Dolphins, Dad Jokes, and A Bicycle Ride

Stockton to Myall Shores (Bombah Point)

I watched three tugs escort an empty bulk carrier in to port as the sun rose on a bright clear morning.

The wind had changed and there was less coal dust on the picnic tables, so we ate our breakfast untroubled by thoughts of coal dust death, packed up camp, and tootled off to Port Stephens with a side trip to the Birubi Beach Surf Club where we could look out over the Stockton sand dunes which stretched 34ish km from Anna Bay to Stockton. These dunes are the largest moving sand dunes in the southern hemisphere and contain lots of interesting things, like indigenous sacred sights, WWII plane wrecks, and tin shacks erected to provide shelter to survivors of the shipwrecks that used to happen regularly on this stretch of coast. From the surf club we looked down on a veritable circus of camel rides and overgrown buses promising wild adventure and sand surfing in the dunes. Earnest instagrammers and selfie-takers cavorted in front of the camels and pedestrians dodged feral 4wds on the open beach.

We debated the pros and cons of riding a bike down the beach to Stockton. Maybe another day.

Yes there were camels. No, the pyramids were not an Egyptian reference: they were merely repurposed tank barriers left over from WWII, when they were installed to prevent invasion of Australia via the sandhills.

In Port Stephens my bicycle and I jumped on the ferry for the hour trip across the bay and up the Myall River to Tea Gardens. Roger, having ridden this section in 2018, got the tedious job of driving all the way out to the highway to find a bridge, and then driving all the way back to meet me at theMyall Shores Caravan Park to which I would, in theory, have ridden by then.

It takes a lot of effort to achieve peak Daggy Cyclist Style.

The ferry was old and cute. Some folks from Tea Gardens had caught the ferry to Stockton just for a cup of coffee. They dawdled, and Trevor the ferryman had to go and remind them that the ferry had a timetable. Trevor entertained us with Dad jokes while we waited for them get back on the boat. Then the ferry failed to start and important mechanical mutterings were had by Captain and crew (Trevor). Trevor opened a hatch in the floor and leapt below decks, brandishing a screwdriver. Within minutes the main motor started, Trevor resurfaced, the screwdriver was stowed for future use, and off we chugged.

Trevor had a lot of jokes. Here's a sample; "Why did the koala die?"* Followed by "There's a dead kangaroo under a tree. What killed it?"**

We were barely away from the jetty before dolphins joined us at the bow, where they stayed on and off for the full hour it took to chug up the Myall River at a very relaxed pace.

Trevor had plenty of time to chat and we learned about the history of the bay and the little communities that we passed. We saw oyster farms; the remains of indigenous fish traps; black swans; and went under the singing bridge which was silent on account of no wind.

Black swans amidst the remains of stone fish traps.

I rolled my bike off the boat and sat in the sun eating hot chips, watching pelicans, and indulging in some mild procrastinating but eventually I had to get on my bicycle because there was no other way I was going to get to Myall Shores Caravan Park other than by riding there.

Mungo Brush road was flat and paved, ridiculously easy to ride, with a surprising number of cars for a road which didn't go anywhere in particular. The river was on one side, the sea on the other, and neither of them were visible although the sound of waves was never far away and in some places sandhills were encroaching through the trees.

Roger caught up with me and we had a little roadside picnic before parting ways: him to go fast and me to go slow.

The phone rang at 2:30. "Hello it's Trevor from the ferry. The boat's about to leave, just checking that we're not leaving you behind by accident." I reassured Trevor that I had, indeed, taken a one way ride and was not a day tripper who, seduced by the gentle pleasures of Tea Gardens, had forgotten the ferry and would end up stranded, grumpy, and needing accommodation in Tea Gardens overnight.

At Hole In The Wall lookout I had a grand view over the wide open beach and Broughton Island. I don't know why it was called Hole In The Wall lookout but pondering this kept me busy for several kilometres of cycling and I still didn't come up with an answer.

My day ended at a little vehicle ferry across the narrow waters between two lakes on the Myall River. The Myall Shores Caravan park was on the other side and Roger, under siege from mosquitoes, already had the tent set up. I was glad there was a ferry because the only other available boat was not serviceable.

I had to wait a bit for the ferry and then the ferry man, who was quite relaxed about many parts of his job, didn't charge me for the trip. He charged the only car on the ferry though, and gave them a very strong lecture about how the last ferry would leave at 5:45 and if they were one second late he wouldn't wait for them. From the eye rolling in the car and the tone of the ferryman I suspect this interaction was familiar to both parties and was indeed an important part of their ferry ritual.

Roger met me at the ferry and we walked back to camp, where we busted out the mosquito net for the very first time before spending the evening in the laundry, which had a screen door and was therefore somewhat mosquito proof.

At bedtime I made a frantic dash from the laundry to the tent, zipping up as quickly as I could. Thankfully the mosquitoes that came in were quite contrary by nature and, once in, devoted their energies to trying to get back out again rather than biting me which was quite fine by me, thank you very much.

Home for the night: Myall Shores Caravan Park.

*It fell out of a tree.

** It got hit by a dead koala.

Yes, the people on the ferry groaned too.

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Today's ride: 30 km (19 miles)
Total: 311 km (193 miles)

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