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!
Thursday, July 31, 2008
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.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday 27th July Trial Bay to Coffs
Weighed anchor after the recovery breakfast and enjoyed a couple of hours of great sailing in 15 knots of Westerly. Of course it couldn’t last. The breeze died and engines had to be started. This confirms ‘Truswell’s Standard’ which states that any coastal cruising boat has its engines on 80% of the time. If you’re not trying to get somewhere because of tide, weather or the closing time of the local pub then you’re charging batteries or heating water. No one has accused us of being purists. Firstly this is a substantial catamaran. It has fridges, freezers, electric winches ( well, one ) three laptops, three GPS units, three radios, two TVs, three electric toilets, a myriad of pumps, an electric piano, radar, a microwave, air conditioning and a device of Lil’s which we won’t discuss here. Somewhere, powering all this stuff, are eight truck batteries. These need charging and given the state of the Fischer-Panda genset, which isn’t the best advert for German technology, (‘Vorsprung dur schititself’) the main engines have to be exercised regularly. No wonder its 2 nil to the good guys’ world warwise.
The usual dodging of whales and fish traps saw us into Coffs at 2pm. The berth assigned to us wouldn’t have accommodated a toothpick so we appropriated something more fitting and are currently crushing fenders against the end of the dock in the 30 knot breeze.
Caught up with Craig and Louise Bowen and Cate and Des Taylor for cocktails at the Royal Coffs Yacht Club and are now in possession of Dessie’s Audi Turbo Diesel. Thank you Des, very generous. As yet we haven’t siphoned the tank to replenish those on Twin Spirit and we probably won’t because we had a meeting of the Twin Spirit ethics committee and decided it would be wrong.
On the way back from the club Curvy was attacked by an Owl that she was attempting to photograph. With eyes like that you wouldn’t like flash photography either, not to mention the owl; it had two goes at her and we recorded 2.5 on the Pamometer, not a personal best but the day’s record.
Weighed anchor after the recovery breakfast and enjoyed a couple of hours of great sailing in 15 knots of Westerly. Of course it couldn’t last. The breeze died and engines had to be started. This confirms ‘Truswell’s Standard’ which states that any coastal cruising boat has its engines on 80% of the time. If you’re not trying to get somewhere because of tide, weather or the closing time of the local pub then you’re charging batteries or heating water. No one has accused us of being purists. Firstly this is a substantial catamaran. It has fridges, freezers, electric winches ( well, one ) three laptops, three GPS units, three radios, two TVs, three electric toilets, a myriad of pumps, an electric piano, radar, a microwave, air conditioning and a device of Lil’s which we won’t discuss here. Somewhere, powering all this stuff, are eight truck batteries. These need charging and given the state of the Fischer-Panda genset, which isn’t the best advert for German technology, (‘Vorsprung dur schititself’) the main engines have to be exercised regularly. No wonder its 2 nil to the good guys’ world warwise.
The usual dodging of whales and fish traps saw us into Coffs at 2pm. The berth assigned to us wouldn’t have accommodated a toothpick so we appropriated something more fitting and are currently crushing fenders against the end of the dock in the 30 knot breeze.
Caught up with Craig and Louise Bowen and Cate and Des Taylor for cocktails at the Royal Coffs Yacht Club and are now in possession of Dessie’s Audi Turbo Diesel. Thank you Des, very generous. As yet we haven’t siphoned the tank to replenish those on Twin Spirit and we probably won’t because we had a meeting of the Twin Spirit ethics committee and decided it would be wrong.
On the way back from the club Curvy was attacked by an Owl that she was attempting to photograph. With eyes like that you wouldn’t like flash photography either, not to mention the owl; it had two goes at her and we recorded 2.5 on the Pamometer, not a personal best but the day’s record.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Saturday 26th July
The last night in Port Macquarie deserved a visit to Panther’s Leagues Club. Rex, an old mate of Doug’s (being in charge of entertainment at the club), ably assisted us in our quest for a happy ending to our longer-than-expected stay in Port. Thoughtful of him to provide a parting gift of Beroccas. Thank you Rex. Toot-toot.
Our longer–than-expected stay at Panther’s ensured that the exit from Port Macquarie was memorable. Not that we needed any extra degree of difficulty. The Port Macquarie bar has a reputation for excitement and didn’t disappoint. It wasn’t the ideal state of the tide but with equal amounts of judgment and good fortune we dodged breaking waves and jet skiers who both put on a spectacular show. Admiral, wearing his hat back to front and revving the Yanmars at near their limit, demonstrated his ability to crack walnuts with his gluteus maximus. This was useful but nobody wanted to eat them. Once clear of the bar we motor-sailed accompanied by dozens of dolphins to Trial Bay. We also dodged the required number of whales. The whales are becoming tedious and detracting from the enjoyment of sailing. Go the Japs.
Dropped the pick in Trial Bay at 4pm and went fishing. The Pamometer has been in use as several sharks were caught and carefully released. There will be a stocktake of digits after dinner.
Wallabies vs the All Blacks tonight. TV reception tolerable although it has been suggested that we hoist a crew member up the mast to tune the antennae as the boat swings around.
Fast forward to after the game and what a jolly good game it was. The Trial Bay police have been on the phone asking us to keep the noise down. The Admiral gets very excited when he’s out of uniform and Lil and Curvy were off the scale on the Pamometer. The police said that noise travels further over water and that local residents had complained although they added that wasn’t it great we smacked the Kiwis. We promised to keep the noise down.
If we can get anyone out of bed tomorrow we shall attempt to get to Coffs Harbour. We’re running low on medication. Our list of injuries increases. One broken rib, one cruciate ligament, assorted rope burns, a few knife wounds (mainly Curvy) and a couple of dodgy backs. Also signs of incontinence made their prescence felt while crossing the Port Macquarie bar. Mind you we weren’t in great shape to start with.
The last night in Port Macquarie deserved a visit to Panther’s Leagues Club. Rex, an old mate of Doug’s (being in charge of entertainment at the club), ably assisted us in our quest for a happy ending to our longer-than-expected stay in Port. Thoughtful of him to provide a parting gift of Beroccas. Thank you Rex. Toot-toot.
Our longer–than-expected stay at Panther’s ensured that the exit from Port Macquarie was memorable. Not that we needed any extra degree of difficulty. The Port Macquarie bar has a reputation for excitement and didn’t disappoint. It wasn’t the ideal state of the tide but with equal amounts of judgment and good fortune we dodged breaking waves and jet skiers who both put on a spectacular show. Admiral, wearing his hat back to front and revving the Yanmars at near their limit, demonstrated his ability to crack walnuts with his gluteus maximus. This was useful but nobody wanted to eat them. Once clear of the bar we motor-sailed accompanied by dozens of dolphins to Trial Bay. We also dodged the required number of whales. The whales are becoming tedious and detracting from the enjoyment of sailing. Go the Japs.
Dropped the pick in Trial Bay at 4pm and went fishing. The Pamometer has been in use as several sharks were caught and carefully released. There will be a stocktake of digits after dinner.
Wallabies vs the All Blacks tonight. TV reception tolerable although it has been suggested that we hoist a crew member up the mast to tune the antennae as the boat swings around.
Fast forward to after the game and what a jolly good game it was. The Trial Bay police have been on the phone asking us to keep the noise down. The Admiral gets very excited when he’s out of uniform and Lil and Curvy were off the scale on the Pamometer. The police said that noise travels further over water and that local residents had complained although they added that wasn’t it great we smacked the Kiwis. We promised to keep the noise down.
If we can get anyone out of bed tomorrow we shall attempt to get to Coffs Harbour. We’re running low on medication. Our list of injuries increases. One broken rib, one cruciate ligament, assorted rope burns, a few knife wounds (mainly Curvy) and a couple of dodgy backs. Also signs of incontinence made their prescence felt while crossing the Port Macquarie bar. Mind you we weren’t in great shape to start with.
Friday 25th July
The rain continues to fall and we sit in the river pointing downstream for 10 hours a day and upstream for 14. This at least provides us with some variety. In sympathy with all of this the stockmarket crashes again adding to the air of gloom. We are as full of depression as the dinghy is with water. However the Deeply Despondent Superannuants intend to sail on the morning tide heading for Trial Bay tomorrow and Coffs on Sunday.
On a brighter note………no I can’t think of anything.
The Admiral has done his cruciate ligament. How you can do yourself an injury pouring a cup of tea is uncertain but it was Irish Breakfast which is a particularly strong brew. Fortunately being at the peak of physical fitness he stands a good chance of a speedy recovery. Various chemical compounds are assisting in the process and we are casting around for an eye patch and a small parrot to go with the limp. Yo ho ho and a bottle of chardonnay.
We sail on the morning tide, Lil arrives on the afternoon plane, nasty Qantas maintenance induced incidents not withstanding. The Admiral’s many appetites will once again be attended to. An end to Curvy’s shredded carrot focacia and the Admiral’s whinging!
On engineering matters the normally reliable (ha!)Fischer Panda generator has collapsed of exhaustion. After over-revving and sending 300 volts through a system which prefers a steady diet of 240 it was beaten to death with a stick by an alert and only slightly alarmed Admiral. We think he got it in time before it fried all the electrics. Still I suppose it did serve us for about 10 hours since its last million dollar overhaul, which was its best performance in 3 years. It may now have a second and more productive life as an anchor.
Off to Panthers to dine.
The rain continues to fall and we sit in the river pointing downstream for 10 hours a day and upstream for 14. This at least provides us with some variety. In sympathy with all of this the stockmarket crashes again adding to the air of gloom. We are as full of depression as the dinghy is with water. However the Deeply Despondent Superannuants intend to sail on the morning tide heading for Trial Bay tomorrow and Coffs on Sunday.
On a brighter note………no I can’t think of anything.
The Admiral has done his cruciate ligament. How you can do yourself an injury pouring a cup of tea is uncertain but it was Irish Breakfast which is a particularly strong brew. Fortunately being at the peak of physical fitness he stands a good chance of a speedy recovery. Various chemical compounds are assisting in the process and we are casting around for an eye patch and a small parrot to go with the limp. Yo ho ho and a bottle of chardonnay.
We sail on the morning tide, Lil arrives on the afternoon plane, nasty Qantas maintenance induced incidents not withstanding. The Admiral’s many appetites will once again be attended to. An end to Curvy’s shredded carrot focacia and the Admiral’s whinging!
On engineering matters the normally reliable (ha!)Fischer Panda generator has collapsed of exhaustion. After over-revving and sending 300 volts through a system which prefers a steady diet of 240 it was beaten to death with a stick by an alert and only slightly alarmed Admiral. We think he got it in time before it fried all the electrics. Still I suppose it did serve us for about 10 hours since its last million dollar overhaul, which was its best performance in 3 years. It may now have a second and more productive life as an anchor.
Off to Panthers to dine.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Thursday 24th July
It rained like a pissing cow during the night. The two padlocks held us securely. There was much groaning as we forced ourselves to emerge from beneath our doonas and fire up the Billy for the morning cuppa. Once recovered, the Lords of the Admiralty fell about planning the business of the day. A swim was out of the question so we settled upon recovering our stock market losses at Panthers Leagues Club. The rain radar indicated a possible gap in squalls at 11.43am and so we struck out for the wharf. Addressing our personal hygiene in the shower block we then invaded the Panthers club where we experimented with improving our fortunes. Curiously we suffered a reversal and lost $11 between us. Indignant and irritated we were about to withdraw our custom when a friendly face hove into view. Rex, an old friend of the Admiral’s and now entertainment manager at the club, hailed us and suggested that the pokies were geared to extract money from the members not to enrich them. Our naivety exposed, Rex took us on a tour of the club. Sparrow was attracted to the concert grand in the main auditorium and played enthusiastically to an audience of three. This was more than he deserved. Beer, it seems, decreases manual dexterity.
Curvy and Sparrow’s character was then tested in extricating the Admiral from the food hall. He’d had no breakfast, you see, and t’was now nearly 177 bells. Claiming he was going into diabetic shock he charmed a pre pubescent female attending the cake counter ( “haven’t I seen you on the telly?”) into dispensing several comestibles and sweetmeats for his delectation. Recharged and with a spring in his step we launched ourselves back to Twin Spirit where we dined on mince and slices of quince just before the heavens reopened.
Currently we’re encouraged by the fact that a 65 foot Grand Banks came in across the bar at about 3pm. We reason that augers well for us getting away from here in the next decade or so. On the other hand we learned that Alan Lucas, who has forgotten more about this coast than we’ll ever know, came in here for a week and stayed for 3 months due, we presume, to the weather.
It rained like a pissing cow during the night. The two padlocks held us securely. There was much groaning as we forced ourselves to emerge from beneath our doonas and fire up the Billy for the morning cuppa. Once recovered, the Lords of the Admiralty fell about planning the business of the day. A swim was out of the question so we settled upon recovering our stock market losses at Panthers Leagues Club. The rain radar indicated a possible gap in squalls at 11.43am and so we struck out for the wharf. Addressing our personal hygiene in the shower block we then invaded the Panthers club where we experimented with improving our fortunes. Curiously we suffered a reversal and lost $11 between us. Indignant and irritated we were about to withdraw our custom when a friendly face hove into view. Rex, an old friend of the Admiral’s and now entertainment manager at the club, hailed us and suggested that the pokies were geared to extract money from the members not to enrich them. Our naivety exposed, Rex took us on a tour of the club. Sparrow was attracted to the concert grand in the main auditorium and played enthusiastically to an audience of three. This was more than he deserved. Beer, it seems, decreases manual dexterity.
Curvy and Sparrow’s character was then tested in extricating the Admiral from the food hall. He’d had no breakfast, you see, and t’was now nearly 177 bells. Claiming he was going into diabetic shock he charmed a pre pubescent female attending the cake counter ( “haven’t I seen you on the telly?”) into dispensing several comestibles and sweetmeats for his delectation. Recharged and with a spring in his step we launched ourselves back to Twin Spirit where we dined on mince and slices of quince just before the heavens reopened.
Currently we’re encouraged by the fact that a 65 foot Grand Banks came in across the bar at about 3pm. We reason that augers well for us getting away from here in the next decade or so. On the other hand we learned that Alan Lucas, who has forgotten more about this coast than we’ll ever know, came in here for a week and stayed for 3 months due, we presume, to the weather.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Tuesday 22nd Port Macquarie
A leisurely start to the day as Lil doesn’t need to depart for Sydney until eleven o’clock and the Port Mac airport is but a hop, skip and eructation from the marina. The boys drive her to the airport and Curvy runs amuck on the boat in their absence. They return to discover TS tidy and as a result, can’t find anything. The Camry has been returned to Budget Johnny and the Admiral feels they deserve each other.
The remainder of the day sees a little bit of reading, a little bit of lunching and a lottle but of drunking….some resultant afternoon napping and a lot of wobbly blogging. Much music into the evening then the major achievement of the day, the lads happen on a perfect name for their band; “Eric and The Disappointed Superannuants.” We really have to stop checking the ASX while we’re away.
Wednesday 23rd July Port Macquarie
R and R day as we are all feeling a bit exhausted having all this fun.
And today was a new experience for everyone on board. Both bars with which we have a relationship were closed. Taking our morning constitutional to the end of the breakwater ended the argument about whether we do or don’t sail on the morning tide. It was largely settled when we saw 4 metre waves breaking across our escape route. In order to clarify our thinking we repaired to the Royal Hotel for a meeting of the Lords of the Admiralty. Finding the bar didn’t open for another hour and that coffee did not energise our brain cell we returned to the boat for stimulants.
On studying carefully the reconnaissance photographs taken by Curvy it was agreed by a majority verdict that we should padlock ourselves to the mooring. So we sit in the river, our movement restricted by lifejackets and immersion suits having posted the key to the padlock to the Coast Guard. So to paraphrase Scott of the Antarctic we may be some time in the Hastings River.
We amuse ourselves by rehearsing the Twin Spirit Orchestra and organizing tea dances on the poop deck. We haven’t, as yet, sold many tickets but are ever hopeful that this may be the means of sustaining life in the Hastings River given the parlous state of the stock market. Failing this we will be reduced to the six dollar roast at the nearby Panthers Leagues Club. Oh how are the mighty fallen. In fact as I speak the Admiral has just received the account from the RMYC for slipping the boat prior to departure. He’s responding well to smelling salts and I fear that the roast at Panthers might have to be split betwixt the two of us. Thus we suffer the privations of the cruising life. On closer examination, however, the facts seem to suggest that it’s superior to work and at least we’re not annoying the Pope. The Admiral has discovered ‘barcam’ which is the maritime service that shows real time video of various bars up and down the coast. He has left his post at the computer to put an extra padlock on the mooring. The fact that he has thrown the key into the drink suggests that the seas have not noticeably abated.
A leisurely start to the day as Lil doesn’t need to depart for Sydney until eleven o’clock and the Port Mac airport is but a hop, skip and eructation from the marina. The boys drive her to the airport and Curvy runs amuck on the boat in their absence. They return to discover TS tidy and as a result, can’t find anything. The Camry has been returned to Budget Johnny and the Admiral feels they deserve each other.
The remainder of the day sees a little bit of reading, a little bit of lunching and a lottle but of drunking….some resultant afternoon napping and a lot of wobbly blogging. Much music into the evening then the major achievement of the day, the lads happen on a perfect name for their band; “Eric and The Disappointed Superannuants.” We really have to stop checking the ASX while we’re away.
Wednesday 23rd July Port Macquarie
R and R day as we are all feeling a bit exhausted having all this fun.
And today was a new experience for everyone on board. Both bars with which we have a relationship were closed. Taking our morning constitutional to the end of the breakwater ended the argument about whether we do or don’t sail on the morning tide. It was largely settled when we saw 4 metre waves breaking across our escape route. In order to clarify our thinking we repaired to the Royal Hotel for a meeting of the Lords of the Admiralty. Finding the bar didn’t open for another hour and that coffee did not energise our brain cell we returned to the boat for stimulants.
On studying carefully the reconnaissance photographs taken by Curvy it was agreed by a majority verdict that we should padlock ourselves to the mooring. So we sit in the river, our movement restricted by lifejackets and immersion suits having posted the key to the padlock to the Coast Guard. So to paraphrase Scott of the Antarctic we may be some time in the Hastings River.
We amuse ourselves by rehearsing the Twin Spirit Orchestra and organizing tea dances on the poop deck. We haven’t, as yet, sold many tickets but are ever hopeful that this may be the means of sustaining life in the Hastings River given the parlous state of the stock market. Failing this we will be reduced to the six dollar roast at the nearby Panthers Leagues Club. Oh how are the mighty fallen. In fact as I speak the Admiral has just received the account from the RMYC for slipping the boat prior to departure. He’s responding well to smelling salts and I fear that the roast at Panthers might have to be split betwixt the two of us. Thus we suffer the privations of the cruising life. On closer examination, however, the facts seem to suggest that it’s superior to work and at least we’re not annoying the Pope. The Admiral has discovered ‘barcam’ which is the maritime service that shows real time video of various bars up and down the coast. He has left his post at the computer to put an extra padlock on the mooring. The fact that he has thrown the key into the drink suggests that the seas have not noticeably abated.
Monday 21st July Port Macquarie
What a nothing day really, hardly worth mentioning. OK, the stock market slid further into the abyss, war criminals were apprehended in some strange country clinging to Europe’s underbelly and Mortlock was declared unfit for The forthcoming test against the ‘All-Blacks’ but what did we know. Our whole day was spent building anticipation for our Indian nosh at ‘Maharaja’s Tandoori on Sea’ later that evening in salty Port Mac. There was a bit of walking, a bit of talking, some ineffectual dangling of lines or ‘fish feeding’ as the Admiral likes to describe Pam’s attempts at fishing but nothing substantial, save the constant worrying over weather maps with prodigious swells predicted to arrive from the south over the next few days.
The Indian proved well worth the wait, spicy and surprisingly hot for a rural holiday centre. The Vindaloo Prawns were either to die for, or from; the jury is still out. “It’s an education for the western palate!” beamed the Admiral, picking small grains of rice from his goatee. “No wonder there are starving children in India,” said Curvy as she wiped the cucumber and yoghurt dip over her entire face in an attempt to ease the burning sensation.
The dingy ride back to Twin Spirit proved surprisingly uneventful but Pam’s surreal, ethereal, wobbly shots of the full moon rising over the yacht taken on that curious journey, speak both of her unique photographic style and the strength of the locally grown ‘Cassegrain Verdhelo.’
What a nothing day really, hardly worth mentioning. OK, the stock market slid further into the abyss, war criminals were apprehended in some strange country clinging to Europe’s underbelly and Mortlock was declared unfit for The forthcoming test against the ‘All-Blacks’ but what did we know. Our whole day was spent building anticipation for our Indian nosh at ‘Maharaja’s Tandoori on Sea’ later that evening in salty Port Mac. There was a bit of walking, a bit of talking, some ineffectual dangling of lines or ‘fish feeding’ as the Admiral likes to describe Pam’s attempts at fishing but nothing substantial, save the constant worrying over weather maps with prodigious swells predicted to arrive from the south over the next few days.
The Indian proved well worth the wait, spicy and surprisingly hot for a rural holiday centre. The Vindaloo Prawns were either to die for, or from; the jury is still out. “It’s an education for the western palate!” beamed the Admiral, picking small grains of rice from his goatee. “No wonder there are starving children in India,” said Curvy as she wiped the cucumber and yoghurt dip over her entire face in an attempt to ease the burning sensation.
The dingy ride back to Twin Spirit proved surprisingly uneventful but Pam’s surreal, ethereal, wobbly shots of the full moon rising over the yacht taken on that curious journey, speak both of her unique photographic style and the strength of the locally grown ‘Cassegrain Verdhelo.’
Monday, July 21, 2008
Sunday 20th July Port Macquarie
We decided to drive up the coast via Crescent Head to Trial Bay using all the byways and colourful minor roads we could find. Crescent Head is a quaint little seaside village with windswept beaches that stretch on forever, one of Oz’s most famous surf breaks and the best situated caravan park on the coast for the budget traveler. Speaking of budget travelers I should point out that we rented our car from ‘Budget’ in Port Macquarie and that John the Budget man may well be the most tedious fellow we have yet encountered; he could bore for Australia. Just a word of warning for those many people contemplating renting a car on the mid north coast in the immediate future, feign deafness before entering into negotiations with John or try Avis.
Motoring north on ‘Scenic Drive 12’ we arrived at the little town of Gladstone on the Macleay river around 12.15pm which was well after 11.00 am, the time at which the Hamilton Island Yacht Club bar opens; it’s the Admiral and Sparrow’s universal measure of things temporal and their answer to ‘Greenwich Meantime.’ The big fella ever vigilant, inspite of the pain from his ribs (exacerbated by the back seat of the Camry foisted on us by boring Budget Johnnie,) yells out “up there, a pub, I swear I saw a pub, a beautiful old pub. Oh sweet Jesus my heart be still!” (The ‘Pamometer’ registered a 3.7) and Sparrow, similarly excited chucked a wheelie a ‘Lebbo Hoon’ would be proud of and cruised up the side street to discover a very picturesque building superbly situated on the green bank of the Macleay river just as the Admiral suggested; ‘The Heritage Hotel, dear reader, est. 1873.’
From the minute we entered, it was sheer magic, atmosphere out the wazzoo and Coopers Ale on tap! The barmaid recognized The Admiral from his television days inspite of the fact that he’s blown up like a barrage-balloon in the ensuing years. There was amiable banter about the good old days as she pulled three beers and a gin and tonic (Lil drinks like a man) before the barmaid in question, who looked like a man, as most women who remember the Admiral kindly usually do, asked for a photograph. The Admiral happily agreed believing it would get him a discount on the round. We ambled out to the garden past a couple of gnarled old geezers in white and cream 10 gallon hats setting up their guitars and amps for an afternoon of ‘Country Cringe.’ One of the two was dressed in a purple suite with yellow silk neckerchief neatly arranged around his wrinkled neck with a very busy silver clasp holding it all in together. The ladies immediately clocked this gentleman’s most remarkable feature; his teeth…..These were large teeth and alarmingly protuberant. “Shit you could edge pies with those!” Said Curvy in too loud a voice; her insensitivity mitigated only by the man’s deafness. A slight pause and the Admiral finally emerged with the drinks (for which he’d paid full price I might add, never mind the photo opportunity.) He seemed as excited as when he’d first seen the pub. “That orthodontic miracle is Chad Morgan.” He beamed displaying a smile only marginally more attractive than Chad’s. “He must be at least 175 and he's still entertaining, if that’s not too strong a word.” We waited for half an hour to hear Chad play and it turned out that entertaining WAS too strong a word so we took some shots for the blog and scarpered.
For those of you unfamiliar with Chad’s work who feel I might be a little harsh and dismissive might I recommend a recent CD compilation ‘Sheilas, Drongos, Dills and Geezers,’ see what you think.
Next stop South West Rocks for lunch at the ‘Seabreeze Hotel’ looking out to Trial Bay where we hope to anchor on our next push north. We thought it might be nice for Lil to see the bay she'll miss when she flies back to Sydney to help daughter Rosie move into college for the next semester at the Uni of NSW. A few beers and then on to explore the Trial Bay Gaol; a long abandoned penal institution (that’ll be enough snickering from you Sparrow,) perched high a-top a windswept headland overlooking the bay with winds gusting up to 33 knots at the time of our visit, hence our day of driving and discovery and not sailing and surviving. ‘It’s cold as a nun’s nasty,’ The Admiral was heard to shout over the howling of the wind.
Quite an interesting wander through history for any visitor to the coast; imposing foot-thick granite walls, rows of terrifyingly small cells and a modicum of graffiti; some from the period, some left by mindless youths on holidays, none of it as vulgar as the Admirals unfortunate remarks .
Fishing Notes: fish still ahead even with the Admiral and Curvy giving it their best shot at the turn of the tide.
We decided to drive up the coast via Crescent Head to Trial Bay using all the byways and colourful minor roads we could find. Crescent Head is a quaint little seaside village with windswept beaches that stretch on forever, one of Oz’s most famous surf breaks and the best situated caravan park on the coast for the budget traveler. Speaking of budget travelers I should point out that we rented our car from ‘Budget’ in Port Macquarie and that John the Budget man may well be the most tedious fellow we have yet encountered; he could bore for Australia. Just a word of warning for those many people contemplating renting a car on the mid north coast in the immediate future, feign deafness before entering into negotiations with John or try Avis.
Motoring north on ‘Scenic Drive 12’ we arrived at the little town of Gladstone on the Macleay river around 12.15pm which was well after 11.00 am, the time at which the Hamilton Island Yacht Club bar opens; it’s the Admiral and Sparrow’s universal measure of things temporal and their answer to ‘Greenwich Meantime.’ The big fella ever vigilant, inspite of the pain from his ribs (exacerbated by the back seat of the Camry foisted on us by boring Budget Johnnie,) yells out “up there, a pub, I swear I saw a pub, a beautiful old pub. Oh sweet Jesus my heart be still!” (The ‘Pamometer’ registered a 3.7) and Sparrow, similarly excited chucked a wheelie a ‘Lebbo Hoon’ would be proud of and cruised up the side street to discover a very picturesque building superbly situated on the green bank of the Macleay river just as the Admiral suggested; ‘The Heritage Hotel, dear reader, est. 1873.’
From the minute we entered, it was sheer magic, atmosphere out the wazzoo and Coopers Ale on tap! The barmaid recognized The Admiral from his television days inspite of the fact that he’s blown up like a barrage-balloon in the ensuing years. There was amiable banter about the good old days as she pulled three beers and a gin and tonic (Lil drinks like a man) before the barmaid in question, who looked like a man, as most women who remember the Admiral kindly usually do, asked for a photograph. The Admiral happily agreed believing it would get him a discount on the round. We ambled out to the garden past a couple of gnarled old geezers in white and cream 10 gallon hats setting up their guitars and amps for an afternoon of ‘Country Cringe.’ One of the two was dressed in a purple suite with yellow silk neckerchief neatly arranged around his wrinkled neck with a very busy silver clasp holding it all in together. The ladies immediately clocked this gentleman’s most remarkable feature; his teeth…..These were large teeth and alarmingly protuberant. “Shit you could edge pies with those!” Said Curvy in too loud a voice; her insensitivity mitigated only by the man’s deafness. A slight pause and the Admiral finally emerged with the drinks (for which he’d paid full price I might add, never mind the photo opportunity.) He seemed as excited as when he’d first seen the pub. “That orthodontic miracle is Chad Morgan.” He beamed displaying a smile only marginally more attractive than Chad’s. “He must be at least 175 and he's still entertaining, if that’s not too strong a word.” We waited for half an hour to hear Chad play and it turned out that entertaining WAS too strong a word so we took some shots for the blog and scarpered.
For those of you unfamiliar with Chad’s work who feel I might be a little harsh and dismissive might I recommend a recent CD compilation ‘Sheilas, Drongos, Dills and Geezers,’ see what you think.
Next stop South West Rocks for lunch at the ‘Seabreeze Hotel’ looking out to Trial Bay where we hope to anchor on our next push north. We thought it might be nice for Lil to see the bay she'll miss when she flies back to Sydney to help daughter Rosie move into college for the next semester at the Uni of NSW. A few beers and then on to explore the Trial Bay Gaol; a long abandoned penal institution (that’ll be enough snickering from you Sparrow,) perched high a-top a windswept headland overlooking the bay with winds gusting up to 33 knots at the time of our visit, hence our day of driving and discovery and not sailing and surviving. ‘It’s cold as a nun’s nasty,’ The Admiral was heard to shout over the howling of the wind.
Quite an interesting wander through history for any visitor to the coast; imposing foot-thick granite walls, rows of terrifyingly small cells and a modicum of graffiti; some from the period, some left by mindless youths on holidays, none of it as vulgar as the Admirals unfortunate remarks .
Fishing Notes: fish still ahead even with the Admiral and Curvy giving it their best shot at the turn of the tide.
July 20th Port Macquarie on Mooring
Gladstone Heritage Pub 1873…The Admirals find
Admiral and Sparrow pleased to find someone else shares their theory on men’s health.
Chad Morgan look-a-like contest winners, (Imagine Chad’s disappointment on coming second.)
Trial Bay Gaol; Lovely at this time of year.
An effigy of prisoner John Howard (true) at rest in the Trial Bay Gaol. (A model prisoner?)
Gladstone Heritage Pub 1873…The Admirals find
Admiral and Sparrow pleased to find someone else shares their theory on men’s health.
Chad Morgan look-a-like contest winners, (Imagine Chad’s disappointment on coming second.)
Trial Bay Gaol; Lovely at this time of year.
An effigy of prisoner John Howard (true) at rest in the Trial Bay Gaol. (A model prisoner?)
Sunday, July 20, 2008
Saturday 19th July. Port Macquarie
Hired a car and wandered along the coast inspecting various picturesque beaches and doing the Kenny walk as illustrated.
Luncheon was taken at the pub on the water, cocktails aboard neighbouring yacht ‘Norman G’ with Ken, Sue and 7 month old Andrew. They are taking off on an extended cruise for anywhere between 6 months and a year on their very roomy Adams 36.
The evening involved the Wallabies dispatching the Yarpies. This provided so much satisfaction that the Admiral issued extra rum rations for us and also for himself to try and ease the pain when he was jumping up and down over all the excitement of the match. This seems to be keeping the crew in a happy, if occasionally subdued, frame of mind and so far no signs of scurvy. We must however be eternally vigilant against this scourge of mariners. To this end the Admiral insists we eat the occasional curry which he swears by. He insists that his affection for asian cuisine is linked to the fact that he has never ever had the slightest trace of scurvy.
In other news, and in line with the internationally recognized measure of distance a ‘Smoot’ (look it up!), Twin Spirit now recognizes a measure of excitement. This is a ‘Pam’ and ‘one Pam’ is equal to the excited noises Pam produces when she hooks a fish. For example when Doug saw the whale 3 feet off our bow he generated 5 Pams and when we hoisted the spinnaker in 20 knots and couldn’t get it down again, between us we generated 17.5 Pams. At various times during the Wallabies game we got to 16 Pams and would have gone higher had Pam been watching the game.
Saturday 19 July Port Macquarie
Lil astonished other crew members with her intimate knowledge of strange eastern practices including “downward dog” and “greeting the immortal sage with a peach”!!!!
New friends Sue, Ken and 7 month old Andrew, cutest kid on afloat.
Lil having mastered “downward dog” and “presenting the immortal sage with a peach” attempts the” Kenny Walk” for the first time.
Sparrow, Curvy and Lil gathering calories at the Royal Hotel on the banks of the Hastings River at Port Macquarie.
Pre dinner drinks with new found friends on “Norman Gee” and fabulous array of canapés.
Hired a car and wandered along the coast inspecting various picturesque beaches and doing the Kenny walk as illustrated.
Luncheon was taken at the pub on the water, cocktails aboard neighbouring yacht ‘Norman G’ with Ken, Sue and 7 month old Andrew. They are taking off on an extended cruise for anywhere between 6 months and a year on their very roomy Adams 36.
The evening involved the Wallabies dispatching the Yarpies. This provided so much satisfaction that the Admiral issued extra rum rations for us and also for himself to try and ease the pain when he was jumping up and down over all the excitement of the match. This seems to be keeping the crew in a happy, if occasionally subdued, frame of mind and so far no signs of scurvy. We must however be eternally vigilant against this scourge of mariners. To this end the Admiral insists we eat the occasional curry which he swears by. He insists that his affection for asian cuisine is linked to the fact that he has never ever had the slightest trace of scurvy.
In other news, and in line with the internationally recognized measure of distance a ‘Smoot’ (look it up!), Twin Spirit now recognizes a measure of excitement. This is a ‘Pam’ and ‘one Pam’ is equal to the excited noises Pam produces when she hooks a fish. For example when Doug saw the whale 3 feet off our bow he generated 5 Pams and when we hoisted the spinnaker in 20 knots and couldn’t get it down again, between us we generated 17.5 Pams. At various times during the Wallabies game we got to 16 Pams and would have gone higher had Pam been watching the game.
Saturday 19 July Port Macquarie
Lil astonished other crew members with her intimate knowledge of strange eastern practices including “downward dog” and “greeting the immortal sage with a peach”!!!!
New friends Sue, Ken and 7 month old Andrew, cutest kid on afloat.
Lil having mastered “downward dog” and “presenting the immortal sage with a peach” attempts the” Kenny Walk” for the first time.
Sparrow, Curvy and Lil gathering calories at the Royal Hotel on the banks of the Hastings River at Port Macquarie.
Pre dinner drinks with new found friends on “Norman Gee” and fabulous array of canapés.
Saturday, July 19, 2008
Friday the 16th July Laurieton to Port Macquarie
John West caught in the act of rejecting that famous fish while the “Malmo” Male Pelican Choir” lift up their voices and sing his phrases.
Camden Haven River photographed during Lil and Curvy’s 2 hour constitutional.
Curvy and Lil discover that the boys of the Laurieton Coast Guard are not only public spirited, but “fit and well up for it?’.
The Laurieton Services Club where the Admiral and Capt’n Sparrow exercised their elbows whilst the girls exercised their legs. Please note: Those in the Laurieton area come Sept 9th can see the remnants of “Herman’s Hermits” (at least the ones that aren’t too shy come out).
A Howling moon over Port Macquarie.
John West caught in the act of rejecting that famous fish while the “Malmo” Male Pelican Choir” lift up their voices and sing his phrases.
Camden Haven River photographed during Lil and Curvy’s 2 hour constitutional.
Curvy and Lil discover that the boys of the Laurieton Coast Guard are not only public spirited, but “fit and well up for it?’.
The Laurieton Services Club where the Admiral and Capt’n Sparrow exercised their elbows whilst the girls exercised their legs. Please note: Those in the Laurieton area come Sept 9th can see the remnants of “Herman’s Hermits” (at least the ones that aren’t too shy come out).
A Howling moon over Port Macquarie.
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