6/12/23 Point Annie To Corny Point

The clouds allowed a brief but pretty sunrise.

I took myself off in the car to Corny Point, to ride a loop through the wheat paddocks to Annie Point and back via the Corny Point Lighthouse. Roger stayed home to nurse his back and work, I don't think he's enjoying the Yorke Peninsula as much as me. 

Proof that I was there.

The cleaner at the Corny Point public toilets assured me that the place would be really busy after Christmas. "They all stay home for Christmas," she said. "Then they arrive on Boxing day and you can't move for kids and caravans. There'll be tractor jams getting onto the beach!"  I couldn't picture it, but I took her word for it.

I departed from Corney Point via Rockleigh Road, leaving the WtY script for my own mapping.  This was much more fun; Rockleigh Road was small, smooth, and devoid of traffic so I could carry out all manner of middle-of-the-road bicycle posing.

Rain threatened, but never delivered.

 

I rejoined the WtY at the scenic drive to Berry Bay, which meant that I also rejoined the tourist traffic.  All two of them.

I couldn't see the sea (yet) but sand dunes visible over the wheat fields told me that it wasn't far away.

 

Just in case you didn't notice.

Annie Point.  Yes, there was a cliff.

I sat on a rock at Annie Point, and looked at the sea. The land was quite different here from up at Point Turton: Annie Point was a jumble of granite rocks, little white beaches, and waves which, while not huge, were definitely waves and not the desultory ripples of further up the Gulf. 

 

The road to Corny Point Lighthouse (called Lighthouse Road, who'd have guessed that?) curled along happily beside the sea. Little tracks led off to the individual bush campsites perched on the cliffs. I explored them all, at times inadvertently causing conniptions in campers who didn't hear me coming.

Corny Point came into view, complete with lighthouse. 

Looks like a lighthouse to me.

 

The cliffs disappeared in favour of sand dunes and the road dropped down behind the dunes and became less interesting. I watched jealously as little buses came out to collect WtY walkers. The walkers, bless their little blistered toes, were only walking the interesting bits (aka the beaches) and catching buses over the boring road bits. They only carried day packs and stayed in accommodation at night. In a perfect example of The 2nd Rule Of Cycle Touring, the point at which the buses passed each other coincided with my spot on the road and I was the one who had to get off. No one even waved. I huffed and claimed the moral superiority of having gotten there under my own power, conveniently not reminding myself of the car parked back at Corny Point.

Moral superiority powered me all the way to the lighthouse.

Completed in 1882, the Corny Point Light House was originally built to afford protection to the grain ships servicing Port Victoria, Moonta Bay and Wallaroo in the Spencer Gulf.  The southbound windjammers, fully laden, were at risk of being blown onto Web Rock or the reefs and shoals of Berry Bay and Daly Head by the prevailing south westerlies.

The lighthouse saw its share of tragedy and excitement, including the deaths of several children in the late 1800s, the drowning of one assistant Light Keeper, and two earthquakes which caused minor damage.

The light became automatic in 1920 and the keepers' cottages were demolished.  In the '50s it was a popular spot for New Years celebrations and general shenanigans.  Shenanigans may still occur, but there were none happening when I was there.

 

From the lighthouse a pretty white beach curved away toward Corny Point, and that was where the WtY walkers went.

I contemplated taking the beach, I really did.  But it was just too much effort to get down to the sand with a bicycle, and then to clamber up the next headland and do it all again all the way to Corny Point.

I took the road, and dropped in to the Corny Point boat ramp to check out the tractor situation from yesterday.  The tractor was still there, the boat and the man had gone, and I will never know what happened.

I got to see some tractor action though.

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Back at Point Turton Roger's back was sore and the miracles of technology were not working for his work. The sunset was a fizzer (cloudy again) and dinner was more of the same leftovers.  He sought solace in whatever terrible movies were available on TV while I planned my next day's ride and made appropriate sympathetic noises.