Port Stephens to the RMYC Broken Bay; The Final Saga.
Another of those will we, won’t we mornings. Over a fantastic one month anniversary, Indian meal the night previous, discretion had once again triumphed over valour and we’d collectively decided that Twin Spirit should enjoy the comparative comfort and safety of the D’Albora Marina at Port Stephens and wait for kinder winds before heading south on our final leg. They didn’t just have showers here for God’s sake; they had ‘Personal Care Units.’ This struck the crew as the best epithet they’d encountered since the bouncer at ‘Panthers’ Port Macquarie had described himself as an ‘Attitude Adjustment Officer.’
The knowledge that Sparrow and Hoover needed to jump a dodgy (I hope they’ve checked the oxygen bottles) Qantas flight to Hamilton Island on the 15th, brought some small pressure to bear but we all felt it best to wait out the relentless series of fronts moving through the ‘Tasman.’ If the situation didn’t improve, we’d hire a car to ensure Nick and Pam’s time frame was met. The Admiral and Lil thought they might even leave the boat in Port Stephens and use it as an excuse to come back and make a ‘nice’ little trip back to Pittwater at a warmer and calmer time.
Ah but the day dawned fair and bright and the strong wind warnings had been unreliable in the past, hadn’t they? It couldn’t blow as hard as yesterday could it? Hey it would be great to see the kids again and if we did get caught out in it, there were places to hide. Holes in the wall to duck into; Newcastle was only an hour or two away and Lake Macquarie not much further than that. There was always the dingy if the boat sank; we’d only just topped up the two-stroke. And if all else failed we could just step from whale back to whale back; “the fuckers are everywhere!” quoth The Admiral. It seemed we were all in the mood for the comforts of home.
We were out of the spectacular, almost Hawaiian, entrance to Port Stephens and heading south by 8.00am with a light, favourable Nor-Westerly breeze blowing across the beam and the engines pumping away happily to get us there that little bit faster. ‘8-Knots’ was well pleased with 9.5 and Sparrow gloved against the cold was grinning fit to burst at the helm. Lil was knitting ‘fingerless gloves,’ presumably for someone with no fingers and Hoover was searching the TV for another replay of the Olympic Games Opening Ceremony. It was looking good for a great run home.
We could smell Newcastle by 10.00 and we’d passed it by 12.00. Lake Macquarie’s trade mark power stations came over the horizon not long after and though the breeze was beginning to build and come round to head us we decided at around 1.30 as we reached Moon Island at the entrance to The Swansea Channel to press on.
By the time we made the Norah Head light it was blowing like the Admiral after two flights of stairs and we struck the headsail. At Bird-Rock we gave up on our remaining mainsail and punched into a very strong South Westerly wind sometimes gusting over 35 knots with bare poles. At Cape Three Points with only an hour and a half to run the chop set the auto-helm into panic mode again, Beeeep, Beeeep, “S-Talk Fail, S-Talk Fail.” “Hand steering again I’m afraid old thing.” Said The Admiral as Sparrow slipped on his ski gloves and assumed the position; head up and eyes watering in the freezing wind.
“Your fucking auto-helm is a Fag. You should call it fucking Nancy-Marine not RayMarine.” The plucky but irascible Sparrow shouted down to us. Lil who would at no point in the remaining journey have to expose herself to the cruelly cold wind or the sleet which was now whipping the boat, giggled, not a thing she often does, then helpfully suggested ‘Gay-Marine.’ The Admiral who loves his boat didn’t speak to her for the rest of the trip, save for a grudging “Thanks,” when presented with bourbon laced coffee during his last stint at the helm while passing beneath the lighthouse at ‘Barrenjoey.’
Our heartfelt good wishes to all the funny, fascinating and helpful folk we were fortunate enough to meet and spend time with along the way.
Pam and Nick,
Thank you for allowing us to high-jack your blog for a month. We respectfully hand it back enriched by the experience and the joyful collaboration.
Special thanks for your time, your talents, your strong livers, your good humour and your patience. Four definite and different adults in a confined space over four weeks, some would consider a dangerous social experiment at best, perhaps even punishment should things go wrong.
We’ve had the time of our lives and Lil, Nancy-Marine and I hope you’ll both come sailing with us again just as soon as we’ve re-stocked the fridges and fixed the auto-helm.
Dougie M
Admiral (retd.)
So the four sailed away for a month and a day on what happily turned out to be,
A fantastic escape from the ordinary on a whale infested sea!
Monday, August 11, 2008
Friday the 8th of August Laurieton Lay Day
With a strong wind warning current we planned a lay-day for Friday with a nice sleep-in to look forward too but lack-a-day it wasn't to be, our morning started instead at 3am with all hands nimbly up fending off a rogue catamaran which had arrived like a ninja in the middle of the night whilst we slept. It was dragging its anchor and perilously close to us as the tide surged down the dark and beautiful Camden-Haven River. It missed us on its first pass by a metre or less, settling only inches off our port bow; so close in fact it allowed us to bang on the hull and awaken the slumbering inmates. A few muffled grunts and they fired their engines and moved away to re-deploy their ground tackle. An hour later they were back, cozying up to us again. Captain Sparrow now sleep deprived and uncharacteristically disheveled once again went topsides and suggested volubly through cupped hands that he might rearrange tackle of an entirely different type if it happened again. Fortunately in the darkness, the crew of the other cat wasn’t able to discern Captain Sparrow's diminutive (but perfectly formed) physique, only the hostility of his tone. This time, doubtless terrified, they buggered off we know not where.
A lazy morning of unproductive fishing was followed by an excursion ashore to get a few things (in bottles.) We then rewarded ourselves for successfully repelling borders with a light lunch at the club. Another hearty dinner aboard after a little blogging and a relatively early night in preparation for the early off and a long run to Port Stephens.
It should be noted that the Admiral feels he may have come up with a strong title for the final published edition of our collective story; "Guzzlers Travels."
Saturday 9th of August Laurieton to Port Stephens
Up at 6am and away at 6.30 heading south when everyone else was heading north, always a little disconcerting. We were the only vessel departing Laurieton that morning whom the Coast Guard wished luck!
OK, not ideal conditions but The Admiral and Cap’n Sparrow had Twin Spirit close hauled and zorfing along, albeit protesting, at an average 8.5 kts in not unreasonable seas for at least 2/3ds of the days journey. We rounded Seal Rocks and turned directly into the south westerly chop about 1.00 pm at which point it all turned ugly. After a very unpleasant half hour of losing sail, powering up the ‘Yanmars’ and bashing into wind and water, the auto-helm spat the dummy and no matter how often we rebooted the bastard another wack on the underside of the bridge and it would beep its warning “S-Talk Fail” and shut down again. The boys had to hand-steer for the remaining 5 hours of our journey standing out in the freezing wind which was howling in our faces at 25 kts plus and throwing salt water over the whole boat, particularly the unlucky helmsman. A couple of forehead hatches began to leak after repeated greenies smacked over the bow and the bedding in the main cabins required protection with towels laid out and changing every half hour. All this might have seemed a trifle more dramatic had ‘Hoover’ not discovered that she could pick up the Olympics on the salon TV.
“Hey Nick come here and see how tiny the Aussie female beach volley ball costumes are.” She screamed above the wind.
The Admiral was aghast.
“How could any one watch TV in conditions like these?” He asked Sparrow, but he was talking to the wind.
As we slammed into the waves a new theory emerged; a theory to rival ‘Truswell’s Special Theory of Relativity.’ (See earlier blog.) On no less than three occasions that difficult afternoon, we had to take evasive action to avoid whales, whales that not only appeared to deviate from their northward migration as we passed by but seemingly to pursue us as we altered course. A glint in their eyes might have been difficult to detect at a distance of 200 metres but the Admiral swears he saw it; either the look of love or a ‘get-the- fuck-out-of- my-neighbourhood glare.’ Old ‘8 knots’ proposed that the slamming of the underbelly of the catamaran in difficult conditions like these replicated the noise made by a rogue male Humpback smashing into the water after breaching. (An awesome sound I can assure you.) He further proposed that whether the sound of our slamming hulls suggested, from the whale’s point of view, a dispute over territory or the possibility of a serious rogering, they were fit and well up for it, charging toward us from various quarters. Either way none of us was keen to find out if The Admiral was on the money; we took a vote, (without ‘Hoover’ who was absorbed with the Olympic Dressage events on Channel 7,) and decided to try and fool the whales by running with the swell for 5 minutes, stopping the slamming and throwing a can of sardines into the sea as a distraction for good measure. Whether it’s a monumental breakthrough in marine biology, the answer to an ancient conundrum or just rampant paranoia we’ll leave you to decide dear reader.
A few more hours of punching into disturbed seas and a few more waves down the back of the neck saw us safely into Nelson Bay with the promise of a secure berth, a steaming hot shower, an Indian meal and a good nights rest improving everyone’s mood.
By the way ‘Hoover would like you to know that Australia is doing very well in the Equestrian Events thus far.
With a strong wind warning current we planned a lay-day for Friday with a nice sleep-in to look forward too but lack-a-day it wasn't to be, our morning started instead at 3am with all hands nimbly up fending off a rogue catamaran which had arrived like a ninja in the middle of the night whilst we slept. It was dragging its anchor and perilously close to us as the tide surged down the dark and beautiful Camden-Haven River. It missed us on its first pass by a metre or less, settling only inches off our port bow; so close in fact it allowed us to bang on the hull and awaken the slumbering inmates. A few muffled grunts and they fired their engines and moved away to re-deploy their ground tackle. An hour later they were back, cozying up to us again. Captain Sparrow now sleep deprived and uncharacteristically disheveled once again went topsides and suggested volubly through cupped hands that he might rearrange tackle of an entirely different type if it happened again. Fortunately in the darkness, the crew of the other cat wasn’t able to discern Captain Sparrow's diminutive (but perfectly formed) physique, only the hostility of his tone. This time, doubtless terrified, they buggered off we know not where.
A lazy morning of unproductive fishing was followed by an excursion ashore to get a few things (in bottles.) We then rewarded ourselves for successfully repelling borders with a light lunch at the club. Another hearty dinner aboard after a little blogging and a relatively early night in preparation for the early off and a long run to Port Stephens.
It should be noted that the Admiral feels he may have come up with a strong title for the final published edition of our collective story; "Guzzlers Travels."
Saturday 9th of August Laurieton to Port Stephens
Up at 6am and away at 6.30 heading south when everyone else was heading north, always a little disconcerting. We were the only vessel departing Laurieton that morning whom the Coast Guard wished luck!
OK, not ideal conditions but The Admiral and Cap’n Sparrow had Twin Spirit close hauled and zorfing along, albeit protesting, at an average 8.5 kts in not unreasonable seas for at least 2/3ds of the days journey. We rounded Seal Rocks and turned directly into the south westerly chop about 1.00 pm at which point it all turned ugly. After a very unpleasant half hour of losing sail, powering up the ‘Yanmars’ and bashing into wind and water, the auto-helm spat the dummy and no matter how often we rebooted the bastard another wack on the underside of the bridge and it would beep its warning “S-Talk Fail” and shut down again. The boys had to hand-steer for the remaining 5 hours of our journey standing out in the freezing wind which was howling in our faces at 25 kts plus and throwing salt water over the whole boat, particularly the unlucky helmsman. A couple of forehead hatches began to leak after repeated greenies smacked over the bow and the bedding in the main cabins required protection with towels laid out and changing every half hour. All this might have seemed a trifle more dramatic had ‘Hoover’ not discovered that she could pick up the Olympics on the salon TV.
“Hey Nick come here and see how tiny the Aussie female beach volley ball costumes are.” She screamed above the wind.
The Admiral was aghast.
“How could any one watch TV in conditions like these?” He asked Sparrow, but he was talking to the wind.
As we slammed into the waves a new theory emerged; a theory to rival ‘Truswell’s Special Theory of Relativity.’ (See earlier blog.) On no less than three occasions that difficult afternoon, we had to take evasive action to avoid whales, whales that not only appeared to deviate from their northward migration as we passed by but seemingly to pursue us as we altered course. A glint in their eyes might have been difficult to detect at a distance of 200 metres but the Admiral swears he saw it; either the look of love or a ‘get-the- fuck-out-of- my-neighbourhood glare.’ Old ‘8 knots’ proposed that the slamming of the underbelly of the catamaran in difficult conditions like these replicated the noise made by a rogue male Humpback smashing into the water after breaching. (An awesome sound I can assure you.) He further proposed that whether the sound of our slamming hulls suggested, from the whale’s point of view, a dispute over territory or the possibility of a serious rogering, they were fit and well up for it, charging toward us from various quarters. Either way none of us was keen to find out if The Admiral was on the money; we took a vote, (without ‘Hoover’ who was absorbed with the Olympic Dressage events on Channel 7,) and decided to try and fool the whales by running with the swell for 5 minutes, stopping the slamming and throwing a can of sardines into the sea as a distraction for good measure. Whether it’s a monumental breakthrough in marine biology, the answer to an ancient conundrum or just rampant paranoia we’ll leave you to decide dear reader.
A few more hours of punching into disturbed seas and a few more waves down the back of the neck saw us safely into Nelson Bay with the promise of a secure berth, a steaming hot shower, an Indian meal and a good nights rest improving everyone’s mood.
By the way ‘Hoover would like you to know that Australia is doing very well in the Equestrian Events thus far.
Thursday, August 7, 2008
Wednesday 6th Coffs to Trial Bay
Lil and ‘Hoover’ trekked down to the shower for a pre departure drenching and just after turning on the water Lil was heard yelping that her eyes had gone foggy……..helps to remove one's sunnies before showering.
Had a great display of whales breaching and slamming for a full 10 minutes about 4 miles off the coast as we journeyed south in calm waters and abundant sunshine.
The wind slowly built through the day till we were experiencing gusts of up to 33 knots which again was well over the forecast 13 to 18.
All hands nimbly up to bring the main down and batten down the hatches and shorten sheets. The only casualty during the exercise being Lil, who copped a big greenie over the bow, returning to the cockpit looking like an unhappy entrant in a wet T-Shirt competition, “Nice Tits,” Quipped the Admiral, not improving her mood at all.
We made Trial Bay about 2.15 and then jilled around trying to find the best place to anchor for the evening as it was still blowing hard from the west and we were a little exposed. We finally dropped the pick just off a spot where the charts indicate 3 shipwrecks; nice one!
The winds began to ease as Lil cooked the best lunch of Korean Beef….life ain’t bad when you can sit in trial bay, chardy in hand, surrounded by beautiful hills and sparkling, clean azure water, not a soul in sight and be presented with a gourmet meal. Lil seems able to do such feasts so ably and so often we all consider ourselves very fortunate to have her with us.
As darkness fell, The Admiral fed the fishy inhabitants of Trail Bay. He was determined and persevered for some hours without success. When his fingers froze around the line; we dragged him inside and prized them free; a disappointing result for a man who regularly boasts of having once caught crabs around ‘The entrance.’
Thursday 7th Trail Bay to Laurieton/Camden Haven
Up early were the Admiral and Sparrow getting us underway at first light with a strong wind warning for the area later in the afternoon. We wanted to be safely tied up in Laurieton before the squall arrived.
Lil and Curvy decided to luxuriate in their cabins as Twin Spirit made her way down the coast and didn’t surface till 09.00. Lil said she felt like ‘The Queen of Sheba.’ The Admiral said he felt like her too and was quite disappointed when Sparrow pointed out she’d been dead for some time. ‘Hoover’ compensated for her indolence and prepared a delightful breakfast for the crew complete with champagne cocktails to compliment the champagne sailing. Three fabulous hours under sail at 8.5 to 9.5 kts on a flat calm sea. It doesn’t happen often.
Highlight of the day; observing a place named ‘Delicate Nobbies’ indicated on our GPS around midday.
Lil and ‘Hoover’ trekked down to the shower for a pre departure drenching and just after turning on the water Lil was heard yelping that her eyes had gone foggy……..helps to remove one's sunnies before showering.
Had a great display of whales breaching and slamming for a full 10 minutes about 4 miles off the coast as we journeyed south in calm waters and abundant sunshine.
The wind slowly built through the day till we were experiencing gusts of up to 33 knots which again was well over the forecast 13 to 18.
All hands nimbly up to bring the main down and batten down the hatches and shorten sheets. The only casualty during the exercise being Lil, who copped a big greenie over the bow, returning to the cockpit looking like an unhappy entrant in a wet T-Shirt competition, “Nice Tits,” Quipped the Admiral, not improving her mood at all.
We made Trial Bay about 2.15 and then jilled around trying to find the best place to anchor for the evening as it was still blowing hard from the west and we were a little exposed. We finally dropped the pick just off a spot where the charts indicate 3 shipwrecks; nice one!
The winds began to ease as Lil cooked the best lunch of Korean Beef….life ain’t bad when you can sit in trial bay, chardy in hand, surrounded by beautiful hills and sparkling, clean azure water, not a soul in sight and be presented with a gourmet meal. Lil seems able to do such feasts so ably and so often we all consider ourselves very fortunate to have her with us.
As darkness fell, The Admiral fed the fishy inhabitants of Trail Bay. He was determined and persevered for some hours without success. When his fingers froze around the line; we dragged him inside and prized them free; a disappointing result for a man who regularly boasts of having once caught crabs around ‘The entrance.’
Thursday 7th Trail Bay to Laurieton/Camden Haven
Up early were the Admiral and Sparrow getting us underway at first light with a strong wind warning for the area later in the afternoon. We wanted to be safely tied up in Laurieton before the squall arrived.
Lil and Curvy decided to luxuriate in their cabins as Twin Spirit made her way down the coast and didn’t surface till 09.00. Lil said she felt like ‘The Queen of Sheba.’ The Admiral said he felt like her too and was quite disappointed when Sparrow pointed out she’d been dead for some time. ‘Hoover’ compensated for her indolence and prepared a delightful breakfast for the crew complete with champagne cocktails to compliment the champagne sailing. Three fabulous hours under sail at 8.5 to 9.5 kts on a flat calm sea. It doesn’t happen often.
Highlight of the day; observing a place named ‘Delicate Nobbies’ indicated on our GPS around midday.
Monday August 4th Yamba Tavern to Yamba Marina
We caught up on washing and considerable showering “It’s my body and my soap and I’ll wash it as long as I like.” (Sparrow)
Peter Sutton who with wife Kay own and operate the Yamba Marina very generously loaned us their car. We shopped, bought a giant beetroot, had a bit of a poke about Yamba town, then, at you know who’s suggestion, lunched on the beach at ‘Pippis’ “It’s my body and I’ll feed it as much as I like!” (The Admiral)
The crew topped up the water supplies then refueled Twin Spirit and the dingy for the return trip to Broken Bay. Lil who, unlike her life partner can count without using fingers and toes, calculated, with some assistance from Sparrow, who was using his, Twin Spirit’s fuel consumption at 5 litres per hour since leaving Sydney. This is mercifully light given diesel prices of over $2.35 per litre at some marinas.
The day was topped off with a wonderful meal shared with Kay and Peter at the old Pacific Hotel high on the headland overlooking the entrance to the mighty Clarence River; not that we could see it because it was pitch black; more of a luncheon venue perhaps.
Tuesday August 5th Yamba to Coffs Harbour
The crew is still recovering from dinner with Kay and Peter. Some will take more time than others. Not mentioning any names but a certain female person whose nick name had up till now been ‘Curvy’ is now being addressed as ‘Hoover,’ say no more!
Met Kay at 8.30 for a pre-departure tour of her gallery and magnificent sculptures then slid out over the Clarence bar and turned right. At least we got that bit right.
Having read Lucas in Afloat Magazine on the subject of undesired contact with whales and their occasional reported aggressive behaviour, the science department of Twin Spirit undertook some computer simulations on the implications for the cruising fraternity.
Based on the number of near misses we’ve had, we have determined that there is currently a 1 in 32,000 chance of ending ones days due to whale activity on the East Coast of Australia. However, once we factored in the 15% p.a. increase in whale population and the 25% p.a. increase in the number of boats cruising the coast, things started to look a little different. It becomes even more complicated; it’s necessary to allow for the deterioration in skills of your average boating type with age and self-abuse AND the genetic changes in whales. Your average humpback still has a 'species memory' of whalers, harpoons and bloody deaths. This has served us ‘yachties’ well over the years ensuring your whale has an inbuilt nervousness concerning large floating things with drunken, bearded men on board. Despite the best efforts of the Japs this memory is fading. On the mariner’s side, careless navigation is increasing exponentially due to the proliferation of sailing aids, GPS, auto helm, and set and forget waypoint instructions. We were going to call this the ‘Fuckwit Factor’ but demurred on the basis of the fact that we have yet to return safely to Pittwater and will be using all aforementioned aids in our efforts to get there.
We caught up on washing and considerable showering “It’s my body and my soap and I’ll wash it as long as I like.” (Sparrow)
Peter Sutton who with wife Kay own and operate the Yamba Marina very generously loaned us their car. We shopped, bought a giant beetroot, had a bit of a poke about Yamba town, then, at you know who’s suggestion, lunched on the beach at ‘Pippis’ “It’s my body and I’ll feed it as much as I like!” (The Admiral)
The crew topped up the water supplies then refueled Twin Spirit and the dingy for the return trip to Broken Bay. Lil who, unlike her life partner can count without using fingers and toes, calculated, with some assistance from Sparrow, who was using his, Twin Spirit’s fuel consumption at 5 litres per hour since leaving Sydney. This is mercifully light given diesel prices of over $2.35 per litre at some marinas.
The day was topped off with a wonderful meal shared with Kay and Peter at the old Pacific Hotel high on the headland overlooking the entrance to the mighty Clarence River; not that we could see it because it was pitch black; more of a luncheon venue perhaps.
Tuesday August 5th Yamba to Coffs Harbour
The crew is still recovering from dinner with Kay and Peter. Some will take more time than others. Not mentioning any names but a certain female person whose nick name had up till now been ‘Curvy’ is now being addressed as ‘Hoover,’ say no more!
Met Kay at 8.30 for a pre-departure tour of her gallery and magnificent sculptures then slid out over the Clarence bar and turned right. At least we got that bit right.
Having read Lucas in Afloat Magazine on the subject of undesired contact with whales and their occasional reported aggressive behaviour, the science department of Twin Spirit undertook some computer simulations on the implications for the cruising fraternity.
Based on the number of near misses we’ve had, we have determined that there is currently a 1 in 32,000 chance of ending ones days due to whale activity on the East Coast of Australia. However, once we factored in the 15% p.a. increase in whale population and the 25% p.a. increase in the number of boats cruising the coast, things started to look a little different. It becomes even more complicated; it’s necessary to allow for the deterioration in skills of your average boating type with age and self-abuse AND the genetic changes in whales. Your average humpback still has a 'species memory' of whalers, harpoons and bloody deaths. This has served us ‘yachties’ well over the years ensuring your whale has an inbuilt nervousness concerning large floating things with drunken, bearded men on board. Despite the best efforts of the Japs this memory is fading. On the mariner’s side, careless navigation is increasing exponentially due to the proliferation of sailing aids, GPS, auto helm, and set and forget waypoint instructions. We were going to call this the ‘Fuckwit Factor’ but demurred on the basis of the fact that we have yet to return safely to Pittwater and will be using all aforementioned aids in our efforts to get there.
Tuesday, August 5, 2008
August 3rd Clarence to Yamba Tavern
We anchored last night off the picturesque little town of Maclean in the Clarence River. An absolutely calm and peaceful night; waking to cows bellowing as they grazed along the river bank, pelicans gliding in for impossible, inexorable, exponential, landings and large trucks noisily dumping vast amounts of cane into their containers for haulage to the factory, so much for bucolic bliss. All hands nimbly up to clean the detritus from the nights dramatic cane fires along the river from the superstructure. They call the soot, black snow up in these here parts.
A lazy morning start, as for once we had no real time constraints. Did nothing for most of the morning but read, play music and catch up on the blog which we all hope you’ll read or we will stop doing it, stamp our feet and take our bat and ball and go home. Actually we don’t have a bat and ball and we’re going home anyway but you get the idea.
Idling down the river with the significant current was ‘Huck Finn Sublime’ and so Zen dudes; so relaxing that we nearly slipped passed the Harwood Hotel but as fortune would have it keen senses located the pub lurking in the bushes. “There’s a pub behind those fucking trees!” shouted Sparrow, registering a 2.5 on the Pamometer, demonstrating once again his superhuman sense of smell. The Admiral happily accepted Sparrows judgement in all matters alcoholic and normal landing protocols were observed.
After a delightful lunch with lashings of orangeade strange bridge opening men I safety hats arrived from Ballina and kindly opened the bridge for us at the appointed hour, plus or minus 10%. We slid guiltily under the mast eating Harwood Bridge, once again severing the main vehicular artery twixt Sydney and Bris-Vegas for a full 20 minutes. My God we have some infrastructure black holes in this country!
Half an hour further up river sliding along towards the coast we had a phone call from legendary solo round the world sailor and all round champion lady, Kay Cottee, who just happened to see us slipping up the creek from the vantage point of her beautiful river-side home. Ever the sycophant, The Admiral waved enthusiastically with one arm while holding his mobile to his ear with the other, chatting to Kay and organising dinner the following night, all very well if someone else had been steering Twin Spirit at the time. The depth alarm brought him to his senses as the props began to stir large clouds of mud. A recreation of The Normandy Landing was averted. Another few miles of our inland progress and an arse-puckering entry to the Yamba channel through the legendary ‘Hole in the Wall’ saw us safely moored at the Yamba Tavern. We achieved another of our main goals; we finally tied up hard against licensed premises. You could pass beer from the balcony to the boat and we did, several times (see pics.) Alert the media another PB. We had also found our first ‘sail through bottle shop’ and immediately reprovisioned our cellar with comparative ease and considerable expense. An uneventful night at a surprisingly quiet venue before we cast off giving up our treasured spot at The Yamba Tavern wharf to our mates Ken and Susie on ‘Norman G’ before heading round the corner to the Yamba Marina to re-fuel, at vast expense to the management and replenish our water supplies for what would be the first leg of our return journey to Old Sydney Town. Well actually to The Pittwater; ‘Old Sydney Town’ being a defunct attempt at recreating an early colonial settlement with token whippings on the half hour and photo opportunities in the stocks for the kiddies.
We anchored last night off the picturesque little town of Maclean in the Clarence River. An absolutely calm and peaceful night; waking to cows bellowing as they grazed along the river bank, pelicans gliding in for impossible, inexorable, exponential, landings and large trucks noisily dumping vast amounts of cane into their containers for haulage to the factory, so much for bucolic bliss. All hands nimbly up to clean the detritus from the nights dramatic cane fires along the river from the superstructure. They call the soot, black snow up in these here parts.
A lazy morning start, as for once we had no real time constraints. Did nothing for most of the morning but read, play music and catch up on the blog which we all hope you’ll read or we will stop doing it, stamp our feet and take our bat and ball and go home. Actually we don’t have a bat and ball and we’re going home anyway but you get the idea.
Idling down the river with the significant current was ‘Huck Finn Sublime’ and so Zen dudes; so relaxing that we nearly slipped passed the Harwood Hotel but as fortune would have it keen senses located the pub lurking in the bushes. “There’s a pub behind those fucking trees!” shouted Sparrow, registering a 2.5 on the Pamometer, demonstrating once again his superhuman sense of smell. The Admiral happily accepted Sparrows judgement in all matters alcoholic and normal landing protocols were observed.
After a delightful lunch with lashings of orangeade strange bridge opening men I safety hats arrived from Ballina and kindly opened the bridge for us at the appointed hour, plus or minus 10%. We slid guiltily under the mast eating Harwood Bridge, once again severing the main vehicular artery twixt Sydney and Bris-Vegas for a full 20 minutes. My God we have some infrastructure black holes in this country!
Half an hour further up river sliding along towards the coast we had a phone call from legendary solo round the world sailor and all round champion lady, Kay Cottee, who just happened to see us slipping up the creek from the vantage point of her beautiful river-side home. Ever the sycophant, The Admiral waved enthusiastically with one arm while holding his mobile to his ear with the other, chatting to Kay and organising dinner the following night, all very well if someone else had been steering Twin Spirit at the time. The depth alarm brought him to his senses as the props began to stir large clouds of mud. A recreation of The Normandy Landing was averted. Another few miles of our inland progress and an arse-puckering entry to the Yamba channel through the legendary ‘Hole in the Wall’ saw us safely moored at the Yamba Tavern. We achieved another of our main goals; we finally tied up hard against licensed premises. You could pass beer from the balcony to the boat and we did, several times (see pics.) Alert the media another PB. We had also found our first ‘sail through bottle shop’ and immediately reprovisioned our cellar with comparative ease and considerable expense. An uneventful night at a surprisingly quiet venue before we cast off giving up our treasured spot at The Yamba Tavern wharf to our mates Ken and Susie on ‘Norman G’ before heading round the corner to the Yamba Marina to re-fuel, at vast expense to the management and replenish our water supplies for what would be the first leg of our return journey to Old Sydney Town. Well actually to The Pittwater; ‘Old Sydney Town’ being a defunct attempt at recreating an early colonial settlement with token whippings on the half hour and photo opportunities in the stocks for the kiddies.
Saturday, August 2, 2008
Saturday 2nd August Iluka to Lawrence
Left Iluka on the morning tide. No really we did. So with a couple of knots of current to help us up to the Harwood bridge we were early for the 10am opening we’d booked. Things happen at their own pace round these parts and at 10.10am a couple of distant figures in safety jackets and hats wandered casually into view. 10 minutes later the Pacific Highway traffic was stopped, the bridge rose some 25 metres vertically and we proceeded through. The process cuts the main highway between Sydney and Brisbane for about 20 minutes all up. Sorry.
Our goal was Lawrence. This was memory lane stuff for the Admiral who had been locked in the local pub with the police drinking after hours in 1972. After tying up to the public wharf we proceded a few hundred metres to the pub. Unfortunately the original federation pub caught fire in the eighties and has been replaced by a less charming but perfectly adequate red brick joint. Seems to have been an unfortunate number of pub fires hereabouts. The Ebor pub had also self immolated. I suppose beer can be unstable unless handled carefully. Which is certainly what we did with it at Lawrence.
Extricating ourselves from pub and wharf we drifted with the now outgoing tide back towards Maclean stopping en route for a spot of lunch. It was just after leaving Lawrence that strange things began to happen to out instruments. First the mastervolt system indicated that the voltage being put into the batteries was rising at an alarming rate. It got to 18 volts before we shut everything down and turned off both engines. When we rebooted the voltage started coming down to a more palatable 14 volts but then the wind speed indicator showed 60 knots with the direction needle behaving like a demented Ouija board. Having recovered our composure and determined that we hadn’t fried the electrics or boiled the batteries we cast about for explanations. Having ruled out the famed Lawrence Triangle as mere local superstition, we turned our attention to the ABC broadcast tower on the bank and the 11,000 volt cables suspended over the river about 6 metres above the top of our mast. Given that everything has now returned to normal it seems likely that we must have picked up some sort of an electrical charge from the power line. Anyone with any knowledge in this area might like to inform us.
Maclean, a delightful little settlement on the river, boasts two pubs neither of which held our attention for long due to the 5pm Wallabies game. And the less said about that the better.
Left Iluka on the morning tide. No really we did. So with a couple of knots of current to help us up to the Harwood bridge we were early for the 10am opening we’d booked. Things happen at their own pace round these parts and at 10.10am a couple of distant figures in safety jackets and hats wandered casually into view. 10 minutes later the Pacific Highway traffic was stopped, the bridge rose some 25 metres vertically and we proceeded through. The process cuts the main highway between Sydney and Brisbane for about 20 minutes all up. Sorry.
Our goal was Lawrence. This was memory lane stuff for the Admiral who had been locked in the local pub with the police drinking after hours in 1972. After tying up to the public wharf we proceded a few hundred metres to the pub. Unfortunately the original federation pub caught fire in the eighties and has been replaced by a less charming but perfectly adequate red brick joint. Seems to have been an unfortunate number of pub fires hereabouts. The Ebor pub had also self immolated. I suppose beer can be unstable unless handled carefully. Which is certainly what we did with it at Lawrence.
Extricating ourselves from pub and wharf we drifted with the now outgoing tide back towards Maclean stopping en route for a spot of lunch. It was just after leaving Lawrence that strange things began to happen to out instruments. First the mastervolt system indicated that the voltage being put into the batteries was rising at an alarming rate. It got to 18 volts before we shut everything down and turned off both engines. When we rebooted the voltage started coming down to a more palatable 14 volts but then the wind speed indicator showed 60 knots with the direction needle behaving like a demented Ouija board. Having recovered our composure and determined that we hadn’t fried the electrics or boiled the batteries we cast about for explanations. Having ruled out the famed Lawrence Triangle as mere local superstition, we turned our attention to the ABC broadcast tower on the bank and the 11,000 volt cables suspended over the river about 6 metres above the top of our mast. Given that everything has now returned to normal it seems likely that we must have picked up some sort of an electrical charge from the power line. Anyone with any knowledge in this area might like to inform us.
Maclean, a delightful little settlement on the river, boasts two pubs neither of which held our attention for long due to the 5pm Wallabies game. And the less said about that the better.
Friday 1st August Iluka
A rest day has been declared in light of the horses’ birthday.
To mark the occasion it was decided that we should lunch ashore at Sedger’s. After some discussion about the lack of hot water for showering we made a smart departure in the dinghy. Not our best times but ok for training. We were not alone in our quest for sustenance and joined Don, John, Liz and Noelene off Isis who had similar ideas about recreation in Iluka.
What was an otherwise pleasant interlude was marred by an argument between the Admiral and the sommelier. The Admiral had purchased one of their best bottles of Chardonnay and returned for a second bottle. The scoundrels had altered the price. A man of high principle the Admiral drew himself up to his full height, which according to the weights and measures department should exceed seventeen feet, and remonstrated with the staff. “I paid fourteen dollars fifty for the last bottle and that’s what it says on the wine list” he insisted.
“Well according to the till it’s eleven dollars fifty and that’s all I’m taking”, countered the hatchet faced help.
The argument ebbed and flowed but the establishment prevailed and a frustrated, crestfallen Admiral, visibly shorter, was about to concede defeat when he hit upon the solution! Smiling he handed over the eleven dollars fifty in exact change and then nonchalantly tossed another 3 dollars on the bar saying “Have a little something for yourself.”
At the new price of eleven dollars fifty even the ‘Disappointed Superannuants’ could afford to make merry and thus their split times suffered Vis a Vis dinghy handling.
At 11pm the breeze is building and the forecast is for gale force winds and dangerous surf. We laugh in the face of such adversity partly because tomorrow we intend to be as far inland as prudent navigation will allow. We’re going for another PB. (Harwood Hotel, Maclean Hotel and Laurence Hotel.) We’ll decide on which one to lunch at after we’ve sampled the hospitality of each.
The other thing we’re sort of looking forward to is closing the main highway between Sydney and Brisbane as we have the Harwood Bridge opened to accommodate our passage up river; if you’ll excuse the expression.
A rest day has been declared in light of the horses’ birthday.
To mark the occasion it was decided that we should lunch ashore at Sedger’s. After some discussion about the lack of hot water for showering we made a smart departure in the dinghy. Not our best times but ok for training. We were not alone in our quest for sustenance and joined Don, John, Liz and Noelene off Isis who had similar ideas about recreation in Iluka.
What was an otherwise pleasant interlude was marred by an argument between the Admiral and the sommelier. The Admiral had purchased one of their best bottles of Chardonnay and returned for a second bottle. The scoundrels had altered the price. A man of high principle the Admiral drew himself up to his full height, which according to the weights and measures department should exceed seventeen feet, and remonstrated with the staff. “I paid fourteen dollars fifty for the last bottle and that’s what it says on the wine list” he insisted.
“Well according to the till it’s eleven dollars fifty and that’s all I’m taking”, countered the hatchet faced help.
The argument ebbed and flowed but the establishment prevailed and a frustrated, crestfallen Admiral, visibly shorter, was about to concede defeat when he hit upon the solution! Smiling he handed over the eleven dollars fifty in exact change and then nonchalantly tossed another 3 dollars on the bar saying “Have a little something for yourself.”
At the new price of eleven dollars fifty even the ‘Disappointed Superannuants’ could afford to make merry and thus their split times suffered Vis a Vis dinghy handling.
At 11pm the breeze is building and the forecast is for gale force winds and dangerous surf. We laugh in the face of such adversity partly because tomorrow we intend to be as far inland as prudent navigation will allow. We’re going for another PB. (Harwood Hotel, Maclean Hotel and Laurence Hotel.) We’ll decide on which one to lunch at after we’ve sampled the hospitality of each.
The other thing we’re sort of looking forward to is closing the main highway between Sydney and Brisbane as we have the Harwood Bridge opened to accommodate our passage up river; if you’ll excuse the expression.
Thursday 31st July Coffs to Iluka
Reveille sounded at 07.30 heralding an 8.30 departure. Wind SW then W then NW then nothing then N then NE but always light so another day of motor sailing albeit under cloudless skies on a shining sea. Dodged some very excited whales, having been exhorted by a Bellingen greenie in a hemp lap-lap not to hurt them, and the requisite number of camouflaged fish traps, arriving at the Clarence bar at 4pm. Tootled into Iluka Harbour and anchored just off the Sedger’s Reef Hotel, a beacon to the thirsty cruising sailor.
Dinghy was in the water 8.7 seconds after coming to a halt, a PB for this trip. (Notice how we strive to remain topical; references to the Olympics now replacing those previously aimed at the Pontiff). A further 32 seconds found us ashore and 27 seconds later we were ordering drinks. This was raffle night and the place was packed with local trawler types. In total there were 425 raffles which caused a certain amount of confusion amongst the throng, but given our increasing inability to recall which day of the week it is, this shouldn’t surprise.
Another feature of the evening was the ‘Schooner Wheel’. This is like the Chocolate Wheel but is spun every hour to decide the price of a schooner for that hour. It’s nice to find a place where RSA stands for ‘reckless service of alcohol.’
The return journey in the dinghy was undertaken with due care and attention in light of our reduced state. This clearly affected our times; Launching and untying, 3mins 17 secs. Travel time back to boat 7mins 23 secs. (Here you need to take into account the fact that we’d forgotten to leave a light on and had to visit every boat in the bay to see if it was ours.) Unloading, 1 min 03secs. Securing dinghy for the night 4 mins, even.
Our medical advisors are currently reviewing the drugs we’re taking and comparing them with those available to professional athletes. We hope with practice, discipline and the correct performance enhancing chemicals, to improve on these times today.
Reveille sounded at 07.30 heralding an 8.30 departure. Wind SW then W then NW then nothing then N then NE but always light so another day of motor sailing albeit under cloudless skies on a shining sea. Dodged some very excited whales, having been exhorted by a Bellingen greenie in a hemp lap-lap not to hurt them, and the requisite number of camouflaged fish traps, arriving at the Clarence bar at 4pm. Tootled into Iluka Harbour and anchored just off the Sedger’s Reef Hotel, a beacon to the thirsty cruising sailor.
Dinghy was in the water 8.7 seconds after coming to a halt, a PB for this trip. (Notice how we strive to remain topical; references to the Olympics now replacing those previously aimed at the Pontiff). A further 32 seconds found us ashore and 27 seconds later we were ordering drinks. This was raffle night and the place was packed with local trawler types. In total there were 425 raffles which caused a certain amount of confusion amongst the throng, but given our increasing inability to recall which day of the week it is, this shouldn’t surprise.
Another feature of the evening was the ‘Schooner Wheel’. This is like the Chocolate Wheel but is spun every hour to decide the price of a schooner for that hour. It’s nice to find a place where RSA stands for ‘reckless service of alcohol.’
The return journey in the dinghy was undertaken with due care and attention in light of our reduced state. This clearly affected our times; Launching and untying, 3mins 17 secs. Travel time back to boat 7mins 23 secs. (Here you need to take into account the fact that we’d forgotten to leave a light on and had to visit every boat in the bay to see if it was ours.) Unloading, 1 min 03secs. Securing dinghy for the night 4 mins, even.
Our medical advisors are currently reviewing the drugs we’re taking and comparing them with those available to professional athletes. We hope with practice, discipline and the correct performance enhancing chemicals, to improve on these times today.
Friday, August 1, 2008
Wednesday 30th July
Bellingen to Coffs by Audi via carwash
Chuckling Des picked us up at the marina and whisked us off to the Daylight Saving Bar at Nautilus Resort where mine hosts Craig and Louise forced drinks between our parched lips. The reason for Chuckling Dessie’s mirth was that he’d arranged for the blokes to be deposited at the Pier Hotel for a top up while he dashed off to a residents’ meeting. Not aware that ‘Tradies Night’ involved naked female bar attendants, we stumbled into a saloon heaving with rough men, bikies and bouncing female flesh. These were clearly the sad remnants of Triple M’s 80’s audience and mobbed the Admiral. On reflection it was just the rough men who were ex listeners; the naked females were entirely bemused by the attention switching from their glistening, supple, lithe, toned, tanned (stop me when you get the picture) bodies, to a morbidly obese middle aged man with a hair loss problem. Then again, being a female Triple M listener in the eighties would probably mean you were now 45 plus and no longer able to make a quid from wanton displays of public nudity. Clearly serving beer naked is an art form best exploited by those not born till well after The Admiral had been pulled off by Kerry Packer. The retreat was sounded and we repaired to a bar more consistent with our conservative ways and mode of dress (pants.)
A splendid dinner at the Crying Tiger followed and thence back to the boat in preparation for the departure tomorrow morning early for the Clarence.
As the gloom surrounding the stockmarket continues and the Twin Spirit Superannuants’ disappointment deepens (Twin Dis-Spirited?), a meeting of the remuneration committee has fallen on a cunning plan. A plan so cunning you could pin a tail on it and call it a weasel. Following in Alan Lucas’ famous footsteps (Cruising The NSW Coast) we will write a book describing the best and most accessible pubs and clubs on the East Coast (Boozing The NSW Coast;) GPS locations, menus, opening and closing times, raffle nights, beers on tap, dinghy access or tie up all listed in an easy to read reference guide with illustrations and expert commentary. A must-have for the cruising alcoholic and a worthwhile companion for the land bound caravaner. Priced at a very fair $75 and available in good bookshops everywhere or order online. First one hundred orders receive a free set of steak knives and a ticket for the Wednesday night titty bar at The Pier Hotel Coff’s Harbour.
Bellingen to Coffs by Audi via carwash
Chuckling Des picked us up at the marina and whisked us off to the Daylight Saving Bar at Nautilus Resort where mine hosts Craig and Louise forced drinks between our parched lips. The reason for Chuckling Dessie’s mirth was that he’d arranged for the blokes to be deposited at the Pier Hotel for a top up while he dashed off to a residents’ meeting. Not aware that ‘Tradies Night’ involved naked female bar attendants, we stumbled into a saloon heaving with rough men, bikies and bouncing female flesh. These were clearly the sad remnants of Triple M’s 80’s audience and mobbed the Admiral. On reflection it was just the rough men who were ex listeners; the naked females were entirely bemused by the attention switching from their glistening, supple, lithe, toned, tanned (stop me when you get the picture) bodies, to a morbidly obese middle aged man with a hair loss problem. Then again, being a female Triple M listener in the eighties would probably mean you were now 45 plus and no longer able to make a quid from wanton displays of public nudity. Clearly serving beer naked is an art form best exploited by those not born till well after The Admiral had been pulled off by Kerry Packer. The retreat was sounded and we repaired to a bar more consistent with our conservative ways and mode of dress (pants.)
A splendid dinner at the Crying Tiger followed and thence back to the boat in preparation for the departure tomorrow morning early for the Clarence.
As the gloom surrounding the stockmarket continues and the Twin Spirit Superannuants’ disappointment deepens (Twin Dis-Spirited?), a meeting of the remuneration committee has fallen on a cunning plan. A plan so cunning you could pin a tail on it and call it a weasel. Following in Alan Lucas’ famous footsteps (Cruising The NSW Coast) we will write a book describing the best and most accessible pubs and clubs on the East Coast (Boozing The NSW Coast;) GPS locations, menus, opening and closing times, raffle nights, beers on tap, dinghy access or tie up all listed in an easy to read reference guide with illustrations and expert commentary. A must-have for the cruising alcoholic and a worthwhile companion for the land bound caravaner. Priced at a very fair $75 and available in good bookshops everywhere or order online. First one hundred orders receive a free set of steak knives and a ticket for the Wednesday night titty bar at The Pier Hotel Coff’s Harbour.
Thursday, July 31, 2008
Tuesday 29th and Wednesday 30th July
Rehearsals for Australia’s version of Top Gear took place on the dirt road from Coffs to Dorrigo, the precipitous long way round known as the’ Waterfall Way’ which winds its way over The Great Dividing Range. It’s one of the 2 points where The Great Divide reaches out to touch the sea on the spectacular Australian east coast. With ‘Admiral 8 knots’ Mulray at the wheel the Audi Turbo Diesel Quattro was in its element.; looking only slightly out of place between the beaten up utes and kombis when parked outside the various pubs we visited during the course of the day (see pics.) There were some surprised looks from sheep and cattle though as the black Teutonic flash shot through the verdant fields of the New England High Plateau sounding like a double-decker ‘Atlantean’ bus on crystal-meth. Milk yields are reportedly down in the district since but ‘Admiral Stig Mulray’ barely arched an eyebrow as he proved for all time that a small capacity turbo-diesel burdened with 4 chunky adults, their luggage, numerous cartons of white wine and several gross of ‘Coff’s Coast’ souvenir teaspoons can see off 200 kph on a decent straight stretch and still manage 8.7 litres per 100k’s.
The beautiful Ebor Falls and Guy Fawkes River were glimpsed during a handbrake turn at the end of ‘Scenic Route 18’ or, the main straight as the Admiral liked to call it. This time the cows and sheep were ready for us and hid behind tallow-wood trees chewing nervously and firing liquid shit down their hind quarters as we shot back past them en route to Bellingen.
We left the Audi creaking and decidedly 2nd hand in the main street and found lodgings at the ‘Federal Hotel,’ circa 1901. Our quarters were at best clean and strangely interesting; their design heavily influenced by a period known to the architectural elite as ‘Early Borstal.’ This style was in vogue during the industrial revolution and was developed to make sure one appreciated the comforts of small leaky boats. Abused Austrian families locked in dark subterranean basements live more comfortably; the printed instructions, blue-tacked to the back of the door of our first floor accommodations requested that we leave the building after hours through the men’s toilet (true, see pics.) This manner of egress it seemed was the only way to avoid setting off the hotel’s alarm system and explaining moments later to the local constabulary, why one was standing in the gaming room of the Federal Hotel Bellingen at 3.45am in only Ugg-Boots, track-suit pants and a sequined Spencer. If only Cap’n Sparrow had been sober enough to read that fateful notice before retiring!
In spite of these various privations; no heating, bathroom in the next postcode, only one male loo for all 9 rooms on the floor, (difficult with the Admirals trouble) and a TV, mounted so high on the wall that you had to lie down on the bed and develop Spinabifida to watch it, we had a great night anyway and enjoyed an excellent meal in their funky wee restaurant ‘Relish.’ It was a nasty shock to discover that the bar shut at 9.45pm but in all truth we probably needed an early night. An early night and a kidney transplant,
The following morning the car keys were finally pried from the rigor mortis like grip of ‘Admiral Stig’ as he slept and Sparrow then tried his very best to enjoy the pleasures of the Audi during the 60kph speed limited, radar infested, trek back to Coffs. ‘A good car’ was his erudite and slightly peeved verdict, but not a patch on the 97 Camry!
Rehearsals for Australia’s version of Top Gear took place on the dirt road from Coffs to Dorrigo, the precipitous long way round known as the’ Waterfall Way’ which winds its way over The Great Dividing Range. It’s one of the 2 points where The Great Divide reaches out to touch the sea on the spectacular Australian east coast. With ‘Admiral 8 knots’ Mulray at the wheel the Audi Turbo Diesel Quattro was in its element.; looking only slightly out of place between the beaten up utes and kombis when parked outside the various pubs we visited during the course of the day (see pics.) There were some surprised looks from sheep and cattle though as the black Teutonic flash shot through the verdant fields of the New England High Plateau sounding like a double-decker ‘Atlantean’ bus on crystal-meth. Milk yields are reportedly down in the district since but ‘Admiral Stig Mulray’ barely arched an eyebrow as he proved for all time that a small capacity turbo-diesel burdened with 4 chunky adults, their luggage, numerous cartons of white wine and several gross of ‘Coff’s Coast’ souvenir teaspoons can see off 200 kph on a decent straight stretch and still manage 8.7 litres per 100k’s.
The beautiful Ebor Falls and Guy Fawkes River were glimpsed during a handbrake turn at the end of ‘Scenic Route 18’ or, the main straight as the Admiral liked to call it. This time the cows and sheep were ready for us and hid behind tallow-wood trees chewing nervously and firing liquid shit down their hind quarters as we shot back past them en route to Bellingen.
We left the Audi creaking and decidedly 2nd hand in the main street and found lodgings at the ‘Federal Hotel,’ circa 1901. Our quarters were at best clean and strangely interesting; their design heavily influenced by a period known to the architectural elite as ‘Early Borstal.’ This style was in vogue during the industrial revolution and was developed to make sure one appreciated the comforts of small leaky boats. Abused Austrian families locked in dark subterranean basements live more comfortably; the printed instructions, blue-tacked to the back of the door of our first floor accommodations requested that we leave the building after hours through the men’s toilet (true, see pics.) This manner of egress it seemed was the only way to avoid setting off the hotel’s alarm system and explaining moments later to the local constabulary, why one was standing in the gaming room of the Federal Hotel Bellingen at 3.45am in only Ugg-Boots, track-suit pants and a sequined Spencer. If only Cap’n Sparrow had been sober enough to read that fateful notice before retiring!
In spite of these various privations; no heating, bathroom in the next postcode, only one male loo for all 9 rooms on the floor, (difficult with the Admirals trouble) and a TV, mounted so high on the wall that you had to lie down on the bed and develop Spinabifida to watch it, we had a great night anyway and enjoyed an excellent meal in their funky wee restaurant ‘Relish.’ It was a nasty shock to discover that the bar shut at 9.45pm but in all truth we probably needed an early night. An early night and a kidney transplant,
The following morning the car keys were finally pried from the rigor mortis like grip of ‘Admiral Stig’ as he slept and Sparrow then tried his very best to enjoy the pleasures of the Audi during the 60kph speed limited, radar infested, trek back to Coffs. ‘A good car’ was his erudite and slightly peeved verdict, but not a patch on the 97 Camry!
Pub Highlights
Ebor Hotel…..World’s ugliest pub run by world’s frumpiest publican who sat like Madam De Farge knitting bed socks by a fuel stove. The bored patrons watched daytime TV as the unmistakable smell of urine-cakes wafted into the bar from the adjoining Gents fouling the air but slightly improving the taste of the 'Tooheys New', sadly the only beer on tap.
Ebor Hotel…..World’s ugliest pub run by world’s frumpiest publican who sat like Madam De Farge knitting bed socks by a fuel stove. The bored patrons watched daytime TV as the unmistakable smell of urine-cakes wafted into the bar from the adjoining Gents fouling the air but slightly improving the taste of the 'Tooheys New', sadly the only beer on tap.
The Dorrigo Heritage Hotel
A fine example of Federation architecture complimented by a bevy of ancient cricket trophies and smiling service from barman Rick.
"Nice to see you again Reeeek."
We had a fine but simple pub lunch here marred only by the arrival of a bus load of babbling, intellectually challenged folk who came in slightly after us. Not that any of us bear any ill will to the differently-abled, it’s just that watching people trip over things and hurt themselves can put you off your tucker. Perhaps that goes some way to explaining Cap’n Sparrows sylph like figure.
A fine example of Federation architecture complimented by a bevy of ancient cricket trophies and smiling service from barman Rick.
"Nice to see you again Reeeek."
We had a fine but simple pub lunch here marred only by the arrival of a bus load of babbling, intellectually challenged folk who came in slightly after us. Not that any of us bear any ill will to the differently-abled, it’s just that watching people trip over things and hurt themselves can put you off your tucker. Perhaps that goes some way to explaining Cap’n Sparrows sylph like figure.
The Federal Hotel Bellingen
Has been comprehensively described earlier but it would wrong to close without mentioning Vikki the bar maid. Vikki it turned out was a ‘Manly’ girl originally who remembered The Admirals radio show with considerable affection. She proceeded to regurgitate an old joke learned from the program to demonstrate her enthusiasm and bona fides.
“Why did Jesus cross the road?” she beamed,
“Because he was nailed to the chicken!”
It seems she was a genuine listener after all. The Admiral ordered another round to celebrate his enormous contribution to Australian culture and went upstairs to prepare for the evenings festivities.
Has been comprehensively described earlier but it would wrong to close without mentioning Vikki the bar maid. Vikki it turned out was a ‘Manly’ girl originally who remembered The Admirals radio show with considerable affection. She proceeded to regurgitate an old joke learned from the program to demonstrate her enthusiasm and bona fides.
“Why did Jesus cross the road?” she beamed,
“Because he was nailed to the chicken!”
It seems she was a genuine listener after all. The Admiral ordered another round to celebrate his enormous contribution to Australian culture and went upstairs to prepare for the evenings festivities.
Monday 28th July Coffs Harbour
Breakfasted on the balcony of ‘Upperdeck’ at Coff’s Marina in the sunshine with Louise, Craig and automotive Dessie. ‘Bellbowrie Car Hire’ does excellent rates on posh motors for aquatic grey nomads. Service includes pick up, delivery and a voucher for the ‘Pier Hotel’ titty-bar on a Wednesday night; a fine opportunity to meet and mingle with tradesmen, tattooed locals and people wanted in other states.
Headed out towards Des’s favourite town, Woolgoolga. It might be the vast expanse of golden sand that attracts him or perhaps it’s his abiding love for the local 'Sikh' population and the contribution they’ve made to the local street-scape. On to Corindi Beach where we happened upon a pub. Several things then occurred in quick succession. The owner, Peter, turned out not only to be the uncle of Cleon, hard working client schmoozer at Standard Pacific, but also Curvy’s ex hairdresser. Dots were connected and 2 of the ‘Disappointed Superannuants’ tried out for jobs (see pics.) We await the prognostications of the HR dept. The pub dates back to Henry the Eighth’s time, unusual in Australia, and is named after one of his many unfortunate wives, ‘The Amble Inn.’ Eventually we staggered out of the Amble Inn and turned our sights on the Fisho’s Club on the hill at Coffs. Here we supped on fish and fine white wine. Some of our compliment then walked off the meal, strolling back to the marina while those with ‘Gammy Legs’ shouted their familiar cry ‘more wine for my friends’ sadly paying the penalty by attracting the attention of a very boring and smelly local who felt it his duty to point out in infinite detail the many museums in the Coff’s Harbour region, their contents and the names of the curators and their children. A hasty retreat was beaten (there was still wine in the bottle for God’s sake) and a hangover fortuitously dodged
The marina is a good place to be as boat after boat comes into the Harbour to shelter from the stormy blast outside and tomorrow will see us attempt an exploration of the inns and hostelries of the hinterland.
Breakfasted on the balcony of ‘Upperdeck’ at Coff’s Marina in the sunshine with Louise, Craig and automotive Dessie. ‘Bellbowrie Car Hire’ does excellent rates on posh motors for aquatic grey nomads. Service includes pick up, delivery and a voucher for the ‘Pier Hotel’ titty-bar on a Wednesday night; a fine opportunity to meet and mingle with tradesmen, tattooed locals and people wanted in other states.
Headed out towards Des’s favourite town, Woolgoolga. It might be the vast expanse of golden sand that attracts him or perhaps it’s his abiding love for the local 'Sikh' population and the contribution they’ve made to the local street-scape. On to Corindi Beach where we happened upon a pub. Several things then occurred in quick succession. The owner, Peter, turned out not only to be the uncle of Cleon, hard working client schmoozer at Standard Pacific, but also Curvy’s ex hairdresser. Dots were connected and 2 of the ‘Disappointed Superannuants’ tried out for jobs (see pics.) We await the prognostications of the HR dept. The pub dates back to Henry the Eighth’s time, unusual in Australia, and is named after one of his many unfortunate wives, ‘The Amble Inn.’ Eventually we staggered out of the Amble Inn and turned our sights on the Fisho’s Club on the hill at Coffs. Here we supped on fish and fine white wine. Some of our compliment then walked off the meal, strolling back to the marina while those with ‘Gammy Legs’ shouted their familiar cry ‘more wine for my friends’ sadly paying the penalty by attracting the attention of a very boring and smelly local who felt it his duty to point out in infinite detail the many museums in the Coff’s Harbour region, their contents and the names of the curators and their children. A hasty retreat was beaten (there was still wine in the bottle for God’s sake) and a hangover fortuitously dodged
The marina is a good place to be as boat after boat comes into the Harbour to shelter from the stormy blast outside and tomorrow will see us attempt an exploration of the inns and hostelries of the hinterland.
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