Not much fishing, but...

Greetings,
And welcome back to the increasingly poorly named Fishing Tour Of Oz blog. Jeez, it’s been a while, and lots has happened. Warney, Sadam, Movember, and despite my slackness in updating this blog (sorry) things have still been happening in our little world too, just not much fishing.

I have read somewhere that residents of London are never more than 6 feet away from a rat at any given time, and I think the same thing happens here in Australia only with sharks. They have been a recurring theme, as we shall see.

We pick up our story on the Gold Coast, beautiful sunny day, nice waves, the Tugan beach all to ourselves, and Graz and I are frolicking like sea-otters. I catch a wave and on my way back out I see a large fin about 3 metres from where Graz is bobbing around in the water. I helpfully mention to her that there appears to be a shark behind her and that maybe we should head in to shore. She. Freaks. Out. I think her plan was to convince the shark that another shark had already attacked her and all the good stuff had been eaten already. Funny afterwards though.

We continue on our way to Byron Bay for a rendezvous with four of Graz’s girlfriends, Nessa, Janet, Petra and Michelle who had organised a spectacular house in the hinterland (Bangalow) for a few days. Good food, good wine, good bcompany, swimming in a shark-free pool, sleeping in a real bed, the only low point was the Swannies losing the grand final, and the fact that Byron is pretty touristy these days, eg. $6 to drive up to their lighthouse. Six bucks to see the outside of their stinkin lighthouse. You can’t even have a go of the big light switch.

The girls left for Sydney, and we moved back to the van. Oh well. Down the road a way is the very nice and peaceful Evans Head, and the meat tray I won at the bowlo was the metaphorical icing on the cake.


A few days later and we are in Yamba, which is like a miniature Byron without the bad bits. We are in town for a rendezvous with the Corr family, not the singing sisters but John, Cherry, Tim and Ellen. Yamba is lovely, as was the company. We reluctantly left the van and moved in to their beach-front apartment for a week of beer, golf, Uno, swimming and beer. The view from the apartment was sensational, except when the dolphins and whales were in the way. There were many highlights- learning to cheat at Uno, John and I jumping off the cliffs into the scary bottomless Blue-Pool, Ellen ripping it up in the surf, Tim ripping it up on the guitar, a game of golf amongst the kangaroos, and a memorable skim-boarding session that I am only now recovering from. All good.


You would think that the beach at Yamba sounds like quite a nice place for an aboriginal mission, compared to say Woomera, but they still trashed the place. It is kind of a shame really, especially as it is right on Rocky Laurie Drive, where John, Tim and I payed homage. We were very sorry to see them go, but the Corrs left for Sydney and we moved back to the van. Oh well.
Note to self: never go skim-boarding again.




Next stop, the farm for some of mum’s excellent cooking, then on to Hat Head, a sleepy little coastal town which I think pound-for-pound has the ugliest people in Australia. At the bowlo (no meat tray this time) I saw a woman who was the spitting image of my father, and he is not at all a feminine looking man. Also, Graz pulled a miniature person. He wasn’t a midget, he was just the size and shape of an 8 year old girl. And he was drunk. And stupid. I hope they are happy together.

Seal Rocks on the other hand, has no miniature people or scarily ugly women, just a couple of lovely beaches with some pretty good waves. One morning, when the waves had disappeared, I snorkelled off the point and found myself in the middle of a huge school of salmon. It was like crossing the road during the start of the City To Surf. Also, a sting-ray gave me the evil eye; those things have had such an attitude since the Steve Irwin thing.

We ducked back to Sydney for a few days, days that are to be honest a bit of an alcohol fuelled blur. It was great to catch up with everybody though, and we both really felt like ending our trip early and staying put, but no, we cranked up the rig and once again hit the road. We were rewarded almost immediately with a chance encounter with some sort of South Coast Low Rider ute club. It seems the kids these days like to take their Mazda Bravo ute and rip the suspension out so it drags low on the road. Cool. Oh, and put huge speakers in the back.

I’m sure I don’t need to tell you but a wombat is a pretty solid creature, at least the Kangaroo Valley specimen that used the steps of our van to scratch himself repeatedly certainly was. It was like an earthquake inside the van. Revenge was uppermost in our minds, but the standard method of leaving a flaming bag of dog poo on their doorstep did not seem to bother them at all, and we left, beaten. Our spirits low, we searched for something to lift the moral of the touring party. Two words; Speed Way. Or is that one? I hadn’t been to the speedway since I was kid and Graz had never been so when we saw that Nowra Speedway was running that night it was just too good to pass up. The fender benders were the best, particularly the bloke in the orange HQ Holden with the La Cucaracha horn, who would play it every time he bumped someone off the track. That song just never gets old. A sensational evening’s entertainment.

Narooma is great place, and on the day we passed through also had some pretty good waves, so out I go on the mal. Funny, I am the only bloke out there. These locals are pretty soft, I think to myself, until Graz’s frantic wave from the shore brings me in to the news I wasn’t exactly alone out the back. Yep, more sharks.

Sociable people that we are, we head towards Bermagui for a rendezvous with our friends Ross and Barb who have a lovely little farm just out from Bermi (as we call it now) on the road to Cobargo. Barb spoiled us with her sensational cooking and Rosco showed us how to play darts and even let me mow the lawn with his ride-on mower. I couldn’t find the horn. Later, all of us head back up the coast to Nowra for a weekend of dirt biking with Keels, Tex and Jools. An absolute cracker of a weekend, that only took about 2 weeks to recover from. I'm sure this stuff used to be easier...

end of part 1.

Remember, you can view the whole blog (including the pictures if you don't see them in the email) at http://fishingtourofoz.blogspot.com

later,
Brad & Graz