Mon, 20th Apr, 2015 Swimcart Beach Campground, Bay of Fires Conservation Area

6.30am up for the sunrise. 7.5 degrees – just a bit chilly!!!

No wind so it was just lovely to sit outside in the sunshine for breakfast. Alfresco style as Grandad says. Had warmed to 10 degrees in the sun!! I put the thermometer in a cup of water from the van and it registered 7.6 degrees.

Feeling warm and energetic we put on some shorts, still a cardy though and headed for a walk along the beach, barefooted!!

That was a mistake – the sand must be 5 degrees. We lost all feeling in our feet as we trudged along. It is soft sand and not easy walking. Looking up at our van.

Looking north.

Then south to Binalong Bay.

I thought the sea water might be warmer – wrong again.

The water is so clear. There is a gutter so the small waves get a curl up – looks great in the photo like it is a huge surfing wave.

A group of seagulls flew.

Late for a CWA meeting obviously.

Cute little bird.

By the time we got to the southern end our feet still hadn’t warmed up!! Rocky outcrop.

This is definitely paradise if only it was a lot warmer!! Looking back up Swimcart Beach.

Zoomed in on the rock formation right up the northern end of the beach.

Last night we saw the Eddystone Lighthouse in the north. I had zoomed in on Binalong Bay when we were at the Lighthouse a couple of weeks ago. It is just a stick in the distance.

Climbed up over the rocky outcrop to another camping area called Jeanneret Beach. It is only a small beach and camping area.

The rocky point between Swimcart and Jeanneret Beaches.

Walked back along the roadway to try and warm up our feet. A Qld motorhome was packing up – it was a hire one and they were from Melbourne. He offered his wood to us so will got back after they leave and collect it. Wandered back down the beach to chat with a couple who were fishing. They can catch salmon, mullet, sharks, skate and flathead and a type of mackerel. He was using squid and mussels but they weren’t having much luck.

The others left so Steve went back for the timber – he had only left one bit. Weird, why bother to offer if he wasn’t leaving much!!

I did some baking – anzac cookies, date slice and savoury muffins. Steve chopped his wood up ready for dinner in the bushcooker tonight. Did I say that we don’t keep the butter in the fridge down here!!

Had some lunch then walked up the road to the day area. There were heaps of rubbish bins because of the fishing competition here on the weekend. The poor garbage man was trying to empty them with his truck but they were too close together so we helped out. Kept going along the beach. Only a few campers left now. Wandered down to where a creek is – used to get to the sea at one time but there is a big sand dune in its road now.

Steve decided to wash his feet – bad idea, it was even colder than the sand.

Looking south along the beach.

Steve’s turn to try out the seawater temperature. Only a fraction warmer.

Kept walking around the rocky outcrop to another small bay. Chatted with a couple fishing there. He said that a lady won the competition with a lot of small fish giving her the biggest total weight. She had been using worms she pumped from near the oyster farms. He had his line out and his dog sits watching the rod and barks if he gets a bite.

Over some more rocks to another smaller bay. Found some mussels in the sand so will use them later.

Back to our beach and we found where the kids had been busy.

Steve cracked open the mussels and we went down to try our hand surf fishing. Not the most exciting – I can see why everyone has them stuck in the sand and just wait for the fish to take the line!!

Zipped up my jacket so time to head back and put some warmer clothes on as the sun goes down. Lovely evening by the fire, listening to the waves and looking at the stars. Saw one satellite and Steve saw a falling star.

Rang Mum and Dad for a chat. Then tried Katelin for her birthday but she was out so had a chat with Greg. Rang Rochelle to see how she is going and that all is well at Tuckshop after the holidays.

Malcolm rang to see how we are faring – it was -3 degrees in Westbury this morning. We are planning on going back there to stay at the end of May so I think the heater will be going all day!!

Read a Bush Poetry book, Malcolm’s dad, Geoff Lee leant us. Loved this one about caravanning by Bob Magor.

Caravanning Bliss

‘There was movement at the station’ so wrote down a famous man,

But how did the Banjo know this? P’raps he towed a caravan.

Perhaps Banjo had been woken in a van park from his sleep,

Some two hours before the sunrise by strange noises from the deep.

All the ‘Erk, erk, erk’ of van legs being screwed up in the dark,

As the first nocturnal trav’ler starts to wake the sleeping park.

Then just like a feral mating call some others answer back,

With their ‘Erk, erk’ flaming chorus as the first start down the track.

Ev’rything they pack’s metallic and it clatters, bangs and dongs,

As they bark out loud instructions amid hollow clacks of thongs.

Now it’s best to warm your motor if you’re leaving in the dark,

Especially if it’s diesel and jackhammers all the park.

Because now it’s time to hook on and you hear the circus start,

‘More left – not right – I said this way you pig-headed deaf old fart!

‘And how dare you call me brainless you ungrateful senile drone –

If you don’t want my directions do it on your bloody own!’

And by now the doors are slamming just to finish off the show,

‘Are you sure you turned the gas off!’ you yell out, ‘Just bloody go!’

Because now it’s almost daylight and the camp picks up the pace,

As these geriatric gypsies all begin their morning race.

For the next park is their target where like metal ants they flock,

For the first in gets the best shade and a close ablution block.

But for us still vainly sleeping we just toss and kick and turn,

Who said holidays are restful? Beauty sleep is what we yearn.

But there’s miles of zippers zinging as the tents all fold to go,

And there’s campervan doors grinding as they whizz bang to and fro.

And there’s neighbours out there yelling ‘Looks another nice day Fred’,

And you think, ‘It would be better if you mob were still in bed!’

You can’t beat ‘em so you join ‘em in this hyperactive spree,

For the laundry’s now in full swing throbbing like a DC3.

To the bathroom men are walking holding buckets with a lid.

While discussing ageing prostates and comparing what each did.

Then a rotten kid starts whinging and will not do what he’s told.

‘Bring back the lash’, you yell out, ‘it worked fine in days of old!’

All this action makes you thirsty so you start to lift a lid,

Then he comes from out of nowhere – the eternal Outback kid.

He’s a clone of Harry Butler, Malcolm Douglas rolled in one.

He has fished and climbed and driven ev’ry track under the sun.

And he brags about his conquests twice around the bush and back.

Though you half-suspect his tinny has been welded on his rack.

For this man is a fanatic, he has travelled ev’rywhere.

After half an hour’s earbashing you sure wish he still was there.

‘Cause now in the park it’s show-time, magic moments all can share.

You prepare for entertainment as you grab a beer and chair.

For here come the new arrivals with the wives all looking terse.

You thought leaving was a hassle – well arriving’s ten times worse.

‘Cause hand-waving female logic with male thinking won’t compute.

So a jack-knife on the van site soon erupts in hot dispute.

It’s as good as any circus, wife and husband on attack,

As spectators in their deckchairs watch the rigs shunt up and back.

For there’s trees and shrubs to back through and a water tap of course.

Then the happy couple unhook, mostly ending in divorce.

Then in come the tourist buses with their worn out frazzled crew,

And they bail out almost running for they all have jobs to do.

Then a canvas city rises built with hammers’ echoed clacks,

From the old girls driving tent pegs like they’re laying railway tracks.

Then it’s 8pm, cheap phone calls, there’s a rush to all get through,

There’s three phones for ninety people and you’re last one in the queue.

With the callers always yelling ‘cause their homes are far away,

Forcing half the park to eavesdrop on each word they have to say.

Telling all about the weather and adventures they’ve been through,

Then they swap and start repeating from the others’ point of view.

Then the lights dim on the campground and a gentle hush then falls,

‘Cept the drone of rasping snoring through each caravan’s thin walls.

And you drift in gentle slumber as sweet dreams flit through your brain.

Till at 5am there’s ‘Erk, erk, erk’ Hell, here we go again!