Sunday dawns, and I decide I'm going back to Straddie Island, to watch the NRL Grand Final in the bar overlooking the beach. This time, I'm taking The Rig across.
The drive to Cleveland is as easy as before, but this ferry terminal actually looks like a ferry terminal. The ticket office is still a portakabin, but it's a bigger one. Pretty soon, The Rig and I are on the Stradbroke car ferry. Arriving into a different part of Dunwich (compared with Friday), I'm soon on the road to the Stradbroke Hotel. It's a great drive in The Rig. It feels like it was made for trips like this. I've learned that the authorities allow 4x4s to drive on some of the beaches, although you need a permit first. I don't bother. It might look good on the tv, but I feel that beaches are no place for cars, even beaches as big as Cylinder. I ponder as I drive. Maybe some of the truly vast beaches would be ok - the ones that are 10 miles long or more. There's probably enough space for a noisy 4x4 to drive around without spoiling it for bathers.
Nevertheless, just before the Stradbroke Hotel, there's a short track to the left that allows access to the beach. I take The Rig a short way down, and take a photo to show Paddy.
Then, it's back out onto proper tarmac, where I park at the side of the road and head to the bar. The game has been going quite a while and there's a big crowd of people watching. It seems like a lot of beer has been drunk, and there's a lot of good natured laughter, but the atmosphere isn't as lively as I'd expected. The scoreboard tells me why. It's a one-sided game, with Melbourne thumping Manly. I have a beer, stay for a while, but the game just isn't worth watching. It's all over as a contest, and Manly aren't looking like scoring. So I take the Rig a short distance further, to the car park right next to the Cylinder Beach campsite which is, in turn, right next to the beach itself.
I've brought my beach gear this time, so I get changed (good changing rooms) and in no time I'm in the Pacific. The water is nice and cool, but not cold, and I spend much longer than I realise just heading out and enjoying the waves. Their faces were possibly as big as 5 feet high, but never menacing or dangerous. I'm intending to learn to surf sometime, so I'm using this time in the water to start getting a feel for how the sea behaves. I soon convince myself I'm a natural waterman. I have an instinctive understanding all marine things and, in turn, they welcome me as one of their own. I respect the ocean, and the ocean respects me.
Too soon, I have to go back, get changed, and get back to the ferry. Another cool drive home, and I bore Paddy and Vicky once more. Bless them.
The drive to Cleveland is as easy as before, but this ferry terminal actually looks like a ferry terminal. The ticket office is still a portakabin, but it's a bigger one. Pretty soon, The Rig and I are on the Stradbroke car ferry. Arriving into a different part of Dunwich (compared with Friday), I'm soon on the road to the Stradbroke Hotel. It's a great drive in The Rig. It feels like it was made for trips like this. I've learned that the authorities allow 4x4s to drive on some of the beaches, although you need a permit first. I don't bother. It might look good on the tv, but I feel that beaches are no place for cars, even beaches as big as Cylinder. I ponder as I drive. Maybe some of the truly vast beaches would be ok - the ones that are 10 miles long or more. There's probably enough space for a noisy 4x4 to drive around without spoiling it for bathers.
Nevertheless, just before the Stradbroke Hotel, there's a short track to the left that allows access to the beach. I take The Rig a short way down, and take a photo to show Paddy.
Then, it's back out onto proper tarmac, where I park at the side of the road and head to the bar. The game has been going quite a while and there's a big crowd of people watching. It seems like a lot of beer has been drunk, and there's a lot of good natured laughter, but the atmosphere isn't as lively as I'd expected. The scoreboard tells me why. It's a one-sided game, with Melbourne thumping Manly. I have a beer, stay for a while, but the game just isn't worth watching. It's all over as a contest, and Manly aren't looking like scoring. So I take the Rig a short distance further, to the car park right next to the Cylinder Beach campsite which is, in turn, right next to the beach itself.
I've brought my beach gear this time, so I get changed (good changing rooms) and in no time I'm in the Pacific. The water is nice and cool, but not cold, and I spend much longer than I realise just heading out and enjoying the waves. Their faces were possibly as big as 5 feet high, but never menacing or dangerous. I'm intending to learn to surf sometime, so I'm using this time in the water to start getting a feel for how the sea behaves. I soon convince myself I'm a natural waterman. I have an instinctive understanding all marine things and, in turn, they welcome me as one of their own. I respect the ocean, and the ocean respects me.
Too soon, I have to go back, get changed, and get back to the ferry. Another cool drive home, and I bore Paddy and Vicky once more. Bless them.
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