SOME mysteries may never be meant to be solved.
Take the origin of the name Dutchmans Beach, or Dutchman's Bay, or plain "Dutchies".
The picturesque 400metre beach with pristine turquoise water is just around the headland from busy Nelson Bay, at Port Stephens.
Secluded in bush between the Bay and Bagnalls Beach, it is mostly known simply as Dutchies. It also might be a million miles away from anywhere, as the road is a dead end. It is a private, family-friendly beach, and locals like it that way.
So, who or what was the Dutchman? And what's the story behind its name? But absolutely no one seems to know why the beach is so named.
So, back in February, I started asking local residents about the origin of the curious name. Could it be a corruption of the old native name (apparently not), or more likely named after an old bush squatter, perhaps?
Then, I started making enquiries much further afield. Surely, someone, somewhere, would know. After all, much of the history of place names of Port Stephens had already been fully documented.
Much further east, for example, Fingal Bay was originally called False Bay (after shipwrecks). It was often mistaken in the days of sail and steam for the port's entrance between the twin ocean sentinels of Tomaree and Yacaaba.
The landmark Fly Point is a nautical term meaning safe anchorage from the winds, while Nelson Bay itself was possibly so named to honour British admiral Sir Horatio Nelson. Or, more likely, it was named after the early exploring vessel, the Lady Nelson, which once brought Governor Lachlan Macquarie to Port Stephens.
Then there's Pindimar, across the water on area's the northern shore. It's supposed to mean "black possum" in an Aboriginal dialect. Much later, it was even the site of a legendary, but short-lived, shark processing plant in the late 1920s.
The most telling response to my request was posted online (by another person) on the Lost Port Stephens Facebook page, saying "Oh please, tell us when you get the answer".
All this was a bit strange, as a lot of people lived in the area ages ago. In fact, the whole beachfront area, now mainly a car park, was covered in rough timber shacks and permanent tents housing jobless people during the 1930s Great Depression.
They had been used initially as holiday homes, but when the hard times hit, many families returned to live there, surviving on fishing and dole tickets.
The wood to build the shacks were timber seconds from the now defunct Winda Woppa mill. Water came from wells and spear points in the sandy soil.
Some Crown Land blocks at Dutchies were sold in 1883 and after World War II (1939-45), a beach reserve was created after the remaining people were all evicted.
In 1961, the much-loved Dutchies Motor Lodge was opened by port tourism pioneers the Norburns. It was hailed as being the peninsula's first motel. Before that, holiday accommodation was limited to the Sea Breeze and Country Club hotels at Nelson Bay and Shoal Bay.
Earlier, well-known local identity Josie Norburn was credited with helping develop the Dutchman's Beach Estate after 1943.
A Nelson Bay Heritage Walk brochure from the 1990s marking 41 places of interest starting at "Dutchmans Bay" should then have provided more clues. Oddly enough though, various editions of it make no mention of the site's background.
The guide was prepared by Josie Norburn and others, so perhaps they didn't know either.
The only light that Dennis Corr, of the Port Stephens Historical Society, could shed on the Dutchies mystery name was that the group possessed an 1826 Port Stephens colonial map with original Aboriginal placenames on it.
The general location is named as "Beetrobah" but with no explanation of its meaning.
Years ago though, Port author Hal Richardson reported that "Irambang Street in Dutchies was translated to mean steep street and that's an appropriate name".
University of Newcastle archivist John Di Gravio helped by attaching an overlay of old and new site maps, coming up with the name "Breayndab Point" (probably today's Red Patch at the western end of Dutchies Beach).
"Could there be a connection (to Dutchies) with loggers or ship traders perhaps," Di Gravio suggested.
Then, Denise Gaudion, of the Port Stephens Family History Society, provided invaluable help by checking scores of old books and texts trying to resolve the Dutchies name puzzle, but without success, at least so far.
"Early whalers once visited there (seeking fresh water). Someone could have jumped ship and stayed, perhaps," she said.
"But the first people there were the Aborigines."
What is known is that the name existed before 1916 and that colourful identity, and Greek lobster fisherman, Spero Spathis made his mark there.
Late in life, after leaving his home on Broughton Island, Spero lived at Dutchies in a bright red canvas tent to match his old red boat moored in the sparkling blue water. Spero once said his life was one long holiday. He died there in 1950.
Popular Port Stephens author John 'Stinker' Clarke suggested a few leads to chase, but was also mystified about the beach name.
"Maybe there was once was an old shop there, maybe it was run by a Dutchman or his family? But this is only a stab in the dark. Who knows about these name origins? What or who is the suburb of Corlette named after, for example?" Clarke said.
(Admittedly, I was also baffled, always taking the name for granted. It turns out it was named after Captain James Corlette, who shipped timber out of Port Stephens in 1816. He had the first privately owned local vessel.)
Port researcher Janice Maytom (via Facebook) named families who had once had beach holiday cottages at Dutchies, adding "there was a Dutch fish man there".
My memory of the place, as a child on Christmas holidays among the miners from Kurri and Weston in tents in the 1950s, is probably a bit of unknown history though.
I remember being very scared there after running through foreshore bush when a venomous, red-bellied black snake abruptly reared up in front of me.
Such snakes aren't normally so aggressive, so it must have felt threatened when I stumbled across it.
Nearby, at the foot of Christmas Bush Avenue, was a dirt-floored hut almost swallowed up by thick lantana bush. Day and night while I briefly stayed in a family tent close by, there would be a sudden 'BANG!' startling campers.
Each morning after these gunshots, a long horizontal pole outside the hut would display several freshly skinned snakes, like long ties, hanging out to dry.
These skins of the hut's late-night slithery intruders would then be sold, presumably, to make snakeskin trouser belts.
I wish I knew more about the man and his hazardous occupation, but I don't. For, in the words of broadcaster John Laws, there's always more to the story, isn't there?
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