There’s a vertical finger crack running up between two large cement pillars supporting the new Clyde River bridge at Batemans Bay. I had looked at them when cycling around the Bay a number of times and wondered if, like the Wide Boyz, I should start climbing urban cracks. I’ve never been a crack climber, the techniques, apart from jamming body parts in cracks, as mysterious as how electricity works to me, but the Wide Boyz make all cracks look easy, even the cellar cracks. It wasn’t easy, I couldn’t work it out. I got about a foot off the ground and that was using ripples in the cement for feet. “Needs work, perhaps some technique is missing,” I thought, jumping back on my bike and riding over to the north side of the bridge.
In running shoes, I sent the two problems on the biggest boulder at the new park, and cycled on to Cullendulla where I thought I might, but likely not as the tide was high, be able to cycle along the Cullendulla Nature Reserve track. When I got there, the beach was gone, as were most of the last remaining row of she-oaks along the shore line. Seven years ago, when we first moved to the Bay, there were lovely stands of she-oaks along the beach, but they have all toppled over, felled by storms and big tides. It’s inevitable, the landscape changes regardless of the hubris of humans who believe they can control the weather and tides.
I managed to drag my bike through a bunch of toppled tea-trees to far end of the “new” but now failed/never finished resort that was being built on this low lying, mangrove surrounded piece of land. The “glamping tents” built right against the shore, were all abandoned and the sea had clearly run far under their raised platforms. This was one of those farcical developments which you just can’t believe someone thought was a good idea and an entire committee of other elected individuals thought they should approve. At high tides, anyone staying in the “glamping” villas would have to wade through sea water to get out of their villas. Nothing says five star like putting your wellies on to walk to the cafe. It was no surprise to find the sign on the development indicating the “mortagee was in possession.” Shocker.
Back across the bridge, where the view to the Tollgate Islands is really quite spectacular, Purple Pingers had obviously been along as the pavement was decorated with the slogan “Landlords are Parasites.” Socialists, of course, need vacations too. Unfortunately, dragging my bike through the toppled bushes had caused a problem with the dropper post and I found myself having to ride home either sat on a too low seat with my knees around my ears or standing up. This reminded me of a long ago trip on the old BNR railway that ran from Salmo to Nelson when, not quite half way through a 50 kilometre bicycle ride my seat post snapped and I had to ride the final 30 kilometres with no bike seat. Lots of fun. I had the pannier carrier on the back of the bike imprinted on my arse by the time I finished the ride.
Passing the now closed wildlife park near Joes Creek, I noted, not for the first time, the painting on the water tank in the park, that proudly proclaims “You’re Somebody’s Someone.” This is the new level we have reached in public health messaging, the absurd idea that painting a trite slogan on a water tank will alleviate someone’s mental health distress. Now, I admit, I’m not your average bear, as Yogi said, but, if I were lonely and depressed, reading such a gormless piece of bull-shittery would make me feel even worse. It’s horrible to think about, but, there are many, many people in the world who aren’t somebody’s someone.
With low tide falling at the ideal time of day, around 7.00 am, I walked along the rock platforms from Sunshine Bay to Denhams Beach the next day. This is only possible at dead low tide as there are a couple of locations where you have to scramble right down to water level and balance across some slippery rocks uncovered by the tide. The “cruxes” of the route are around the headland that protrudes to the south west which happens to be one of the only places along the length of the coast here that has private land right to waterline. Many start this route, but, in all the times I’ve walked it, I’ve only seen one other person (besides Doug) make it right the way around. In a couple of spots, you have to climb up (or down, depending on which direction you go) short 2 to 3 metre walls, at least one of which is overhanging.
It’s only about three kilometres between the two beaches but it takes me twice as long as walking the trail as the rocks can be really slippery. I’ve never fallen on it, but, I did manage to have both my feet fly out from under me when descending the steep (and unofficial) stairs that lead down to a tiny pebbly beach on this day. As I slithered down on my bum - I actually thought I was going to slide all the way down to the bottom - some remnant memory of digging your feet in while self-arresting on snow must have trickled into my brain and I stopped. No bones broken, not even a graze. I would hate to be that old lady who breaks a hip on the stairs.