Travel Biography Photo Extravaganza - Part 32.

Arrival and stay at Coffs Harbour.

Byron Bay is the most easterly point of the whole of Australia. While backpacking this island continent in 1997, Byron Bay, located south of Brisbane, was one of my stops. Since I arrived at Cairns, North Queensland, my direction of travel was towards the southeast. After Byron Bay, the direction took a turn as I headed towards Sydney. That direction was then southwesterly.

However, there was one more location I stopped at before reaching Sydney. That was at Coffs Harbour, a coastal town in New South Wales, which was bypassed by a majority of backpackers at the time. Unlike Byron Bay, where there was no river or harbour, the Coffs Harbour town centre was a 50-minute walk inland from the harbour itself, covering 3.5 km, or just over two miles, and following Coffs Creek as it flows to the sea.

I have no regrets about stopping at Coffs Harbour, even if the location featured low on the backpacker's map. Like all the stops along the Indo-Pacific coast, Coffs Harbour still had much to offer, especially to someone like me who has a preference for natural vegetation which cannot thrive in the UK except under glass.

Coffs Harbour is approximately 30.30 degrees south of the Equator, hence its winters tend to be similar to the British summer - mild with mixed weather patterns. Hence, while I was at the harbour, like at Seven-Mile Beach, the heavens opened and it started to rain heavily. This time, I stood under a shelter, hoping that the heavy downpour would subside similarly to how it subsides after a short while in Britain. But at Coffs Harbour, like at Byron Bay, the rain kept on pouring down relentlessly. How long I stood there, I couldn't be sure, but I wouldn't be surprised that it was for a better part of thirty minutes. But the rain didn't subside. Giving up, I made the two-mile trip back to the hostel looking and feeling like a drowned rat. How I found relief in the comforts of the YHA-affiliated hostel!

This just goes to show the difference between the photos of the rich blue sky over the red desert rock, such as Urulu, featured in all holiday travel brochures enticing the British to visit Australia, and the reality of Australia during a typical winter, especially at the coastal resorts of New South Wales. Ironically, where it's summer in the UK, it's winter Down Under. Furthermore, any UK citizen hoping to "enjoy the North Queensland's summer sunshine" after arriving in January to visit the Great Barrier Reef would be in for a disappointment. It would be in the middle of the monsoon season, with Cairns being the wettest area in the whole of Australia. I know a friend who had a similar experience.

Throughout the entire 1997 Round-the-World backpacking trip, alone in the TV room at the Coffs Harbour hostel was the only occasion where I shed a tear. This was due to receiving brutal teasing from an overweight female after I lost a snooker match in the hostel's backyard. She then won the competition outright, beating all the men, whom she had contempt for. This, after suffering a defeat at table tennis at Arlie Beach, was a reminder of how incompetent I have always been at ball games. Rather, I was much happier delving into the natural beauty of this planet, whether it be the geology of the Grand Canyon, the corals of the Great Barrier Reef, or the mangroves thriving on the Australian coast.

But I could take comfort that I'm not alone. Charles Dickens was a puny boy compared to his contemporaries and lousy at school sports. But by delving into reading, under his pen name of Boz, his writings eventually became famous worldwide.

As such, the next morning, I couldn't wait to get up out of bed, make breakfast, and then set off towards Coffs Creek. Here, a boardwalk, similar to the one at Brisbane, passed through a mangrove swamp. That same morning, on the hostel radio, the times for high tide were broadcast for the local area. Whether I would consider it fortunate or unfortunate, that is a decision for the reader. The tidal range on that day was neap, not very high or low. Hence, the mangrove stems growing from the roots weren't fully submerged. On the other hand, a high spring (or king's) tide would have also submerged the boardwalk itself by a few centimetres, making it non-navigable unless I had appropriate footwear.

The Boardwalk at Coffs Creek.

Where the boardwalk juts out onto the river, there is a fishing platform which also serves as an overlook. I stood there, taking in the beauty of the scenery. Alone, and with nobody challenging me for a ball game, any game, I was content. Directly beneath, a school of fish was crowding an area where I was, I assume, in expectation of a free feed from me as I stood above. Unfortunately, I had to disappoint them, as a first-time visitor, I came unprepared. After a while, a pelican suddenly swooped down and landed in the water directly above the fish. At that instant, all the fish fled, and the bird had to fly off with an empty stomach. The fish then gradually returned. 

Also, to note, this was not the only visit to the creek. I have walked the boardwalk at least twice, once during high tide and again during low tide. The pics below are from the two visits mixed.

The river emptied into the sea a short distance north of the harbour, interrupting a strip of sand into two beaches. North of the estuary, the longer of the two beaches was named Park Beach, which ended at a stubby tongue known as McCauley's Headland. South of the estuary, the short sand strip was North Wall Beach. Offshore, Muttonbird Island was a natural rocky islet turned into a nature reserve. A breakwater joined Muttonbird Island to the mainland, thus forming the harbour. Hence, the harbour wasn't at the river mouth as many others are. At the south of the harbour, a headland, Corambirra Point, parallels Muttonbird Island.

Also in the vicinity of Coffs Harbour, a banana plantation gave partial access to the public. This was the first time I actually saw bananas grow and be harvested, all in their green, immature form.

Click here for the Index to the main Biography covering Coffs Harbour, Weeks 88-92.

Photos of Coffs Harbour, town, creek, and coast.

Coffs Harbour Town Centre.

Harbour Drive, Coffs Town Centre.

Traveller's Palm.

Mangrove root stems are exposed at low tide.

The boardwalk winds its way through the swamp.

The walkway is prone to submergence at extreme high tides.

The boardwalk veers onto the river.

The walk continues on.

Swamp details.

Mangroves at high neap tide.

Mangroves fascinated me!

Mangrove-lined Coffs Creek.

How the creek looks at low neap tide.

Ducks flourish in the river.

The riverbank at neap high tide.

A school of fish expecting a free feed?

Until a pelican swoops in and the fish flee!

One of Aussie's loveliest walks.

A view across the creek.

Calm river reflections, facing upstream.

Coffs Creek empties into the ocean.

Looking north towards McCauleys Headland.

Muttonbird Island as seen from North Wall Beach.

Corambirra Point as seen from Muttonbird Island.

Coffs Harbour as seen from Muttonbird Island.

The Great Divide Range backs the Harbour.

The Ocean crashes against the Eastern Side Lookout.

A banana plantation in the Coffs Harbour vicinity.

The bananas grow within special bags.

A close-up of the unripe banana fruit.

Dressed appropriately for the Aussie winter.

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Next Week: As we approach Sydney, I will visit the Blue Mountains National Park.

Travel Biography Photo Extravaganza - Part 31.

Arrival and my experiences at Byron Bay and its environs.

After a few days spent in Brisbane, the Greyhound Bus journey to my next stop was a short one, but it involved crossing into New South Wales. At this point, there was no more of the Great Barrier Reef. Instead, the Pacific Ocean remains open water right up to the Americas. It was also after this crossing that I began to experience a change in weather, from warm and sunny to a fresher feel, along with rain.

Byron Bay was my next stop after Brisbane. The name originated from the name of one of the crewmates of Captain Cook's HMS Endeavour, Vice Admiral John Byron, the grandfather of the more famous poet, Lord George Byron.

The coastal town with its clifftop lighthouse marks the most easterly point of mainland Australia. The location also serves as the ideal venue for outdoor leisure activities. For example, surfing was popular, and on my arrival, I saw that it looked like a surfing club out on one of its meetings. As I stood near the lighthouse, I watched a paraglider fly majestically over Tallow Beach, south of Cape Byron.

However, I refrained from swimming in the sea. The rolling waves might have looked inviting to the surfers, all of them wearing wetsuits, but the sea didn't look inviting to me at the time. Instead, I combined hiking with hiring a bicycle from the hostel I stayed at.

The name of the main beach making up the Bay was just that - Main Beach. As I headed eastwards towards the Cape, there was a stretch of sand, an extension of the Main Beach, known as Clarkes Beach. On the northern side of the rocky cliff, an isolated strip of sand is Wategos Beach, which reaches the tip of the Cape, the most easterly point of the whole of Australia. The coast then takes almost a 180-degree turn before heading directly south. This east-facing long strip of sand is Tallow Beach.

Hence, Cape Byron is a peninsula, an area of land jutting out into the sea. Looking down on it from above, it has a resemblance to a dog's snout, turning up its nose in snootiness. On the bike, I rode over eight miles (13.2 km) south from the hostel to the Seven Mile Beach, a long and deserted strip of sand backed by unbroken forest. At one point, the cycleway terminated at a car park. Here, I locked up the bicycle and continued on foot through the forest to the beach. It was here that I felt that I was the loneliest man in Australia!

Stock photo of Cape Byron peninsula.

It was at this short trail where I spotted a female spider resting on its web. Fortunately, arachnophobia isn't one of my traits, and I approached it to snap a picture. Why? With its legs fully extended, it was almost the size of a man's extended hand. But to anyone who thinks that I'm some sort of fearless hero, I have always felt uncomfortable in an elevator, after nearly becoming trapped in one between floors at a hostel in Singapore.

I strolled along the Seven Mile Beach. However, by 1997, Aussies were already measuring distances using the metric system, as with continental Europe and the rest of the world, except North America and the UK. Yet, to rename this coastal strip, Eleven Point Two-Seven-Kilometre Beach, is quite a mouthful, and I doubt that any name change will ever be on the cards!

Looking towards the south, the sky looked threatening. And I was right to feel worried. I was dressed only in shorts and a T-shirt, and with a bicycle for transport, over eight miles of road separated me from the comforts of the hostel, and indeed, the heavens opened while I was still on the beach. To the north, towards Byron Bay, a forested promontory jutted out to sea. This was Broken Head, a stub of a peninsula separating Seven-Mile Beach from Tallow Beach, south of Cape Byron. The drenching I received on the homeward ride was as if I jumped fully clothed into a swimming pool. Yet, this was the first time I had ever ridden a bicycle south of the Equator. And like in the UK, traffic here in Australia drives on the left.

However, I was amazed by the contrast between Seven-Mile Beach and, say, Port Douglas, 1,940 km or 1,205 miles north along the coastal road. Port Douglas, a gateway to the Great Barrier Reef, was bustling with life. Catamarans left the town's harbour and returned in the evening, the palm tree-lined esplanade was crowded with visitors and locals alike, and the atmosphere was enhanced by an outdoor music band delivering free entertainment to the public. Furthermore, the weather was gorgeous. The bright sunshine under a cloudless sky made the whole environment so much cheerier. By contrast, where I was standing, I was entirely alone on a deserted beach. There were no boats, no catamarans, and no harbour to moor them, no shops where I could buy some refreshments, and the sky was overcast, dark and threatening. Yet I didn't feel downcast or discouraged. This was Australia. At least during its winter, I was less likely to get sunburnt or even risk skin cancer.

The accommodation I stayed at whilst in Byron Bay was Jeff's Backpackers' Hostel, a YHA-affiliated hostel, where, like all the others, I shared a dormitory. Nearby, a superstore kept my stocks supplied for meals prepared in the member's kitchen.

For the Index to link this album to the main Biography, click here for Weeks 88-92.

Photos of Byron Bay and its environs.

Main Beach leading to Cape Byron.

The peak in the far distance is Mt. Warning, 1,150 m. high.

Byron Bay Esplanade.

Another view of Main Beach.

A surfing club at Clarkes Beach.

The coast turns rockier as I approach the Cape.

Approaching Cape Byron. This is The Pass. 

Rocks off Wategos Beach.

Around the tip of the Cape.

Watching the surfers in action.

A Romantic setting on the Cape.

Another romantic view.

Pandanus Trees resemble the pineapple variety.

Clifftop view of Wategos Beach.

Massive Cape cliffs.

The tip of the Cape seen from the clifftop.

Byron Cape Lighthouse.

A paraglider flies above Tallow Beach.

From the lighthouse, a trail leads into a nature reserve.

The trail cuts through virgin forest.

Evening sunset at Byron Bay.

The next day, I hired a bicycle from the hostel.

Broken Head is a nature reserve a few miles south.

This is Kings Beach in the Broken Heads area.

Byron Bay was the only place where I saw these Pandanus.

The Rocky coast beyond Kings Beach.

A trail links the car park to the beach.

I snapped this spider from the trail.

The forest gives way to grass as I approach the beach.

Broken Heads as seen from Seven-Mile-Beach.

Looking south along Seven Mile Beach as it starts raining.

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Next Week, Coffs Harbour.