Here We Go Again - Chapter 13 - Bundaberg to Agnes Water

Gil and his son Aris, wake us at 8.00am as threatened. I have slept for over 11 hours and feel much better for the experience. Fior the last few days I have been getting no more than 7 hours and that was on a good day. This marathon has left me much the better for wear.

Aris takes a while to warm to us, but encouraged by chocolate and the lanyard from yesterday’s tour he is soon the bouncing youngster again. Gil, at a little over 50 has done the sea change. Originally from Victoria he and his second wife have uprooted the family and moved to Childers, just south of our present location. Not a moment too soon either given the effects on his family still in Melbourne of the Covid lockdowns. His mother, he laments, once such an outward and vivacious acquirer of friends appears to be quite sullen and becoming a homebody, locked inside as the Government attempts to control outbreak after outbreak.

The collateral damage this pandemic is creating will be felt for  many years to come. The light at the end of the tunnel is very dim for now as the Victorians (and it could be any of the states) struggle with quarantining those wanting to arrive or return from overseas. Once into the general public the apathy of the “conspiracy theorists” coupled with the shielding of our great nation by initial lockdowns has seen an effect something like India, not occurring here.

We need to leave and there are places to go and people to see on the way. Well at least there are markets not far from the van park to investigate. This will be interesting with the three intrepid vanners in a row. Parking might present us an issue.

The end point input into the GPS – Agnes Water – we are off. I wonder how many people call it Agnes Waters as I have done, when all the signs point to Agnes Water? The markets are situated in a school, and as we approach, having lost our way a little until Robyn, paper map in hand ( after the GPS suggested we had been driving on blank land), gets us back on course. She stops Silver Leader from making an almost fatal error of turning down the street, towards the car park. The map show quite clearly there would be  no room to turn and/or park the large tendered vehicules.

Almost ready to give up on the visit, Silver Leader sees a strip of dirt we can all park upon, but then only seeks to just get his on there leaving Forbsy and I on the street. Forbsy, as only Forbsy can, suggests there might be a little more room further down the strip and Silver Leader might like to enjoy that patch rather than the one where he is currently situated, in much more colourful words than that.

Parked and explaining he thought we had room for side by side parking rather than the elongated fashion now enjoyed, Silver Leader moans it is further to walk from where his van now sits but then pipes up he will get his steps up on his pedometer. 

Walking into the parking area of the markets it was a good thing we did not follow SIlver Leader. It would have been tight but it would have been painful and disturbing to a lot more than I. We decide to simply wander and leave when the leaving is good, not put a time or a place on where to meet.

Robyn is already in full on market mode. Each vendor’s wares have to be explored in detail, especially the food vendors. Looking at one she smirks, their labelling is “appalling”, but even though prompted by me does not leave one of her business cards. The perfect chance lost, but she muses, they have more important things to do (and she is not a confrontation person).

One vendor has lots of handmade knitted items including tea cosies. Colourful and playful designs abound. She picks a very bright yellow and orange one, and we move on. The processed meat vendor catches my eye. Jerky and beef salami are the order of the day here. I take a sample sized portion from each type to try later. The boys may not enjoy the chilli versions but them’s the breaks.

We catch up to Forbsy. From his back pocket are supported 3 (count them 3) hammer handles. Obviously on special at 3 for… but no. He explains in Bunning sthey are $10 whereas here without bulk discount at $7. 

More food vendors capture our attention and peanuts, mandarins and other delicacies are purchased.. We all seem to meet up together where we came in, and “marketing” satisfied, we head back to the vans to head off to Agnes Water.

Initially the road, as we reach the outskirts of town, passes by vast tracts of open parkland,  mown and manicured but absolute acres of it. Then we are back into crops of sugarcane and macadamia nut trees as well as much more vegetable crops. Unlike the bamboo surrounded crops of Hervey Bay, here a vast plantation is surrounded by pines.

Although travelling very close to the speed limit, we manage to get a line of vehicles behind us. Try as we may there are no real places for them to pass, or when there is, incoming traffic prevent overtaking. We get a couple past, then its time for us to turn right. This we do and Silver Leader suggests we pull to the side and let the time past. We do and the cars pass.

Later, we come across a small Delica van observing National Drive 20 – 30 kph Under the Speed Limit Sunday. The road is windy here and the chance of overtaking, limited or Nil. We follow this person (I refrain from saying idiot) for many a mile and besides us they now have a long line of followers. If simply they would look in the rear view mirror and see the effects of their driving and show a bit of courtesy to the other road users, I suspect a lot of road rage might not occur, or accidents for that matter as frustrated drivers do silly things.

We, as I know a lot of other van drivers, know we are often slow and heavy vehicles and will allow, particularly the truckies (who are working where we are not) any assistance we can to help them on their way. This lesson had obviously not filtered down to this driver. It doesn’t help that the alarm for the EBS has started again. Each time I touch the brakes the alarm sounds, and its annoying. I will need to get under the van and see if I can jiggle something around, or suffer it until Rockhampton where another Caravan Fix dealer is situated.

We get in, and again the managers could not be more helpful. The sites here are huge, so huge in fact, we mistakenly park in the wrong one.

Settled in, its time for exploring. Robyn has a catch up meeting with her family, all i lock down in Melbourne so she will not be joining us. Fobsy again takes the lead, heading off to explore Agnes Water and then Seventeen Seventy. It was interesting driving along, The signs at times suggested “The Town of 1770” others it was spelt out as if the apprentice did the ones where the numbers were used and the “old hand” the full spelling.

The beach at Agnes Water is a short walk through a picturesque park. The architecture here and surrounding is complementary to the position as opposed to other areas we have seen where the homes have grown up around the fishing exploits of the first white settlement. Silver Leader and Forbsy go to the water edge to check the temperature of the water. I remain at the edge of the beach taking pictures of the vista, watching what appears to be an ever increasing break on an incoming tide, still not large enough to temp Silver Leader into breaking out his surf board.

Beaches, sand spits and DuckW’s are the different at 1770 as opposed to the manicure of Agnes Water. The second landing of James Cook in Australia in 1770, this place reeks of that time with its street names. The cairn signifying the landing and national park named after one of my forefathers, the great botanist of the Cook journey, Sir Joseph Banks. The Bustard Bird must have taken great significance to the early explorers given their writings about it. The descriptive plaques around the place all seem to include one dedicated to the bird.

Wait a minute, what is that parked in a bus zone. It’s the same mongrel vehicle that crept along into Agnes Water yesterday with the ridiculously long line of traffic behind it oblivious to the frustration they were creating. Forbsy is perplexed and seeks to stop himself stopping and either giving the driver a piece of his mind or let his tyres down in protest of his stupidity or ignorance or both.

Forbsy allows a trip along Banks Drive to video the experience. From there it was a few snaps of interesting signs, then as we stood at the end of the point at 1770 with the sun lowering and the wind beginning to bite, any thought of fishing this afternoon soon waned as the call of the pub and the Sunday afternoon football featuring the favourite club of the Forbsy – the Newcastle Knights became much too loud to ignore.

As luck has it there’s a tavern on the way back to the van park and we call in to sit and watch the game. As Forbsy and I enter our eyes are diverted to the bar where two girls, one so tall her head is well and truly amongst the butiong over the bar, are discussing the purchase of maroon coloured fishing shirts. True “cockroaches” as we are, we cannot let this chance to convert such impressionable ones to the good side of football.

Not on your life, the banter between us, as we are ordering drinks and the girls, is light and fun but fruitless. They are when all said and done Queenslanders and although the shirts bear nothing of the football at all, they are maroon. They leave giggling. We find a table from where we can watch the game.

Quickly the game turns to a massacre. Interest is lost quickly and just after half time we retreat to the vans for dinner. The game is not even turned on when we get back, such is the mounting score and discussions turn to dinner and the molesting of meat on the barbeque.

Dinner is done, the cold engrossing and we collectively head off to the warmth of your respective beds,