‘Feeling adventurous: Exploring Port Macquarie’s stunning historical sites’

As I settled in to the house sit, one of the owners told me about a trail just down the road on the far side of the playground that was visible from the balcony. He said he’d often seen people walking or cycling down there. No further prompting needed.

First thing next day I headed down there, hoping to avoid forecast rain. I swung onto the trail, called Googik, which apparently means ‘jolly nose hill’ in the indigenous language. No telling what to expect then.

I wheeled left onto the track and almost immediately came to what had been a shut pair of gates, but someone had parted them slightly; just enough to get my bike through. How convenient. I swung over the saddle and set out on yet another adventure. One thing that became immediately apparent was that not all the water had drained away from the dozen or so moisture events that had battered Port Macquarie in recent months. No doubt this had been the reason for the trail being closed … sort of.

Luckily it wasn’t deep as I pedalled through with trepidation to the fore. One false slip and you could end up very wet. I wasn’t sure how far I’d go but some signs indicated that if I went 5km I’d end up out in Port Macquarie’s industrial estate.

Then there was more water then, whoops, a lot more water, probably over 100m of it. I stopped before making a calculated decision to continue. The fire trail beneath me held, thank goodness, as I pedalled on and it luckily improved after that. From here on little water was present on the path and the vegetation changed from melaleucas to ironbarks and scribbly gums with the occasional palm. The going was easy and the atmosphere pleasant and I vowed I’d do it again someday, though riding back home alongside the main road on the grass verge was as hard as anything I’d just done.

Next, my friend Col rang, after we’d spent a night with pizza on the balcony wagging chins for more than four hours. He invited me to one of his favourite spots next to Tacking Point Lighthouse because the swell and the tides were apparently aligned so we could shoot some exploding surf.

Excitement reigned as he called around at 8:30am next morning in time for the 9am high tide. It was off in the Mercedes-Benz convertible for a trip to the surf, certainly different from my normal adventures.

Tacking Point Lighthouse is arguably the most popular attraction in all of Port Macquarie. You can go there 24 hours a day, and I can’t remember a time when I’ve been there when it’s devoid of visitors. Selfies are de rigueur.

Our goal was the rocks though, but the promised rogue surf hadn’t eventuated. Still, it was such a nice day and the area is picturesque, even more so if you have imagination.

The rock layers, residue from a lava flow aeons ago, are etched deeply by the corrosive salt water whose ultimate aim of destruction is still a long way off. It makes for some interesting angles if you start to climb around them. The fact that they’re surrounded by surf means you’ll get a different shot every day in the same spot.

Rock pools are always of interest. As the Neptune’s necklace sways back and forth with the rhythm of the swell there always seems to be some creature or other darting in and out and the water changes hue with each passing wave remnant. Some pig face had found some nutrient and probed into the rock, its succulent leaves in stark contrast to the orange background.

As I pushed further on, a rock balanced on a cliff top caught my attention. I started taking pictures of it from a distance and pondered the possibility of getting up beside it. There seemed to no clear passage but I moved away from the stone clumps and picked up the trail etched into the grassy slope. Nothing was apparent so I climbed the steep slope, startling a few intricately patterned skinks en route, and duly arrived at a lookout behind the cliff. Below it the vegetation was impassable without a chainsaw so defeat was admitted and I rang Col to tell him where I was. A cheery wave from way back on the rocks indicated that he was okay and he climbed to join me before we adjourned to Sea Acres, another immensely popular tourist attraction, so some morning tea.

Next day dawned and the rock still nagged at me so I set out my push bike, daring the traffic to hit me, and set out once more. This time I thought it might be possible following a fault line that seemed to lead in the right direction. The first of the warm autumn suns beat down upon me as I scrambled across some scree then up over some tree roots. I paused, searching for a lead, but there seemed to be none. I went to move a little to the right and felt a slight dizziness. Uh, oh, dehydration, not for the first time.

Immediately considering the possibility of crashing down a 60-degree slope onto the rocks below I decided it would be a good time to quit. The rock would have to wait till another time, the frustration endure. I would return, but today’s victory belonged to the rock.