The Sunshineless Coast

There’s not much to do in Noosa when it’s raining. After a steady, overnight downpour (requiring some patchwork to stop the leaks in the car), the morning shows slight promise of a better day. As a few hopeful slivers of sunlight filter through the lingering clouds, an old man in a folding chair fishes patiently at the water’s edge. Occasionally he battles an opportunistic pelican for whatever catch he reels ashore.

I’m in a caravan park overlooking the mouth of the Noosa River. It’s a mobile retirement village; grey haired holiday makers sit in front of large, well equipped caravans, drinking tea and playing cards. My dented Jackeroo, with its bull-bar and rusty undercoat, stands defiantly unperturbed between the clean-cut campervans in their unscathed coats of white.

The sun fails to deliver on its morning promise and by lunch the rain has returned with a vengeance. Even in fair weather Noosa would have little to hold my interest so I quit the sea-side holiday town and move further north in search of better weather and a less domesticated coast line.

I had thought to cut across to Fraser and put the four-wheel-drive capabilities of the beast (and myself) to the test but the predictions say the weather’s here for a few more days. All the signs tell me to move north to the untamed tropics, and I take little convincing.