Date: Sat, 06 Apr 2002 02:04:13 +1200 From: prime wordsmith Subject: Swansea-Bridge-01 Well actually there's two now. Both in use. The first was a low level two lane affair. It was an upward opening hinge bridge which carried the Pacific Highway in both directions. One lane each way. Instant permanent bottleneck with five to six hour delays each holiday weekend. The second bridge was a duplication of the first, right next to it, downstream. So now there are two lanes each way. The Pacific Highway is National Route # 1, linking Sydney with the northern capital of Brisbane. About 800 miles long. The country's largest seawater lake empties into the Pacific Ocean through Swansea channel, under Swansea Bridge. It's a major roadway / waterway focus. Lake Macquarie is a glorious holiday destination for the enclosed water sailors, the fishing fraternity, and for holidaying families with lots of kids. Swansea channel hits the ocean at Swansea Heads. Blacksmiths then Nine Mile Beach run north from the Swansea breakwall. They're ideal beaches for top safe surfing. Black swans paddle and feed in the lake adding to the feeling of grandeur. It is a most magnificent part of the coast. Swansea and Blacksmiths are suburbs of Newcastle, the country's sixth largest city. So all the benefits of a large city are nearby. Although a lot of couples retire here from Sydney, it is still a family area, both during the holiday seasons and also out of season. There are young people at the beaches, in the sand dunes and on the lake the whole year round. I love sitting beside the channel near the bridge eating cooked seafood from the nearby fish and chip shop. The bridge fascinates me, the rapid tide race down the channel fascinates me, watching the fish swim against the current under the jetty fascinates me, and the people wandering around, fishing, swimming, rowing or simply parading fascinate me. I always get drawn into a conversation there. The channel wall and the jetty seem to be favourite places for young people to fish. If they want to hang out its usually up at the shops. But if they want to fish its usually on the channel wall or the jetty. Unless they're experts, and fish off the beach or the breakwater, or can use a boat to fish in the lake or over the channel sandbanks. It doesn't matter what hour it is, day or night, there's always young people fishing at Swansea Bridge. When the prawns are running, on the third or fourth night after the full moon while the tide is running out, people are everywhere about the channel. Right through the night. It's almost like Pitt Street it's so crowded. This is the one time when conversation's not on. Prawning then is too serious for idle chit-chat. I usually avoid the channel then. But in the afternoon after school, or in the evening after tea, or on a lazy Sunday afternoon when everyone seems to be sleeping or have gone slow, then it's the time I like best. People are relaxed, unpressured, and have time to talk. Parents don't seem to be around and I often appear to be the only adult there. Conversations then can be quite fascinating. It's amazing what these 11 to 16 year old guys have to say about themselves, their schoolmates, their teachers, their parents. A better understanding of their problems is more likely from listening to them at Swansea Channel than from listening to them in the counselling rooms at school, or the youth refuges. The only time I'm unlikely to see anyone is during heavy downpours. Even the yachties seem to disappear during heavy rain. Except of course those nutters from the Royal Motor Yacht Squadron. Nothing stops them. Most of them are escapees from the Lake Macquarie Yacht Club anyway. So it figures, I guess. But I don't mind the rain. I like the rain. Some of the most outlandish things I have done have been done during medium to heavy rain. I love the water. And I love to put on my yellow roadworker raincoat and wander about during the rain. It's almost possible to imagine the clouds have opened and washed all people away. The land has been cleansed, washed free of the human plague. I catch myself looking over my shoulder at such moments worrying about trifids. Am I alone with only those man-eating plants to worry about? It was one such wet evening I was out revelling in the freshness, unthinkingly keeping an eye out for trifids when a moan and a movement startled me. It sounded like someone in pain, and in an instant of out-of-this-worldliness I wondered where the trifid had caught him. Talk about loony. I realised I'd have to control my pluvial fantasies in future. Fancy reacting as if trifids actually were real. But the boy was sobbing. He was rocking backwards and forwards on the channel wall footpath with his arms wrapped about his knees. No raincoat. No cap. No boots. No shoes for that matter. The rain made the street lights moderately useless, but the flood lamps over near the Paris Apartments helped me see him more easily. Since there were no trifids to concern me with I only had to worry about what on earth I was doing. Should I do anything? He only had a tee shirt and soccer shorts on. I mean, it doesn't get really cold here but it is not exactly tropical all the time either. I suppose he could have slipped trying to climb the bridge. If he'd been hit by a car, he or someone else would have been doing something. But he was just stopping there. Rocking and sobbing as if he was alone in the world. He wasn't even sitting on the path under the bridge where he could be out of the rain. Oh dear. It looked like a physical expression of psychic suffering. Positive comments and enquiries are invited. Please send to primewordsmith@hotmail.com