A MOM’S UNCHARTED WATERS
An Aussie adventure with teen in tow
Standing on top of the arch of the Sydney Harbour Bridge 130 metres above the water, palms sweating, knees unsteady and feeling lightheaded, I turn to my daughter and weakly try to smile.
The Sydney Harbour Bridge is the tallest steel arch bridge in the world.
I am afraid of heights.
Far, far below, the famed Sydney Opera House looks just like the clump of artful orange peels that the architect envisioned, and a huge cruise ship docked in Darling Harbour looks like a tiny toy.
In the distance, I can see the hazy Blue Mountains and follow the equally blue harbour as it winds its way out to sea.
But while I feel nauseated and shaky, my daughter, the wind whipping her ponytail, looks utterly exhilarated.
That alone — seeing her so alive in the real world rather than lost in a virtual one shut up in her bedroom — is worth all the vertigo in the world.
She’s the one who got me up here. She’s the one who said, “Let’s do the Sydney Bridge Climb.”
And I gamely answered, “Sure,” thinking that would entail a mere stroll across the bridge on the sidewalk beside the traffic lanes.
At pedestrian level, I didn’t realize climbing the bridge meant exactly that: removing jewelry, putting glasses on a lanyard, latching onto a tether and donning a protective suit to prevent button and zipper snags on any one of the six million hand-driven rivets and to make sure no falling objects — ourselves included — became projectiles that could damage anyone or anything below.
Only in no-holds-barred Australia could someone have turned the harrowing notion of climbing to the top of a bridge span into a notto-be-missed experience.
Travellers have been coming from around the globe since the climbs began in 1998.
Every detail of these well-executed climbs is carefully planned to ensure safety — including the practice with the tethers before taking off, and the radio and headphones for communication and to hear our guide tell the fascinating stories of how the bridge was built and what it has come to mean to the country.
Paul Hogan was a riveter before he became famous as Crocodile Dundee.
And the flags flying atop the span tell the story of the times — the Aboriginal flag for the Sydney Festival, the maroon flag of a beloved local rugby team after a big win and the French flag after the terrorist attacks in Paris.
Before I knew what I’d got into, I’d been thinking: “This will be important. My teenage daughter actually wants to do something with me.”
I brought Tessa along to a conference and, as much as I’ve worried about her being lost in the virtual world, it took her natural curiosity and sense of fun to get me to take a break from work and zip over to the Taronga Zoo on the ferry to marvel at the kangaroos, koalas and the amazingly choreographed bird show.
She also got me out on the double-decker bus to stroll around town just for the heck of it.
I worry. Girls learn whether they can expect time for themselves by the examples their mothers set.
So I want to show her I remember how to have fun — if for no other reason than to make sure that when she’s my age, she will not have forgotten.
On the bridge climb, what kept me going every weak and shaky step — up four terrifyingly vertical ladders as my breathing got increasingly shallower and my head lighter — was the feeling that we were in this together.
Since she’s become a teenager, I feel like there’s so much about her — what she thinks, how she feels — that I don’t know anymore. And that’s why I asked her to tell her side of the story.
Tessa writes: “When my mom asked if I would come with her on a trip to Australia, I would’ve been insane to say no.”
When my mom asked if I would come with her on a trip to Australia, I would’ve been insane to say no. Despite my usual teen angst and stubborn unwillingness to do any activity with my parents, travelling has always been something that brought the family together.
“Despite my usual teen angst and stubborn unwillingness to do any activity with my parents, travelling has always been something that brought the family together.
“I was excited to see the Sydney Opera House, the Great Barrier Reef, a kangaroo. Downtown Sydney reminded me of Washington, except with Australian accents and a striking ocean view.
“I was most proud of persuading my mom to do the Sydney Harbour Bridge Climb — the very thing she promised me she would and could never do. I could practically see the pain in her eyes as she reluctantly agreed.
“Our bridge-climbing group was enthralled with adrenalin and excitement as we staggered up the bridge, while my mom kept her eyes on her feet and her hands glued to the rail. The view at the top was a beautiful, sweeping view of Sydney Harbour.
“The ocean was blue, and in the distance you could see a ferris wheel of an old amusement park. Our guide chose this time to tell the story of a person falling from the top. I brushed it off. My mom was wide-eyed and somehow even more cautious the rest of the way down. After the climb, I met a new version of my mom. She was hopped up on adrenalin and seemed ready to face the world.”
With a heavy workload awaiting me at home and missed school for my daughter, I was tempted to immediately return home after the conference.
Instead, I took a deep breath and a leap of faith: We flew to Cairns on the North Shore to see one of the seven natural wonders of the world — the Great Barrier Reef — before climate change and warming waters forever alter it, as several scientific studies predict.
Two mass bleachings in 2016 and 2017 wiped out an estimated half of the coral cover off the Queensland coast, although a field survey in September by the Australian Institute of Marine Science found hopeful signs of recovery.
We stayed just outside Port Douglas, at the Thala Beach Nature Reserve, an ecotourist lodge and magical place on 60 hectares (145 acres) of rainforest on an undisturbed peninsula just south of town.
We woke every morning in our Jungle Walk bungalow to the boisterous calls of a laughing kookaburra just outside our window.
And on a nature walk through the property, we watched an agile wallaby hop through the underbrush.
Everything at Thala Beach is open to the elements and pulls you into the present moment. It was restful, quiet and contemplative.
As a hurricane threatened one day, we sat on comfy rattan couches, drinking coconut juice out of a straw directly from fresh coconuts, and watched the warm rain pelt the palm trees of the Great Dividing Range and, beyond, the Coral Sea.
Another evening, at the Osprey, the open-air restaurant with a treehouse feel, we watched the sunset reverently, then giggled wildly when we saw slow-cooked saltwater crocodile in massaman-style curry on the menu.
I opted for steamed barramundi, a type of sea bass native to Australia. Tessa ordered pasta.
When it came time to explore the outer reef, we chose to go with Wavelength Reef Cruises, one of the longest-running reef operators and a pioneer in ecotourism.
They take only small groups. And a marine biologist accompanies every outing, so we not only saw amazing underwater sea life and whole worlds of coral, but we learned about them, and about how, with climate change and sea warming, the whole ecosystem is under threat.
After a 90-minute boat ride, we donned our snorkel gear, which, because it was jellyfish season, included Lycra suits.
Then Tessa and I plunged in. For hours, we swam side by side, marvelling at the strange and wondrous exotic fish, brightly coloured coral, giant clams and even a lumbering sea turtle.
I couldn’t stop smiling, even as I breathed through a snorkel.
I was not only lost in a timeless world, feeling vibrantly alive and in awe, I was sharing it all with my daughter.
Tessa writes: “Going to the Great Barrier Reef was amazing, not only because I was missing school or it was a great bragging opportunity to my friends, but because it’s one of the seven wonders of the natural world.”