Coffs Harbour Gardens – Native and Newcomer
The smoke hanging over the hills to the west was all too visible the next morning as we made our way ashore for a wander. At the beach a teacher was unloading his Heron dinghies for a friendly potter around the harbour. They are a very popular class of family dinghy here in Aussie, especially on the south coast and it was a treat to see little Zoonie’s sister ships making the most of the conditions.
Rob’s IPhone showed us the way to the Aboriginal Creek Walk which needs little attention and tells stories of the first residents of the area plus medicinal and culinary plant uses. The meandering path led us to the recent botanical gardens that were suffering the same fate as those in Brisbane, the nature of their high cost maintenance meant they were easy targets for cutbacks too. A different government is all it takes. The little buses, so useful to the young, old and infirm were not running, the café was closed. Rather than maintain the once popular orchid and other exotics plants’ greenhouses, they have been demolished with the promise of rebuilding, that was a few years ago.
We were sitting in the rose garden enjoying the atmosphere when a rotund, Bunnings DIY superstore straw hatted male decided we needed to hear his news. In brief, 5 wives, 6 children, knew more about plants than the aborigines and blew up a school, or that was what it sounded like. Rob reckoned he’d served time because of his home-made tattoos, and neither of us would have been surprised anyway! Maybe it’s because we’re English!
Yet again we were reminded of the strong relationship Aussie has with Japan, at the least on a cultural level. The Creek walk was delightful in that it explored the natural world as it lay and presented itself whereas the newcomer gardens relied on changing and transforming the countryside to create their appeal and tell their story. It was good to see the influence of the native inhabitants, preserving their story for posterity and being taught in local schools.
We completed our circuit back to Zoonie via the main road and had a nice beer at the Yacht Club before supper at Latitude 30, seated on the balcony overlooking the water Zoonie had sped across the night before.
Ducking and Diving on Muttonbird Hill
We had to keep out of the way, not as you might imagine from the shearwater who are at present canoodling with this year’s mate out at sea, but from the scores of local healthies running up and down the hill, sweaty red necks and dead serious faces. The way into the harbour looks pretty impressive doesn’t it? We can now see why those welcoming blue neon triangles keep one well across to the left on entering. Even the local fishing boat was taking it very carefully. The resident birds at our time were pigeons, oyster catchers with their pretty orange legs, white faced herons gliding overhead like witnesses of pre-history, swallows, terns, gulls, buntings and a peregrine falcon. Not a bad head count for a small island.
Can you spot Zoons? Just left of centre and looking towards the camera. We wandered into the Sunday market after collecting some bags from Zoonie and bought lots of lovely fresh local fruit and veg, then waited on board for the much forecast thunderstorm to arrive, and it did with marble sized hailstones on the deck. Much bigger stones fell inland and warnings were put out to everyone to hide their cars under strong roofs. I remembered the immense storm we had north of Oakham a few years ago when all the parked cars in a street in Asfordby Hill were dented by the merciless stones.
Two Hundred Smoky Miles to Newcastle
We picked up that fine favourable current just three miles off the coast but even that close in the coast was not visible as we passed the ironically named Smoky Cape. Flocks of hundreds of shearwater were gathered together around us, having recently returned from the Philippines in their annual migration and were now choosing their partner before proceeding to the coast and their regular burrows to mate and lay their eggs. For a while our skies were blue and the winds light.
The cargo ship Pioneer appeared to be doing a slalom of course changes as she approached our stern and awaiting her appearance through the haze was a protracted affair because she was doing 14.6 knots under engine while were doing 10.2 knots under sail. That current was reaching its predicted max of 4 knots.
Later, during the night the wind bucked up to 28 – 32 knots, a near gale and Zoonie was reefed right down and manageable.
Dolphins appeared in the hours of darkness and torpedoed underneath Zoonie and all around her bow creating tunnels of pale green and alarming the phosphorescence into spots of brilliant light. That was such a pleasure to watch as we haven’t really seen this behaviour since the Atlantic coasts of France, Spain and Portugal back in 2015. Two sped away into the darkness on a collision course of two pale green tubes. I couldn’t see what happened but heard them both fly out of the water and splash back in, whether in surprise or fun I’m not sure.
A Fuchsia sun and smoke filled air greeted the next day. Our clothes reek, or is it the permanent stench in our nostrils or both; Australia really is burning big time and has been for weeks. Winds that spin around the compass don’t help and send the flames in all directions making fire-fighting even more hazardous.
This time Zoonie made a teatime entry to her destination of Newcastle and again we had telephoned ahead and knew the number and location of our berth. Terns and gulls were having their tea as we came in to this major industrial port and tied up in berth number A3 at Newcastle Cruising Yacht Club, our home for the next fortnight.
A Tale of the Unexpected
An excited atmosphere engulfed us in Newcastle for the first few days of our visit and we soon learned that the third annual Supercars Rally weekend was in the offing, and thoughts of being able to get to our local, ‘The Grainstore’ were dashed when we found the city centre was being sectioned of with substantial barricades designed to keep these Mustang style cars away from us soft fleshed humans. But that was all a few days away yet.
Our friend Greg, who with his wife Jane, we originally met on the Portugal Rally back in ’14 and stayed with earlier this year if you remember, came over from Jilliby to measure up the job of fitting his Watt&sea wave generator to Zoonie’s transom. Their boat, Orion is being sold at present so they can focus on updating their country home to how they would like it.
I met up with Martina (Peter and Martina of Havachat we met in Fiji last year) over a supermarket shop and the next day went with her to the main hospital where she volunteers on the childrens’ ward so I could have a throat check. When I swallowed it seemed there was something blocking the passage and as this had gone on for some weeks I thought it best to have it looked at. All looked normal above the epiglottis and with advice from the Spanish doctor that if any of a list of symptoms she quoted materialised then I should go immediately to the nearest hospital, “’till then and till you next go home, keep sailing!!”
Greg came back with a bracket he had made to facilitate fitting the wave generator and he and Rob laboured away for a few hours. Rob had already laid all the wire through to the control panel mounted in the aft cabin. When the WG is on it gives out a fairly bright green light from its control box flat top which I thought would be quite enough to keep us awake as it rove around the aft cabin like the green sector of a lighthouse, so Rob then made the cutest hat for it from some grey sunbrella fabric crying out for a job. Rob is holding the spare prop in the photo.
The WG turns as Zoonie moves through the water and means we will have plenty of electricity in the making from the sea as long as Zoonie is moving. So when under sail, when the Hydrovane is producing little and at night when the solar panels won’t produce anything we will be making plenty of green, free, power, enough to keep the batteries charged and run the watermaker and run the auto pilot. Greta Thunberg would be proud!
The noisy, highly anticipated weekend arrived and 28,000 folk paid for the tickets priced in many different ways. Numerous apartment blocks were within the cordoned route of the race and we were invited to a party at the home of some friends of Martina and Peter. But non-residents had to pay an entry ticket even if they were just visiting their friends and at $85 each we thought twice and sneaked a few glimpses of the goings on by standing on walls and peaking between the metal fences. Detoured away from our goal, the pub, we found ourselves in the lofty cathedral that was damaged by an earthquake in the year Zoonie was built, 1989. We wandered on and found ourselves back at the pub on the quay and had just sat down on the balcony for a riverview when an Australian Air Force Hornet jet came and gave a bloodcurdling demonstration right in front of us. Then one of the big, tough tug boats came down the river and gave a superb demonstration of its versatility spinning itself around on its axis and leaning over from one side and then to the other with alarming power. All in all an excellent Rally! CCTV footage later showed that two guys climbed through the barriers to sit on a low fence and enjoy the cars passing just a few metres away and someone flew a drone high up to get a better view of the fighter jet!! Enquiries are ongoing.
One day when Peter and Martina were otherwise busy we walked up the river side, away from our much frequented route to the centre. Newcastle has been an industrial city for many years and we passed what is colloquially called ‘Legoland’, attractive small houses and apartments built on what used to be the vast wool sheds you can see in the photo. Wool, coal, steel, grain and livestock have all passed through to the docks and brought wealth to the city. Now it is coal dust, building site grit and smoke smuts that covered the decks of the moored marina vessels and filled the air we breathe. Soon the area shrank to the narrower Throsby Creek with lots of healthy mangroves. Zoonie is moored where there used to be wild honeysuckle banksia trees producing copious honey, the only thing remaining of those plentiful times is the name and one or two young banksia trees.
The four of us went down to the Bowling Club that evening for a nice cheap meal and beer and Martina and I decided that next day we would make some strawberry jam as trays of strawberry seconds were on sale at the local farmers market for an “I must make jam” price.
We bought four trays and all my jam jars from Zoonie were put to good use. Goody, I can now start collecting again! The two of us set up a conveyor belt process and washed and quartered the red beauties, doing the occasional taste check of course while admiring the view of the ocean from the kitchen window. No whales out there that day just white caps. There are drought conditions out here at the moment so there are bans on washing hard surfaces for example cars and windows. So as we were washing ‘soft’ fruits we were ok and the water went on the thirsty few plants Martina has in her driveway corner garden. ‘Waste not want not’ after all.
One day we went for a beach walk with them followed by a home-made ‘cheerful vegan nacho’ supper from the recipe book ‘ohsheglows’ website. As we ate the sky clouded over and we were engulfed in a violent thunderstorm that rumbled and sparked around us as we munched our nachos and tasted vegan cheese sauce for the first time. We hoped that some of the torrential rain would reach inland and quench the fire but no, the rain stayed by the shore and the lightning inland started three more fires. Nature seems to have lost its temper. Martina is at the Blue Mountains as I type and up there only one trail is open due to the fires.
Hairdryer Heat for a Walkabout
The promised 34’ of shimmering heat arrived but there was a breezy accompaniment to keep things moving. Australian Ravens cawed and crowed with their mournful downscale ending as we walked along the honeysuckle promenade. I apologise for the later photos being slightly blurred, sweaty fingers to blame. Ladybirds were biting me for a drink, the third one took a flight it didn’t expect. The last time I remember that happening was in the hot English summer of ’76.
I wonder what Captain Cook would have thought of Nobby’s Head when only 30 years after his passing by coal was being exported, assuring wealth for the city from the start and 50 years after the wake of the Endeavour flattened out the Macquarie Pier was already half built, making the river entrance much safer. I included the picture of the brig Lady Nelson as she was the ship that accompanied Matthew Flinders when he was surveying the east coast from the Investigator.
Human and nature shared the opportunity for sculpture on the pier as the photos show, the softer rocks of the construction being sensuously shaped by winds and waves. Looking down from the Coastguards control room on a stormy day must be pretty spectacular as the waves crash into the pier and rise up metres vertically to soak their windows.
Walking along the beach watching the rollers thunder to shore and then suck sand back down the slope of the beach in the powerful undertow we decided we would swim at the Ocean Baths to cool off. They were just ahead of us, built on the promontory ninety years ago in the gentle art deco style and maintained faithfully since for the enjoyment of all. Notice the preserved façade (facadism) as we approached the entrance fully expecting to have to pay. But no, the residents obviously pay in their taxes and there were no negative signs saying swimmers could not do anything from bombing to cuddling. So vast and relaxing, the energetic could lane swim at one end and while listening to the rollers pounding on the nearby rocks we could have the laziest, gentlest breast stroke around to cool off without getting buffeted and half drowned in the surf, I’ve been there last time we came if you remember!
Sufficiently cooler for a short while anyway, we walked slowly up and over the grass slope back towards the city to where Rob’s IPhone and Google Earth said we would find the Grainstore and found our second tale of the unexpected after the Supercar Rally, an area of well preserved and lived in colonial, Hispanic architecture, pretty. The welcome at the Grainy and the food were as good as we remember from our first discovering our Oakham namesake back in January. We chatted by phone with Alison and Randall who were in Port Stephens a few miles north of Newcastle and arranged a meeting in Nelson Bay the next day. Peter and Martina were game too as they also know Alison and Randall.
Finally, and right up to date, the long sleek red tram was waiting at its first trans city stop just across the road from our pub and we rode its full short length to the terminal, close to the marina. In operation for less than a year one can only hope that with the investment of public funds so far they will extend it into the suburbs to provide commuter access to the city to make it worthwhile. It must have been built for the residents as Newcastle cannot be described as a tourist town.
Nelson Bay Rendezvous – Then to our friends near Jilliby
We grew to a happy party of eight, Alison and Randall on the right and Dina and Malcolm on either side of Peter and Martina. Meeting with friends we have made on route is one of the most delightful aspects of cruising, but it is bitter sweet because we are not likely to see Alison and Randall again until we enter the Med. Lunch at Mavericks right on the foreshore overlooking the marina was an opportunity to explore eachothers’ voyages over some tasty vegan food. At one point I commented that the crystal blue marina reminded me of Santa Barbara in California many years ago and was promptly told that bush fires are presently raging behind there as well.
Back at home on board we packed lightly for our train trip to Wyong the next day and then watched ‘The Vow’ in the evening, a true story about a young woman who lost her memory after the car driven by her husband crashed. She had to re-learn why she left home, dropped out of law school and became a sculptor and fell in love with her husband all over again and has since had a family with him despite not remembering being married to him the first time.
From the train window we could see areas where cool (or back) burns had been practised. The tree canopy was green and healthy, the tree trunks blackened by the smoke and the ground a bright green carpet of new growth. Once inside their fenced home with the gate safely closed behind us Shep remembered and welcomed us and Murphy just welcomed us anyway. He is not yet six months old. A rescue dog part mastiff, another part Rhodesian ridgeback with a dusting of great Dane and has a distinct similarity to Grommit don’t you think!
Jane was home from hospital the day before after her double knee replacement ten days before that and in the few days we stayed with them her progress was amazing. Walking around as needed with two sticks she was doing her best to put as little weight on them as possible. A retired teacher she has many craft projects on the go and the fine detail and quality of her work reflects an ordered and imaginative mind. She brought me bang up to date on the subject of sewing machines; her new Brother has no handle, or pedal but instead a touch pad, and it can talk to her computer through the memory stick and do all kinds of stitches. I thought I had come up to date with my 1961 hand operated Pfaff 6…with REVERSE!
I cannot remember how many lovely walks we had with the dogs around the 20 acres (8.5 hectares) of paddock they own. The first was with Greg and we were walking on land that had probably once been cedar forest, then was logged out and used for dairy before being sectioned off and sold, which is when Greg and Jane bought it 30 odd years ago. New laws prevented the main farm next door from selling any more land so they turned the use over to kiwi fruit and now they grow turf on part of the land while much lies fallow, a haven for wildlife.
A seasonal stream runs through the land into and out of the pond and when in full flood a good canoe ride can be had around the centre of the paddock. A bower bird has created what he thinks is an adequate courting canopy of dried grass with lots of pieces of blue plastic around and about, some intentionally left available in front of the house by Greg and Murphy when he’s finished chewing. Last time we were visiting there were kangaroos around but not this time. However the abundance of birds was still evident and the chorus of kookaburras just after five in the morning was a lovely sound.
It was lovely to just sit and chat for long relaxing periods with our dear friends, after our excursions with them earlier in the year we didn’t need to go out to look around, just being ‘at home’ was perfect.
On our last morning with them Greg and I planned a bacon (for the meaties) and egg breakfast with muffins and local cherry tomatoes, so I got up early just after six and set off, just me and the dogs for a lingering, meandering walk in the cool, still damp of the morning. A cuckoo called and I found part of a tiny creamy white with brown speckles egg telling me the fantails we had seen were nesting.
Murphy was hardly awake and had none of his usual puppy exuberance, which usually involved jumping up and grabbing my hand, he was so placid I could stroke him without getting myself dotted with slobber, which was nice. I wondered, as I have often wondered before on our travels, will the environmental problems of the world affect this beautiful place or will it be very similar in 50-100 years’ time? I hope so.
The dogs were waiting at the gate between the paddock and the home for me so I let them through and then took hold of Shep’s tug of war rope. He has been trying and failing to teach Murphy how to play the game. Shep grabbed the other end and we gave Murphy a demonstration; gradually I encouraged him to come and take my end which he eventually did, tugging away for a few seconds just as he’s meant to. Then to Shep’s consternation he moved forward as Shep pulled so it was game over. Keep trying Shep.
Back in Newcastle we did a big shop at Coles and spent our final evening with Peter and Martina before parting at the yacht club after a drink. Where will we see them again I wonder, which hemisphere?
On our last day in port we had a visitor, New Zealander Bruce who lives aboard his 25 foot English design Vertue ‘Tui of Opua’ with his wife Thelma. He came a second time and brought us all his paper charts from Newcastle down to the south west coast of Tasmania and asked us to return them to him when we had finished with them. What a gift and how useful, especially as they are marked with his routes and anchorages.
Greg had made up some thicker stainless steel washers for the bottom two bolts of the Watt&sea so Rob thought we would have to re-inflate the tender for one of us to sit in it and hold a spanner on the bolts while the other tightened up the nut on the other side in the lazarette.
“Nay,” I said “Surely one of us can stand on the stern swimming ladder and easily reach them!?!”
Guess who got that job!
Thank You Ma’am
For our substantial mooring on Commonwealth Territory
This passage of 150 miles that took just 29 hours was surprisingly tiring and here’s two reasons why. The wind started off being light and variable and then moved gradually 270’ around the compass increasing to 34 knots at one stage during the night and never dropping to less than 24 knots until the second morning. A Low was making its way across us. We had predicted it but one thing that varies without warning is the wind speed. So we were constantly on the lookout for the changes and had to react with rig alterations accordingly.
Secondly we both take two, three hour rest periods at night and during the first we are unlikely to get much sleep so by the second morning we are lucky if we’ve had three hours sleep during the night. It sorts itself out on longer passages because by the second night we are so tired sleep is inevitable.
During our one night we sailed through the smoke haze off Sydney and Botany Bay; Rob saw the orange glow of the fires occasionally infiltrated with flames and the next morning Zoonie’s decks and windows were once again covered with sooty smuts. In fact her teak decks were getting a clean using ash and salt, from the waves breaking onto her bow, just as people used in the pre-toothpaste days.
An orange segment moon hung in the starlit sky while Orion and the Southern Cross kept vigil.
Next morning a Wandering Albatross swung elegantly by Zoonie heading north and when Rob was leaning over the stern to swing up the Watt&sea two dolphins came over and looked him in the eyes just to make sure he was ok.
Still sailing we approached Jervis Bay and the wind veered westerly from SW and, as we have learned before, an offshore wind can send sudden, vicious gusts offshore that can rise in seconds to 40 knots and more, but fortunately we were nearly into the protection of this vast and beautiful bay. We picked up one of the substantial National Park pink buoys that can take up to 40 tons, us being just 14 tons we felt very secure. The idea of the anchoring ban and the provision of these pretty and practical buoys is to protect the seabed from the scouring effect of chains and allow the seagrass to flourish and it is doing just that, providing home to numerous fish.
Before roads were built onshore Jervis Bay served as the place where ships loaded up with produce from inland settlements bound for Sydney. With the building of Canberra as the nation’s inland capital it was decided in 1908 that the capital should have access to the sea at Jervis Bay, so 28 square miles were handed back to the Commonwealth Government from the NSW Government. Hence our thanks to Her Majesty.
The Naval College now known as HMAS Cresswell was built at Captain’s Point in 1915 and has served its purpose since excepting between the years 1930 and 1956 when it was a tourist resort.
In the minds of some developers Jervis has been threatened with a whaling station, Nuclear power station and a steel mill but fortunately none have come to fruition and Jervis remains a jewel in the crown of Australia’s South East.
As I type (6th Dec) this is our second day here and it is a much gentler day than yesterday when Zoonie was tugging against her bridle lines onto the buoy in a strong westerly. Flies of all shapes and sizes were coming aboard for a look see, but now we are netted in with nets over the companionway and open window, so along with the semi-permanent fly screens on the windows we are enjoying a much more restful day. In the afternoon yesterday smoke from the fires to the SW of here reached the skies above as you can see and the sea eagle was up in the sky to take a look.
Just now a tough little metal workboat from the National Park Moorings Dept. came around and asked folk to rig bridles to the mooring buoy line to keep it off the boats and protect it from wear.
Rob is overboard in his wetsuit cleaning the hull, he will be a tired and hungry bunny when he comes back on board.
Looking at the weather for our next opportunity to head south, this time to another lovely big natural harbour, Eden, it looks like an early start on Sunday when we will leave here for the 120 mile leg. Then we have to wait there for the right time to cross Bass Strait to Tasmania, around 300 miles of whatever the weather gods choose to throw at us.
In the meantime Zoonie, Rob and I would like to wish all of you kind and loyal readers a very Happy and Peaceful Christmas time. xxx