Mr Whingebago

Mr Whingebago.

We were camped at a picnic ground in The Coopernook State Forest.  It’s a free camp site, accessed by four kilometres of dirt road, sanctioned by the local council for camping for up to three months. There’s not much there.  An acre or so of flat, mown grass, a few clumps of trees and a long drop toilet kept in good repair.  There’s no potable water available so to stay for more than a night or two requires the storage capacity of a van or a mobile home.  It was here we met Mr Whingebago. 

 

It must have been our turn. 

 

As we ate our breakfast cereal we had watched and commented on the tall, skinny, slightly stooped older male going from camping site to camping site.  We’d speculated on what he might be doing. 

 

We matched his “good morning” as he approached.  We’d been told that free camping sites were great places to meet people and so were keen to make his acquaintance.  We soon discovered that Mr Whingebago probably wore out his welcome at every site by inflicting upon them what I will call ‘faux apologetic whinging’.

 

Immediately Mr Whingebago informed us that he owns a Winnebago and, even though every other brand was rubbish and he wouldn’t buy one, Winnebago the company continually disappoints him.  If he had built his Winnebago Leisure Seeker himself he would have done many things a lot differently.  “It’s just sad” he would say, shaking his head at the conclusion of retelling another example of Winnebago’s lack of care/ knowledge/ foresight – of how all the external lockers on all vehicles have the same key or how he and his brother agree that the dust proofing is woefully inadequate, etc.  He had quite a list.  He shook his head a lot. 

 

Jerry (his real name) is a retired toolmaker, which I think is more to the point.  At a guess I’d say he is bored and feels less valuable within himself than he once did.  He is ‘faux apologetic’ because he always prefaces any new example with “I hope you don’t mind me telling you this…” and then laboriously recounts of how he redesigned or remanufactured something on his Winnebago so that it is much better now than how it was originally.  We’d nod, smile, say something like “Thanks, that’s good to know” and then gasp inwardly as he’d launch into complicated descriptions of exactly what we would need to do to initiate the changes he was recommending.  The more he told us, the more he seemed to get on a roll, and the more we wished he’d go away.

 

We remained polite to a fault and waited him out, our headnods becoming less enthusiastic over time.  Eventually, as had to happen given that we now also remained silent, he ran out of words and he left, wishing us well for our journey. 

 

We thanked him for his wishes as he shuffled away, and then laughed to each other as we watched him shuffling in the direction of two people sitting beneath the awning of the vehicle parked nearest to us.  Another Winnebago.   

Blog 1 the first two weeks

BLOG 1

 

As I write this we are camped in a National Park camping area called ‘Delicate Nobby’, a rocky outcrop half way along Goolawah Beach, near Crescent Head.  It is an idyllic place, exactly the type of place I imagine when I see a BCF ad and try to picture myself living as an active outdoor man, leading and active outdoor lifestyle.  It is one of the few National Park areas that permit dogs.  We are excited to be taking Morrissey with us on our big adventure but having him does limit the places we can stay, both free camps and caravan parks.  Anyway, dogs are permitted at ‘Delicate Nobby’ which makes it almost perfect.  I’d love to bring everybody here so you could see the place for yourselves.  I’d like to  watch your reactions on first seeing the place (well, not people who don’t like camping obviously, but I wouldn’t invite them here anyway).  I’ve taken heaps of photos to try and capture some of the beauty and magnificence of the place but I already know that they don’t do it justice.  I’ll now try to paint a picture with words, knowing in advance it will only be a sketch, and that the tools at my disposal (including talent) may be inadequate.

 Imagine a small bay, sand curving like a smile between two rocky headlands.  Now, in the middle of this curve, see an outcrop of rocks, a craggy finger projecting into the bay.  Instead of looking like a smiley mouth it now looks like a cursive lower case ‘w’. Now, from the bottom of the middle stroke until about a third of the way up are wide flats of clean, yellow sand on both sides, each side joining where the outcrop starts jutting out, thereby forming a football field sized flat sanded area.  Around this area there are rock formations of various sizes and, depending on the tide, little coves and sandpools alongside the rock formations closest to the water.  These pools change shape each day depending on how the sand has shifted.

Now see the water.  It is clean and clear and turquoise.  If you walk a little way in and stand still, you can see schools of bait fish swimming around your legs and the occasional shadow of something a little bigger following them.  Not scary big, but big enough to provide a meal should someone have the wherewithal to catch it.  The water is cold upon first entering but dive under once or twice and your body forgets the temperature, preferring to embrace the sensation of being covered by salt water. At this point it’s acceptable to laugh out loud or shout to the sky just for the sake of it. 

 Peeling from each point there are waves well formed for surfing. There are also similar waves breaking on sandbars dotted along the bay. The swell has been small so far but I’ve paddled out a couple of times into fun beach breaks.  They have no real size or power yet, but they do whisper a promise of excitement when the swell picks up.  Here’s hoping we’re still here then.

The campground is behind 10 metres or so of sand dunes.  The path has been laid with timber and weaves past the cold water open showers and drop toilet to the shore end of the dunes.  The campground consists of fairly flat grassed sections and small stands of coastal trees.  There are no marked areas.  You drive in, smile and nod at the person nearest you, and claim your spot.  It was super crowded when we arrived – the place is no secret – but we lucked into a good spot right near the beach entrance.  Everyone walks past us as they head to the beach.  This has been a social boon as most people say something as they pass by, and Shana or I answer back, either to start a conversation or to offer a pithy (hilarious) comment or observation.

 Most people here are either surfers or fishermen or hard edged campers.  This is vastly different from most places we have already stayed at where grey nomads predominate.  We talk with the nomads of course, and they are generally friendly and kind, but there is a world of attitudinal difference between people in their early 50s (me) and people in their late 60s (many of those we have met).  There is the odd elderly camper here, but most are in their 30s, 40s & 50s.  I had a good chat in the surf with a young guy from Cronulla who came here every year as part of a surfing week away with his father and his father’s mates (and sons) .  Sure, it’s all very patriarchal but, being a male myself, it sounded like good parenting to me.

We originally only intended on staying here for two days.  We have changed our minds.  There is nowhere we need to be at any given time and so we’ll probably stay as long as the LP gas holds out, which, given that it powers the fridge, should last about five days.  Or so we hope.  It’s all new to us and this is a good way to discover things like LPG consumption.  The solar panels charge the batteries nicely and so 12volt power for lights is no problem.  We have enough food and water (and I could catch a fish.  Who knows.  Things like that do happen you know).

 

That’s enough for now about ‘Delicate Nobby’.  I will now recount the journey so far, starting at Night 1.  I have chosen nights rather than days because the days can be spent anywhere.  It’s not hard to pull up anywhere for the day.  We had a fantastic day at Lake Cathie, for example, fishing and enjoying the sun, but we didn’t sleep there.  It’s the nights that are important.  It’s the nights that bear the weight of decision.  “ Where shall we sleep tonight?”  is a constant question during the days when we are winging it, not having pre-booked a camping ground. The van is undoubtedly safe and comfortable, but peace of mind comes from where it is parked for the night.

 NIGHT 1 – STUMP & LISA’S HOUSE, ROUSE HILL.

Stump and Lisa had just moved into a new house.  They’d only been there a week.  It’s a lovely home and very large.  The Cartwright family are now ensconced across two levels of contemporary living, with a pool and forest out the back.  We reversed down the long, steep drive (thanks to Stump for his great guiding) and parked blocking off any access to their garage.  We’d worry about that in the morning. Drinking ensued.  Our first night was spent in a slight stupor.

 NIGHTS  2 & 3 – TOOWOON BAY CARAVAN PARK.

That we were starting a trip around Australia on the Central Coast was bizarre for me.  The Central Coast provided the backdrop for many of the exploits committed by The Ornery 7. We were Westie surfie wannabes and spent every weekend, summer and winter, for two years, holed up somewhere on the Central Coast.  We’d slept in cars, on beaches, in caravans owned by parents of friends (usually only for one night – we were a rowdy bunch). We’d surfed at most of the beaches, rode skateboards down most of the hills and struck out at most of the pubs.   I’d never stayed at the Toowoon Bay Caravan Park before, but there were many, many adventures I could recount that involved Shelley Beach, the beach overlooked by the caravan park.  As it turned out, the Toowoon Bay Caravan Park was a perfect place to get to know the van.  The area was familiar, (if somewhat hazy in memory), and it satisfied each aspect of what we seek on the North Coast NSW leg of our journey – dog friendly, on a surf beach and moderately priced.  We had three beautiful, sunny days there, complete with good, rideable surf. We had a site directly overlooking the ocean and Morrissey could run free along the beach.  It was a very nice start.  Shana and I give this place 3 ½ stars out of five.  It was overcrowded which probably contributed to the poor water pressure in the showers.

 

 NIGHT 4 – NOBBY’S BEACH CAR PARK, NEWCASTLE.

We had to make one last check on the house.  It was being professionally cleaned and we just wanted to check for ourselves that everything was clean and in good order. I guess we could have trusted the real estate agent who was renting it out but, really…?  Who knows what real estate agents will tell you?  That meant spending a night in Newy, which is no great chore.  We both love Newcastle.  We didn’t want to park in front of the house though – there is little romance or adventure in that.

 Nobby’s carpark  met our criteria.  Dog beach, tick, surf, tick, cheap (free), tick tick.  To my knowledge it has never been officially sanctioned by Newcastle council, but the carpark on the harbour side at Nobby’s Beach always has camper vans parked there over night.  In fact, there’s an old converted coaster bus that has been there for months, complete with wizened old crusty guy.  Nobody gets moved on. Nobody gets hassled by the police.

 The problem with Nobby’s carpark for us was that it was a Thursday night.  Thursday night in Newcastle is the start of the weekend for car hoons.  Car hoons love to make their cars sound noisy.  Even when the car is cruising at a slow speed a car hoon’s car will thump and thump and thump and thump and thump on and on and on into the distance.  It’s a low bass thump that rattles your bones and rouses you from your sleep.  For some reason, car hoons like to cruise their thumping cars in the small hours of the morning.  I like to be asleep at exactly the same time.  The two things are incompatible.  Why they choose to do so around Nobby’s car park is a mystery.  Maybe it is to impress the sleeping international tourists in their rented Wicked campers and Maui vans.  I doubt it impresses them though.  It didn’t impress us.  We had a poor night’s sleep, although it was pleasant to wake up and watch the harbour come to life through the back window.  Shana and I give this place 2 ½ stars out of five.  It was noisy and, well, it’s a carpark.

 NIGHTS  5, 6 & 7 – WENONA CARAVAN PARK, MANNING POINT.

One problem with a trip like this is that we have to guess, or hope, that the places we choose to stay  actually bear a resemblance to how they’ve been advertised, or how our imagination has constructed them.  If we’ve never been there before then obviously we have no personal experience to gauge things by. So, no matter how much research we do, no matter how much we trawl the net and consult the library we’ve brought with us, there remains a requirement of faith and trust.

 The ‘Wenona Caravan Park’ ticked all our boxes.  It was positioned on a spit between the Manning River and the ocean, dog friendly and, perhaps this was the deal sealer, offering three nights stay for the price of two.  To have a free night in a caravan park sounded good to us. Caravan parks provide hot showers, power and sneaky kiosks selling chocolate and ice cream.  We budget each week to stay in caravan parks no more than five nights out of the seven.  To score a night free, well that  was an enticing deal indeed.

 I’d only walked five metres before I got bitten by mosquitoes. I’d got out of the van and walked to the reception area and already had three itchy red welts behind my right knee. This set the tone for the whole stay. 

 The ‘Wenona Caravan Park’ has been built in and around a heavily wooded bushland setting.  It offers many more shaded areas than ones offering light and sunshine.  And, like much of Northern NSW, recently Manning Point has been subjected to torrential rain and flooding.  The combination of the two factors led to the gathering of more mozzies than I have ever previously encountered in one place.  They followed you everywhere.  Even in full sun they buzzed and swarmed around undeterred.  We needed a survival ritual  - morning, noon and sunset we coated ourselves in thick, sticky insect repellent and then sought out the least infested spots.  One was the beach, although it was long and open and windswept with no discernible banks for surfing.  The body board stayed in its bag. 

 

 Another relatively safe place was the river, where the caravan park owned a jetty.  To this jetty we escaped often, mainly to cast a line seeking dumb, suicidal fish.  We both had some success, both of us catching little tiddler fish that, despite Morrissey’s bemused attempts to befriend them, had to go straight back.  I did manage to land a couple of legal sized flathead that were quickly filleted, prepared, fried and eaten as a nice little entre to our main meal. (Can hacking along the side of a fish with a totally inappropriate knife realistically be termed ‘filleting’?  In my blog it can.)   We weren’t that sad to leave Manning Point.  The money we saved with our one free night was almost all spent on ‘Bushmans’ and calamine lotion.   Shana and I give this place 2 ½ stars out of five.  It had great showers and the fishing was fun, and at a different time it may have been great, but there were so many mozzies.  I still have bumps on my arms a week later.

 

NIGHT 8 – COOPERNOOK STATE FOREST

We have a copy of ‘Camps Australia 7’, which describes itself as ‘the ultimate guide for the budget and freedom conscious traveller’.  It’s very comprehensive.  We trawl through it at night, seeking the elusive free sites that meet the rest of our criteria.  We discuss the merits of sites that seem to appeal and, occasionally, one of us is so taken by a site that we refuse to accept any possibility of not going.  The Coopernook State Forest had that effect on Shana.

 

There’s nothing there really.  Following four kilometres of dirt road brings you upon an open, well maintained grassy area the size of four football fields.  It has a long drop toilet and a helicopter pad (I kid you not).  Of course this area is surrounded by state forest and all the animals and birds that live within.  There was nothing there, but it was gorgeous.

 

It was our first taste of ‘free camping’.  Many advocates of free camping are very vociferous.  They hate caravan parks, hate being told what to do, hate the regimented grid like patterns that force people to park parallel to each other.  In their magazines and on their web sites they revel in the friendly manner and ‘brotherhood’ that can only be found at free camping sites.  Without yet accepting their hyperbole, initially we found it to be true.  People wandered over to have a chat, or talked with you if you wandered past where they were camped.  This was not always a good thing (see character sketch ‘Mr Whingebago’), but it was interesting and engaging.  We could have happily stayed another night at least but we had already made bookings to go to our next stop.  Shana and I give this place 3 stars out of five.  It offered very little, and that was its attraction and its charm.

 

NIGHTS  9, 10, 11 AND 12 – BONNY HILLS CARAVAN PARK.

Shana and I both love Bonny Hills Caravan Park. We’d been there before.  It was recommended to us years ago by Tom, the GA at The Junction School.  We couldn’t believe that it would be as ideal as he described it.  It is. 

 

It sits on the headland overlooking Rainbow Beach and every site has a view of the ocean.  This trip the sites we wanted had already been booked so, after having to move once because we’d read the site markers incorrectly and had actually parked half across a reserved space, we camped off to one side in an area by ourselves.  As we told the people who arrived to find their site being half used, and after they’d squashed in and told us that we could pretty much stay where we were, “we don’t go camping to make it feel like living in the city.  We want space around us”.  So we relocated to a pretty spot beside a grove of melaluca trees.  This meant that our view of the ocean wasn’t as expansive or spectacular as we would have initially chosen, but we felt nestled in our tree fringed spot, and we could still see the ocean, just not the surf break.

 Bonny Hills provided a couple of days of good surf in which I had fun.  Apart from surfing, the days were generally spent swimming and relaxing, with morning and evening walks with Moz along the length of the beach.  It would have been paradise had it not been for the tenacious colonising abilities of little black ants.

 Shana noticed them first.  She discovered a trail of them brazenly tracking across an overhead cupboard.  She traced them to a window, which led her outside.  Outside revealed highways of the little bastards virtually traversing the whole upper side of the van.  A prolonged hunt ensued, with clusters (nests, gatherings, gangs, terrorist cells) of them discovered in the main door cavity, the upper left hand top window, and under the bonnet near the engine.  Luckily the food cupboard had escaped notice – so far.  Ant genocide was the only answer.  Living creatures they may be, but not for long if we could help it.  We threw environmentalist caution to the wind as we unloaded a whole can of surface spray upon them, wielding it like a light sabre on any ant we saw.  We monitored the situation for a day until we left our spot near the trees, wary about the success of our efforts, hoping we were not transporting an advance party to a new location.  Shana and I give this place 4 stars out of five.  We deducted a point because the shower block is old and decorated in depressing tones of drab brown.  It is a shower block to wear thongs in. A new amenities block is supposed to be being built commencing May.

 

NIGHTS 13 & 14 – FLYNN’S BEACH CARAVAN PARK, PORT MACQUARIE.

Like Bonny Hills, Shana and I like Port Mac and have had some great holidays in various places around the area.  We’d never been to Flynn’s Beach Caravan Park though.  We had been to Flynn’s Beach before, but we always favoured the more cosmopolitan (backpacker) feel of Town Beach over Flynn’s family and picnic basket vibe.  But, with Morrissey every bit as exacting as a child (well, almost), and with budget concerns tempering our daytime activities and spending, Flynn’s Beach loomed as our go to destination.  It wasn’t a pleasant stay.

 It wasn’t really anybody’s fault.  It’s just that the caravan park at Flynn’s Beach is constructed in a dip (a depression?) and is surrounded by towers of brick box holiday units.  Not much breeze can squeeze its way through at ground level and so the place is very hot, the air hanging limp and still. We constantly felt constrained by the place, overtaken by an uncomfortable restlessness of continuously wanting to be somewhere else.   Flynn’s Beach itself is almost a kilometre away requiring a trudge up one steep hill to immediately go down another. (Returning requires that you trudge up one steep hill to immediately have to go down another).   Admittedly it’s not a great distance or an arduous walk but it was enough to make me feel like we weren’t really camped by the beach, but rather in somebody’s back yard.

 

This feeling of being camped in a back yard was compounded by our site being beside the permanent resident area of the park.  Our main view, the view we had from sitting beneath our awning, was of a beige lattice fence 5mtrs away.  And behind that fence was a white car, and behind that car the steps that lead to the front door. We know.  We sat outside a lot. It wasn’t all bad though. The park did have a large grove of tall native trees that provided a home to various colourful birds – lorikeets, rosellas, parrots.  These birds primarily played happily in the canopy above where the tents could set up.  It was nice to walk beneath the canopy housing these birds. It was a nice sensory bridge between our campsite next to the lattice fence and the uphill trek to the beach.  Shana and I give this place 2  stars out of five.  We are probably marking it a bit harshly as the shower block was well kept and the water plentiful and hot, but we must stay true to our original reaction .

 

NIGHTS  15, 16, …., ….. DELICATE NOBBY CAMPGROUND, GOOLAWAH BEACH

Watch this space.