If you haven’t been to Byron Bay before, let me give you a quick rundown of what it’s all about. Beaches, sunshine, hippies, greenery, parties, lighthouse. That’s it. That’s what everyone wants. That’s what I expected. What I didn’t expect was to swim, paddle, dive, jump, fly and surf my way around this latter-day Garden of Eden.
Right at the top of NSW and the most easterly point on the Australian mainland, Byron Bay is one of the east coast’s premier traveller locations. And it’s easy to see why. Five minutes in town and I was walking around barefoot, topless and letting my manly odours roam free as nature intended. Getting back to nature, that’s what it’s all about.
Fresh air, afternoon strolls, walking down the beaches looking at the peaches – that was my plan. But instead, I’m struggling to paddle a kayak across the waves with a lazy-arsed German girl moaning in the back – this wasn’t part of the plan.
Make Light Work of it
The lighthouse at Cape Byron is one of the most picturesque spots in the country, where the pristine white tower contrasts perfectly against the flawless blue sky. The ocean here stops at the edge of the world and it is a magical location for wildlife.
Coming at it via the waves, we were treated to a whole new perspective and within minutes we had spotted a couple of dolphins mooching about in the waters nearby. As we slowly made our way towards them, we realised we were only 10ft away from a pod of about 15-20 beautiful blue-grey dolphins, playing in the surf.
We “oohed” as they jumped and surfed the waves coming into the bay and “aahed” as the males forcibly copulated with the females.
After a quick Tim Tam break, we headed back to the beach, thankfully this time with Matt our guide – a tanned fridge with arms – as my kayak partner. It was like having a four-stroke engine on the back, as we surfed and sped our way back to dry land.
Time for a break, I thought. My arms were knackered, so what better way to spend the arvo on the beach than topping up my tan and making little holes in the sand as the peaches passed by. But no.
Just when you thought it was safe to go back in the water, some sun-bleached goon with a surfboard hijacks the whole shebang. I was clearly in for more pain.
Surfing is one of those things you just have to try when you’re Down Under. I can usually make a tit of myself without trying, so I don’t see why I should do it on purpose out at sea. But after a couple of previous attempts I’d started to get a bit cocky about my ability on a board.
After a brief lesson on the beach (“push up, feet in, arse out – jump!”), I was at it again. If you’ve never surfed before, just remember: if the board looks cool, you’ll look like an idiot. The bigger it is, the easier it is to ride and the quicker you’ll get the hang of it.
So after a few failed attempts, I soon found a small wave with my name on it and rode that biaatch like a pro. The rush you get just from standing up is huge and I was cocky enough to ‘pump’ the board for more speed and even managed to turn. Then I fell off.
And as fun as surfing is, it’s also very tiring and very, very frustrating. If you miss one wave, you have to spend 10 minutes getting back into position for the next. Spending your time shouting obscenities at the ocean gets you nowhere, as I discovered.
Dive Another Day
I spent the night warming down with a few exercises at the bar and was ready the next day for something more sedate. Just off Clarke’s Beach, the Julian Rocks Aquatic Reserve is home to over 500 different species of fish, and because the waters are influenced by both tropical and temperate currents, the marine life varies throughout the year.
I hadn’t been diving for a while and was a little nervous when we shot out in the small dive boat. But scuba diving is possibly the world’s easiest adventure activity and it came back pretty easily.
The less you do underwater, the less energy and air you use, allowing you to spend more time exploring. It’s my kind of sport – lazy.
I’ve been diving in Thailand, the Great Barrier Reef and the Whitsundays, but I’ve never seen such a concentration of marine life as there was around Julian Rocks. I saw a couple of massive leopard sharks, some very odd-looking wobbegongs, a turtle, a lion fish, and schools of silver and neon fish feeding on coral that I can barely begin to describe.
Feeling suitably relaxed, I was ready to take the afternoon nice and easy. Few people venture out of Byron Bay to explore the rich countryside the surrounds it.
The Brunswick River runs around the back of the town, under Mount Chincogan and out to sea further up the coast. River kayaking is a great way to see this neglected side of Byron, away from the tourists and the beach. I was back in a kayak but this time gently meandering my way along the tree-lined banks, listening to bird calls, the rustle of leaves and seeing the occasional ray moving along the sandy bottom. The water was somewhat brown and didn’t look too inviting, but moving downstream with the easy flow of the river all I had to do was sit back and enjoy the perfect weather. This was more of what I expected from Byron. I was chilled, I was ice, I was van-ill-aahhh.
Cheeky Monkey
Oohh… maybe that trip to Cheeky Monkeys last night wasn’t such a good idea. My final morning in Byron was a little seedy. I had rather fancied some boating action, but frankly I knew I’d puke. Hang-gliding seemed a safer option. When I was on the ground at least.
Just down from Cape Byron lighthouse is a small wooden platform that goes nowhere. Running off it when your eyes are red and your face is green is not a good idea.
Hang-gliding is a great way to see the coastline, from the green blanket of Mt Warning to the north and the endless beach and ocean down the south. Soaring higher and higher, over the lighthouse and pointing onlookers, I even began to forget about my hangover. That was until my pilot thought he’d show the bloke from TNT a good time and began chucking it all over the place, turning and swooping like a pissed budgie.
After we landed on the beach, I shook his hand, smiled grimly and went to lie down, clutching my belly.
I left Byron that afternoon, looking forward to getting back to Sydney. It’s dirty, noisy and busy – but it’s nowhere near as crazy as Byron Bay. I can’t wait to get back for a rest…
Byron’s Sweet Music
In 1972 a Kombi convoy of hippies rolled into the hills of Byron Bay and Nimbin for the Aquarius Festival. Some never left and the region’s alternative music and arts community has thrived ever since.
A couple of clever folks back in ‘89 decided to throw another festival, and with their more matured musical taste they turned to the Blues. Now into its 19th year, the East Coast Blues and Roots Festival, aka Byron Bluesfest, is a who’s who of legends with all the old hippies and cashed-up yuppies from the city, rolling into town to enjoy five days of music, fun and the odd puff of Byron’s bush weed.
This year’s line-up includes KT Tunstall, Ian Brown (pictured), Jools Holland, John Fogarty (CCR), Ray Davies (The Kinks), Sinead O’Connor, The Black Crowes and more. While tix start from $120, the town will be one big party. Details at www.bluesfest.com.au.
Meanwhile the kids returned too – for Splendour In The Grass, a two-day, alternative music party just outside of town. Always a sell-out not only because of the idyllic location but also for the stellar line-up, last year’s roll call read like an NME love letter: Arctic Monkeys, Bloc Party, Kaiser Chiefs, Lily Allen, The Editors, The Horrors, The Shins, Cut Copy, Midnight Juggernauts and plenty more. Expect dates in early August. Tix around $185 for two days. Visit www.splendourinthegrass.com.
The damage: Surf lessons with Surfing Byron Bay cost $60; river kayaking with Southern Oceans costs $60; sea kayaking with Go Sea Kayak Byron Bay costs $60; hang-gliding with Pro Flyte Hang-gliding costs $145; diving with Sun Dive Byron Bay, costs $150; Byron Bay YHA has beds from $33.
The details: For info on Surfing Byron Bay, visit www.www.gosurfingbyronbay.com; for info on River Kayaking, visit www.southernoceans.com; for info on Go Sea Kayaking Byron Bay, visit www.byronbayseakayak.com.au;
for more info on Pro Flyte Hang-gliding, Ph: (02) 0427 257 699; for info on Sun Dive Byron Bay, visit www.sundive.com.au; for details on Byron Bay YHA, visit www.yha.com.au.
While trying to drive across the Simpson Desert, LIZZIE JOYCE and her partner were forced to hitch a ride with some dodgy truckers.
Early one January morning my boyfriend Dan and I set off on our trip across three states, covering 3,000 miles on what would turn out to be the best trip I have ever done, not to mention the most dangerous. We were attempting to cross the Simpson Desert on our way to Alice Springs from Sydney. We were fully prepared and set off in our 4WD loaded with equipment, including 60 litres of water, a double swag, a laser beam,
and an Epirb signal.
After 10 hours of driving, watching the landscape turn from highways and tall buildings to red earth and eternal horizons we glided past an old mining town called Cobar, stopped for a wee and drove on through, thankful that this ‘Hicksville’ town was not our destination. But while driving at an average speed of 120km per hour, the trusty car (which I was assured had “just had a full service and was made for driving across such terrain”) was disintegrating and the entire wheel was about to fall off.
Ugly mothertruckers
Suddenly, the brakes started to fail and smoke started pouring out the front passenger tyre. We were 120km from the last town and with at least 100km to the next, Dan decided we should drive on (without brakes) and see if we could make it to our destination. Luckily it didn’t last long anyway as the car stopped in defiance and we were forced to pull off the road in the middle of nowhere. Within minutes two semi-trailers driving in convoy by brothers, pulled up to offer us help and I’ve never been so glad to see two spectacularly ugly truckers before in my life. Freaky Brother One then began to undress me, with his eyes, almost frothing at the mouth at coming in such close proximity to someone of the opposite sex, while Freaky Brother Two was pretending to be a mechanic and baffling Dan with his bullshit. It was turning into Wolf Creek.
Nothing could be done with the car, and we had no choice but to accept a lift from Freaky Brother One to the nearest roadhouse 13km up the road. But then he said there wouldn’t be enough room in the cab so Dan should travel with his brother and I should hop into his cab by myself. By this point I was close to hysteria and there was no way I would be getting in that lorry by myself.
So we both hopped in with Brother Number Two. Dan settled in the middle of the very spacious cab which had enough room to house a small Albanian family! Relieved to be on our way to a phone box and in relative safety, (even if we were in being driven by an axe wielding maniac I had enough faith that Dan could knock him out if it came to it) I thought it would be plain sailing from here. After a couple of minutes on the road Brother Number One starts becoming agitated – he thinks he has lost his keys as he can’t use the radio to contact his brother. He pulls into the side of the road and asks me to hop out to see if he had left them in the door lock. This forced me into ungraceful acrobatic maneuvers in order to hang myself out the door and reach round to grab the keys, with freaky brother one more than enjoying the view of my ass in the air. The keys were there, so off we set again in stilted silence.
Roadhouse blues
Finally we caught sight of the roadhouse and saw our escape was only minutes away and we made a sharp exit from the freaky brothers. Good riddance!
The roadhouse turned out to be a petrol pump and a shop that was about to close. They had a phone though and we arranged for a tow truck to pick us up and take us back to the nearest town… Cobar (the Hicksville town we drove through scorning) where we would have to wait for the next three days for the car to be repaired. How ironic that the town we were laughing at turned out to be our refuge.
So we skipped the Simpson Desert and took another route to Alice Springs where we arrived two weeks later with the biggest smiles and the best memories!
Send us a travel tale (preferably about Oz) and if it’s published you’ll win a $300 travel voucher redeemable on Oz Experience Passes and ATA NT camping trips (www.adventuretours.com.au). Email your tales (700 words max), with a picture of yourself, to travel@tntdownunder.comWhile trying to drive across the Simpson Desert, LIZZIE JOYCE and her partner were forced to hitch a ride with some dodgy truckers.
Early one January morning my boyfriend Dan and I set off on our trip across three states, covering 3,000 miles on what would turn out to be the best trip I have ever done, not to mention the most dangerous. We were attempting to cross the Simpson Desert on our way to Alice Springs from Sydney. We were fully prepared and set off in our 4WD loaded with equipment, including 60 litres of water, a double swag, a laser beam,
and an Epirb signal.
After 10 hours of driving, watching the landscape turn from highways and tall buildings to red earth and eternal horizons we glided past an old mining town called Cobar, stopped for a wee and drove on through, thankful that this ‘Hicksville’ town was not our destination. But while driving at an average speed of 120km per hour, the trusty car (which I was assured had “just had a full service and was made for driving across such terrain”) was disintegrating and the entire wheel was about to fall off.
Ugly mothertruckers
Suddenly, the brakes started to fail and smoke started pouring out the front passenger tyre. We were 120km from the last town and with at least 100km to the next, Dan decided we should drive on (without brakes) and see if we could make it to our destination. Luckily it didn’t last long anyway as the car stopped in defiance and we were forced to pull off the road in the middle of nowhere. Within minutes two semi-trailers driving in convoy by brothers, pulled up to offer us help and I’ve never been so glad to see two spectacularly ugly truckers before in my life. Freaky Brother One then began to undress me, with his eyes, almost frothing at the mouth at coming in such close proximity to someone of the opposite sex, while Freaky Brother Two was pretending to be a mechanic and baffling Dan with his bullshit. It was turning into Wolf Creek.
Nothing could be done with the car, and we had no choice but to accept a lift from Freaky Brother One to the nearest roadhouse 13km up the road. But then he said there wouldn’t be enough room in the cab so Dan should travel with his brother and I should hop into his cab by myself. By this point I was close to hysteria and there was no way I would be getting in that lorry by myself.
So we both hopped in with Brother Number Two. Dan settled in the middle of the very spacious cab which had enough room to house a small Albanian family! Relieved to be on our way to a phone box and in relative safety, (even if we were in being driven by an axe wielding maniac I had enough faith that Dan could knock him out if it came to it) I thought it would be plain sailing from here. After a couple of minutes on the road Brother Number One starts becoming agitated – he thinks he has lost his keys as he can’t use the radio to contact his brother. He pulls into the side of the road and asks me to hop out to see if he had left them in the door lock. This forced me into ungraceful acrobatic maneuvers in order to hang myself out the door and reach round to grab the keys, with freaky brother one more than enjoying the view of my ass in the air. The keys were there, so off we set again in stilted silence.
Roadhouse blues
Finally we caught sight of the roadhouse and saw our escape was only minutes away and we made a sharp exit from the freaky brothers. Good riddance!
The roadhouse turned out to be a petrol pump and a shop that was about to close. They had a phone though and we arranged for a tow truck to pick us up and take us back to the nearest town… Cobar (the Hicksville town we drove through scorning) where we would have to wait for the next three days for the car to be repaired. How ironic that the town we were laughing at turned out to be our refuge.
So we skipped the Simpson Desert and took another route to Alice Springs where we arrived two weeks later with the biggest smiles and the best memories!
Send us a travel tale (preferably about Oz) and if it’s published you’ll win a $300 travel voucher redeemable on Oz Experience Passes and ATA NT camping trips (www.adventuretours.com.au). Email your tales (700 words max), with a picture of yourself, to travel@tntdownunder.com
