How do eight months go by so fast? I was late-night binge-scrolling through Instagram recently and found a drone shot someone got of us the morning we first arrived in Yamba. I’ll pause for a moment so you can let that sink in…
Neat, eh? I haven’t gotten permission to publish the photo, so you’ll have to use your imagination, but it was unmistakably Cavalo; the mainsail on the third reef and a pile of surfboards on the foredeck of our beamy double-ender. Varnish that looked a lot better than it does now. The gold stripe at the top of the mast is always what gives us away, though.
We had just sailed down from the Gold Coast and crossed the bar into the Clarence River. Through a series of events we’d decided to call Yamba home for the summer, sight unseen, and were motoring to a mooring at the marina. Navigating the murky estuary, a handful of masts eventually emerged from behind an island of mangroves. Beyond them, the little town climbed the western face of a lone hill, halting at the top where the cliffs dropped back down to the sea. It all seemed so small at the time.
Those first impressions can be interesting to revisit. Our “off season” is always a bit of a dice roll, as we’ve never posted up somewhere that either of us have actually been before. Still, our formula for picking a home base once a year has yet to let us down, and Yamba was no exception. I’m a bit hesitant to write about it because it’s one of those places that could still, by some, be considered a secret. But the small town vibe and big surf potential was a magical combination, and we ultimately became a part of the community in an extraordinary way.
And just like that, here we are with our cruising season in full swing. Once again we’ve become completely absorbed in the day-by-day lifestyle that makes thinking about anything else nearly impossible, and our time in Yamba fades into the background. I hate how that happens, and it happens every time. When we move around so much there just doesn’t seem to be enough head space to keep it all in front.
At the end of the day, though, we’re transients. Migrants. Nomads. All we know is to keep looking and moving forward, which we do, at varying paces and enthusiasms. The memories pop up, though, from time to time, sparked by a tiny treasure. Even if it is somebody else’s photo of you, and they have no idea what a moment they’ve captured.
So here’s to the memory of our time in Yamba.
To its beaches and cliff walks, sunrises over the water and sunsets over the Clarence Valley.
To kiting in the waves at Pipi’s and surfing with the dolphins at Turner’s.
To the Pacific Hotel. And maybe even to Indian Fusion (for all the birthdays).
To nights in the grass trees.
To our friends, and their families. I’m sorry we’re so bad at calling.
Thank you for everything. Don’t go changing. We love you.
