Honeycomb Rocks

We head off down the coast in the opposite direction to Castlepoint. The countryside is just beautiful with gentle rolling hills and riotous colours under crisp autumn skies. Place names such as Kummerstein and Bismarck Road hint at German ancestry. The early pioneers to this region came from Sweden, England, Norway and Germany – they planted orchards and vineyards and made beer, like all good pioneers should!

We get to the end of the road and the start of our walk to the Honeycomb Rocks. We pick our way along the beach strewn with crayfish and paua shells and glistening strands of popping seaweed pearls. There’s plenty to feast on here, and birds chirp, screech, tweet and flutter all around. Flashes of brilliance indicate kingfishers and startled swoops from the long grass suggest a linnet-type bird (although my ornithology is rusty).

The path wends its way through weeds, reeds and long spiky grasses next to the beach, sometimes popping out onto the sand. It’s actually pretty energy-sapping in the legs.

Him Outdoors smells the telltale odour of seal. There’s a colony of them basking on the rocks, blinking their big brown eyes and languidly waving their flippers. I take a few pictures, using the telephoto lens and trying not to startle them, which is harder than you would imagine when some of them take to hiding in the grass!

We reach the Honeycomb Rocks which are really pretty impressive, eroded through wind and rain into strange porous formations. There are caves that look as though they could have housed hobbits, and a rock that both Him Outdoors and I instantly name Stegosaurus Rox – we can’t both be wrong, can we?




There is a rusting wreck in the sand – obviously the salvage job was too big to be considered. We throw smooth ovoid pebbles at it, like children delighting in the clanging sound when they reach their mark.


Walking back along the 4WD track is much quicker – it reroutes around the farm buildings but there isn’t as much hiking through tussock, bog and repetitive ravines. I am tired and weaving between the cabbage trees. I begin to hallucinate about the perfect beer to drink after a walk like this – such thoughts probably don’t help as they make me thirsty and we have run out of water – very ill-prepared.

When we get back to the car we drive back over the gravel roads to the bach. Him Outdoors says it feels like ages since we’ve been on a gravel road. He loves exploring new bits of the country, and now the car is covered in dust, it probably feels as though it too has been on an excursion.

After quick showers we get to the golf club earlier tonight and have our choice of meals – scallops for me and pork steak for Him Outdoors. The salads are all full up and not yet picked at. Once again Him Outdoors gets chatting to a bloke at the bar.

Jim is captain of the South cricket team. As an annual Easter event, people from the south play a team from the north, captained by Rosy. The division is made at the golf club and only people who own or are directly related to someone who owns a bach in Riversdale can compete – absolutely no ring-ins are allowed. They play for pride, bragging rights, and an old cricket bat trophy. What fun!