A morning walk took me down to a small creek where Platypus are sometimes seen but not this time, and because private properties took the creek frontage, I walked the streets. A few oldies were performing unexplained exercises as the varied performances gave only a distant clue of its origin.
Our friendly host told us that this town was struggling until a recent gold discovery. Now this place of beautiful buildings facing each other across the widest street I have ever seen, appears to be thriving, though sometimes Saturdays can give an inflated view with many coming from outside. Corrie accompanied me on this busy morning as these old buildings performed much better than the old outside gym members.
We decided to add our support to some of the towns devastated by the recent bushfires, so we continued on to Mogo, a town often seen in the press. It appears it was quite a tourist town before and walking along its streets gave an impression of – ‘what fire!’ But talking to a young waitress I heard that the external damage has been mostly fixed but the internal wounds are still there. A small creek flowed ignominiously to the rear.
A much bigger stretch of water at Depot beach was showing off its assets in the form of exquisitely formed cliff faces that Corrie and I had camped at some years ago. I wonder why it is not more of an attraction but it could be the kilometre long stretch around a very rocky and narrow reef.
We returned through ten kilometres of the stunning spotted gums looking more magnificent as they contrasted with their kin, blackened by the recent fires. Around the gums’ feet were masses of Burrawang palms that were quickly greening out the blackened undergrowth.
Another walk near the beach of Mollymook brought a refreshing end to a varied day, with a meal at the local golf club, bringing us back to modern day reality. Entering the club many regretful faces were sympathising with this older unbooked couple. It was reservations only, so ‘eyes-raised staff’ referred us to two huge couches (one per couch), to await a cancellation or a new table.

The mother of fires
She never cooked or smoked like this before
A simple life, she just took nature’s way,
Up in the trees or on her forest floor
The gifts of nature plentiful each day.
She saw the warnings and she tried to speak
But spoke a different language to the other,
Her words were lost, no solace could she seek
No longer would she be protective mother.
This burnt out mum, her creeks now filled with tears
Her children dead and dying ‘mongst the ashes,
The devastation more than her worst fears
That sound again – another forest crashes.
Her language we must come to understand,
Or we will lose this mum – our special land.