Everyone has a happy place at the coast, don't they?
It might be that tiny motel pool at The Entrance where you'd battle for hours to beat your sister at pool quoits. Or beyond the breakers at Merry Beach where on the sand you took that classic catch as a teenager. Or perhaps it's where you stole your first kiss from the girl in the caravan next door at Durras (Penelope, are you still out there breaking hearts?).
Top of my list is Mitchies Jetty at Merimbula. And unlike most summer memories which date back to childhood, it's a love affair I've developed as an adult.
I always try to arrive as early as possible and stake my claim in the sand, but no matter what time I set my alarm, I'm never first.
Before the pre-dawn glow even starts to light up the Merimbula Lake in those redder than red hues that signal a summer scorcher is on the way, there are early risers wandering around the jetty.
Sure, some are attempting to stretch their quads by leaning against the timber pylons, no doubt part of some short-lived New Years' resolution, while others are trying to walk off a hangover, but most aren't really doing anything. Just being here is enough.
When the coffee cart stirs into action just before 6.30am, people in the queue aren't pacing up and down, wondering how long until they get their morning fix. Instead, they are plucking out seaweed caught in their thongs, or chatting to the stranger next in line about the tennis last night. One fellow Y-plater even asks if the prawns are still running down at Wallaga Lake.
Next to the coffee cart, a couple of half-rusted pushbikes left by a couple of beachcombers are strewn haphazardly on the sand - no need to tie them up here. The only thieves here are hungry seagulls.
The more energetic regulars hire kayaks and paddle on the dreamy surface of Lake Merimbula before the nor-easter kicks in. Yeah, I've done that once or twice, but I usually fold out that creaky old deck chair that lives in the boot of the yowiemobile and watch the world go by.
A procession of over-excited kids skip past with their blow up-mattresses dragging on the sand behind, pelicans land amongst the oyster leases; and the tide, ebb and flow, as tides like to do.
While low tide brings with it the chance to wade out to your own deserted sand island, nothing beats high tide at Mitchies. It's a slow waiting game as the water level creeps up the side of the timber posts. Will the jetty go under today? Of course, I could cheat by looking at the tide chart but that takes the fun out of it.
I'm not sure if the jetty was designed this way or if it just has sunk a little over time, but there's something surreal about when the water finally fills the cracks and spills out over the wooden planks. People with towels slung around their necks, and dollops of sun cream not rubbed in all the way, sit in chairs drinking coffee, seemingly oblivious to the fact that they are now in ankle-deep water.
The kayakers embrace the extra high tides and launch straight out of the shed and skim across the top of the jetty and into the lake. Meanwhile the kids have even more water to bomb into.
I always bring a good book on my pilgrimages to Mitchies but can't remember the last time I opened one. You don't need to; the stories play out in front of you.
How will the older sister of the boy in oversized red boardshorts that's just emptied a bucket of water on her head seek revenge? What about the overdue kayakers, have they found a new cove to explore? When will the stingrays arrive? Oh, and will the fishing charter dock today?
When the sun sneaks just a bit too high in the sky for me (and besides the coffee cart closes at 1pm), before I trudge back to the carpark, I always glance at the "Fish Pen" sign hanging nearby. It's a reminder of the 1920s when fishermen herded their catch into temporary pens crudely hacked together using tea tree stakes, discarded fishing net and wire netting.
The plan was for the fish to remain fresh in the "pens" until they were ready to be shipped or trucked to capital city markets.
However, it didn't always go to plan as sharks looking for an easy feed would occasionally break through the nets, and in doing so allow some of the fish to escape.
In 1927, Don "Mitchie" Mitchelson replaced one of these first experimental pens with a permanent structure, using galvanised wire netting attached to hardwood frames.
As to the jetty named in his honour - who'd have thought when it was built in the early 1940s as a private fishing shed, that today - repurposed as a recreational jetty - it would bring so much joy to so many.
When I haul myself back into the daily grind next week, I know where my mind will still be - the same place it'll be when the first cold southerlies of the winter hit. Mitchies Jetty. My holiday hang-out.
When you are young, summer holidays are an endless haze of fun-filled, sun-kissed days, but as an adult, they seem to whizz by so much faster.
Just like the last high tide, before you know it, it's over.
'Unless it's pouring with rain, I'll be here...'
I'm not the only one crazy about Mitchies Jetty.
So too is Bill Deveril. In fact, he loves the jetty so much that in 1975, following the passing of Don "Mitchie" Mitchelson, he bought the Merimbula landmark.
While Mitchie was "quite protective of his jetty, never letting anyone else near it", Bill has a different philosophy.
"I like to share it with everyone, it's good for tourism, it's good for the economy," he says.
Since retiring from professional fishing five years ago, Bill, now 83, can be found sitting on the jetty between about 8am and noon every day of the year.
"Yes, unless it's pouring with rain, I'll be here, I just love watching all the people come and enjoy it," he says.
If you do see Bill, say g'day and he'll regale you with yarns from the early fishing days in Merimbula, and not just about those fishing pens that were once built in front of the jetty, but also tales of the early salmon fishing days in Merimbula.
"In the 1920s they hackled together a lookout up on the clifftop," he reveals, pointing across to the cliff above Bar Beach where they could sit and watch for shoals of salmon out to sea.
When salmon were spotted, the fishermen would descend a rickety ladder to the shore where they'd launch their boats to run a net around the fish and bring them into the fish pens of Merimbula Lake.
After the lookout hut was destroyed by vandals, it was replaced in the late 1940s by Mitchie and fellow fisherman Rupert Gray, and sadly today all that remains is part of the stone foundations.
According to Bill, "one day Mitchie rowed out to sea and never rowed back ... he collapsed in the boat and died. A good way for fisherman to go".
WHERE IN THE REGION?
Rating: Medium
Cryptic Clue: Tea anyone?
How to enter: Email your guess along with your name and address to tym@iinet.net.au. The first correct email sent after 10am, Saturday January 21, wins a double pass to Dendy, the Home of Quality Cinema.
Last week: Congratulations to Keith Akesson of Merimbula who was first to recognise last week's photo as a Ned Kelly-inspired letterbox on the Princes Highway between Wolumla and Bega in the area known as of 'Frogs Hollow'. Keith just beat 14-year-old Isaac Badowski, whose friend lives at the property.
Sign-eating trees
Why invest in posts and fasteners if nature will do it for free?
While exploring Merimbula Lake and surrounds, I stumbled on this sign near the track from Rotary Park towards the Merimbula Aquarium and Wharf that has been superseded by a much more modern elevated walkway.
As enticing as this newer track is, my go-to Sapphire Coast lakeside walk remains the rustic (read: be careful not to fall off!) boardwalk leading west from the town bridge. It follows the north shore of the lake to the revamped Sunny's Kiosk (now more a funky café) which, in the shadow of the distant ranges would be a knock-out spot for a sundowner.
CONTACT TIM: Email: tym@iinet.net.au or Twitter: @TimYowie or write c/- The Canberra Times, GPO Box 606, Civic, ACT, 2601
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