We drive again, this time to explore along the Bruce Highway to the south. Around parts of the Moreton Bay Drive. Scarborough and Redcliffe add to our waterfall and pool chasing.
From Peter Carey’s Jack Maggs, …Three years of that time I had the misfortune to be in a hell called Morton Bay…
Things aren’t as bad as Carey implies, even if the demographics indicate that some ethic groups; Samoans and Tongan especially, not that this evident on our drive tour. Except for an insignia to mixed cultures and a plaque to the first Samoan/Tonga meeting house outside these countries. We do however notice some very worse-for-wear bayside cheap housing which looks like state housing. This whole area was probably a crowded sea-side destination that is now a tad shabby.
Mangrove edged beaches on the edge of Morton Bay which has greyish and choppy water. Tide is high with occasional glimpses of minimal yellow sand. Further out onto the Cape the coast looks more scenic. Scarborough is definitely out of the wind, but rain still threatens. The Dugong symbol indicates Morton Bay Drive, or North Morton Drive. We pass marinas on one side, seafood outlets and a tiny caravan village with pastel cottages, trimmed white. They’re so cute and doll-like. Expensive multi-story houses next to run down fibro shacks. A few old Queenslanders, tastefully restored. Then resort towers reminiscent of Waikiki, tacky in places.
From here the Ferry departs to the Bay Islands – Morton and Stradbroke. We promise to do that one day. No doubt the red cliffs are more statuesque out to sea.
Another no beach day! It has now been five days since we felt a beach swim was possible. We soak up the sun’s warmth away from ridge tops, but know the southerly wind will be worse on the beach. To counter this lack of swimming we spend time looking at real estate, fascinated by the range of goods and chattels we can get in price ranges far more reasonable than Sydney. Media rooms dominate.
I explore the fire trails behind the Bribie Island Arts Centre, watched by Kangaroos that stare down in response to my whistling.