Beaches this close to the Tropic of Capricorn are not those of my boyhood fear, with waves rolling and crashing and proving my inadequacy to bikinied bystanders who caged laughs and soon looked past me to other boys on boards. No, here, the waves are as flat as those bikinied bystanders were and they ripple rather than crash. Either way, my knee kept me dry. Sue on the other hand was quickly into swimmers and breaststroking 20 meters parallel to the very straight shoreline, surprisingly swimming between the flags but to what purpose beyond making life easier for the lifeguards I couldn't ascertain.
Apart from snapping a few pictures there was little for the beached whale to do. A phone call from Steve McMillan at Radio Station 2AD changed all that and we talked through the selection of the Waratahs First XI and the Reunion in general. It was a nice, final way to doff my cap at a fabulous gathering.
Once Sue was rung out and dried, we headed south to the boat harbour and watched some kite surfers operating off the beach. Spectacular scenes of boards flying sometimes five or six meters off the surface and giant coloured sails bent under the strain of a freshening 35 knot freeze trying to escape the straining cables held by surfers with feet strapped to boards that raced across winded bumped small waves.
In the afternoon we shopped and tried to filled holes left by having the camping trailer sit on the
Tomorrow, it's on to Bundaberg.