Eventually we moored in a quiet, lovely green water area. I was especially taken with the
colours along the cliffs.
Everyone admired this elegant boat.
Lunch consisted of smoked oysters
and champagne, in honour of Jane's birthday I guessed, followed by shrimp and French bread,
followed by crackers and brie cheese. I believe there was some other dish forgotten at home, but I thought there was plenty and I certainly had my fill. I was just pleased that others were just as greedy about the brie as I, because I'd probably eat one alone given the chance.
These ducks lived in hope.
I was really taken with Jan's shirt. It had a lovely print of pen and watercolour figures and French words, some of which Jane could translate. We never worked out what it was all about but I was particularly intrigued by the man's bare behind on the back. I don't think Jan knew that was there. Poor woman, I wonder if she'll ever wear that delightful shirt again! If not, she could always send it over to me.
There were a number of other boats in the little bay where we pulled up. If they were fishing, I think we talked and laughed so much we pretty much ruined their chances.
Eventually, we headed back to the docks. There were a squillion sail boats out; Bruce said they always raced back about this time. I took many pictures of this particular one because I was impressed at how dramatically it leaned.
We quickly disembarked with the help of these clever little wheelbarrows and went our separate ways.
Many thanks to Jan and Bruce for a lovely day out at Pittwater.
Some time before we travelled from England, Jane had e-mailed asking how we were with boats. They had an invitation for a day out on a boat with their old friends, Bruce and Jan, during our stay. We thought that sounded just fine.
As Jan is originally from England, I had thought she and Jane were the connection between the two couples, but turns out that Bruce and Chris go back to their time in London in the 1970s, where Jane met Chris. After raising their children in the same Sydney suburb as Chris and Jane, Bruce and Jan sold up and moved a bit north to one of the cliffs overlooking Pittwater. That is where we went boating.
I wasn't sure what we'd got into when I saw this
fine example of Aussie humour, but fortunately our boat was much larger and very luxurious.
Rather like an RV on water, it had every
miniature mod con one could think of including a neat fold out fishing bench on the back and, since we were in Australia after all, an outdoor BBQ and sink.
The weather was a mixed bag and slightly cool, but blue water and sunshine seemed to win the balance.
There were lots of boats in the marinas
and lots of houses overlooking the water. 'Lots' or even 'squillions' doesn't begin to describe the numbers of boats in this area. For a better idea, go up to the link about to Pittwater and click the + until you see the dotted Swiss print that is this harbour. I'm sure that one of those water meteors is Bruce; he does love his white wake!
Not long after we set off, we took a short break and Jan produced hot drinks, carrot cake and blueberry muffins.
When I came down the next morning Chris and Bill were already hard at work chopping away at the bank of soil and rock next to the driveway. Chris wanted to create a gully for rain and mud to be channelled around the curve to the road below. Seems he wanted to keep his new drive nice and clean (and un-slippery).
They were excited and sent me hurrying off to get my camera. Seems they'd dug out several scorpions and funnel web spiders. Neither is good news as far as I'm concerned.
Observe the carefully chosen health and safety clothing designed to protect one from poisonous insects, skin cancer causing sun or other pick and shovel injuries.
Yes, that is a topless (obviously cherished) hat on a bald man.
Seems they had a 3rd crew member, a hungry kookaburra, supervising their work from a tree overhead.
He was completely fearless, swooping in on their work to gobble down any tasty morsels their digging uncovered, then returning to his perch to watch. They barely managed to save this
scorpion long enough for me to snap it; this spider wasn't on the menu, however, as it was already dead. Only the live ones would do for our gourmet hero.
(If you are really into critters, you can click on the picture to get a closer look).
Later, Jane told me a story about her daughter who was at a wedding feast hosted in an open sided tent. Jen was talking and gesturing, waving a chicken leg in her hand. Only it was suddenly gone, having been snatched away by a kookaburra who dived through the open gazebo to help himself to what she inadvertently offered.
I figure our digging supervisor probably saved Bill's life about a dozen times, at least. In spite of their habit of cackling loudly at about 4 am, the kookaburra has become my very favourite bird.
When we were last over in Australia, I think maybe it was in 2003 or 2004, Chris and Jane had recently purchased their place at Avoca Beach, an hour or so north of Sydney in the car.
Their house isn't right on the beach, but about a 10 minute walk down a hill. It isn't so much a house but a tri-plex, if there is such a word, with 1 large and 2 smaller 2 bedroom apartments. All have their own living / kitchen areas, bathrooms of course, and open onto a balcony (two of the 10 squillion).
The larger unit has two sitting areas, one with fireplace
a large kitchen and a laundry area in the bathroom.
I gather that these are second homes for most people in the area. In addition to Chris and Jane going up many long weekends and being joined by friends, it is also used by their 3 kids for various occasions.
It sounds as though the neighbours' houses don't get used nearly so often and so it is relatively quiet, except for the noise of building work. There has been plenty of work going on at their place as well.
Building work -- even noise aside -- is always a major pain; I know, as we are having some done even as I write (more about this later). Chris and sons have done enormous renovations themselves, but Chris had recently had a new driveway put in and he was anxious to go see how it turned out. It's a very steep drive and, before the new surface, very slippery when wet.
I was anxious to see what they'd done with the wall paper in the small flats. It was the kind that you love to visit but might not want to live with. Fortunately, as everyone was so struck by the 60's psychedelia, Jane decided to save some, or if not she saved sheets to frame and hang.
Bill was willingly press ganged into helping rescue the telephone wire from a tree branch. This involved climbing around on the big balcony in ways that frightened Jane; I just didn't watch. Fortunately, all went well, particularly as Chris had more projects in mind for Bill.
Jane had to return to Sydney to teach her English-as-a-second-language class the next day. Chris took her to the train station and Bill and I took a walk on the beach, copying Jane and Chris' usual pattern for morning and afternoon when they are there. I took many pictures, though it was another disappointingly dull day and everyone was bundled up against the cold.
At one end of the beach is a rock-enclosed area sheltered enough for children to paddle when the tide is in. Beyond that the rock shelf continues around the headland and one finds fishermen and cross-legged computer users meditating on the normally green sea. The patterns on the rocks there are sufficiently unusual and intriguing that I'm certain many photographers have been enthralled. Simon and I have hundreds of snaps between us, I would bet.
In my genealogy research I discovered a cousin, Ellen, who became Sister Mary Camillas and taught at Sacred Heart Mission in Avoca, Oklahoma, a place name I'd never seen before. Her elder brother (my great-grandfather) was an ironstone miner in Dalry, Scotland. When we walked along the rock shelf at Avoca Beach, Australia, Bill pointed out the seam of ironstone that added to the interesting pattern of the rocks.
It seems an amazing coincidence until one considers that Avoca is also a name in Ireland, that Australia was settled by convicts from Britain, that being poor and indebted was a crime and that the Irish were amongst the poorest of the lot. Mining is one of Australia's main industries. This all just reminded me how very lucky I am to get to travel to see and ponder these 'coincidences'.
We had lunch at the local chippy there at Watson's Bay (hmmm, 5 posts; I've made a real meal of that day out -- and a pun just now, I think? Sorry).
It was highly recommended by one of Chris's sisters and whilst I would say that the fish was very nice, Bill and I are accustomed to a much thicker, crunchier batter. Also, Bill didn't think to bring salt over to our sitting place and I'm afraid salt is a major component of fish and chips for me. When I discovered they did have salt, I certainly enjoyed the last few bites a lot more.
On a similar topic of fish, I was interested in this signage showing the large variety of fish one might obtain from Sydney harbour and their legal size and bag limits. Can't say for sure it was all sea-food for me; there are definitely some creatures on that poster I wouldn't want to see on my plate, though some are quite nice.
Unfortunately, across the path from this sign was another which stated (in 12 different languages):
"Due to elevated high levels of dioxins, fish and other crustaeans caught West of Sydney Harbour Bridge should not be eaten. You should release your catch.
For fish caught East of the Sydney Harbour Bridge you should generally not eat more than 150 grams per month. Higher amounts of some fish and crustacean species may be eaten.
For further information visit www.foodauthority.nsw.gov.au or phone 1300 552 406."150 grams is about 5 ounces a month. Not sure it would be worth the cost of a fishing license if one were fishing to eat...
We're still at Watson's Bay, at the very top of the point of the entrance from the Pacific Ocean into Sydney Harbour. It sounds daft, but looking at the map brings the story home to me almost more than having actually been there, or at least putting the two together. The vastness of the blue green ocean on the satellite map gives me chills.
You'll want to read this brief account about the wreck of The Dunbar, a ship (built 1853 in Sunderland, near us) that sailed from England to Australia 31 May to 20 August 1857. There are a number of other accounts; The Dunbar is referred to as The Titanic of Australia. It crossed my mind to say they ought to make a movie about it, but I looked and they already have, in 1912. I think it's due for a remake.
The very short story is that after travelling nearly 3 months across the world, the ship just missed the harbour in a storm (I think I read somewhere it was by about 500 metres.) There were 122 deaths and only one survivor, James Johnson, aged 20. Just imagine what it might feel like, being the sole survivor amongst 123 people, having to grieve for 122 people all at one time and to wonder why you alone were spared.
After this tragedy, the authorities decided to build a lighthouse overlooking the harbour. The first irony is that 2 years after the shipwreck, James went on to be the first lighthouse keeper and lived in this house.
Overlooking the place where The Dunbar should have entered instead of crashing into the cliffs just to the south.
He later moved to be an Assistant Lighthouse Keeper at Newcastle, north up the coast from Sydney; I think I'd have moved on as well. (Note: there are a lot of places in the world named Newcastle, mostly named for Newcastle-upon-Tyne.)
The next irony is that in 1866, James Johnson was involved in rescuing the life of the sole survivor (crew member Frederick V. Hedges, aged 31) of another wreck off the coast of Newcastle, that of the SS Cawarra, which lost 60 lives. Makes one think, doesn't it?
As we meandered around the point, I spotted an opportunity to take a brother and sister snap.
I love taking pictures of Jane and Bill together, partly because of their family resemblance, but mostly because of their obvious affection for one another. As I decided to include this photo, it dawned on me that this post's title has more than one meaning. Bill says that one of the aims of his retirement will be to spend more time with his baby sister.
