As we sailor gripped our way onto the white coral sand we saw the sign.  Welcome.  No, the word was WARNING.  As the salt spray crystallized on my lenses I could read the big letters as on an eye chart in the optometrists office.  We read the sign carefully. The warning was a clear crocodile alert.  The legalistic ACHTUNG was a reminder of an earlier warning system.  A shoot to kill!  I know crocodiles can’t read, yet! The warning was meant for any visitor to the park site.  Swimming was not the preferred activity!  With appropriate life vest and paddle Margaret launched the paddle board and bravely floated over the waters.

Meanwhile a few metres offshore the limestone monuments hinted at a larger reef.  The unpolished stone was waiting for a few hundred years of tide to tidy the rough edges. In the bay it was “safe” to kayak and paddle and near where the reef rose into the hillside even snorkeling was ok.  Reports from the snorkel and mask eyes indicated giant clams (1-2 metre bi-valve with openings and light detectors). The sign missed the point.  Our landing craft was not an invasion of the species snatchers but rather explorers looking for what was left of the new world.

As I zoomed out on the camera the calm water bay was exposed as a sanctuary cove for anchors in a storm.  Boats tied to tethers to prevent an invasion of wind blown landing craft.  In the bay the paddle board dodged rock turtles and reef crocs.  A trawler in the bay reported catching several large marlin just off the point and showed us the local sharks that were attracted to feeder fish.  This was not a beach landing of the war stories our parents told, rather this was a landing on the beach so we might have a story left to tell our children.