Sometimes a weekend away can turn out differently to anticipated and this was no exception. The forecast was for a firm SE blow reaching 20-30 knots by the end of the long weekend. A possibility to fret about given the sparsity of paddling over the past month. However the BOM got one thing right and that was the showers.
Leaving Raby Bay on a dull grey morning it was a matter of getting the boats packed before the contents got too wet. Seven kayaks headed out under sail and made quick time around the north side of Peel Island. By the time we left the shelter of Peel it was a was slog into a SE with Stan taking on his new persona of Clark Gable as he was gone (north) with the wind.
By the time we converged on Bradbury's Beach Stan had enjoyed a tidal run in across the entrance to One Mile to find Carol had pipped us all at the post and was in possession of a popular key to the amenities. The tide was fairly high and wheels and straps were used to get the boats across the dune up to the reserved unpowered beach front sites at the northern end of the grounds. A van driving around pulled up on the adjacent slab and disembowelled a bevy of convivial footballers and their company. This was not good considering that their conviviality was inversely related to the blood alcohol levels.
With the tide now out we made tracks along the foreshore. An Ocean kayak sporting some heavy duty modifications held together by professional aluminium welding was chained to a post. Richly coloured coffee rock dominated the headland before the shoreline retreated into another sandy cove bounded by hulks of sandbarges. After topping up the camping numbers at the Council office we headed across to Adams Beach. Here the foreshore is taken by an even quieter camping ground with a very attractive grassy foreshore. While the office said no bookings were taken for this camping ground, the signage declared otherwise. A rough road continues on from the end of the grounds and turns back down to the beach passing a derelict boat to end at a beach front property which looked like target practice as you would not know whether a bomb had hit it. On such a walk you find out that Dunwich is really not all that big and before long we were wandering back through the historic cemetery to the camping ground.
With the communal kitchen set up we stayed behind to cook our meal while Bruce and Cheryl et al decided to enjoy one of the Little Ships Club's handsome meals. It was not long before we were invaded by the company of our neighbours, who at this stage of the evening were chatty and happy enough to have security call in and ask that the noise be kept in check. After tidying up we headed off to the club to find that the others had finished somewhat ordinary meals and were about to head back and call it a night. Too bad our neighbours did not follow suit. They rocked in at 11pm and continued with music for all including many renditions of Flame Trees right through to 4am. Not to be outdone, a solitary curlew put its two cents in at some other ungodly hour.
