05/05/2023 Over The Hill And Back Again

I went for a walk in the morning.  I found a shipwreck, and watched a man catch a shark which he threw back into the water after retrieving his hook. 

 

 

I found delicate tracings of coal written by the tide on the sand.

 

...and a blue heron.  I'd seen lots of blue heron but they were very shy and flew away as soon as I came near.  This one stuck around long enough for me to take a picture.

Back at camp for breakfast, Roger brushed his hand across the top of the picnic table on the verandah of the camp kitchen.  "This table is filthy!" he said.  Two minutes later a cleaner came along and started wiping the table.  "It's the land breeze," she said.  "It blows the coal over Newcastle rather than off across the country.  It's all coal dust on the table.  Roger was horrified.  "We're going to die!" he wailed.  "I've been breathing that stuff all night!  Black lung here I come!"  I was not sympathetic.  I didn't think spending one night in Stockton equated to a lifetime labouring in a Cornish coal mine, and black lung would probably be the least of his health concerns as he trundled into old age.

Having survived our coal-infused breakfast we jumped on our bikes and caught the ferry over to Newcastle where we discovered that the industrial bits were all back on the Stockton side of the river, and the Newcastle side had ambitions of grandeur, even if it hadn't quite achieved them yet.

 

Newcastle also had annoying traffic and busy roads and irritating bicycle lanes that disappeared just when you needed them most, but after 9km of botheration we found the beginning of the Fernleigh Rail Trail, and all was right with the world.  We followed the Fernleigh Rail Trail up over a hill and through a tunnel, all the way to Belmont on the shore of Lake MacQuarie, and then we turned around and rode over the hill again to get home.

The start of the Fernleigh Rail Trail.

Barely 600m in and faced with a difficult decision - should we keep going (having just started) or should we detour 80m to a cafe?  Oh, the stress!

This is Matt.  Matt works hard picking up the rubbish that inconsiderate people scatter along the rail trail.  He was kind enough to take our photo while we made cafe-related decisions and before he went to smoko himself.

The trail was busy with cyclists, joggers, dog-walkers, and pram-pushers.  Many of the cyclists rode electric bikes, and zoomed past with demoralising frequency as we puffed and panted up the hill.

A tunnel!  This will be the top, right?  Alas no. The up continued.

The Fernleigh was a very civilised rail trail experience.  There were even fences to protect us from all that nature. 

Opportunities for cafe stops abounded.  We were forced to make cafe-versus-progress decisions with frightening regularity.

I'll have butt cream with my coffee please.

We ate our picnic lunch on the platform at the old Belmont station before turning around to ride back over the hill to Newcastle.

Through more nature, no fences for this bit.

And through swamps.  There were fences.

Whitebridge Station was at the top of the hill, or near enough anyway.  We stopped and relished the thought of the 14km downhill back to the ferry.

Back in Stockton we took a picnic tea down to the waterfront and watched the sun set over the silos and the lights turn on in Newcastle.  A big ship chugged down the channel, escorted by two officious little tugs, and all the while the busy little ferry ran back and forth across the river carrying the workers from Newcastle home to Stockton, and the Stockton Friday-night party-goers over to the pubs and clubs in Newcastle.

Another industrial sunset.