11 November 2012 Milton Showgrounds, Shoalhaven, NSW

There was an absolute feast of international rugby this morning; something for every supporter. For ourselves, we were restricted to the test between France and Australia held in Paris. The alarm was set for 7 am and even then, we missed the first ten minutes or so of the game. The Wallabies were smashed! I should not say that with such relish; I should be more supportive of this nation which is doing such a fine job of hosting my husband and I, this nation which adopted my husband all those years ago as one of their own. But loyalties run deep, especially when one is raised on the game from the cradle. In an exercise of self-preservation, I have not mentioned the game to anyone else today, although chances are they would not be that interested. Rugby just does not have the following here that it has in New Zealand.

We were still away from camp before the check out deadline, heading across the Clyde River once more and north up the Princes Highway, through more state forest, up and down over the coastal hills, although here, further north, they are not quite so steep.

Ariving at Burrill Lake, we pulled into the Lions Park right on the Inlet. After a reviving cup of coffee, we wandered out toward the entrance, noting the many families fishing, kayaking or swimming, all making the best of the much improved weather.

Four kilometres on we reached Ulladulla, having travelled a mere fifty two kilometres from Batemans Bay. I had read that this seaside town had a small sheltered harbour, home to many commercial fishing boats, who count on the annual Easter Sunday “Blessing of the Fleet” for their safety; probably a lot more fun that a manual of bureaucratic Health & Safety rules. I had also thought that this place might be worth a longer look that one grabs on passing through and had checked out accomodation in the area. Chris on the other hand, had Nowra in his sights, so somewhere along the way, we needed a meeting of the minds.

Sunshine makes such a difference and it is only fair to say that both of us were most impressed with what we saw. This was no tinpot village with just a fishing wharf. Ulladulla is a substantial township of over 12,000 inhabitants, and seems to have everything that Batemans Bay has, if not more. Chris suggested we drive on to Milton, set up camp and decide from there what to do. Having found showgrounds closed to us before, we reckoned we had a 50/50 chance of it being open for business, or at least the business of accommodating travelers such as oursleves. We came over the edge of the ridge, on which this small historical village sits, surprised at the extent of the residential area, and then down to the edge of the town to these showgrounds, green with real grass and trees. Beautiful rural land stretches beyond all the way west to the escarpment and endless forest. This was definitely the place for us.

And so we set up and now expect the caretaker to call upon us at some time in the late afternoon, to collect the modest tariff from us. There are about half a dozen others already here, and earlier, there was a kennel club doing its thing in a corner paddock.

The lighthouse at Warden Head

After lunch and after checking out the cricket progress, happy to have excellent televison reception, we drove back to Ulladulla, just five kilometres south of us, popped into the Information Centre for a tear off map and made our way out to Warden Head, the southern protecting arm of the Ulladulla Harbour. Here on the point stands an operational lighthouse, relocated from the harbour breakwater in 1879. It is one of only two NSW lighthouses constructed from wrought iron plates. None of this is explained out at the lighthouse but then the structure is not particularly attractive anyway. I had read this while doing my pre-travel homework.

From here we set out on a walk just short of an hour, along the top of the cliffs from where we observed stupid fishermen standing out on the long rock ledges extending out into the heavy surf. Further around to the south, we watched several dozen wet-suited surfers waiting for the perfect wave and frequently catching one that suited their purpose. We wandered through the charred remains of a casuarina forest and then through another of banksias and healthier casuarinas. We came upon a crimson rosella, seemingly alone. We have seen so many of these on our travels, rising from the roadside, but here we watched it close up in the branches just metres from us. From the northern side of the point, we looked back toward the harbour and up the coast, spotting great plumes of smoke giving evidence to a bush fire somewhere to the north. We decided it was probably directly east of Milton, and just hoped that we would not be effected by the smoke, and yet as I write of this, it is the first I have thought of it since initially seeing the smoke.

We paused on our return at the park above and opposite the wharf and marvelled at this delightful spot, glad that we had bothered to take time to explore further.

Before heading back down to the showgrounds at Milton, we walked up and down the main street, quiet now at 3.30 on a Sunday afternoon. Milton has been classified by the National Heritage Trust but unlike others we have passed through, is well manicured and has that X-Factor the others do not. There are antique and curio shops, galleries and cafes as well as the necessary services including an IGA superette and charming village greens and interpretative panels about, including the story of apparently the last aboriginal woman in the region who lived in a cave and charged familes of newborns 6 pence for every newborn, for the privelege of having been born in her land.

We returned to our rural setting, the cricket still on and looking a little more hopeful for the Aussies but then there are still two more days to play.