The Sandon

The Sandon, located at the mouth of the Sandon River, in the Clarence Valley, was a favourite holiday spot for the Marsh family. My grandparents told tales of their holiday adventures at this place, of eating mouldy bread stored in sugar bags, and fishing tales of the one – or more precisely the ones – that got away.

The story is told that one day Dad rode his bike to Brooms Head and then walked the beach to the Sandon to deliver voting papers to his parents who were holidaying there at the time. This in the face of a cyclone and it may have been in the war years. Some years back I walked this same beach from the Broom (as Brooms Head is known) to the Sandon and back before breakfast – a good hour to hour and a half walk.

While we stayed in tents at the Sandon Nana and Pa Marsh had some friends who had holiday shacks there that have now been demolished because they were built on crown land. It is now part of the Yuraygir National Park. One belonged to the Biddles and, if memory is correct, Jim and Mary Orr owned another – Jim Orr being my great grandmother’s brother. There may have been a few more, but there were not many.

In the early days there was no ‘road’ to the Sandon, just a number of sand tracks that wandered over the hills. The trick, it seemed, was to pick the right one. I remember more than one car bogged in the sand with tree branches and other stuff placed under the rear wheels in an effort to get some traction to enable the car to move forward, assisted by a number of bodies pushing from the rear. This may have been the reason Dad took us on holidays one year with Mum, David and myself seated on a trailer packed with all vacation necessities towed by the grey Ferguson tractor. It was more suited to the ‘road’ conditions.

One challenge at the Sandon was timing the arrival. The camp ground was on a knoll separated from the mainland by sand spits, and as the tide came in these became impassable until the tide receded. This was not always a problem. I remember once we went to the Sandon for the day with Dad’s sister Aileen, husband Stan and kids. We had a great time swimming in the river waiting for the tide to fall.

The camp ground was basic. No electricity. We may have been able to buy ice from the local fisherman’s cooperative shack, but possibly not. No showers and the dunny (toilet) was of the pit variety – supply your own newspaper. There was a communal rain water tank and, of course, one could always raid the water tanks attached to the few houses. Powdered milk was the norm and other stuff we needed to keep cool – and possibly out of reach of creatures is search of a meal - was placed in a food safe hung from a tree.

Not that we needed to keep much fresh. Like most of our holidays, the Sandon was about the beach, swimming and fishing. We had a small, flat bottomed row boat. Mum and David always sat on the seat at the back, Dad did the rowing and I perched on the seat at the front. Fish – bream, whiting, and flathead – were plentiful so we never went hungry.

While we fished in the safety of the river, others fished off the rocks on Plover Island. Plover Island was at the mouth of the river, accessible across the sand spit when the tide was out far enough. We used to roam over the island – not that it was all that large – and play on the rocks. My grandfather, Joe and his brother Kelvin would fish from here sometimes – I remember talk of Jew Fish and Snapper, so I assume these were what they caught.

Kelvin married Connie Orr, daughter of Jim and Mary whom I have mentioned above. They must have stayed in the house when they holidayed there.

One day Joe and Kelvin were fishing from the rocks. So far as I recall, the only thing they caught all day were snags. I have always remembered their discussion that day. Both agreed that the ideal way to go would be standing on the rocks reeling in a catch. One was adamant that he wanted to see the fish before he breathed his last, the other would be satisfied knowing he had something on the line. Sadly, neither got their wish.

A small ocean going fishing fleet operated from the Sandon. Some of the fishermen lived in houses on the side of the road just before the sand spits we had to cross to get to the campground. Others lived on the other side of the river. Access to these houses was from Minnie Water along the beach. One day I recall a trawler in serious trouble crossing the bar, but I can’t recall the final outcome of that episode. All I remember is the trawler rolling about, immobilised, with waves washing over it.

Another memory is of fishermen walking into the surf, pulling their nets out and circling back into the beach with their catch, mullet I think. I clearly remember this one day the waves were full of mullet for as far as the eyes could see. It seemed there were more fish than water. Only once have I seen this but I guarantee the like has not been seen for years.

 It is a few years since I last visited the Sandon. As I said above, it is now part of the Yuraygir National Park. The campground remains, but it is still fairly basic. There is still no electricity if I remember correctly. The fishermen’s houses remain, silt has changed the course of the river, and you can access the campground anytime day or night. But it retains in some ways the simplicity of former years.