Huskisson to Stanwell Park

Leaving Stig and Kerry’s, waved off by Stig and his broad smile and good wishes shepherded us onward. We rode toward the dock to catch a small ferry and short hop across Currambene Creek to Myola, and continue our journey north.

Arriving at the waterfront, the ferry man asked us to wait whilst he paddleboarded out to the moored boat to bring it back in to the dock. A small craft with a bow that opened up to allow our bikes to be rolled on, the jovial skipper chatted away during the ten minute crossing. Arriving at the wooded peninsula, he kindly moored up at a suitable place to allow us to wheel our bikes onto shore, rather than have to manhandle them up some steps. Nice chap!

Initially we cycled along a dedicated cycle route through a small leafy hamlet of houses tucked away on lanes on a quiet Monday morning. However, traffic picked up as we routed along increasingly bigger roads through what seemed like thick coastal forest, before emerging into farmland, following a creek winding through agricultural fields.
A quick stop at Jindyandy Mill, and Vons Cafe set amongst an old heritage mill - now vintage shop with antiques and store selling Christmas decorations!

The first big town of the day was Nowra. Passing through its backstreets and suburban neighbourhood with its resident ‘characters’ felt like the real Australia, of function, convenience and people going about their business - a big contrast to the past week of quiet green landscapes, remote coastal bush and birdsong.
We decided not to linger in Nowra despite a kind offer from Pete (who we met at the campground at Middle Beach), to stay over at the house of his friend, for whom he was dog sitting. The timing didn’t work as we planned to reach a place called Gerringong, keeping us on track to reach Sydney by the weekend.
Glad to turn off the busy A1 highway after crossing the Shoalhaven River, we passed a massive grain processing plant that covered several acres We were greeted with a slight sweet vinegary smell that lingered in our nostrils, possibly a product of the large fermentation tanks that rose from plant with all its tangled interlinking pipes, like an illustration from a Dr. Seuss book.
We continued and the road turned northward and climbed, passing lines of vines laid out across the hillside and an accompanying sign to advertise the Coolangatta Estate and its pleasurable offer of wine tours, tasting, bistro and accommodation - none of which were on our agenda (unfortunately). We consoled ourselves by stopping at the top of the hill at a well timed bus shelter and short respite from the rain, sat, and ate our egg sandwiches. A strange day - it was trying to be be sunny but clouds blew in from the sea and produced a strange ‘mizzle’ causing us to put on and take off our waterproofs for much of the day. Big puffs of cloud loitered over the foothills behind the vineyard, as sun and rain battled to see who would come out on top, and our hope, to settle the need for waterproofs…..or not.

Onward and through Seven Mile Beach National Park, fronted by a long crescent shaped beach of the same name. It looked out to Berry Bay and stretched from Comerong Island in the south, to Gerroa farther north and we guessed, must be about seven miles long. That’s a lot of beach!
We rolled through the coastal forest along the wide shoulder of a road sheltered by trees on either side, providing welcome shade as the sunshine prevailed in the afternoon. Our day of flat cycling came to an abrupt end with a short brutal climb on reaching Gerroa, a town nestled on a hill, overlooking a creek and lovely beach (most NSW towns see to have at least one lovely beach!). Huffing and puffing, we reached the top of the hill and received a small ‘chapeau’ from an elderly gentleman out for a walk!
At the Sir. Charles Kingsford Smith Lookout we were rewarded with an amazing view south, stretching far into the distant sea spray, which veiled Seven Mile Beach.

For the last few miles into Gerringong we rode on an undulating cycle path by the road and after one last final hill, reached town. Our legs were tired and we looked forward to our dinner.
Gerringong had a nice feel. It was small and ‘well to do’ , with shops, boutiques and places to eat, and had several large, and seemingly vacant properties with spectacular views of the ocean (as we found out by nosing in the window of a property agent, houses with spectacular prices to match).

We checked out a potential wild camp at a local reserve whilst it was still light. Cruising down to the small cove we arrived at a car park next to a grassy area opposite the ocean, There was a toilet block and a shelter with a bench, currently in use by a group of lads having a barbecue. Scoping out a couple of spots for our tent, we were happy with tonight’s location and would return later.
Heading back into the centre of town, we called into the Hill Bar and Kitchen for some
dinner. It was right on the high street and had an outside terrace with a view across the bay. The restaurant was busy and we enjoyed a great view as we ate, while the wind blew with gusto through the gaps in the clear plastic screens. After a hearty feed and as the sun had set, we went back to the cove which was nice a quiet. We managed to squeeze the tent under the shelter, making the tent and us, less obvious and out of the intermittent rain. We drifted off to sleep with the sound of the waves breaking.

Awake at early light, we were roused by the noise of vehicles arriving, which hurried our packing up. Locals were parking for an early morning swim in the lido rock pool around the headland. It was buzzing and not even 6:00a.m. The rockpool - a seawater pool, had a great view out to sea, with the odd wave breaking over the manmade wall. A perfect spot for a dip and convenient for a morning bathe. Amanda and I took turns to have a swim amongst the morning rush. A great way to start our day, and we followed it with a cold outdoor shower and a morning cuppa to warm up.

We called in town to grab breakfast at the Sea Vista Cafe on a sunny day. The first part of the day’s ride was along the shoulder of the busy M1 which the Princes Highway had become. A dual carriageway, it was busy and its shoulder width varied from generous to miserly. The road ascended over a couple of kilometres from Werri Beach to Kiama Heights and the shoulder narrowed to almost nothing as it rounded the hill on a blind bend, the highway pinching in as it wiggled around the contours. Combining hill, traffic and wind resulted in the most unpleasant period of the days cycling - we had to focus intensely and wished every metre ahead of us to pass quickly until we could turn off.
At the sign for the seaside town of Kiama, we escaped the highway, firstly a downhill….. and then back uphill. As has often been the case on this coast, which we have found quite challenging. Although the hills have not been huge in terms of height above sea level, the repetitive up, down, up, down and some short steep ascents, have taxed the leg muscles.
We rode into Kiama past several small beach coves and made for the headland. We wanted to see the blowhole which lay on the point near the lighthouse The place was very busy with lots of tourists as we wandered down to the viewing platform to see the blowhole, which obliged by ejecting its foamy shower several times, vertically through a fissure in the basalt rock as the waves hit the headland cliffs!
Whilst the blowhole was the centre attraction, we rather enjoyed seeing whales as they passed the headland, mostly unnoticed by the tourist throng. Amanda spotted several with her acuity and binocular vision. We spent nearly an hour addictively waiting for their fin slaps, tails slaps and breaches and fixed us in a state of “one more, then we will leave” mantra.

It was time to crack on and we followed the coast through the towns of Kiama Downs and Minnamura, accompanied by expansive views of the sea, until we reached the built up area of Shell Cove, Shell Harbour, Barrack Point and Lake Illawarra, all merging in one big urban sprawl. We cycled on paths next to busy roads through the sprawl of its industrial estate’s, outlets, malls, golf courses and suburban neighbourhoods of flats and condos. We made a quick stop at a supermarket to pick up supplies and then hurried ourselves onward to get to reach a motel for the night and the joy of a shower and a bed.

After a quick breakfast in our room, we packed up and crossed the busy carriageway to join another cycle path/shared footpath . We expected today to be mostly shadowing main roads as we drew closer to Wollongong, a large coastal city, and the last big place before reaching the outskirts of South Sydney.
The aquamarine and turquoise colours of the sea popped on a bright sunny day, and white waves crashed into the golden sand at what seemed like every turn. In shortish time we reached Port Kembla. Port Kembla is a suburb south of Wollongong, and known for its harbour and its significant role in the industrial history of the Illawarra region. A massive container port and international gateway for trade including agricultural, construction and mining industries (2nd largest for coal export) as well as being New South Wales' largest motor vehicle import hub.

Information boards note the numerous shell middens discovered in the area. These provide evidence of the Wodi Wodi community of Aboriginal people, who were the original inhabitants and are the traditional custodians of Illawarra Land. Forcibly removed from the area and from Hill 60 south of this headland by the Government during the years of WWII, to create military defences to protect the steelworks from Japanese invasion, they were never allowed to return.

Popping out at Port Kemble Heritage Park and the former Breakwater Batter station, now museum sat on a grassy headland looking out to sea, next to a former gun emplacement and set amongst some memorial sculptures. Greeted by a carpet of white triangles - white painted concrete tank traps originally installed on the beach, create a surreal sight when viewed against the blue sky. These sit next to a large memorial to the Dalfram Dispute of 1938. A large grenade split in two is what it looked like to me. It also has a ladder type motive, projecting from the top. The protest was by the dockworkers. They did not want to load pig iron from Australia onto a ship (the SS Dalfram) bound for Japan during the second war between Japan and China, when Japan occupied China and carried out the Nanjing Massacre. The dockers, or ‘Wharfies’ as they were called, refused to the load the pig iron in solidarity with the Chinese and against imperial aggression of Japan against another nations people and went on strike. The Wharfies believed the iron would be used to make bullets and bombs and voted unanimously to defy the Government and their contract to supply the pig iron to Japan. The dispute lasted for weeks and even as the government tried to force the workers back to work, and accuse the workers union of trying to dictate Australia’s foreign policy, they underestimated the groundswell of support from the public, including the local Chinese community and Illawarra farmers, who donated produce to the striking workers and their families. Other unions showed solidarity and even the Governor General shared his support. A resolution was reached eventually between union and Government. The workers agreed to load the pig iron ‘under protest’ but on the condition that it would be the last shipment of pig iron to be exported. The Second World War started later that year and the SS Dalfram was struck by a torpedo and sank. A cruel legacy.
The stand by the dockers against military aggression, and a stand for peace, forever forged a bond between Australia and China and proved the point of a Chinese proverb “Across the waters, all men are brothers”. A profound lesson is history and solidarity that would help much of the geopolitical issues we see today, perhaps?

From the elevated position on the point we could see the industrial city of the large Bluescope steel plant. It accounts for more than $2 billion in sales of locally produced steel each year, and has a production capacity of just over 3 million tonnes of steel per annum.
It took us about 30 mins to circumnavigate the plant, such was its scale (760 hectares).

Port Kembla merged into Wollongong, with more signs of civilisation and even office and apartment tower blocks, which we had forgotten existed. Rows of garages lined the road as we passed along the path, all selling their version of the ‘Ute’

Tangent …..UTE - the Aussie Utility Vehicle, multi-purpose and adaptable, beloved by ‘tradies’ (tradespeople and possibly the Aussie version of white van man?) and chosen form of transport by Joe Mangel, of Neighbours during its heyday (if you are old enough to remember him). The size of these things is on an American scale, like a normal 4x4 jeep that has been over inflated. Some of the older ones sound like a tank or lorry, exhibiting a low grunting rumble. I have become a bit obsessed by them whilst I have been here, looking at the model, driver, what is being towed and what accessories feature e.g. toolbox, surfboard, tent, bicycle, scrap, pipes, dog, motorcycle. The list could go on. Often driven by men wearing wellies and often left with engine running whilst the driver attends an errand or calls into a shop - maybe to keep the air con running??

We cycled along the promenade in North Wollongong where beach life was in full swing. We dodged the people walking along on what was turning out to be a very hot day. Swimming, sunbathing and surfing the order of for many and the numerous eateries were busy.
We stopped near the a photo montage showing bathing life, set out on a wall, like a mural. We read some history about public bathing and how it had a long history in Wollongong, with its public bath opening in 1842, and how the sexes were strictly segregated and bathing hours tightly controlled. The rules stretched to the beaches when ‘surf’ bathing became more popular, with regulations “All persons over 8 years must be in neck-to-knee. No male should trespass on the part of the beach reserved for females, nor shall females trespass on part reserved for males”.
So different to the scenes in front of us.

The increased popularity led to the formation of the local life saving club (SLSC) and installation of changing facilities.

We pressed on northward with the ocean a constant companion and what seemed to be endless golden beaches, including Bellamy and Bulli, as we wound amongst dunes and creeks. The coastal hills once distant, now crept closer and we joined the road again as it squeezed its way between thickly forested hills dotted with rocky outcrops of stone in a vibrant rust colour. The coastal road undulated and connected several communities and houses precariously clung to the hillside, looking out to sea and providing their lucky owners a glorious panorama. One of the most stunning sections of our coastal route was further elevated when we arrived at Clifton and the Sea Cliff Bridge. Picture a road built on concrete stilts that stand in the sea where a road could not be built due to the sheer cliffs. 665m long, using 11,000 tones of steel and built far enough away from the rock face to prevent rock falls onto the road. Built in 18 months at the cost of $49M. A wide footpath made it possible to cycle. On reaching the far end we saw a sign that instructed cyclists to dismount. Oops! It was most fun. Slightly downhill and with the feeling of flying, it put grins on our faces, which must of made us look slightly demented. We grinned our way past copious groups of tourists who were walking out along the bridge to capture an ‘Insta’ moment on what is a popular tourist attraction, and part of a scenic drive along this part of the coast.

We arrived at the village of Stanwell Park located in a cove, with its de facto local beach and backed by dense forested hills. As the sun was sinking, it painted this vista in a lovely golden pink late afternoon light. What a welcome sight!
We turned off the main road along at a gaggle of nice looking cafes, closed - but a possible breakfast option for the following day. We had arranged our second Warmshowers stay in the village, with a gentleman called Kieran. He had kindly accepted our request and would host us and Amanda and I were excited to meet him. We found his house as dusk fell. It was on a cul-de-sac, surrounded by trees and barely noticeable on its sloping hillside plot.Read more