She walked out along the path that wended its way from the road through the coastal heath to the launching area. A sandy path with trees growing all along it meeting overhead making it feel like you were going along a secret passage to somewhere magical. Most people thought this lady was old but she didn't think she was old at all. She was 25 inside really. Certainly the body was showing signs of wearing out but her spirit remained young. She hated it when others made judgements for her based on what they thought she could and couldn't do. Her son was accompanying her on this walk. He wanted to show his mother the revamped grassed launching area for hang gliders and the path up from the beach. Mum will like this he thought. As they were walking along she said, "This reminds me of Seal Rocks."
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The mystical, magical Seal Rocks of 35 years ago with its old fibro fishermen's cottages, dirt road in and fishing boats. Recreational fishermen at low tide along No. 1 Beach trawling and catching the long sand worms so good to use on the end of a line. The woman always found it fascinating to watch as the worm would poke its head out warily from the sand to see what the smell being dragged along the sand was all about. Then if you were quick you could pinch fingers onto the head and gently pull the long worm out of the sand. A good 40cm sometimes. Just to stand with bare feet squirming and sinking down into the wet sand at the shore line watching the worms lured to the top and suddenly caught was a mesmerising experience. Surfers too, had discovered the isolated beauty and great waves of this fishing community.
Progress they called it. Nah, Paradise spoilt she called it ...
In the 80s and 90s they had gone as a family every summer to Seal Rocks. It was such a nurturing place for her spirit - free, unspoilt, wild one moment tranquil the next. Their two sons loved going too as there was always a beach somewhere where the waves were rolling in sweetly. Dolphins visited often and the crystal clear, blue green waters were very healing and calming. The sheltered Boat Beach bay was her favourite as the waves were gentle and she could swim or float and look back at the headland feeling completely at peace. Whenever she was about to undergo some complex medical procedure this sheltered bay and its clear, calming water became her safe place to retreat to in her mind.
It was to this place she retreated in 2001, on her own, to lick her wounds as her marriage was beginning to collapse. She needed to regroup, to prepare for the pain that was inevitably coming. Her five-year-old grandson came to spend a few days with her there. She told him about a magical place she wanted to show him. Along the way to the Seal Rocks Lighthouse there was a track that branched off leading to the top of the sand dunes above Lighthouse Beach. They set off with snacks, hats, water and sunscreen to walk along the trail towards the Lighthouse. There it was poking up above the tree line but where was the track to the dunes?
A path appeared next to a decorated black and white totem pole saying Beware of Trolls. A little further on they came to another totem pole with orange and white symbols painted on it and the word: Beach. This was the track to follow as it veered to the right, a sandy, winding path passing through the coastal banksias and ti trees.
"Are we there yet?" the little boy in front said.
"Soon," she answered before they emerged out at the top of the sand dunes.
"Oh Gran. How did you know this was here?" her grandson asked.
He loved running along and up and down the sand dunes arms out to the side dancing, prancing, shouting with glee. The steep sand hills were fun to run and slide down but hard work to get back to the top to be able start all over again. "You're the real Dune Dude!" his Gran told him.
In 2020 the Seal Rocks she once knew and loved was no more, she was thinking. Pity. For her, part of the charm was the getting off the tarred road and travelling along the corrugated, pot-holed, dusty, dirt track to suddenly turn a corner and there it was - the azure blue ocean spread out before her. Not a coffee shop in sight, no mobile reception, only a public phone box that may or may not be working and a little store. Bliss. So far from the madding crowd but unfortunately the madding crowd had caught up.
The road was tarred all the way now and cashed up city slickers were transforming the rustic village by buying the fishermen's cottages knocking them down to be replaced by huge weekenders.
The charm and magic was disappearing. Gone the funky signs warning of trolls or: Caution watch for children on the road, also old girls and spunk rats.
Progress they called it. Nah, Paradise spoiled, she called it.
The walk in 2020 with her son brought all these memories flooding back. There was the same mystical type path leading in the same way to come out at the top of a cliff or dune looking out at the ocean.
"I'll need to bring my stick when we come back to do the longer walk down to the beach," she told her son.
He was secretly pleased as he thought she should use her stick more than she did. She wasn't always as good as she thought she was!
Old Girls and Spunk Rats by Adrienne Roberts, of Kahibah, originally appeared in the pages of the Newcastle Herald on January 18, 2021 under the title 'Paradise spoiled'.