Dunk Island - Story Behind The Song
I take a tab
Something that looks like sugar glued to a piece of paper
It dissolves on my tongue and in about half an hour my pupils dilate
My friends look happy and tell me that I keep smiling
I don’t feel myself smiling
Then I see God
And that bastard owes me an explanation
For trying to kill my family with strokes, cancer,
And for other reason that I don’t really appreciate
Another head rush comes in waves for me to replicate
Dimensions crumble as my senses slowly drift away
So there I am sitting on the beach
Trying to figure out why I do these things to myself
Everyone else saying that what they “see” is beautiful
When I do see or feel anything different
The beach was already beautiful in fairness
Then I see myself
And that bastard owes me an explanation
For trying to kill the memory
And remind me that absolutely nothing is going to change from this experience
Another head rush comes in waves for me to replicate
Dimensions crumble as my senses slowly drift away
And if you wonder why I still torture myself in these ways
My bleeding heart still loathes for comfort til it scars my brain
...
So, there is some truth to this narrative (is it technically a ballad because it’s a story?). I’ll set the record straight by separating the truth from the fiction. I’ll start with the fiction:
The Fiction:
I had a bad acid trip and got paranoid and angry about my perception of events that came to mind while sitting on the beach with my friends.
The Fact:
I did take acid on a beach, with my friends, on Dunk Island, in Queensland, Australia. However, I did not have a bad trip. I did not see God. I didn’t hallucinate. The stuff affected me to the point where I felt slightly crossfaded. That’s it. My friend, Anders, claimed that it made me “more energetic, cheerful and hilarious,” so I’ll take that as a plus. It was also just an amazing time in general.
The idea behind writing a song about a bad acid trip stemmed from reading the lyrics to “Destroyed By Hippie Powers” by Car Seat Headrest. My end product is what I would consider a less introverted, more punkish take on “Hippie Powers” at best.
The idea of taking an over-romanticized substance and realizing that it is not an answer to your problems appealed to me because it reflected my experience with acid. However the idea that it could make your problems seem like nightmares for a 6 hour period seemed more interesting and revealing because of the irony. Therefore, I took the latter approach in writing the song, even though it is a fictional story.
I personally took acid with the idea that I would find some clarity within the universe and come out of my trip with some kind of optimism for human existence. Some of my most logical and grounded friends have claimed to find a deeper sense of being as the consequence of taking the drug. What really happened is that I just felt a little more intoxicated than normal.
The Story Behind the Song
Dunk Island, from Tully, Australia, is about a 45 minute drive to Mission Beach and then a 20 minute ferry ride to the island itself. Half of the island is a national park while the other half is a privately owned resort and cattle farm. Rumor has it that the Dunk Island resort was said to be one of the top 10 resorts in the world before it was destroyed in 2011 by Hurricane Yazi. It was 2016 when I visited, and the resort was still abandoned/non-operational.
It was early December - right after my birthday - and a large group of residents from Banana Barracks decided that it would be a fun weekend retreat heading into the holiday season.
Me trying to get a candid selfie with Jeanina (Sweden, left) and Paloma (USA, right) on the shuttle to Mission Beach
My friends Lina (Finland) and Anders (England) on the ferry ride over to Dunk Island. They aren’t annoyed - the ferry ride was extremely windy.
Mac (England/Italy dual citizen) and Lina
Some of the most blue water I’ve ever seen off of the Mission Beach coast
Upon arriving on the island, our group of about 15 Tully residents was excited to learn that we were one of the few groups on the island. Basically, we had the whole island to ourselves with the exception of a handful of people. We arrived at around noon and immediately assembled our tents, started drinking, swimming, and throwing around an American football (I still don’t know how or why anyone had their hands on an American football). Later in the afternoon, we all decided to go for a hike. It was all planned that we would do the hit at that point before dinner so we could ride the hallucinogenic “waves” throughout sunset and after the sun had gone down. So we all threw the tablets (they really did look like sugar glued to a piece of paper) on our tongues and started along the hiking trail. Acid usually takes about an hour to start having an effect, so I wasn’t too worried about what might happen at the beginning.
“Something that looks like sugar glued to a piece of paper”
A group of five of us were were walking along a beached part of the trail when I looked out onto the water and observed a boat, a tube connected to the boat, a few people drinking beer on the boat, and a swimmer from the boat coming in shore to fetch a jet ski that had been purposefully beached by the group.
I could clearly hear one of the voices from the boat, and it sounded oddly familiar.
“I’m just glad that Josh isn’t pissed, so he can actually swim over to grab the waverunner.”
I know that voice.
It was Marty from my banana crew. He was a local that worked in the same cutting crew as me. One of the five. He’s good friends with my supervisor, Josh. So...that means…
“Josh?!”
The skinny body shimmied its way onto the jet ski and turned its head hearing my voice.
“Kirk?! What are you doing here?”
“Some of us from Rafters (Banana Barracks) are camping out here. Just looking for an excuse to get out of Tully this weekend. What about you? I thought you were going clubbing tonight?”
“Nah fuck that. That was last night. Marty and I came out with some friends on their boat. These guys are loaded with cash! Brought out the jet ski and tube as well. Yeah I thought I saw some familiar faces over by the campground. You guys just come out to hang out and and camp?”
It is important to note here that while Josh was technically my “boss,” he wasn’t a boss in the traditional sense. He, like nearly every supervisor on the farms, didn’t give a damn what you did outside of work as long as you did your job well. You could have showed up intoxicated to work and he wouldn’t bat an eye as long as you were working efficiently, effectively, and weren’t constantly complaining. They knew the majority of folks who worked on the farm used some kind of recreational drug. The only time it mattered was when the slower season would hit and the farm needed to cut costs. Then they would give random drug tests to workers and fire them when the workers failed the drug screenings. It sounds brutal in American terms, but in reality, you could just get a job on a different farm the next day if there was a job opening. Australian farmers didn’t hold hiring grudges based on recreational drug use because they knew everyone was guilty of it.
That’s why I had no worries telling him this:
“Damn dude. Looks awesome. Yeah some drinking. Don’t know if we brought enough beer to carry us through the entire night. Granted I just took a hit of acid, so I might not need lots of alcohol tonight.”
“Acid? Haha. Yeah this would be a great place to do it. Especially on an isolated island with your own group and pretty much nothing to worry about.”
“Definitely. Granted I want to get this hike in before it starts taking its effect.”
“Probably a good call. I’ll see you Monday then.”
“Alright. Take it easy, Josh.”
The group went down the hiking path for a mile, but then we decided to turn back. The sun was starting to set and we didn’t want to get lost on a hiking path in the middle of a rainforest while on a hallucinogenic drug.
Luckily, I had gotten some cool pictures of our exploration up until that point:
Wanting to continue exploring the island, we turned back and decided to explore the deserted resort portion.
Fun fact: Dunk Island actually has its own airstrip for transporting tourists back and forth between the island and the city of Cairns. The airstrip also acts as the border between the national park and the resort. Therefore, if you cross it, you can be prosecuted for trespassing. No one actually knew that before stepping foot on the property.
Meh. It was an abandoned resort, so it’s not that big of a deal, right? There was no one there and we were planning on being respectful towards the property and whatever remained.
The hiking group walked across the airstrip and crossed over into the resort. On the shore of the island were small cottages with shattered windows and destroyed roofs.
My Finnish friend, Lina, and I immediately got separated from the group and explored one of the the cottages. The strange thing was that the cottage was still fully furnished. It just seemed like a room where someone hadn’t been for a few weeks. Even the running water was still working.
“Hey, Lina. This place was abandoned 5 years ago, right? Why is the water still working?”
“I have no idea.”
I continued examining the room, and then something caught my eye:
“Lina, is that a workout facility and indoor tennis courts over there?”
“Looks like it.”
We encountered a massive shed like structure that housed multiple tennis courts. They were technically open air as the shed was protected only by netting. On the other side of the tennis courts were indoor racquetball courts and a store with tennis and racquetball equipment and apparel.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get a picture of the tennis courts. My camera decided to die right after I took this picture. After leaving this area, I turned my camera on one more time, and it had regained enough battery in order to take one more picture - seen below. The other pictures from the night were taken on my cell phone, which I had intentionally left at the campgrounds.
Continuing towards the center of the resort, we passed a few basketball courts as well as a small abandoned playground that eerily reminded me of the atomic bomb scene from Terminator 2:
Upon passing these, we crossed over into another residential part of the resort where private bungalows had been constructed. Upon reaching the middle of the bungalow complex, we stumbled upon the centerpiece of the entire resort:
An illuminated, 3 tier pool with a waterfall leading to each tier. It looked like something you would see on the first class of the Titanic.
Author: Banfield1
https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Dunk_cascade_pool.jpg
After staring at the pool in awe for seemingly 5 minutes straight, I noticed that there was an external pump that was running from the bottom tier of the pool to the top.
“Hey Lina, we should probably leave, seeing how we are trespassing and someone is currently doing maintenance on this pool. Don’t know where they went, but let’s get out of here.”
“Yeah you’re probably right.”
Upon exiting the property, and heading back towards the beach, we stumbled upon a golf course, and a magnificent grand ballroom that miraculously had not been touched by the cyclone.
Upon exiting the main doors of the ballroom with a view of the beach Lina and I spotted the remainder of the hiking group.
We greeted them, walking around a drained pool with designs of a butterfly built into the floor of each end.
“Did you guys see the three tier pool, golf course and tennis course in there?”
“Nah we saw a maintenance worker and figured he would be pissed seeing us there. So we just turned around and came back here. There’s a golf course back there?”
“Yeah it’s insane. The pool is even more impressive.”
“I kind of want to check that out.”
“Well, let’s go. We have to be kind of sneaky about it.”
Others overheard this conversation and decided to join us.
The new group of about five all turned and faced the property. We started heading towards the ballroom to get back into the main atrium of the resort.
Then out of the exit came three men and a dog.
The man in the middle seemed to be leading the pack. He had a long beard covering his neck with shoulder-length hair. He were a red and black flannel shirt with cut off sleeves, complemented by road worn jeans. Basically, he looked like an impractical lumberjack. He was a broad shouldered guy. Typical Aussie rugby build. Not the type of guy you would want to make angry.
“Where the fuck do you think you were going?”
“Uh we heard a noise and thought that it was coming from-”
“Fuck off! I know what you’re about to do. Don’t need anymore of you trashing my property,” He pointed to the pool behind us. “Stay in front of that pool and we won’t have a fucking problem.”
Half petrified from fear, we all slowly backed away and took a seat on the beach. The others who weren’t planning on finding the pool and golf course were trying not to break out in laughter.
The three men and the dog followed us onto the beach.
Luckily after a few seconds, some of the tension had been broken due to the fact that the accompanying dog started craving attention from our group of banana farmers.
“So where are you guys from? The leader asked.
“We came over from Tully. Work on farms over there. Just decided to come out here and camp tonight to get away.”
“Ah that makes sense. I’ve seen a few of yous around. Over by the campground.”
“Yeah we are spending the night. So, what are you guys doing here? You run the resort?”
“Yeah, mate. I own it. Been holding down the fort and repairing the place for the past couple of years.”
“Damn, that’s awesome. So, are you going to try to reopen it at some point?”
“Hopefully, but there is still lots of work to do.”
This conversation carried on for a while. We learned that the leader of the group’s name is Adam. Adam did not actually own the island. His father, Peter, who was a successful investor was the owner of the island, but Adam for all intents and purposes ran it. This was usually because Peter constantly had to travel and attend to other business related matters. We found out that the two men that we were with him were his uncle and nephew (if I remember correctly).
As the last rays of sunlight were reflecting off of the waves, the hiking group decided to head back to the campground and make dinner. Dinner came and went, and afterwards, glow sticks were handed out, beer pong games started, and the acid started to take effect on those who had consumed it.
The beer pong got difficult due to the darkness and constant retrieval of ping pong balls, so the campground soon became an intimate, outdoor rave. The liquid from broken glow sticks being thrown, strobe lights from cell phones flashing, blaring music, and alcohol consumption.
Not long after the dancing started, a group of people now feeling more inebriated from the acid sat in a circle to describe their symptoms, and talk about philosophy. A different small group decided to go to the west end of the island, where there was a beach with a gorgeous view back towards Mission Beach and easy ocean access for swimming.
I wasn’t really feeling like sitting in a circle and talking about philosophy, so my friends Anders, Adi, and I decided to go on a search for more beer. Many others got the same idea, so we all headed to the west end of the island where there was a restaurant, bar, and possibly someone from our group with more alcohol.
At the restaurant, Adam, his uncle, nephew, and the remainder of those from Tully were playing “monkey in the middle” with a frisbee.
That lasted around an hour. Then, the Tully group split off. Some, including me, went swimming in the ocean. Others sat on the beach, socializing and drinking more. After swimming, I was handed a bottle of Smirnoff on the beach by someone in our group (can’t remember who) to try to open because the cap was stuck to the lip of the bottle.
From left to right - Jeanina (Sweden), Paloma (USA), Anders (England), Scott (Canada), and I
I decided to go ask Adam, at the bar just above us, for help with the cap. He was busy socializing with his family members and a few others that I didn’t recognize. Living up to Australian stereotypes, Adam pulled out a knife from behind the bar that would make Crocodile Dundee proud. He then wedged the knife under the cap, causing the cap to pop off the top of the bottle.
“You were with the group that was trespassing earlier, right?”
“Yeah, sorry about that. We just wanted to explore. We were being respectful of the property, so we definitely didn’t steal or damage anything.”
“It’s all good. So, you work in Tully then? You sound American though. Don’t get many Americans in Tully, right?”
“Yeah, I’m American. I actually just came to Tully to work and make money. Can’t get a 2nd year visa, though.”
“What part of America are you from?”
Until this point of my Australian travels, I had become hesitant of telling people that I was from Springfield, Illinois. When telling someone this, 90% of the time, the person would respond with:
“Springfield?! Like the Simpsons?!”
I would usually just revert to saying yes to this question because I was tired of explaining that pretty much every state in the U.S. had a Springfield.
The other response would be: Illinois? Like Chicago? So you live close to Chicago?
Close enough. 200 miles south. I would usually give these people the benefit of the doubt because it still involved pretty impressive geography skills knowing that Chicago is in Illinois.
Adam’s response, however, caught my attention.
“Springfield, Illinois? Kind of by Lake Shelbyville?”
“Yeah...wait, what?”
“Lake Shelbyville. My dad has a venture in Chicago and we would go down there every now and then to fish.”
“So you’re actually familiar with Springfield, Illinois?”
“Yeah, mate.”
“Crazy! Tell you what, I’m going to return this vodka, but I’ll be right back.”
I took a pull of vodka as my fee for finding a solution to the cap problem, then returned the bottle.
Upon returning to the bar, I got a sense of dizziness. Not in a scary way. I just felt a little loopy. I figured that it was the interaction of the alcohol and the acid. I’m sure that many people who hadn’t done acid would have found this horrifying, but I really wasn’t shaken at all. My logical sense told me that if I had taken my hit 3-4 hours before then, the acid had done its worst at this point. Therefore, I didn’t have much to worry about. I was just going to feel crossfaded and that’s it.
The rest of the night was spent talking to Adam, his wife, cousin, uncle and the bartender, Hannah. (I’ll have to do more research on the names.)
We talked about the future plans for the resort, American football vs. Aussie rules, tons of music, skydiving, bungee jumping, Adam’s father, Peter. We also talked about the difference of growing up in Australia vs. the USA, how many backpackers don’t meet real Australians because they live with Europeans that also happen to be backpackers. We drank a few shots of tequila, and a fifth a Jack Daniels.
A few of my friends came to check on me throughout the night, making sure that I was ok and “still alive.”
The majority of the night spent at the bar was a blur of laughter, jamming out to Led Zeppelin and AC/DC, and drinking alcohol. It took the sun beginning to rise for us to realize that we had stayed up at the bar until 4 in the morning.
When this happened, all of us at the bar headed back to our respective sleeping areas - me back to my tent in the campgrounds and them back to their rooms at the resort.
I was the last one back at the campground. Everyone had fallen asleep at least 2 hours before I had returned. I pulled out my cell phone flashlight, found my tent, climbed in, and fell asleep.
“Oh fuck we forgot about Kirk!”
“Oh God, is he in there? Is he alive?”
I woke up to the startling sound of someone desperately trying to open my tent. When they succeeded, I saw the face of Anders looking relieved.
“Oh thank God! What the fuck happened to you last night? You didn’t come back, and we thought that you had died.”
“Uh… it’s kind of a weird story. I stayed up all night at the bar drinking with the guy that runs the island and his family. We drank like 4 shots of tequila and finished a fifth of J.D. They were going to invite me back to the resort to hang out, but then the sun started to come up, so we decided to go to bed.”
“You were at the bar? Mac said that he had talked to you and then when we were coming back, we didn’t see you.”
“I was probably in the bathroom or something.”
“Oh fuck. We were freaking out. We thought that the acid had hit you and that you decided to wander off or something. Literally everyone thought you were dead.”
“Nah, I just didn’t get back here til like 4 in the morning.”
Because of the size of our group on Dunk Island, we had to take two ferry rides back to the mainland, splitting the group between the first and second ferry rides. Having gotten around 4 hours of solid sleep, the nostalgia of the previous night wore off quickly and I was immediately ready to leave Dunk Island. I took the first ferry, whereas the majority decided to take the latter.
When finally arriving at Mission Beach, we waited for the 2nd ferry to transport the other part of the group.
When coming ashore, Adi panicked, with the memory of the previous night having dawned on him.
“Where’s Kirk? Do we have Kirk?”
I heard this exclamation and waved at Adi. After stepping off the boat and onto the dock, he ran up to me with an alleviated expression.
“Kirk, what happened last night? We thought you were dead!”
