Hamilton

Greetings,
Chips. The world loves chips. If it doesn't come with chips you are not eating a meal, you are just fooling about. Chips, you complete me. Even
armed with this knowledge Graz is somewhat taken aback to find her thai green curry from the local Tully Heads restaurant comes served with the yellow sticks of happiness. Foolish woman. Next she will be complaining about the cask moselle, which like the grey nomads seems to have migrated north for its final years.

Tully Heads is still our home, and despite what my preamble might suggest we
are enjoying it. The elderly faces are starting to take on recognisable
characteristics, so we can say "g'day Bob" or "evening Pearl" with some
confidence that that is indeed their name, and we are enjoying the company
of our new friends Alan and Carlene and Ken and Marlene. It is tempting to
stay put and constantly feel young but we have a date to meet some old/young
friends Phil and Sheree on Hamilton Island, they being there for some
mucking about with yachts, so down the coast we head, sans caravan, for a
couple of days.


It is great to see friends again, and to be honest, young people. And it is not just me who is struck (figuratively) by all the bare flesh and beautiful
people around - Graz returns from a trip to the chemist all flushed from the encounter. You know how these pretty-boy chemists are.

Phil has kindly wrangled us a spot on the 50' yacht he and Sheree are on for the big Whitehaven Beach Party, which is a great day.

Picture a normally deserted pristine white sandy beach in the middle of the whitsundays. Now
picture it with hundreds of yachts moored off it and thousands of revellers getting drunker and pinker on it. There is the usual horde of poms but we have a great time anyway. Graz even climbs the mast in the bosuns chair.

The following day we sadly bid farewell to Phil and Sheree and head back up the coast, stopping for lunch at what I think is the only reason to visit Bowen, namely the fish shop. Damned good home made fish cakes. Later that night we receive word via drunken text that Phil's boat has won its race and they are into their seventh bottle of Moet. As usual, our timing sucks.

The weather has started to improve to the extent that after a couple of days
we head off shore in the little tinny to chase some mackerel between the
islands. It takes us a while to locate Secret Spot (in between I catch a
huge suckerfish) but when we do it is all happening. Three big fish the
first day, six the second. The water is glassy and crystal clear, 28
degrees, no wind, and the only noise to be heard is the scream of the reel
as the fish makes another long run and the giggling of the two gibberers on board. Graz catches the biggest fish but it is a great day anyway... We only keep three fish but that still amounts to about 8 meals-worth for two. The remains are fed to the local pelicans.





But without a doubt the highlite of the week is the $2 glass of tawny port served in a coke glass at the weekly darts night. It was a good as you can imagine.

later,
brad and graz

ps. if you feel like it please write to us, grazgarrett@hotmail.com or bradreeson@gmail.com