockey on page 23.
Question 1: We’re heading up in 2026, what are the roads going to be like?
How long is a piece of string? Our road crews are modern-day miracle workers, but the answer to this question changes daily depending on several key factors, not the least of which is whether the estimated 100,000 tourists who visit Cape York each year have been driving like lunatics and forgetting the impact a seven-tonne vehicle-and-caravan combination can have on an unsealed road. And the sanity of the aforementioned road maintenance teams.
Question 2: Does everyone on the Cape York Facebook group want to see our Pajinka pic?
I get it, I really do. You’ve made it to the tip of Australia and you’re more than a bit excited about it. It’s no mean feat and we’re happy for you, but we aren’t going to have a public holiday in your honour. At last count, 36,298 photos of tourists grinning at the Pajinka sign have been posted on social media since 6am today. Almost 90 per cent of them featured people wearing matching Cape York merchandise, and offering the same platitudes about the journey and how magnificent the landscape is. Unfortunately, at this point, unless your photo shows you shaking hands with aliens, or you happen to have ridden a fluorescent pink unicorn from Seisia to the northernmost part of mainland Australia, it’s unlikely to move our excitement needle from zero. There will, however, be bonus points offered if you and the recently-landed extraterrestrial are adorned in identical fishing shirts showing you both conquered the Old Telegraph Track.
Question 3: Creek crossings need to be done at full speed, right?
If you remove yourself from your bubble of know-it-all self-importance for just a minute, you’ll notice how locals approach water crossings: slow and steady will always win this race. When you hit the water at 60 kilometres per hour in your lifted Patrol, all you’re doing is washing out the crossing for other drivers, making extra work for our road crews and demonstrating it only takes an IQ of 75 to work a manual transmission.
Question 4: Why are people abusing us when we stop to make content?
Did they happen to have a crack at you when you pulled up in the middle of the road to get drone footage for your Instagram account, by any chance? Or maybe it was because you told people at the Cape York event you rocked up at that you and your friends were travel influencers, right before demanding free food and drinks while being treated like some sort of red dust demigods? Do you know why locals won’t give you real directions to their favourite fishing spot? Because turning up next time to share it with 50 tourists who saw it pinned in a story reel kind of takes the gloss off a relaxing flick to end the week.
Question 5: How are you going with stocking that craft beer?
It’s never, ever going to be sold here, so please just accept it. Put on your big tourist pants and either put your lips around a Great Northern or XXXX, or just get on the wagon until you’re far enough south to be somewhere you can’t wear board shorts and thongs in winter.
