Despite the horrendous forecast, the worst is either
still to come or has skirted the bay. And yet we have still tiptoed about,
spending our day as if we were expecting a deluge at any moment.
This morning we drove to the service station to
refuel with over 100 litres of diesel, still a surprise after all this travel,
then down into the town where we walked about the shopping precinct,
successfully tempted by the apparel displayed in a couple of clothing shops; a pair
of shorts for Chris and a couple of scanty tops for myself.
Still not willing to stray too far from the vehicle,
we headed for the museum to find we had happened upon one of the two open days,
but were too early. Instead we headed off around the Water Park, about a
kilometre across a boardwalk and around the shoreline of a small reed filled
lake populated with ducks, swamp hens, ibis, herons and coots. Alas this water
way would be all the more attractive if someone were to paddle about gathering
up the debris caught up in the mud and foliage.
The rain had still held off, we headed back to camp
and buried ourselves in the election post mortems in the newspaper until lunch,
after which we returned once more to the museum.
It’s a good little museum, staffed by a number of
enthusiastic volunteers. This should be no surprise given that they only have
to congregate twice a week for three hours at a time. Unfortunately for us, we
arrived at the same time as a foursome who were particularly noisy, distracting
us from our own absorption of the history on display. Each time we moved to a different
room to avoid them, they were soon close behind. At one time, when I was back
for a second attempt to read a very interesting diary excerpt of a missionary
travelling in this part of the coast in the mid-1820s, one of the volunteers
commented on my serious application. I responded explaining that I was having
another go at it all, having found all the noise about quite distracting the
first time. She agreed that the museum was rather busy today, left me to my
reading and promptly engaged in hilarious conversation with a couple of other
volunteers in the next room, distracting me yet again.
Batemans Bay today is a relaxed seaside town with a
population of about 17,000, well placed as a retreat for those living in the
country’s capital. European life started back when Captain Cook sailed past in
1770, noting and naming the bay. However it was not until 1821 that a Lt
Johnson came with the explorers Mitchell and Hume, and named the river Clyde.
And it was not until even later in the 1860s that permanent settlement occurred
supporting farming and timber getting. Gold was discovered a little
further south and around Nelligan just upriver, which acted as further impetus
to development. After the gold rush, the building of the railroad across this
vast country demanded great quantities of timber, in particular ironbark
eucalypts for railway sleepers. Ships plied their trade up and down the coast,
the only practical transport option for the export of this timber and
everything else required to keep a community functioning. A track was opened up
over Clyde Mountain through to Braidwood and on to Canberra, which we travelled
in part while we were staying in Moruya. There was no bridge over the Clyde
River to Batemans Bay until 1956. By then the ferry was struggling to keep up
with the traffic flow up and down the Princes Highway.
The museum celebrates the timber industry as well as
every other facet of local history and is well worth a visit for sure.
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| The marina at Catalina |
Still feeling the effects of having spent such a sedentary
yesterday, we drove down to the shore, parked near the marina and went for a walk
along the pathway as far as Catalina, actually not very far at all. It was cold
and we managed to convince ourselves that the gathering black clouds were about
to dump on us. We returned to camp and much later, it started to drizzle. We have
extended our stay by a couple of days and hope the manageress is quite
incorrect in saying the weather will be absolutely dreadful tomorrow. We will
venture out regardless.
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