A Minor Beef

An old saying advises that one should not eat seafood in a place where you cannot see the sea. It could also hold true in reverse: do not eat beef where you CAN see the sea. This lesson was brought home to me over the course of two drives we have made from this delightful mountain town to the Pacific coast, and the pleasures of these trips thoroughly outweighs any negative vibes brought on by eating a dodgy hamburger.

Our first trip to the coast was a drive to Crowdy Head, a promintory jutting out into the sea featuring a small, picturesque light house. Like all drives in New South Wales, the way was

neither straight nor level, traversing pavement that had last seen an upgrade when Robert Menzies was prime minister. The scenery was fantastic, though, with rolling hills, thick forests, and open cow paddocks that provided an endless array of beautiful views. We stood at the lighthouse and gazed out at the sea, hoping that an errant whale or two might breach during their migrations north from the Anarctic. The place reminded me a bit of another lighthouse we have visited at Byron Bay, the easternmost point of this continent, because there was no development visible on the shoreline to the north and south. The quiet rhythm of the waves always puts me in mind of the eternal, with the ocean providing the heartbeat of our planet. From that point we retraced ourselves to what can only be described as a large metal shed situated along side the road where a oyster market and takeaway stand served up some pretty good fish and chips. There were also at the parking lot of this establishment rack after rack of oyster nursery beds drying in the sun, made more interesting from the fact that I had tried my first oysters just moments before inspecting them. We then made the drive home over the same route as the morning's jaunt. It was a lot of fun and we enjoyed ourselves immensely.

Our second expedition yesterday was over much of the same highway to the costal city of Forster, which reminded me of a miniature Manly with high rise apartments and busy streets. Here Ronald and Jane had some shopping to do, primarily to procure food and litter for the service of the real masters of their home, two cats named Sylvia and Sebastian. They also stopped at a sporting goods store where I purchsed a nice small pair of binoculars which we immediately employed at another seaside overlook which provided an opportunity to look for whales. Alas, there were none of the Leviathans to be seen and we adjourned to a dockside cafe.

Hamburgers are a common enough meal in Australia, and the country hosts such familiar American franchises as McDonalds and Burger King (here known as "Hungry Jacks"). When ordering a hamburger at a pub or independent restaurant, the burgers take a different turn from the plain Yankee model with toppings that include (among other things) sliced beets. Generally speaking these Australian interpretations of the sandwich are quite tasty, but at the aforementioned cafe the opposite was encountered. Instead of ordering fish and chips again (like any sane person would have done) I ordered a hamburger that proved inedible. There were no beet slices, but I suspect there was little beef in the burger as well, and it was smothered in a sweet barbeque sauce that did not do much to improve the flavor. A mild case of indigestion resulted from my culinary escapade, but it did not last long and shortly after returning home I was back on my feet, wiser for the experience: always eat fish at a place that specializes in serving it, and if ever in doubt about the burgers at other establishements, order the chicken schnitzel instead. I have rarely had these flattened, breaded chicken fillets fail me at any pub where I have ordered them. (And yes, they have KFC here too, but the schitzels at just about anywhere else are going to be much superior).

Dartz

Regular readers of this blog know that I enjoy a game of darts around the house, primarily because it is the one barroom sport one can play without a competitor. The game's origins are murky, dating back to the Middle Ages, but the modern version was was invented by a carpenter from Lancashire named Brian Gamlin in 1896. To be played properly, one must hit the numbered pie slices on the target in combinations to count down from 301 to zero, but that method is beyond this writer who cannot do math in his head. A much more simple game is called "cricket" which (when played by this American at least) requires the player to hit the 20, 19, 18, 17, 16, and 15 in sequence and exiting the game with a bullseye. This is the game we have played at Ronald and Jane's estate for the past two days. We had some construction to perform prior to play, however.

Part of the pleasures of hanging around here and doing not much of anything is the daily wild bird feedings that Ronald performs. He buys bird seet at the market and distributes it every afternoon

on the driveway leading to his large outdoor shed.The birds come down from the trees to peck away at the seeds, making a noise like soft popcorn popping while they feed. They are truly beautiful, with the Crimson Rosellas and Rainbow Lorakeets being my own personal favorites. There are other varieties: magpies, crested pigeons, and ducks. They all gather together, but then they segregate themselves into groups, much like kids at a junior high school cafeteria, and who knows who are the "cool" ones here. Watching them from the open door of the shed is really fun, and one afternoon a magpie simply stood in front of me and complained in the most varied vocal fashion for about five minutes. What an incredible range of songs and noises they make! Unlike American magpies, who simply squawk, these fellows have a combination of whistle and hum that is truly remarkable.

Hardly content with just bird watching, Ronald and I set out yesterday to build a dart board backing mount out of some spare wood that was lying about the shed. The wood came from an old deck that was dismantled and the boards were as hard as a rock. We laid out three vertical boards and

then attached a series of horizonal boards to them, having to drill pilot holes prior to setting in some screws with the driver. Due to the stupidity of the builders, the drill seemed to be working overtime trying to get a hole through the wood, but towards the very end we figured out the proper speed adjustment for the drill and got a pretty good laugh at our previous efforts. The resulting mount was as heavy as a refrigerator and we had to think for a while how we were going to mount it on to the metal walls of the shed. Ronald came up with the idea of placing two boards on the exterior of the shed and then putting bolts through the wood to hold it in place. The results are impressive, as the photo shows, with the dart board mounted strong enough to withstand a hurricane. We have had several games of cricket since, and it promises to be a pleasant reminder of our stay once we leave this delightful place next month.

Golden Gaytime

Yesterday we toured the Mountain Maid gold mine operation near the townsite of Copeland, about fifteen miles or so from Gloucester. The discovery of gold in the area dates back to 1876 when word of mineral riches caused a rush of miners to establish an instant town in a rocky, remote gully. As usual, the placer gold was quickly washed out by panning and sluice boxes along the small creek and the era of corporate mining began shortly thereafter. The mines were worked in the area on and off until the 1930s, and active work did not resume until an owner from Newcastle decided that spending weekends in the bush crushing quartz would be a great getaway for him and a few mates. It was the remainder of their operation that we saw yesterday and, like Mitch McConnell at a press conference, it was a moment frozen in time.

We had made reservations for an official tour earlier in the week and as a result we were met at the parking area by our guide, Matt, and his two volunteer assistants, Anna and Danny. They led us through what I can only describe as a jungle but what they called a "dry rain forest" because there

were no palm trees. There were plenty of other trees, though, including one which had very broad leaves about the size of a Frisbee that we were warned to avoid. Apparently these leaves are covered with very tiny spines that actually sting any unfortunate who might brush up against them. We all had on jackets and long pants, so we were protected somewhat, but I could not help but to imagine how hostile that environment must have been for ancient Aboriginies who did not have the benefit of our protective clothing.

The tour was a combination history lesson and botany lecture, and both were quite enjoyable. The cabin where the latter-day miners stayed during their weekend labors was dark and primitive, not exactly the sort of weekend recreational site most would choose. The rock crushing trip hammers were very impressive, and Danny fired up one so we could see it in operation. A simple device, the ore crusher looked like it could handle rocks up to about the size of a softball. The forest was very dark, partly because the trees were so thick, but also because the creek gully was so deep and the walls on either side so steep that it was hard to imagine sunlight every reaching the bottom. After we were on our way we had a picnic lunch at an overlook of the Barrington Tops, a mountain range that looked a lot like the Ouachita Mountains of Western Arkansas. Higher than the Ozarks, the Ouachitas feature the same rolling forested slopes but with more rocky outcrops. The view was splendid, the lunch was delicious, and the temperatures quite chilly at 3,300 feet above sea level so we did not linger.

A short drive brought us back Gloucester where we stopped at the grocery store and I purchased some delicious ice cream bars that share the title of this essay. Today I believe we will do little more than assist Ronald in building a back stop for his dart board and watch his daily feeding of the wild birds in the area. There are some truly beautiful birds here and I hope we can get some good photographs this afternoon.

Return to Oz

I type these lines in Gloucester, New South Wales, a small cattle and dairy community where our friends are hosting us for the next couple of weeks. We arrived last Friday in Sydney and spent that day trying to get our biological clocks reset at a hotel near the Central train station and visiting a few places that we remembered from earlier trips. The flight across the globe was rather easy this time, primarily because Jayne and I both flew first class and were able to lie down in a narrow bed for as long as we wished. The food was not particularly to my liking, but I appreciated the bottomless champagne glass.

The train to Gloucester from Sydney station was four hours long, but quite pleasant, allowing us to relax in the first class coach while watching the countryside roll by. It takes a long time to get out of the heavily urbanized Sydney area, but once that is accomplished the forests, meadows, and farms pass in an enless series of green foliage. Once we got to Gloucester, our friends, Ronald and Jane, met us at the staion and whisked us away to their country estate just outside of town.

Their home is beautiful, with a wrap around porch, four bedrooms, two living rooms, and a swimming pool and spa. The home is simply beautiful, with space every where you look. The day after our arrival, we were taken to a craft fair held on the grounds of the local park. Much like such affairs in the states. there were shade structures erected over merchants offering a variety of goods from hemp clothing to macrame pot holders. The weather was beautiful, slightly overcast with temperatures in the sixties, I estimate. Not bad for the middle of winter.

Today we will drive a few miles outside of town to visit and tour an abandoned gold mine. Apparently there was quite a strike here in the early years and all that remains of the mining camp called Copeland is the operating infastructure of a large mine. The forest has reclaimed all the land taken up for stores, houses, and pubs that were hastily erected here in 1876.