A dinner with old friends whom we had not seen for a while was very joyful, as we swapped stories and joked and laughed like naughty teenagers. They also shared bits of knowledge about Port Macquarie, one that caught their eye was a kilometre of painted rocks around the rocky coastline. As I was on my morning ‘beach and rock platform’ walk, I read many of the rocks. Generally they were about happy families, death of friends, mixed cartoon characters, and bits of philosophy. The only issue was that there was no more advertising space available.
So yet another beautiful curved beach drifting on to a brief reef platform jutting 1oo metres into the sea, with rocky outcrops causing waves to part company. As I climbed a higher platform, a narrow u-shaped beach hid behind a higher rock wall. Further round, another bigger delightful beach.
A long return walk and Corrie and I found another hideaway. Half a kilometre from town this busy cafe hidden between residential dwellings was our breakfast venue.
A walk around town and we were on our way. The direction was Crescent
Head but as that much used cliche goes – ‘it’s about the journey, not the destination’. We travelled along the canal-like Belmore river with a narrow grass or bush area between it and the road. The occupants of some houses on the narrow road (usually small grazing properties on these extensive flood plains) had taken over the grassy area, mown and landscaped it – delightful. We found a rare public grass strip at the tiny town of Gladstone with a few stunning buildings – a special place. Moving on to Jerseyville – no shops and no-one – we were entertained by Pelicans who chatted quietly on a beached tree on the much bigger Macleay river, with others on the smaller Belmore tributary.
This was a special discovery for us, as the only company we had was scattered rain falls. It had also been raining quite heavily the day before and this flood prone area had thin layers of water lying all over which I imagine was the result of a built up high water table.
It was then on to the pretty and larger town of South West Rocks. A high peninsula with silhouetted trees peering out over yet another reef surrounded headland. As I started toward the breaking waves, I noticed the colour of the rocks were quite golden (at the previous beaches they were mostly a more dark charcoal colour) with a two metre wide sandy inlet completing the picture.
We had come to the end of a most precious day, as cockatoos chatted noisily.; a flock of another white bird with black beaks flew overhead, as the Pelicans sat quietly in conversation. It brought back to me my newly found (once lost) poem, where I borrowed a well known title: ‘Conference of the Birds’. to highlight our best bird day.
Some droppings in a circle on the road
What was it that had happened from above?
The sacred hoopoe sang its perfect ode
A melancholic sound but born of love.
So could it be the conference of the birds
Enlightenment, the focus of these talks,
Where everything is spoke in sacred words
By nightingales, cuckoos and soaring larks.
If it were true that this was such a meeting
Divinity itself was on all branches,
The time with thou as always very fleeting
And one by one, they all will take their chances.
The hoopoe leads them thru the seventh valley
Until, at last, they reach the grand finale.
