Roaring Meg- Oberon Bay
Road Track & Sandy Trail
Beach Walks & Drift Play
Waking to the chorus of birds and the stream (aka roaring Meg) just a few meters from our tent, so immersed in the natural environment, I stepped out from the tent euphoric and excited for our walk down to Oberon Bay. There is a real sense of being lost yet found at the same time when we explore the trails and I knew this is what we had needed after the past few months.
The expansiveness that the hiking trails provide, the simplicity, the masochist in me that loves the challenging hikes.
We started each day with our jet boil coffee. The Robert Timms bags were the best we’d found but still lacked the punch of the double shot, long blacks we were accustomed to. Breakfast each day had been Carmen’s oats with our nuts and fruit mix. It’s hard to beat weight and taste-wise on the trails plus it provides a good boost of carbs, fats and flavour.
Packing our gear and filtering a fresh batch of water, we set off just after 8am.
We only had 9.2 km, mostly downhill so we were going to take our time. The gravel road that runs to the lighthouse provided the trail back down to Telegraph Junction. The views over Oberon Bay drew a bleak picture and soon enough the rain was atop of us.
Our rain jackets still soaked through from Day2, we grabbed for the ponchos and scrambled to cover ourselves and our packs. The driving rain was coming in sideways and with small shrubs to shelter, our only option was to keep moving forward. Testing our resolve the rain persisted for over an hour before the clouds cleared to reveal blue skies.
Telegraph Junction was a twist of tea trees merging into low shrubland. Passing through the base of Mt Oberon, the trail turned left into the sandy trail that would take us to our final destination for the night, Oberon Bay. Confident that we had an easy walk in, the sandy track proved to provide the legs with a little challenge that wasn’t expected.
The salty air kissed our face as we arrived at the bay. Shan set off in search of the perfect campsite whilst I was relieved to find a seat and rest my legs. Returning, proclaiming that he had found ‘the one’, I reluctantly walked the few hundred metres, tagging behind him like a tired child.
The twisted tea-trees curved overhead, creating a shelter from the southerly winds that blew a chill through us and fallen trees and ocean driftwood had cleverly been made into a table and chairs by hikers who’d been before us. With the tent up, packs down and rugged up we set off to explore the beach. The bay was expansive and inlets ran into it from either end from the surrounding mountains. To the north end of the beach was the base of Mt Oberon. The path to Tidal River wrapped around the girth, offering panoramic views of the bays of the western coast. The path we would follow tomorrow as we made the last leg of our 5-day trek.
We scoured the beach for over an hour, finding washed up handrails off yachts buried in the sand, ropes, bottles and other items that all held a story. We cleared what we could to the toilet block and returned to camp with a plank of driftwood and some rope to creatively play for the afternoon; after all, there was nothing else for us to be doing.
The rain had returned, with it a bitterly cold wind. Driving sideways, our tree campsite no longer sheltering us so jumping into the tent we soon fell asleep with a large dose of sea air in our lungs.
Reenergized from our impromptu nap, we spent the rest of the afternoon playing with the washed-up beach rope before slipping back into bed for an early night. Shan plaited a bracelet for me and created a swing from the rope and plank he had dragged back earlier in the day.