Angourie

Me, Mum and David at Green Point, Angourie

Angourie was a great place before it became a famous surfing destination. We roamed for hours along the sandy bush trails without a fear in the world – except for the ever-present threat of death adders. But more about that later.

Nana and Pa Skinner had a holiday house at Angourie. Mum isn’t sure when it was built but it must have been around the time I was born. By today’s standards it wasn’t much. Two or three bedrooms at the most, unlined weatherboard and always dark inside. No electricity or running water, only a rainwater tank out the back which supplied this basic necessity. Uncle Searle – the oldest of Mum’s siblings – had a place close by which was eventually turned into a rather nice retirement home. They were separated by two or three vacant blocks.

Both places were towards the top of the hill that faced the main beach and from where you could see Yamba. In those days there were a few houses further down the hill and so far as I can remember only one higher. So when I say ‘we roamed’ I mean my brother David, and our cousins the Ryans and the Skinners. And sometimes our families may have been the only inhabitants for the other houses were often vacant.

Pa Skinner’s family had an association with Angourie at least as far back as the 1890s and one of the main attractions to us went back to that time. When rocks were needed for break walls in the mouth of the Clarence a source was found at Angourie. The Searles – Pa Skinners mother being Ellen Searle – farmed near Iluka on the northern banks of the Clarence. They rowed from there to the south side, a distance of some kilometres, and then walked the few kilometres to Angourie to sell produce to the quarry workers. Rocks were transported from the quarry by train and the tracks were still there in the late 50’s and early 60s.

Mum holidayed there when she was a girl. Her uncle, Sam Causley, had a large house down the hill from my grandparents – it had to be large to accommodate his family – and Mum stayed with them sometimes. Other times she holidayed in a tent.

The quarries had a short history. According to the story, the miners hit a freshwater spring one day and when they returned the next morning the quarries were flooded. A new quarry commenced operating at Ilarwill on Woodford Island in 1900 to replace these. And the legacy for Angourie – and us kids – were two freshwater pools no more than about 20 metres from the ocean.

The Green Pool may still contain the remains of quarry equipment. It was quite obvious in my childhood days, a forlorn reminder of a failed project.

Rumour had it the Blue Pool was bottomless. All I know is it was deep. It was here that we frolicked for hour after hour. There was a ledge where you could jump 10 or fifteen feet or more into the pool but I don’t recall every being allowed to try this. The pool was one thing we couldn’t use unless supervised. One day David did a running jump into the pool – not from the ledge – and claimed that he hit the bottom, but it was obviously a submerged ledge.

While we played on the beaches and roamed the headlands and rock pools, we were not allowed to swim in the sea.

Not far from Angourie is Shelley Beach. This is now part of Yuraygir National Park and is only accessible by foot. In the 50s it was a sand mining site. My first visit to this beautiful and isolated place was with Pa Skinner who took us there on his grey Ferguson tractor (no OHS rules about not riding on tractors in those days). I have only been back a few times since. Once not long before Mum and Dad retired to Hervey Bay Marilyn, Dad and I walked through from Angourie. Marilyn, Emily and I walked through from Red Cliff when we were holidaying at Brooms Head, and once while at the Broom I got up early and walked to Shelly for breakfast. It was awesome having this place all to myself.

The only downside to this little bit of paradise were the death adders. Not that we ever came across any. But we were warned many a time. Death adders, so we were told, buried themselves in the sand with just the tip of their tail protruding as a lure to attract their next meal. Any unfortunate child who happened to stand on a death adder’s tail would feel the adder’s sting and their venom was deadly.

In the late 1990s I caught up to my cousin Jenny who was living in Brisbane at the time. It may well have been the last time I saw her and I know it had been too many years since we had seen each other. As we reminisced Angourie naturally came into the discussion. Jenny was 9 days younger than me and as Mum’s sister’s child we virtually grew up together. Jenny confessed that, as much as she loved Angourie as a child she lived in constant fear of death adders. I told her I was so relieved to hear that, because I thought it was only me.

When Nana and Pa Skinner retired they built a house on the Yamba Road, not far from the Angourie turn off. One day during either my first or second year of high school, Pa hopped on his bike to ride to Angourie. They found him dead from a heart attack on the side of the road. We had had our last holiday at Angourie and the house was sold not long after that.

When I think about it, I think what a good way to die. Angourie was one of, if not, Pa’s favourite places. He must have had many happy memories of this place, both of times with his own children and then his grandchildren. The only way I could improve on that is to see him standing on the hill up from his house, taking in the view, or relaxing on one of the beaches or beside the Blue Pool with all those great life memories.

Angourie, a great place before anyone but the locals knew it existed.