Caloundra Our First Offer of Help and Our First Stop!!!!!

Big thanks to Loretta, Gary and family in Caloundra
On The RoadSaying goodbye to Brisbane was made easier because of the massive expectation of our daunting and immense challenge of circumnavigating the continent with nothing to our name. We said goodbye to our friends the night before, and shook hands on our deal with Wicked, collected our van, put the key into the ignition................
...finally, we are on the road. Hard to believe that three weeks after deciding to finally do it, and one week after beginning to contact everyone, we had succeeded in finding what we needed to start off. It was with great relief that we drove away, excited, nervous too, each of us trying to imagine what the next few months would have in store.
The great wreck on Dickies Beach
Loretta had offered us a cup of tea on our way up the coast. We had the message from her to come and see her if we were up that way and the three of us were pleasantly surprised that anyone who had heard us on ABC Brisbane Radio would want to actually meet us and so gratefully accepted. She had a Camping and caravanning Guide to Australia too, if we wanted one. Thinking it might come in useful, but also eager to meet Loretta, we headed north and drove towards her home in Caloundra.

We got lost a couple of times before finding the house, and so didn’t get there until 8 or so in the evening. She was waiting outside for us as we arrived, with her husband Gary. They greeted us warmly and invited us in. Not sure what to expect, we were a little intimidated to see a full house waiting for us. But our worries soon dissipated as we shook hands and introduced ourselves, said hello and were welcomed into the home. Two neighbours had come over to meet us, the kids were home too, and a couple of friends too.

Dinner had been cooked and was soon set out. Loretta had prepared a spread or pork and veggies, pork crackling, which went down a treat with everyone, and there was more than enough for everyone. We ate and talked, made merry and laughed, told stories and heard more. Our hosts really looked after us, and we were immediately at our ease. Afterwards we shared drinks and we all sat around talking and relaxing. It was a great experience to be on the road, on the line, and to be treated so finely first off set a great precedent.

It seemed faintly unreal to be away at last. While Anne and Phil slept in the spare beds I had to kip in the van. I had to because I needed to feel that I was now homeless and out of my comfort zone. Since we gave up our possessions the Sunday before, we had been living well, looked after by the Base Backpackers hostel, and fed by our worried friends, who were afraid we would starve. Our first foray into this experiment of ours proved to be too easy. A truly Aussie experience. No fuss, no worries, good people, plenty of grog and easy going good humour. An absolute pleasure.

Surfer Dudes Go Gnarl
We got waylaid a morning in Caloundra. At seven in the morning, Gary and Loretta took us down to Dickie’s Beach. Gary had taken the morning off work, and was taking us to a spot nearby where he goes most days to surf. Only a kilometre from their home and the site of the rusted skeleton of the HSS Dickie, which ran aground there in … there seemed no reason not to.

Phil and Gareth have a good shot at surfing. Nice try for your first shot guys, but Gary put you both to shame. Phil and I were handed a surf board each on arrival, which we deposited under our arms, in the traditional manner, like the dudes we are, and followed Gary to the beach for lesson one in how to surf. It wasn’t a bad morning for it, our host Gary told us. He usually surfed on the reef just down from where we were standing, because of the regular, clean breaks. But we’d try it here, he said, because while it wasn’t clean, the swell was decent and the wash was close inshore. We nodded and agreed, because with our surfboards embedded upright in the sand, we, leaning on them, were too cool to ask what we were thinking: ‘eerm, you what?’

We are introduced to sandboarding. Looks like a great way to fall flat on your face in a medium harder than water. Great stuff if you have no fear of losing the skin on your face.Gary told us how to surf as we got into the water: When the wave comes, he explained, paddle like mad with it, and as soon as you feel it taking off, off you pops, onto the board and away you go. Too easy, mate. The other surfers around us, mostly teenagers and children, had no trouble doing just that. Gary seemed to have no trouble doing it either. I won my first battle with the surf once I steadied myself to lie on the board and paddle three feet forward without toppling off. Result!

Phil seemed to be having no trouble with this most basic of things, and quickly did I master the intricate balancing of heavy-fella on surf-board. On a steep learning curve we then were faced with the skill of floating-about-a-bit, which Phil and I, amateurs and complete novices at this surfing game, managed to pick up quite quickly. So good were we at this that we honed our talent, and developed our knack. Whenever a wave came that loomed mightily down on us, we’d turn and paddle furiously, try to seize our moment to ride the wave, then find ourselves either upside down drinking saltwater (I suppose, at least in some way, like heroes) or still bellyflopped on the board like languid seals, too slow to react and sort of floating gently along after the wave had gone (we didn’t want to catch that bus anyway).

We persevered. Although preternaturally talented at the floating-about-a-bit side of surfing, we relentlessly attempted to catch that elusive wave and emulate that fourteen year old kid who just then, see that, stood up and moved along the wave, surfing. Gary tried to give us a fighting chance, moving us down the beach to where the waves were breaking better (is that surf term? Gnarly rides? I don’t know) which gave us the opportunity to do a bit of paddling and appear (only to ourselves) like we did this all the time.

Gary patiently waited with us and gave us all the encouragement we could ask for. Unfortunately for him, it was buoyancy we needed. That and cat-like agility. I don’t know about Phil, but I’m about as agile as a bag of cats, which is what I resembled as I floundered in my attempt to catch another wave. Phil seemed to be having a little more joy, managing to cock a knee on the board before the sea reclaimed him.

Surfing we were not, but enjoying it we most certainly were. The sea, apparently too cold for Queenslanders was for us two Brits an exquisite invitation. At 19° it’s as good as it ever gets at home. We’re from the land where the beach is an endurance test most of the time. Substitute sunnies for thermals and sunblock for Vaseline and you’re somewhere near to understanding it.

Loretta looks on as Gary rides the waves. The most important part of any day at the beach in most destinations in the UK is to first of all find a place to park as near to the spot you intend to swim as possible. This is essential. Then get changed in the car, squeeze yourself into last years (or are they the year befores?) trunks, brace yourself, get a good grip on the door handle in case the wind takes it off and run goddamit, run towards the grey mouthwash dribbling over the jagged pebbles, hopping and yelling, screaming like a banshee into the headwind.

Even if you’ve gone all-out and taken the precaution of smearing yourself in duck fat the chances are that by the time you’ve reached within four feet of the sea you’ve already turned a butcher-shop-carcass hue of pale, if you’re a sturdy fellow, and a more hypothermic blue if you’re normal. Testicles wince and retract at two feet away, the skin crawls at one, and by the time toe touches water you’ve lost all feeling in your legs and are moving on muscle memory alone.

.Only the truly heroic or the foolhardy go further, for the unnatural shade of purple you’ve now become is the body’s violent reaction to being forced to so quickly adapt to the savage onslaught of a bitter sea and your grim determination to have-a-nice-day-at-the-beach-even-if-it-kills-me. No longer able to survive on the wits you so clearly have abandoned, your body kicks into an evolutionary fight or flight response.

There really is no difference at this point between a British bather and a wild boar, and the legs run on, leaden footed splashes boot the water away until you’re forced to dive like the last salmon upstream and scream bloody murder into the inky wash. Keep screaming even as you swim, allowing the adrenaline coursing through your shock-state body to stave off pneumonia, keep splashing around like a punch drunk shadow boxer, and then get the hell out before you cramp up and have to be hauled out by the coastguard.

Run for your life back to the car, hurtle over the now surprisingly welcome pebbles, stub your toes, fall if you have to, just get up and keep powering on, and forget the severe chaff happening. Get back to the car, grab a towel, your thermos of hot tea and try to control your wildly spasming limbs and claw-like hands to pour yourself a nice hot cup of tea. Ignore the scolding steam on your goosefleshed legs, and wait the gradual warming of your core being. Wipe the dripping stalactite saltwater snot from your inflamed nostrils and gradually begin to reclaim your body.

Drive home with your teeth clattering and rug up at home vowing never to try to enjoy a day at the beach again. Is 19º too cold? You c-c-c-c-c-call that a kn-n-nife?
Too easy mate.

Phil and I keep up with Gary who abandons us and actually surfs a few times. Shocked into action we keep trying, but like that bag of cats we keep sinking. Grinning like village idiots we stay in the water until Gary and Loretta call us in. We saunter ashore like pros and pose by our boards as Anne and Loretta take pictures. Presumably to give faces to the amorphous sea-swept pictures taken of us in the water.

The day we went surfing was ended with a cup of tea back at Gary and Loretta’s. We should have set off much earlier for Kennilworth, but how could we refuse the opportunity of a cheeky dip in the beautiful and inviting waters of Queensland’s Sunshine Coast? We may not have learned to surf but we had a great time pretending.