The weather was perfect at Yamba. There was a surfing competition on the beach indicating at least a small swell but conditions were glassy. Once through the breakwalls I pointed towards Angourie Point.
I was too far out to see much action at Angourie, just the backs of surfers when they stood up. Out to sea there were a few whales. One was about 150m away and breathing loudly.
Fishing boats, mainly tinnies, went past about every half an hour. I pulled in at Broomes Head for a break and then set off for The Sandon. John S reckons it reminds him of Evans Head when he was a boy and he wanted to stay for a couple of weeks.
It was a long drive around for the crew and I beat them into Minnie Water by 5 minutes. It took a while to figure out what I was looking at but as I got closer I could see a number of paragliders.
Driving along the top of the hill one of them stopped us to say hello. His name is Karl Cooksley from Grafton. He is now president of the Clarence River Sailing club. He knew me from our sailing days in Grafton in the 1960s and bought my paper run when I left in 1969. It's a small world.
We stayed the night at John S's niece's where a whole pile of Schulstads turned up for a gathering which included some huge steaks and far too many beers and wine but it was a great evening.
A break at Broomes Head
Minnie Water (note the paraglider)
Finishing for the day
A huge steak at Lisa's
With the Lungfish breeding naturally and a Pollie jumping ship,
a kayaker paddling to Sydney at a more than even clip,
there's something in the water - something massive underway,
as sleepy Traveston yawns awake amidst a major power play.
'Tis not some simple twist of fate - which threatens evermore
the survival of a species living long past dinosaur,
'tis an attitude of arrogance running deep through pollie ranks,
of a money grabbing Government robbing life from Mary's banks.
No Government - no human, has the right to change the course
of evolutionary history - with such vandalizing force.
South-east Queensland holds a treasure nowhere else on earth can claim,
such a natural phenomenon - such historical acclaim.
Yet - we've politicians 'mongst us - so hell bent on 'easy fix',
that an icon cops the fury of this damned apocalypse.
Eradicated by the megalomaniac end of town,
of a group so out of touch and too afraid of backing down.
One lone figure leaves the fold - in the form of Ronan Lee,
a conscience-based decision? Well, sweet time alone will see.
Steve Posselt carries cargo on his kayak - Sydney bound,
of a thousand protest letters - making Midnight Oilish sounds.
And the Lungfish moves unwittingly midst the calm of Mary's reeds,
unaware of politicians and other such damning breeds.
As sweet Mary grips to graceful pride - as only Mary can,
she protects her rightful heritage - against the arrogance - of man.