Costal Queensland and New South Whales have some strange names: Cape Tribulation, Magnetic Island, Point Danger. This is because the first white guy there, Captain Cook, chose to name things descriptively, rather than after people. Mount Warning is one such place. He picked that name after he almost ran aground on a reef, so future mariners would have a warning. And that they did, since the mountain is quite distinctive, and stands out from the surrounding mountains with its jagged, sloping peak. The whole area used to be a massive volcano, now all that's left is a ring of mountains, which used to be the outer crater, and the central core, Mount Warning, so there are mountains all around. Australia is not a place of high mountains, and Mount Warning is only about 1000 meters, but it's a mountain nonetheless.

I started the day by going into town to buy supplies. The town was almost worth stopping for alone. It's a small, non-touristy town, with actual small town people. I might as well be back in Indiana, except people keep calling me "mate." Then Tassie, the hostel's manager and only employee, drove us to the mountain, past beautiful rolling green hills, old Queenslanders (houses built on stilts to keep cool), banana plantations, and stinky pig farms. The climb proved to be difficult; two hours going up over rocky terrain in the humid rainforest. I was covered in sweat within five minutes. It was interesting, though, because the tropical rainforest at the base gradually became a temperate rainforest. So far this has been the best rainforest I've seen. The final part was billed as a "100 meter scramble up a vertical rock face." Thankfully, it wasn't quite vertical, and there were lots of places to put your hands and feet, as well as the guide chain. After Uluru it was a breeze. The views at the top were excellent, and I could see the sky scrapers of Surfers Paradise, and Cape Byron, my next stop. There were a couple of Aussies up there who lived nearby. It's always nice to meet locals at attractions like this. All told it took five hours.

That night I figured I had earned a real dinner, so I went to the "authentic" Mexican restaurant I saw in town. I feared this would prove to be a mistake, since there are no Mexicans in Australia. The last Mexican restaurant I went to, in Cairns, didn't even have cheese. Unfortunately, my fears proved to be well-founded, and my burritos, refried beans, and rice were bland and tasteless. Perhaps I'll try again in Sydney.