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Published: April 12th 2011
Hey, it's Terry Wiley's quote, not mine, and whilst it's mildly appropriate there is a pronounced emphasis on the Nearly Deads rather than the Newly Weds, though I'm still not exactly sure where Penny and I fit in with those categories. Newlyweds 19 years ago and hopefully about the same before nearly dead.
Delve deeper and I would suppose Terry's little quote was intimating that if it's cultural immersion, pulsing nightlife or life style with edge that you seek in a destination, then perhaps you would be better off booking plane tickets to Varanasi, Paris or Ibiza. If, on the other hand, the great sub tropical outdoors is your poison then Lord, Howe have you managed to miss this place. (I bet that pun has been bandied about the odd thousand times or two). In terms of intrinsic splendour, Lord Howe Island is a super model on the world's nature catwalk, right up there with anything I've laid eyes on. It's a kind of New South Wales mid north coast meets Tahiti. One side of the island has all the trimmings of that Pacific Palms region south of Forster, the other side has an aqua-marine tropical lagoon with a fringing
Ned's Beach and beyond.
MMM! From Kim's lookout.reef. Quintessential powdery beaches dot that lagoon with several ever-looming mountains acting as sentry over the entire island. Not much of a description but suffice to say it's pretty darn delectable eye candy. Easy to comprehend why so many Lord Howeaphiles return time and time again.
Apart from the splendiferous backdrops, the entire populace operates on a heart warming honesty system. No locks, leave your surfboard on the beach until you next require it, or grab a drink from the fridge and write it up in the book - we trust you. Downright refreshing. Plus, we're getting sore arms from waving - everybody waves to everybody. Values and hospitality from a long forgotten age.
You'd think there'd also be a savage dog-eat-dog scramble for the tourist dollar. Nope! You'll be offered all the options for anything, even from supposed competitors. No risk of being stabbed in the back here as there appears a genuine community spirit whereby all and sundry are content to evenly disperse the tourist spoils. Whilst this is a destination that rips the heart out of your wallet, it isn't greed driven but rather a justifiable reflection of what it costs to basically import everything
Middle Beach
A tad inviting. from what is an already costly mainland.
On arriving at any previously unknown destination, I normally adopt the role of cat on a hot tin roof - MUST - DO - EVERYTHING - ON - DAY - ONE - simultaneously annoying the crap out of the other half. Following the script I immediately slotted into the role of Hypo Man and off we went:
. cycle 5klms to Blinky Beach with board under arm.
. surf one hour.
. cycle back 5klms board under arm.
. cycle and walk the north half of island.
. paddle 1 klm out to reef.
. surf 1and half hours.
. paddle 1 klm back to shore.
. cycle back up steep hill board under arm to accommodation.
That night I thought I'd read my book for an hour or so before retiring very early for the night. The clock read 7.45 and I read 1 line before dozing off only to be awoken by Penny's voice: "Oh dear, it's ten to eight". So what, I nodded off for 5 minutes, but how come the sun is out. Oops, nodded off for 12 hours and 5 minutes. Think I'll back off a bit
on day 2, the body aint what it used to be.
The surfing backdrops are also something to behold. One particular morning, after the obligatory 8klm bike ride, I made the relatively short paddle out to a spot called Little Island. At the foot of the daunting Mount Litchbird, large dollops of palms, a multitude of bird life and great waves to boot. Sounds idyllic? Well it kind of was except for being on my own and with grey, brooding skies, thoughts of what's beneath the ocean surface begin to wander into an increasingly nervous mind. Then right on cue, up pops little Mr Shark, not close enough to touch but near enough for me to stare right down his beedy little eyes. Ok, so he was barely a metre long but that's still large enough to trim the toenails. The wee rascal circles me, (sharks don't understand shoo), then disappears. A half hour later and back he comes to do the same thing. So what was I, a man or a mouse. Spotting some cheese on the beach I decided a noble retreat to shore was the better part of valour.
I mentioned that LHI is an
Blinky's Beach
The only beach break on the island. outdoorsy kinda joint, so calory burn up was on the menu, every day. A little bitta surfin, a lotta cyclin, a smidgin of snorklin and swimmin, and a huge lathering of trudging over any number of hiking trails, including the summiting of mighty Mount Gower at 874m. Now 874 metres may not sound overly vertiginous but trust me, twas a long semi-challenging day climaxing with the planting of the Sutherland Shire flag on top. (Not exactly). This was a guided clamber up the mountain, independent scalers need not apply, which also provided the bonus of transforming our group into a quasi social network. We regularly wined, dined and generally sauntered with our highly entertaining and ecclectic group of Gower Gaiters - the Gower Gait being the strut of choice for people the day after the venture. The GG being something akin to a 107 year old person on a walking frame (without the frame).
One word that regularly popped up in numerous conversations was paradise. So now allow me to offer my own humble opinion: the comparison with heaven on earth isn't overly fanciful. It certainly ticks a lot of the right boxes that many would consider necessary to qualify for Nirvana status. Maybe that's why so many Nearly Deads come here - they're after a little heavenly precursor in readiness for the real thing in the fast approaching afterlife.
Yeatesy
More images at:
www.colvinyeates.zenfolio.com
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Jon Lavers
non-member comment
Surf Shots
Wheres ur surf shots. I have been there dont tell anyone u know me ,i think i may have pissed off a few of the locals,they dont like u photo there surf or three is a crowd,spoilt sports.Surfed with G Webber o there he lost a toth for his troubles boof heads. No im not dislexick just type like a young bloke. Grab one of those fish by the tail at Neds they buck like a wild horse, Lavo