THE WHITSUNDAYS, AUSTRALIA — I took my daughter to the Whitsundays, a string of islands off northeastern Australia, because she was obsessed with finding Nemo. Actually, we both were.
She was after the lovable cartoon clownfish, the star of the bestselling DVD of all time. I wanted to see the real deal in its natural habitat: Amphiprion ocellaris — just the most famous of the myriad Day-Glo denizens of the Great Barrier Reef.
Apparently, we're not alone. Last month, marine biologist Billy Sinclair, who studies clownfish at the University of Cumbria, reported that Nemo's Bambi-like status could actually make it an endangered species.
While the movie is about springing a clownfish from a dentist's office aquarium, that hasn't stopped legions of children from requesting their own captive Nemo. The clownfish harvest has led to a 75 per cent drop in the numbers of fish in some areas — from 25 to six at one coral reef in Queensland.
On Daydream Island, families can rent sea kayaks, stroll the beach - it's an easy fifteen minutes from end to end - or brush up on snorkeling techniques before heading to the Great Barrier Reef. (Ashley Bristowe for The Globe and Mail)
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"My message to kids who loved the film is simple," Sinclair told Britain's Daily Telegraph. "Tell your parents to leave Nemo in the sea where he belongs."
An excellent suggestion. And since the waters that wash over the Great Barrier Reef are particularly rich in clownfish, the Whitsundays were the obvious place to search for the little guy in his natural habitat. First, because these islands are a convenient base for exploring the reef. And second because several resorts here turn out to be remarkably adept at handling the vacation needs of young children and their parents.
There are 74 islands in the Whitsundays, almost all of them small, steep-sloped and blanketed in dense subtropical forest. But most are kept pristine as part of the Great Barrier Reef Marine Park; tourist development has been limited to only seven islands, each with its own self-contained resort complex and distinct flavour.
Posh Hayman Island, for example, caters to the rich and famous. Hook and Long islands specialize in stripped-down budget travel. And Lindeman features the mid-market predictability of Club Med. My crew, meanwhile, was headed for the two islands that most brazenly tout their family-friendly bona fides: Hamilton and Daydream.
PETTING THE RAYS
As our ferry from the mainland pulled into Daydream Island Resort, my daughter, in the style of three-year-olds everywhere, danced a celebratory jig, hopping foot to foot and chanting, "Nee-MO! Nee-MO! Nee-MO!"
She didn't have to wait long for satisfaction. Not only did my girl get an eyeful of Nemo in the artificial lagoon outside the lobby — one of two reefs of living coral that encircle the main resort buildings — but there were two more in an aquarium inside and a range of clownfish emblazoned on the carpet below her feet. This resort knows its target market.
So much so that we found no good reason to venture farther afield right away. Notwithstanding the resort's amenities (from sea-kayak rentals to an expansive spa) and the daily sightseeing tours to nearby Whitsunday Island (with its stunning white-powder beach), we did very little in particular — which, after all, is sort of the point of a holiday.
We organized our days around the twice-daily feedings in the lagoons, which yielded clockwork Nemo sightings.
By the second day, my daughter had also built up the courage to pet the various rays in the lagoon, particularly enjoying the shovel-nosed ray, which looks like a flattened shark trying to swallow its namesake.
As for me, I'd learned that hand-feeding barramundi, which look about as exotic as lake trout, has its own adrenalin rush — roughly akin to dropping the cheese into a lurching, lightning-quick mousetrap. And my snorkelling expeditions on the island's small fringing reef each afternoon offered up enough psychedelically coloured fish and coral to keep me contented.
A TRIP TO REEF WORLD
I didn't, however, spot a single clownfish. This meant the first order of business when we shifted over to Hamilton Island was to book a day trip to the Great Barrier Reef.
Easily done, since it's far and away the most bustling of the Whitsunday isles. It has a yacht-filled marina, seven distinct classes of accommodation and more than a dozen dining options.
The island's comprehensive approach also extends to junior guests. Kids under 15 eat free at several of Hamilton's restaurants. And if they've had it with their parents' idea of fun (or vice versa), the island's Clownfish Club offers full-service daycare.
Perhaps as a side effect of its commitment to being all things to all people, Hamilton is a much less idiosyncratic and lulling place than Daydream — more launching pad than destination. And so launch off we did, bound out of its marina early the next morning for one of the true wonders of the world.
The Great Barrier Reef is fully deserving of its eponymous boast. It is the world's largest reef formation, a 2,300-kilometre band of azure water and multi-coloured coral providing a habitat for 1,500 fish species, a couple of hundred species of birds, more than 30 kinds of mammals, six kinds of turtles, and a third of the world's soft coral — including magnificent sea anemone, whose swaying tentacles provide the preferred home of clownfish of all types.
Our port of call was Reefworld — a sort of floating dock moored to the reef's edge. Reefworld has amenities almost as impressive as Hamilton Island. There were not only underwater viewing platforms, helicopter rides and a semi-submersible tour boat, but also Club Seahorse, an on-site daycare facility. Once my daughter tired of bobbing above Nemo's home in a "stinger suit" (a lightweight lycra skin worn for protection from UV rays and the ferocious sting of the local jellyfish), she wouldn't need me to keep her entertained.
This was a very good thing, because I was definitely the kid in this particular candy store, and I wanted to spend as much time as possible at depths of eight to 12 metres with an oxygen tank strapped to my back, devouring the reef's visual delights.
The beauty and variety of aquatic life on display isn't really the point of this story, and it defies description anyway; it is surely the reason the term "teeming" was coined, and the interior of a giant clam alone is more than I can explain. (Imagine zebra skin with neon stripes the colour of grape jelly, plus some turquoise and lime green, all kind of swirled like a lava lamp and just ¡K just ¡K whoa.) No, the point is that I found Nemo. Toward the end of my second dive, my guide stopped short in front of me and pointed to the towering vertical forest of coral to our left. I followed her finger, and there, darting shyly in and out of a dinner-plate-sized patch of red sea anemone, were two incandescent clownfish.
Back aboard Reefworld, I rushed out of my gear and hurried to Club Seahorse to tell my daughter all about it.
"I saw Nemo!" I exclaimed.
"Ohhh, Nemo," she replied. "Really?"
She feigned amazement, the way you do when you're talking to an overexcited kid, and then she returned to more important activities. She was so tired by the end of it that on the ride back to Hamilton Island she slept right through the face painting.
Chris Turner is a writer based in Calgary. His most recent book is A Geography of Hope: A Tour of the World We Need.
