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.