Limeburner's Creek to Yamba

Pirate Pete with his flagship
moored behind.

After an evening of hits and memories at Limeburner's Creek - courtesy of the local FM radio station and the blasting speakers of a car radio from one of the other campsites. You wonder why some people bother to come out into the bush?

Despite the noise pollution, we managed probably our best night's sleep since leaving Tamworth but woke to the start of what would be a morning of rain. Pack up was simple and quick and we were back on the bitumen, having escaped the dirt out of Limburner's, soon after 8:00am.

We tracked north, on route to Yamba and planned to catch up with Jenny Robinson at Urunga. Jenny is a friend of Sue's from the days of the brown uniforms and smokes in the common room of Armidale High School. We tried for an off the cuff morning tea but arrived too late for it to reach fruition.

We had been delayed by a detour at Macksville, which took as out through Newee Creek. It was here that John Gibbens, father of Sue, bought his first farm. We had looked before in the area to try and find the farm armed only with a few old photographs from Sue's uncle, Wal Gibbens. Wal had been a reluctant helper on the farm at the age of 14, joining his grandmother there to try and help John get established after his return from occupied Japan. Before that, he had been a Commando in New Guinea, among other Pacific theatres of war. This time, we had a land map from the council which Wal had obtained a few years ago, making his enquiries all the way from Western Australia. In fact, the map was in Tamworth and I was working from my head but we saw enough to whittle it down to two. Unfortunately, with rain outside, a caravan behind and no where to turn off the road, the best we could do was a slow flyby. Another trip needs to be scheduled and this time, before the end of the year.

Despite missing out on Jenny's always bright company, we stopped between the bridges at Urunga, beside the Kalang River, at a pleasant waterfront Cafe whose attractions include a great soundtrack of seventies classics and a pirate boat floating just off the starboard bow. The orange mudcake gave me indigestion, as did the tariff.

The rain was easing as we pushed on to reach Yamba by lunchtime.

There awaited that singular pleasure of going to pay the accommodation charges and realising that I did so two months ago! Bonus.

After we set up camp (including the most recent addition of a TV), we went into town for some bits and pieces. I'm not sure if the new bike helmets we had to buy were a bit or a piece but they were substitutes for the ones at home that I forgot to pack, kept, apparently, on the same shelf as the family maps. A definite piece of the action was the arrival at the Post Office of our new credit cards. These were replacements for the ones the bank failed to send us in time before we left ... the same ones I had overlooked at home and got cancelled! It all ended well, which is the main thing. We visited our chocolate overloaded cafe and I reckon I got as much chocolate in a mocha and complimentary truffle as I need for the rest of my life - so much so that my headache started to resurface.

Eventually, we found our way to the Pacific Hotel for our traditional sundowners but someone let a lot of tourists into the room and the noise was too much for my still tender head, so we left after one drink ... mine a lemonade!

TODAY'S PHOTOS

Home, 7:30 on the TV, writing and clearing the 103 notifications on Facebook which had accumulated over the past few days!

Pushbikes off the rack tomorrow and some touring around to be spoke-n about later.

(More photos later as the camera has flat batteries.)

Yamba 2013 - Day 1

Fish & chips for dinner

At times, Sue's incapacity can be awkward. Walking around with a time bomb ready to detonate between L4 and L5 is no easy task. Once carefree and willing to try anything, she lives with the danger of picking up shoes. Not a person easily given to limitation, any constriction is an irritant. Add a heavy cold and rain and her favourite place - yes, even more favoured than a certain European destination - and you have a frustrated wild child, fighting pointlessly with valour toward no end.

Then there's the little piece-picker-upper that is me.

Journeys represent significant workloads when your partner in time can't do much but sit there and look cute. You pack it all up, turn it all off, lock it all down ... drive for six hours with long breaks to allow for rest and recovery ... and then you do the reverse at the other end ... only to discover its raining and you have now caught the edges of the cold she has been snotting, coughing and wheezing up all week ...

... but it's not home, the ocean is out there through the fog somewhere and if you have a second, runaway home, this is it.

We were later than desired leaving Tamworth for a variety of technical reasons and weren't disappearing up the Cockburn River Valley towards Moonbi until most of the morning was spent. The rain which had arrived during the previous evening latched a towing rope to the Forester and tagged along with us for most the journey. A long stop at the roadhouse at Guyra for lunch and frivolous chatting was our first stop. We left well fed and laughing.

Everywhere on the tablelands was wet and cold and miserable. Sue had talked about work for most of the moments of the first leg of the journey to Guyra, so I set the iPod to classic rock and drowned out the background hum, eventually beating difficult personalities, inadequacies in the funding system and the heartbreak of children no one cares for ... etc ... into submission under a 4/4 beat. Deep Purple and Grand Funk Railroad finally put our holiday on the road.

The fog thickened as we headed north west and a departure point from the tablelands at Gibraltar Range NP. In late afternoon light muted by constant rain and fog, the giant ferns took on a deep green glow as the most obvious vanguards of might have been an advancing nature. The road seemed narrower today. Over the leap and down the mountain pass, the road sides closed in dramatically, with two landslides reducing us to a single lane and turn-taking with approaching mountain climbers. On the eastern side of the range, the cloud thinned to sunshine and the fog was frightened away by the warmer coastal air.

Our pace quickened as we met and travelled with the Mann River. Its odd topography makes it appear to be flowing uphill. Its other unusual trait, is being the same river you drive beside when you make the descent of the tablelands along the Old Grafton Road.

The rest of the trip was quick but we sill arrived after sunset. Having rented the same flat for nine years, there's always a comfort in opening the door.

The evening was spent in the company of family in the unit owned by Sue's brother Lance. It's always good to catch up by being in the same room. Despite smart phone, emails and social media keeping us "closer" than in the dark ages of my early adulthood, sitting across the table from an anecdote still rates as the superior experience. For Sue and I, spending some time with nephew John and niece Flick, was the most treasured of these few hours. Strong and independent and both studying law, their sharp minds and courageous spirit is a recommendation for the mother they lost in brutal suddenness only two months ago. As the crazy uncle, I play no favourites but I really enjoy their company. A light shines from both of them.

Bed ... rain ... the sound of an ocean angry that it's not permitted to sparkle ... and a warm doona.