Travel Biography - Week 89.

The Journey to and Arrival at Coffs Harbour.

Byron Bay, my first stop in New South Wales, was remarkably different from the venues I called in Queensland. The latter represented warm sunshine and tropical vegetation along with the corals of the Great Barrier Reef to add to the other-worldly feel of the environment. Although the coastline around Cape Byron was spectacular (in my view), the weather was different - cooler, a lot wetter, and a feel for the Australian winter in June was becoming more of a reality the further south I travelled.

When caught in heavy rain whilst cycling along the coastal road towards Byron Bay, I wore shorts and a button-up shirt, the same garment I wore during the Low Isles snorkelling swim. This was an advantage with hostelling, whether the hostel was YHA-affiliated or not. Nearly every hostel I called had its own launderette. Indeed, although the weather became unsettled, the air remained comfortably mild.

After three or four days at Byron Bay, I boarded a Greyhound Bus for the 233 km or 145-mile journey to Coffs Harbour. This day trip enabled me to arrive at my destination around tea time.

At Byron Bay Bus Station, I had to take special care when choosing when to board Sydney-bound buses. Some buses didn't stop at Coffs Harbour but carried on cruising along the highway, bypassing the town centre. In 1997, Coffs Harbour was not particularly an international tourist venue, and the majority of backpackers ignored its presence while they journeyed to Sydney. And that was a shame. For someone like me who enjoys the natural environment unfamiliar at home, there are some sites of special interest around the town. 

The bus halted for a service stop at the small bus station and here I alighted to search for the YHA-affiliated hostel in town, which wasn't far from the bus station. At least I already had a bed pre-booked.

I found the hostel and checked in. The receptionist, a young Englishman who had decided to spend a gap year in Australia, greeted me with friendliness at the reception, and I was assigned a bed. This time, no choice of dollar or duty was offered. I just paid the set price per night with no questions asked. I chose a bed in one of the dormitories.

The crown of Coffs Harbour - Mangrove Boardwalk.

Coffs Harbour town centre shopping precinct.

The town centre of Coffs Harbour was about two miles or three km or so inland from the coast, but it was built along Coffs Creek, a river winding through mangrove banks to the sea. Near the mouth of the river, Muttonbird Island Nature Reserve sits around 400 metres off the mainland coast. However, a breakwater connecting the island to the mainland, along with a jetty just south of it, encloses a marina which gives the town its name. A natural peninsula which looked to have been quarried, known as Corambirra Point, juts out south of the harbour, from the air, giving the entire harbour area the appearance of an open mouth with wide lips.

But what has delighted me above everything else was the boardwalk over Black Mangroves. The breathing roots, or pneumatophores, cover the beach with a dense spikey carpet, even more widespread than its counterpart at the River Brisbane. The boardwalk was longer, between five to six hundred metres, and without guide rails. Although I heard this through the grapevine, apparently, the boardwalk was built by convicts. My only regret, if I could call it that, was that during my stay at Coffs Harbour, the neap tides made little difference in submerging the carpet. On the other hand, a full king tide would have submerged the board itself, making it almost impassable.

At The Hostel.

As I have expressed earlier in this Travel Biography, a mountainous landscape consists of both high ground and low valleys. As anyone would agree, a mountainous landscape is far more spectacular than acres of flat fields stretching to the horizon. And so, with Travel, the full experience involves both emotional highs and lows, hence bringing out the full spirit of adventure.

As I travel further South, I need winter clothing.

General view of Coffs Creek

Boardwalk detail at high neap tide.

After buying groceries in town and preparing the evening meal, as was the custom, I was invited by the receptionist for a game of snooker outside in the hostel garden. There were several tables, perhaps three or four in all, arranged under a canopy to protect them from the weather. There were a number of us, but dominating the group was a young aggressive female, chubby, about my height, and with an apparent unhealthy dislike or envy of men.

Not only did she remind me of Josephine of Stella Carmel in Israel when I was a volunteer there three years earlier in 1994,* but she looked a little like her too. At least Josephine knew how to have a laugh at the right occasion. The best this one could do was sneer at our failures. Worst of luck, it turns out that she was a champion snooker player.

And so, I played the first round with another male backpacker, a fellow roughly half my age, and believe it or not, I won that round - but only just. But rather than listen to this female's tirade, I returned to the hostel and sat alone in the TV room. Here, I found a cassette video of Superman the Movie. I set up the system and started watching.

A short while later, the receptionist came for me and since I won the first round, I had to play the second round. This time, I played the receptionist himself. He allowed me the first shot to break up the triangle. No ball was pocketed. So it was his turn. At each and every shot, he pocketed a ball. I just stood there and watched as one ball after another disappeared. With the black ball finally shot, I was free to return to the hostel without scoring a single point and to endure the mockery thrown at me by the chubby Aussie woman for my poor performance.

Sitting alone in the TV room, I resumed watching the video after being set on Pause for the duration of the second round of the snooker. As I watched the movie, a tear rolled down my cheek. I was alone. From outside, I could hear the social chatter surrounding the final round of the snooker competition. Here, my full character is revealed. Big boys don't cry. So says the lyrics of the 10cc song, I'm Not In Love, released in 1975. But according to Eden Kane in 1964, Boys cry when no one can see them. And no one saw me. Instead, I put on a painted smile for the benefit of my fellow hostellers and never gave our chubby friend the type of satisfaction she was craving. She has all the satisfaction she wants, as she wins the snooker competition outright, beating all the men. Much to my relief, the following morning she moved on. Yet, I had time to think of her after she had gone.

I have wondered what man would fall in love with her and take her as his wife? And why her dislike of the male gender? Could it be that she wanted to be born a man herself? Therefore taking on a masculine attitude, especially here in Australia, a country reputed for its tough-skinned, ranch-owning outbackers? I wonder how she really would have thought of me, one who was poor at school games, hardly watched a football match, let alone played, couldn't box out of a paper bag, lousy at snooker, yet loved the natural world with its tropical vegetation, dynamic cliffs, rivers, marine life, and starry sky? Would she see me as a cissy? Quite a point, that! Except whether she would accept the challenge of a cycling contest. 

And such natural wonders I set off to see - the mangrove shores of Coffs Creek from a boardwalk. How I would have loved to see the trees partly submerged in high tide. But I considered myself fortunate enough just to be there, walking along a raised wooden pathway as it twists and turns as it flies over the vegetated river bank.

Like in Brisbane, I visited the boardwalk more than once. I recall one early morning at the hostel when a radio was broadcasting the local news and other useful information, including the weather and tidal times. It was announced that high tide would be around eight in the morning. Around 7.00 am, I got up, washed and shaved, had breakfast, and then made my way quickly to the Mangrove boardwalk in time to see the full tide. I expected a flood to reach the level of the boardwalk if not actually submerge it. After all, I would have been keen to remove all footwear and paddle ankle-deep along the boardwalk if it meant taking dynamic photos of this fascinating phenomenon.

But it was a neap tide, with the platform at least half a metre above the surface of the river. It was a bit of a disappointment. Yet, much of the carpeted riverbank was underwater, leaving only the trunk and branches of all the trees above the surface. As I strolled along the boardwalk, I was alone, having the platform to myself. It rounded a clearing as it went out to the river itself. Nearby, the boardwalk widened for a few metres and a safety rail allowed for an overlook, leaning to peer into the water beneath. The platform was also probably used for rod fishing, as this was allowed here.

A school of fish was swimming happily beneath me, undisturbed by my presence. Whether they were expecting to be fed by the human standing above them, I couldn't say, but the peace was suddenly disturbed when a pelican flew in and landed on the water directly above the school. Instantly, the entire school of fish vanished, leaving the bird all alone and hungry on a stretch of water devoid of any life.

When the pelican realised that he wouldn't succeed in feeding its stomach, it took off and flew away. I then watched as the school of fish gradually returned to its favourite spot in the river when they saw that all was clear.

The boardwalk became a normal path as it made its way towards the beach where the river passed under a road bridge, then a rail bridge, before emptying out into the Pacific Ocean. The estuary was a short distance north of the harbour itself, and totally separate. Unlike at European ports, the harbour was not at the mouth of Coffs Creek.

More Boardwalk details.

The Boardwalk takes a turn into the Creek.

Pneumatophoras exposed at low tide.

The Town of Coffs Harbour.

The town is about two miles inland from the coast, hence a 45-minute walk from the harbour or beach. Therefore, throughout my stay at Coffs Harbour, I'm either in town or at the coast (or on the boardwalk.) Hence, going from town to the harbour more than once a day was unlikely.

The main shopping street of Coffs Harbour town centre is Harbour Drive. It's a traffic thoroughfare leading to the harbour, flanked by a wide walkway on each side of the road. The shopping precinct had a strong resemblance to the Broadway in my home town of Bracknell. At that, I affectionately refer to this Australian town centre as "Bracknell-with-palm-trees". Before our town centre in the UK was demolished and a new centre was built in its place, the Broadway featured two-storey buildings on each side, each with shops facing into the street. Coffs Harbour's development took the same form of architecture, except that Harbour Drive is open to motorised traffic. Bracknell's Broadway was, and is, fully pedestrianised. The hostel I was staying in was just a block away from the precinct, at Albany Street.

Thus, I set a day aside to check out the town. But without any historical venue of special interest, at least to my knowledge, it was basically a New Town, hence this could have been the reason why the majority of international backpackers skip Coffs Harbour. Yet, it still attracts the indigenous, like our Aussie lady friend who succeeded in rolling a teardrop down my cheek. Like her, I too like to hostel around the UK, and I have done so. She was no different.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

*For details of my reaction with Josephine in Israel, 1994, it's on Week 54. Click here.

Next Week: The Big Banana, Whale Migration, preparing for Sydney.

Travel Biography - Week 87

 A Review So Far -

Since the day I arrived in Singapore, there were several offshore islands worth visiting as I made the journey south to Brisbane. Even if the State of Singapore is an island just off the Malaysian Peninsula, I had to cross a strait to reach Sentosa. First at Singapore, then along the Queensland coast of Australia, these were the islands I visited:

Singapore > Sentosa Island.

Port Douglas > Low Isles Coral Cay (or Key in America.)

Cairns > Green Island Coral Cay.

Townsville > Magnetic Island (Continental.)

Arlie Beach > Whitsunday Islands (Continental.)

Hervey Bay > K'gari or Fraser Island (Sandbank.)

Only at Magnetic Island, I remain dry. While visiting the other islands, I had time to swim or snorkel. But having arrived at Brisbane, this was not only a "dry" stop, but this, and the venues still to come would be both dry and confined to the mainland. The change of weather after crossing into New South Wales would also play a role in keeping me out of the water.

Brisbane Botanical Gardens.

However, the weather remained warm and dry throughout my stay in Brisbane, as it has throughout the entire journey along the Queensland coast. The city centre is lodged within one of the bends of the River Brisbane, and while I was preparing to write this week's blog, I did some memory reviving on the Internet. Like in Singapore, Brisbane's skyline went through some changes within the last 26 years since I have been there. Hence, all photos posted here were taken in 1997 when the skyline was quite different to what it is today with its spanking new skyscrapers. However, these changes include the loss of the Mangrove Boardwalk on the southern tip of the Botanic Gardens, the highlight (to me) of visiting Brisbane.

Following the flooding of the river after breaking its banks in January 2011, preceded by heavy rain, the boardwalk became too expensive to maintain, thus, Council funding became unavailable in the months to follow, and in 2013, the structure was demolished. This goes to show how fortunate I was to have taken the narrow window of opportunity to admire the mangroves as they lined the northern bank of the river.

Winter Coolness at the Mangrove Boardwalk.

Black Mangrove taken from the boardwalk.

Pneumatophora is seen from the boardwalk.

Mangrove trees at high tide.

This has got me thinking. Apparently, before the city was built, any Aborigines living in that area were most likely protected from extensive flooding by having mangrove trees lining both banks of the river, perhaps stretching to the coast, and then extending out from the coastline itself. If that were true, then such mangrove forests would most likely have formed a barrier to keep flooding at bay. Furthermore, the environment would have been ideal for wildlife to flourish, including a nursery provided for the protection of young fish and other marine animals from predators.

The boardwalk winded its way just above the riverbank, and I saw that this species of mangrove was different from the trees I saw close up at Arlie Beach. This species is known as the Black Mangrove, and it thrives in shallower water than the Red Mangrove, characteristic of those at Arlie Beach and further north along the coast. One distinct feature that makes the Black Mangrove tree different from the two other species (Red and White) is the carpet of upturned roots surrounding the tree. They are fully exposed to the air when the tide is out. During high tide, these roots are submerged or partially submerged, depending on the extent of the water level.

These upright root stems are known as pneumatophores, and they keep the tree alive by "breathing" when the tide is out. As a forest, the pneumatophores form a spiky carpet covering the beach, interspersed with tree trunks. This was one useful piece of information I learned while I strolled along the boardwalk in 1997 and not just from the Internet.

Of all the venues in Brisbane, the mangrove boardwalk was one attraction I visited more than once. It was an attempt to capture on camera the forest during high tide. With this, I had only limited success, but as for the air temperature, I began to feel the first chill of the southern winter, as my second visit to the Gardens necessitated a woolly top.

The mangrove boardwalk wasn't the only section of the Gardens I visited. The area had footpaths that passed through both trees planted intentionally and a copse of the original forest that covered the area before the city was ever built. The park featured a pond with water lilies covering the surface, and out-of-season flowerbeds surrounded by well-manicured lawns.

The South Bank Parklands.

The city YHA hostel on Roma Street was a short walk away from the start of Victoria Bridge, one of several that cross the River Brisbane. Immediately to the left of the bridge was the start of the South Bank Parklands. Rather than acres of lawn, like that of London's Hyde Park, the area had facilities that might have struck a chord in me with Disneyland but without Disney's verve. One facility I was most impressed with was the Rainforest Walk, a boardwalk passing through tropical vegetation complete with a creek flowing over a small waterfall. True enough, the rainforest was artificial, that is, a small wooded area planted by man rather than the natural rainforests of Magnetic Island, Whitsunday Island and K'gari. There was also a boating lake, an artificial sandy beach sloping into an attractive lagoon, a butterfly house, and a piazza - a performing arts centre. A traffic-free central avenue passed through the park, giving access to all the facilities. There was no fun fair in my day but the view across the river gave a clear vista of the city skyline.

Brisbane skyline from Southbank Parklands, 1997.

Main Avenue, Southbank Parklands.

Tropical Boardwalk, Southbank Parklands

I spent the day at the Parklands in quietness and contemplation. Like at the Botanical Gardens, the Parklands provided a respite from the busy city traffic and urban life. Yet, I never foresaw the development that was yet to take place in the city centre. By looking at photos taken recently and posted on the Internet, if I were to visit Brisbane today, 26 years after my initial visit, I would hardly recognise much.

I loved being at the Parklands at night. One evening, after dark, I was strolling along and I arrived at the lagoon. During the day, the pond was busy with families swimming. At night, the surface of the water was still and undisturbed, allowing me to take photos of nighttime reflections.

Back at the hostel, everything continued as normal. Being a YHA-affiliated hostel, there were no wild parties like the one held at Hervey Bay. Everything was more sedate as I went about the kitchen to prepare dinner. One evening, I watched a group of backpackers in the TV room constantly flicking channels. They were searching for a possible non-commercial channel, like our BBC, they could watch without the programme constantly interrupted by frequent commercial breaks. Among the group were two Chinese students who had also prepared and eaten their meals about the same time I did.

We became casual acquaintances but neither of us made any effort to pursue any friendship. Rather, we allowed each to mind our own business and carried on. Little did anyone know that later in our journeys, long after Brisbane, we would meet again and our perception of friendship would grow stronger.

The two Chinese students left Brisbane a day or so before I did. As for me, other than the Southbank Parklands which involves crossing the river to get there, most of my time was confined to the city. Queen Street with the Myers department store was an attraction in itself. Even the Botanical Gardens with their mangrove boardwalk were confined within the city centre. But after four days, I knew that it was time to move on.

Tropics at the Parklands.

Lagoon at Parklands.

Night Reflections, Parklands.

At the YHA Brisbane, I used the Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme for the first time, and I chose Byron Bay as my next stop. For me, the Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme was a brilliant idea, eliminating the need to bed-hunt after arriving at a new destination, although I always perceived bed-hunting as part of the adventure, adding that extra thrill in independent travel. But this new idea, unique to YHA-affiliated hostels, does restrict versatility. A classic example of this was when I was on a journey from Arlie Beach to Brisbane. During that journey, I asked the bus driver if I could switch my destination from Brisbane to Hervey Bay to visit K'gari. That was easy, knowing that I'd be free to find a bed after arrival. Not so easy if a bed in Brisbane is already booked. Swings and roundabouts...

On to Byron Bay, NSW.

The Greyhound Bus took roughly three hours to make the 164 km or 102 miles daytime journey from Brisbane to Byron Bay. Having left Brisbane in the early evening, it was already nightfall by the time we arrived at Surfer's Paradise on the Gold Coast. We were still in Queensland, but the weather had changed rather dramatically. It was raining heavily. However, as we approached Surfer's Paradise, the town looked anything but a paradise. Tall buildings lining the coastline gave the impression of an Australian version of Manhatten. All that, along with the torrential rainfall, made me feel glad that I didn't choose to alight here, let alone book a bed. The very name of the city tells of such a contrast to sunny Port Douglas and its role as a gateway to the Great Barrier Reef. Furthermore, Surfers Paradise bus station was not a service stop, but one to drop off and collect passengers. In all, the bus remained in the bay for about thirty minutes before eventually pulling out to continue its journey south.

At long last, the bus pulled into Byron Bay bus station for a service stop, but it was here I alighted to find the YHA-affiliated hostel, which wasn't far. Fortunately, it had stopped raining, and I made it to the hostel fully dry. The Book-a-Bed-Ahead scheme seems to be working well. As soon as I spoke my name, I was assigned a bed with no further ado.

-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Next Week: The heavens opened after hiring a bicycle.