2002-04-04

The next morning I had to be out of the cabin by 10am, so I had brekky and packed up. By then I had decided my plans for the next few days: I would camp here at Brooms Head for another night, but just in my van, then leave Tuesday for Samdon, a small village on the beach and river that has a camp ground and travel the following day across the Clarence River by ferry and on to Lawrence for the night. From there, following the river on the western side down to Grafton and then who knows.

After booking my camp site I drove back down to beach and selected site number 32 that was right on the beach. Writing postcards that afternoon, I counted the steps to the beach for my bandmates card: 13 to the sand and 30 to the water. Then I swam again in the warm, warm northern waters. Keen to see the village itself, I wandered up to the general store, past the narrow strip of homes. I had asked Dame's uncle the day before if it was likely that the village would grow to which he'd pointed out that we were surrounded by National Park so that there were no more blocks available to build on. This delights me, that the town must remain as it is and not grow into something ugly. Though I'm sure some of the older fibro places will soon be knocked down for more fancy joints.

The rest of the day consisted of swimming and reading in the solitude, as they were hardly any other campers. One other site is occupied by a couple and their small child, and they have quite a ranch set up over there: two tents, one with another marquee thing over it, and another sun shelter thing for their dining area, which has a schmick gas stove and light set up. Quite.

In the late afternoon, two women approached my end of the beach, waving. Easily, I assumed they were members of Dame's family, who are still in the area in numbers and deeply fond of 'Brooms'. It was Aunt Fran and her pal-who-is-part-of-the-family, Pam. They are lovely old chicks and we lazily chatted on the beach for ages, as they asked me interested questions about me and about Dame.

Later, I was reading in the van when I heard a dog yelping, repeatedly. I looked out to see dog-mate swimming gleefully in the little lagoon bit, barking with joy all the way. He would reach the beach and get out of the water, jog about 20 metres and then decide he needed another swim across the lagoon. This went on for about half an hour, and there was no master in sight. I love seeing dogs that walk themselves, they know what they are doing and they are so delighted when they are traipsing around, proud to be out. After a time, he ran off up the hill off home. It was unuasee a dog since they are not actually allowed on the reserve or the beach - that dog must have been local and accepted.

Now I sit here in the van, with a strong moonlight casting shadows around me, typing this onto my laptop, truly touch-typing, since I can't see the keys. After preparing an easy dinner of a tin of spaghetti, using my cute little gas stove, I sat on the beach eating it, watching the waves, simply. One set of rocks that crop out around the natural baths have been nicknamed Lace Rock by me. The waves break on the far side of the rock and the whitewash dribbles down the other side in an intricate pattern over the dark rock, looking like lace. It fades slowly, waiting for the next waves to break and make more lace.

I've made my van very cosy, with pink curtains, the seats folded down for my comfy bed and the back door open, facing the beach. The sea is very loud and it is quite warm. 9pm and time for bed in camping land.