The last time I drove the Pacific Highway to Sydney it was pretty much like the Bruce Highway is now – nothing but roadworks and traffic snarls.
Last week, south of the Gold Coast, it was a dream, bypassing all the towns that used to slow you down and force you to eat far too many “authentic” meat pies. All of that is a thing of the past. Now, if you’re hankering for a pie you’ll have to take an exit, otherwise it’s full steam ahead.
But our mission was to use the road trip, book-ended by memorial services, to relax over three days of easy driving, admire the countryside and catch up with a few old mates living the rural idyll. First stop was Angourie, a favourite haunt since the early ‘70s, when a surfing friend built a tree house in the bush a couple of hundred metres back from the point. It’s long gone, replaced by a row of multi-million dollar mansions, but a bit of the old Anga can still be found in the back streets and around nearby Lake Wooloweyah, which was where we pitched up for the night, taking over the pool house in the backyard, with lake glimpses through the trees.
An electrical storm raged while we ate dinner, but we woke to a perfect north coast spring morning. There being no swell to speak of, I walked the few kilometres of dirt track along the ridge to Angourie Bay, sat and watched some kids trying to surf leftovers on the back beach before I walked back for breakfast. Bliss.
Another easy few hours down the road to John’s River, where we exit onto the back road network that leads us to our destination deep in the Manning Valley. Here some friends of many decades are selling their Federation cottage on a couple of acres to spend old age at their city base, ending another chapter of an adventurous life of beach and country living. So it’s a sad visit, our last to this lovely valley, and we spend a good part of it sitting in the paddock sipping rosé, telling old stories, hearing the quiet and watching the butcher birds swooping from the trees.
Next day I take a diversion from the highway to wander along the Lakes Way, checking out the beach breaks dotted along the coast of the Booti Booti National Park, where once we had to dodge sand mining trucks all the way to the surf. The restoration long complete, it’s a pleasant drive on this blustery, surfless day, getting us into Newcastle in time for a long walk along the beach at Merewether with a buddy, and a beer or two at the Surfhouse.
And now here we are on day four at rest on Sydney’s northern beaches peninsula, a place we once called home, in a house overlooking Pittwater, where way below a boathouse bed beckons. We’ve come here to celebrate the life of a dear friend’s mum, who passed away during Covid just a few weeks shy of her 102nd birthday. Molly liked nothing better than a gin and tonic and a good laugh, so there’s plenty of both during a boisterous afternoon and evening farewell.
And that was the week that was. Now we have to point the chariot north and make it home in one hit. It won’t be as enjoyable as the ride down, but at least the road is fit for purpose.
Vale Chris Davidson
Just as we were going to press last week, news filtered through of the tragic death of former pro surfer Chris Davidson, after hitting his head hard on the footpath after being felled in a one-punch attack outside a pub in South West Rocks. A 42-year-old local man was arrested at his home shortly after and charged with assault causing death.
“Davo”, 45, was a 19-year-old Narrabeen local and wild party boy when he shot to surfing fame in 1996 after beating world champion Kelly Slater in two consecutive heats while surfing as a wildcard at the Bells Beach Pro. Despite his natural gifts as a surfer, Davo became better known for his party-time excesses than his competitive record and struggled for years to make the championship tour, finally succeeding in 2010 and 2011.
On hearing of his tragic death, Kelly Slater called him one of the most naturally talented surfers he ever knew. “Lost another soldier yesterday. #RipChrisDavo. Had many a good battle with this guy,” Slater said on Instagram.
Although I didn’t really know Davo, I encountered him several times surfing hard and fast at qualifying events in Europe around the turn of the century, and raising the roof at the numerous bars of Hossegor with his great mate Nathan Hedge.
Davo leaves behind two children.
