Recently I speIt was starting to feel like home by the third week. On Sunday of the third week, the day dawned bright and warm. I headed out with a co-worker for the white sand beaches of Nelson Bay.
On the way out of Jesmond, we passed mountains of coal kept wet under sprinklers and waiting for long a long conveyor ride to ships in the port. In the time it took to drive the length of the conveyor, I had time to ponder whether it might be cheaper to build another mile of conveyor rather than truck haul, how static electricity is controlled on a two-mile strip of moving dielectric loaded with coal, how belt tension is controlled when the temperature changes, whether the ship moves to a stationary conveyor or the conveyor to the ship, and whether the limiting factor is the conveyor's ability to haul the load or the rotary scoop's ability to pile coal on the belt. In short, it was a long conveyor. We both wanted to stop for a closer look, but we both wanted to get to the ocean even more. We kept driving.
We stopped at the first public beach we came to. The car park was and many groups had driven down the beach to more secluded spots. There was perhaps a car every several hundred yards for as far as I could see. At the car park, there were enough people that two vendors were set up, one hawking camel rides and the other renting four-wheelers. Neither one appeared busy. Following my maxim of "you haven't been to the water till you've been in the water" we headed straight for the surf, did a little body surfing, and spent some time just staring in amazement at the iridescent azure water. Rainbows bust from the mist of the breaking surf and white sand beaches stretched out of sight.
We spent about an hour playing in the crystal blue surf. That was the first place we stopped, and even better places followed. After several more beaches, several more stops, and endless mountains of grass-covered sand, we finally arrived at Nelson Bay, our planned destination. We stopped at the all-volunteer Coast Guard station and enjoyed the view from that vantage point. The extraordinary view explained how the Coast Guard managed to keep an all-volunteer staff. We could see almost all of the bay and miles out to sea. There were several power boats busily heading to destinations unknown and all variety of more noble craft under full sail at a far more graceful pace focused more on the journey than the destination.
After several more beaches and a lunch of fish and chips featuring fish so fresh we watched them bring it in from the boat, I had absorbed all the sun I could take, and we headed for home. I gazed up at the Southern Cross that night and wondered how many people had enjoyed the day more than I did. Maybe a few, but just possibly none.
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