I have had over 17,000 lunches in my life, but none will compare to those relatively few times when I shared it with my family on those wind swept beaches of Straddie. Now remember, this was the era when the only transport available was the two legged Ghurkha kind, as opposed to the effortless four wheeled variety of today. If lunch was to be had on the beach, then it must be carried there on the backs and shoulders of mum, dad and us kids. A typical day then started at sun-up, because bed time was always at sundown – given the total lack of energy sapping, electronic entertainment available in the evenings. The first major decision at breakfast was – on which beach to spend the day. David would do a quick weather check while he was relieving himself in the backyard of our Kaboura property. (You always wondered why those banana trees flourished didn’t you). Well now, if the wind was from the south-east then it was round to the protected northern beaches of Cylinder or Deadmans. On a northerly blow it was to off to the swimming gorge or main beach. Now on most overcast days it was always prudent to spend the day at Camels Rock, because of the protection offered by the many caves and rocky overhangs, in the event of rain. So, with the designated beach decision made, it was then on to the inter-sibling wars. But I carried the water bottle yesterday! Tom would cry in those unfair for us little folk tones. Now as I remember it, Dad carried a camel colored canvas WW1 have-a-sack on his back (what funny names they had in the war, hey!) full of our beach equipments (tarpaulin, books, cutting boards, plates and knives), and Mum would carry a big open carry bag with all our necessary lunch ingredients. Let me see, that left the fishing rods and tackle, a billy and lid with the tea making ingredients inside, a 4 litre water bottle for drinking and of course the blown-up car tubes for swimming. Now the fishing rods were light but long, and were such a pain in the tight confines of those winding bush tracks. The black soot covered billy was small but so was the thin wire handle that would cut into your hand on that long trek to the beach. The water jug was by far the heaviest and most awkward item to carry, but thankfully, only one way. What fun it was to swing it around you head on the return leg, as you goaded your disgruntled siblings struggled once more with their allotment. Finally the car tube was a no drama item as it was very light and sat just so neatly over your head and shoulders, but it did sadly rule out any looking down for beach shells, as the spare tube I still carry around today reminds me. Well, we were off – all of us – Mar, Par and kettle. Now if the designation was Frenchmans, Deadmans or Camels Rock then it meant only one thing – The sand hill run. This was a long stretch of deep orange colored sand/soil that had formed over the years between the two dry rocky headland type protrusions. It was a very steep and curvy track which met the white pristine squeaky sand at its base at an angle of about 45 degrees. This was the definitely the observation point for much side-splitting laughter. So, all of us would run at full pace, not necessarily from desire but more by design – the hill makes it so. Now the challenge as you run the hill, is to lift you feet out of the deep clutching sand fast enough to ensure that you remain upright for the entire exhilarating experience (not always possible), but that’s only half the challenge. The major mental and physical challenge was saved until the very end. So the ‘want to be a millionaire question goes something like this How many steps are needed for a body that is being propelled at 60mph down a hill at 45 degrees to return to a stable and upright 90 degrees The answer is one that I discovered from painful experience, about 1. That is, not only must your legs maintain the pace under your falling body, but by the end they must have caught up and be actually 1 step in front. The dramatic effects caused by my siblings (and some no-idea adults) being unable to correctly calculate the maths and physics required for this final hurdle, will live long in my memory. The sight of them – face first at high speed into that clean picturesque sand, complete with those bewildering moans, the spraying fine white sand and those ejected objects of carry makes me almost raise a smile again, even today.
