Holiday Diary: The Prawn Fishers

As an extended family, we've been to Merimbula before. And every single time we've been here at new moon time, when the prawns swim out to sea as the tide turns. An ideal time for prawin fishing.

The fist time, we talked about prawning. The second time we got 37 prawns. By the third time we were up to 44 prawns.

Being of a kayaking family, we catch the prawns with a net, from a kayak. This year, for the first time, we're using two kayaks, one net each.

The high tide peaks at 11:30pm. It's a late start for a family with young kids. Deep down, we all think we're mad, but no one says anything. The price of determination.

We're at the bridge a smidgin before the set time. The tide is still flowing in, but I manage to get a large prawn from the bank regardless.

Pete taps me on the shoulder. We put it. In the darkness, by torchlight, the paddles quietly lap the water. It's unusually romantic.

The first half hour is filled with using far too much torchlight to see the odd prawn, only to find that they quickly float to the bottom.

I look around. Where is my husband? I can hear his paddle. He banks 5 or 6 prawns with R and H on the bank. Damn. I haven't even got one. On the other hand, I feel really lucky that I haven't yet lost my net, or my paddle, or fallen in the water. Actually, amazing.

Then R points to a clump of seaweed and foam floating not too far from the bank. "What's that?" he calls. I paddle over. Gold. I return with three prawns. I return to the pointed spot many times. Sometimes, H and R on the bank cannot keep up with emptying the nets.

At about 1:30am I start feeling the cold night creeping in. And the romantic feeling returns. But I keep catching prawns. In fact, I get so cheeky, that as I see them approaching I choose the ones I will get. "I'll have the one on the left, and these two big ones on the right". The odd one gets away.

At 1:55anm my chin is starting to wag, and we cast our final net. Back at the house, R is busily cleaning and counting the catch. "Somewhere between 115 and 120. I lost count", he says.

Holiday Diary: The Cuisine

I offer to make dinner, which lands me in the shops. Not that I mind. I've got all day.

I return just in time for lunch. After lunch is "story time" for the kids, who sit around me with wide eyes shoving their favourite books under my nose. (Not the little tacker, he's asleep).

Then the entire contingent departs for the beach, and I am left to my cooking. "Chicken Cacciatore" is on the menu and I get onto the slicing and dicing. The oven heats up, and the sun warms up the kitchen.

Everything is just about ready, when the beach contingent bursts noisily through the door. They set the table, make the salad, and we serve up. It's hard not to smile at the "ums" and "ahs". Even the kids seem to appreciate the special love put into the meal.

Afterwards they run back and forth along the deck, laughing. Then off to bed, while the adults plot plans for prawning.

Holiday Diary: The Beach

The children don't let us sleep in too long. They bounce out of bed infused with holiday energy. They don't even care where they are. They just have a ball being together.

After breakfast, fathers take their children to the beach, and the women go shopping.
Lunchtime is an adhoc affair, with a few tears. Then the obligatory afternoon siesta. For young and old.

In the afternoon Pete, Sabina and I wander down a bush path to the local playground. Sabina only has eyes for the sand, and as soon as she's allowed she becomes a yellow haired, bronzed body in a pink swimsuit, dancing and running along the sand. Running, running, running. Her hair swept back by the wind. Running along the long bar of sand thanks to the low tide.

Pete and I run after her, yelling that the icecreamery is the opposite way. She stops lightly, gazes at us, a huge smile breaking across her face. Then she giggles and runs off again along the bar of sand.

The running is followed by a similarly communicative episode of swimming.

Eventually we manage to get her changed, and walking in hand. She loves the rainbow ice cream.

Holiday Diary: The Drive

Doing a 6 hour drive with three kids under six is never an easy ask. Thank goodness we have them split across two cars, with Oma and Opa having the pleasure of travelling without the little treasures.

Having left the big smoke at about 9, we rock into Barinsdale just in time for lunch. The kids finally meet up in the Fish and Chips shop as we order lunch. They cause a tornado. The fish is cooked, and we break open the paper packaging in a park. Devoured in minutes.

The park is famous amongst travellers boasting a huge slide, swings, play equipment, and the best flying fox I have ever seen. Kid heaven. Even the little guy, just turned two, is running from one bit to the other with glee.

When the kids aren't watching, Oma and Opa take their leave. Some excuse about "get there early and set things up". Maybe just as well. The kids have just discovered the flying fox and wild screams of semi joy, semi fear pierce the air, as the little tuckers ride on a toy designed for teenagers. Yes, the little guy too. Even the parents have a go, with likewise similar screams.

When the heavens open up, we make the excuse that it's time to go. Sabina has actually already exhausted her lunch energy and sits in the back munching on grapes. "Mama, I'm finished", she pushes the grape container under my elbow. Five minutes later she's asleep. Bliss.

Now we drive through beautiful forested countryside, chatting and reminscing about the days before children and marriage when we used to travel with much more gear than just two kayaks. "Smoke over road". We pass the sign unfussed. Not so the oodles of campervans.

Finally we apprach a big yellow mushroom cloud. We get the works as we pass through the back burning area. I nearly hit the roof when I see flames in a tree, and shout with joy pointing to the smoking bushes. We wave to the CFA attending the area. After a month of fire activity, and being on alert, and cleaning up, and, and, and ... we get to see a fire! Well, remnants of it. Yay!

We arrive in Merimbula and pick up a stiff drink in the pub. Then to the holiday house, where Oma and Opa have things in control. Until the kids start running around that is. The stiff drinks come in handy. The house is a screaming mess as underexercised but overtired kids race around incoming baggage.

We all sigh relief when they are finally in bed. The pizza goes down a treat. The view is great. The holiday begins.

Three cheers!

This morning the raido is unphased, the world normal. I gaze at the photos on our neighbours web page. I see blue sky with a few fluffy clouds. No sign of smoke. No sign of fire. No sign of burnt grass.

Three cheers for the CFA. Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray! Hip hip hooray, hooray, hooray!

If it wasn't for their back burning over the last 3 weeks, it may well have been a different story.

Three cheers for the Outpost Restaurant in Noojee. For feeding over 400 CFA fireys every night.

Three cheers!

Two winds

The winds are late, but they come. First the north westerly. Blowing the hot dry air. Then the south westerly. Bending the trees, rattling the roof tiles, fanning, fanning the fire. With anxiety we keep turning the radio on. "The Bunyip ridge fire has spotted out of control lines, but the CFA believe they can control the flare ups, and no communities will be impacted." Radio off. Breathe. An hour later, Radio on. Same message. Radio off. And so on throughout the evening. On the one hand nervous, on the other hand brave and defiant. Believing. Believing in control lines. Believing in the CFA.

Too much fire coverage

How do you know when you've been exposed to too much fire coverage in the press?

When you're looking at a document, and the minute you scan the word "engine" your brain immediately interprets it as "fire engine". Alarm bells! Enough said.

More Dragon

I come back into the house after my morning horse ride, only to be met by a very white faced husband. "Have you heard the forecast? They're expecting gale force winds, that will fan the fire in our direction!"

"Right. When?", I ask.
"Monday night, Tuesday, persisting into Wednesday".
"What more can we do to protect the house?", I query.
"I'll mow the grass. You and Sabina gather up all the leaves. Throw them in the dam paddock."

I get to work. Sabina is reluctant at first, but she gets into it quickly enough, and soon the backyard is squeaky. I grab some serious tools and start raking under the trees. The tractor roars past. I rake, I trim the lower branches, I make a few trips with the wheelbarrow, and create a nice pile in the dam paddock. I haven't had this much fun for ages.

One hour late, I run into the house panting, ready to make lunch. I glance out the front, and tsk tsk at the little bush growing under the eves. It's my height. Fire hazard.

After lunch I re-inspect said bush. It's half my height. Phew!

For the second time in two weeks, we evacuate. We don't take the sentimental items. We just take the very useful, really expensive items. And Sabina's books.