F&F Tour, Days 4-6 - Iluka

The mighty Clarence River.

Almost every year since 1994, we have - mostly in family groups - returned to the area of Sue's childhood. 

Sue was born in Maclean, when the family of six and nine years later seven, lived on 35 hectares of dairy farm on Woodford Island. I  was the same farm her father, John Gibbens, was sent to as a 14 year old. Raised by his grandmother in the Blue Mountains behind Sydney, his teenage years were starting to unravel into a skein of ragged wool which the local policeman was concerned might never be knitted into a suitable adult garment. So with the assistance of a Lawson shopkeeper with dairy farm "up north", John was relocated to the early morning starts and long days providing milk to an Australia on the escalation to another world war. At 19, he enlisted and was soon rewarded for his fitness, his accuracy with a rifle and he's penchant for thinking and and acting outside the square, with a spot in the newly formed Independent Companies ( a year or so later the Australian Commando Squadrons). He vowed to the pre-six o'clock swill as he left his last empty glass on the bar of the Brushgrove Hotel, to buy the Roberts Creek farm when he retuned.

He did, seven years later and after seeing service in New Caledonia, New Guinea, Borneo and the occupation forces in Japan. A few years back at Roberts Creek and a lovely young lass from Yorkshire opened a gate for him and his horse and soon enough accompanied him to St Jude's at Brushgrove on their wedding day. Sue has wonderful memories of milk moustaches from creamy milk fresh from the cow and climbing trees for solitude; and floods and snakes being chased from the watery loungeroom by her mother armed with a broom and a terrifying anger at these slithery Satans for threatening the safety of her children.

Later, when the farm no longer was the land of milk and honey, they moved to Yamba and lived, the seven of them, in a two room cottage opposite the then Yamba docks. Sue still values the experience of starting the fire for the chip heater but not the long drop dunny. On the farm they at least had a septic tank and a flushing loo! She recalls her brother Lance gorging himself on oysters from above the low tide mark when the dock was drained and her early teenage years carting her surfboard to Main beach and admiring the clubbies whose mid teen years fooled her into thinking manhood had arrived.

These are the rich memories all of those family get togethers since have invoked.

In order to meet the requirement of "new digs", we stayed across the mouth of the Clarence at Iluka. Its like Yamba only on a very dull afternoon ... when the shops are closed ... and its raining. Nice enough park with friendly staff but crowded and our spot shared a boundary with the park's neighbours who were noisy, unfriendly and gave the impression of not really being in touch with their circumstance or even, come to think on it, reality.

*****

Lunch at the Brushy.

On the way to Iluka, we stopped off to have a cuppa with one of Sue's oldest and dearest friends, Lynne, who has lived west of Grafton, on a farm, for most of her adult life. Their memories date back as far as primary school and devon sandwiches and tomato sauce when Lynne lived not far from Sue's favourite haunt, Main Beach, Yamba. They have a rich history which age, distance and time seem unable to separate. If we needed to be reminded of the import of this tour, a cuppa and a chat with Lynne provided the necessary underlining. 

Not done with diversions, we detoured to Brushgrove and lunch at the pub - the very same Sue's Dad had made the scene of his triumphant promises in 1941 - and a chance encounter with a local bloke, Barry Freeman, who remembered the family from the 1950's and 60's. He knew the farm and its subsequent history, halfway along what is Gibben's Lane.

*****

Climbing the stairs to the
Iluka Bluff lookout.

Regardless of the park's surroundings in Iluka, we had three pleasant enough nights there. On the first day, unable to ride the bikes, we drove to Iluka Bluff which lies to the north, about halfway to Woody Head. Its always a good view from the viewing platform and the associated cliffs which provide a backdrop to the rock platform below. Lots of birdies in the bushes and white-capped waves pushing on past on their blow from the southeast. We closed the day out with a walk along the Iluka Bay foreshore as the sun dropped into the sugarcane fires to the west. It happened to be the last day of a month long campaign of walking and raising money for the Black Dog Institute which my knees and various generous other supporters had helped me through. 180kms and $5,200 later, the sunset seemed a fitting reward.

Click here for photos of our stay.

On the second day, we traveled the long way back around to Yamba after initially planning to ride the pushbikes - via a ferry ride - to and around Yamba. A few niggles and un upset stomach changed our mind. Of course it was straight to Main Beach for the ailing mermaid to renew her gills in the  surf there. As always, I was content with a comfortable seat and a book in the shade, well above the sand.

Coffee, ice cream, hot chips - all the essentials, really, of a day in Yamba.