You Can’t Keep Whales To Yourself
A bright early spring sun, the sea spread like a blanket before us, though the icy wind reminded us it was not yet summer. And yet people were looking out to sea with urgency and pointing. We had come to see the blue pool at Bermagui, but the freezing wind turned the possibility into a “no way”.
The blue pool at Bermagui is one of 100 ocean-fed pools along the NSW coast and is often voted the prettiest. It was built in 1936, led by local man Bill Dickinson. As we got our stuff together to descend the many steps down, we met a woman still wet and clutching a very small towel. ‘What was it like?’ we asked, and she just said ‘beautiful, it is beautiful!’ We trudged down the many and discovered what sooks we were: no swimming for us.
But all was not bleak. We staggered up the stairs, exhausted and saw everyone’s eyes on the sea, they were pointing through trees, and standing on fences. We saw at least five whales breaching not far offshore. Slapping and blowing plumes of air that looked like they might be the size of small trees.
You always feel ridiculously lucky when you see whales and we all did. This is only the second time I’ve seen them. They are always breathtaking.
We’d driven for about half an hour to get to the beach. And watched for a while, and then the whale watching boat approached and the whales stopped cruising and breaching. They went very quiet, almost as if they were in stealth mode, and the boat backed up, but the whales still left us. I saw one spout of water near the horizon and thought of them all day.
It was strange how people seem competitive about them at first, huddling in groups and then the joy spread, and we were pointing them out to each other. You can’t keep whales to yourself.
We left not long after the boat and drove back to where we were staying. Animals hit by cars littered the highway and it made me wonder when we’re going to protect these smaller creatures. I will never forget one dark-coloured wombat lying on its side as if it were asleep. But you whizz past, and they stay for the birds to investigate.
There was one other little treasure in Narooma, called ‘The Oyster Farmer’s Daughter’ and we noticed a little sign for it by the bridge. We turned around to follow, but it was further than we thought and we nearly gave up but over one last hill we saw a little camp with lots of old tables and chairs and people in hats and rugs spread on the grass. A lovely place for a flathead burger and oysters. The sun was mild as were the people from everywhere. Sometimes the day just shines.
Holidays are best at the beginning. When you are somewhere and somehow totally different and the weather is lighter and small wrens came to the car in the evening to scoop up insects, the bird’s little fan tail and there was a whoop whoop bird sound calling in the night. But always the sound of cars was with us, the universal sound.
At a market by a harbour, the sea dumps and surges. We look for whales and dolphins, but no luck. We do see a sleepy seal the colour of old wood huddling in the sun. The market stalls were not interesting to the seal, though I managed to buy a hat. The seal looked so tired of it all and the rocks were warm from the sun. Everyone loves an afternoon nap.
But the whales are done with us. Yesterday swarms of birds poured through a forest and we took so long in the car to get down the mountain. In Bateman’s Bay, we had lunch and watched as patient pelicans queued for scraps from the fishmonger. One caught a whole skeleton and had to sit and digest for quite a while.
On coming home the people we most wanted to see were the family and, our daughter Eileen brought the kids around. Archie, who is four and at present, really into costumes, came in his magician’s cape and his little sister Harriet, (two) had new shoes, (with Bluey on them) discretely on the side. How could they have grown so much in a couple of weeks? came with her mother, our eldest child, Molly came in and suddenly at one, Rory is walking. It’s always magic to see these things. The little still knees, the curly hair, all at the beginning. And then our son Joe and his wife Annie arrived with little James. At 16 months he enjoyed getting wet in the pond almost as much as getting new shoes. Life is good.
The air in Melbourne seems sweet and clean, even if the bats are back in the elm tree foraging among the blossoms. When we got home the yard was covered in elm flowers and in the tree were teams of small dangling parrots arguing over every flower.
Deborah Forster is the Melbourne journalist and author behind the Sunday Age column ‘This Life’. This is a revisiting of that column.