<< Back to Travel

Part two of the Coffs coast adventure sees the boys tackle some of the region's most hardcore tracks.

Words by Jonh Rooth
Photography by Robb Cox

Phew, the first couple of days of this so-called 'soft' off-road trip around Coffs had seen Otis sidelined with a blown auto box and Milo limping everywhere with a rear driveshaft so bent it'd make a federal politician look straight. Fortunately, the two ARB vehicles had survived unscathed, and I guess the reality was that Pat and I were paying some overdue fines from those trips through Tassie and the High Country. There's a limit to how much surfing you can do in a truck after all. Having missed the motel the night before, we'd gone straight to an old stomping ground of mine, the mighty Moonee Tavern, about 10 minutes north of Coffs. There we feasted on a pile of the local bush tucker - wood-fired pizzas and cold beer! Whoa, how good is this off-road driving Coffs Harbour style? You can play in serious dirt all day and then get a gourmet feed at night!

But it was late and we couldn't get a room, it was still raining and camping out looked like being as much fun as sleeping in a puddle can be. That's when Kev stepped up to the plate and offered his place down at Sapphire Beach. Being a single bloke's flat, it meant bunking down wherever there was room, but hey, it was dry, the shower was hot and we needed somewhere to kick off 'Snorefest 2005' anyway. The next morning saw Pat's truck ready for pick-up and the camera crew hanging to grab an opener for the DVD. That meant hitting the Big Banana and grabbing some footage of the team cascading down the toboggan run. Gee this work caper can get hard sometimes. We had so much fun that even after the filming was complete, there were still 4WDers 'just going back for one more run for research purposes'. Even sound technician Scotty tried that line!

Less than a couple of kilometres north of the Big Banana, we turned left on Goudrons Road, drove another couple of kilometres and then turned left up another track signposted 'Rover Fire Trail'. Hang on, weren't we on the Rover a day or so ago? Apparently so, but not from this angle, so after stopping to lock hubs and engage low - something you're usually doing within sight of the sealed roads around Coffs! - we climbed up a tight fire trail until the bush canopy opened up. The view was incredible. "See that little tit in the distance?" said Kev. "Nah, Roothy's with us," said Pat.
"No, dork-features," said Kev, showing the sort of respect for authority that's so easily bred in the bush, "that hill over there. That's Glenugie Peak, and from the top of that you can see up to Grafton, across the McLean sugar fields or back to Coffs and beyond. "There's an old fire trail up to the top, but it's strewn with boulders. You can get a serious truck up there, but..."
"So, where's the track kick off from, Kev?" asked Lowmount, looking as if he was itching to try the 100's ARB side steps.
"It's a secret, mate, can't tell you everything. Local's rules, okay? Anyway, we've got a lot of tough stuff to do around here first."

So there you go. If you'd like a stab at climbing Glenugie, can I suggest that a large handful of cash delivered in a wood-fired pizza box to one K Smith Esquire, Sapphire Beach, might be the ticket? It looked pretty awesome, even from 40km away. Doubling back down the Rover, we took the sealed road to the base of Mount Coramba in order to visit the old gold-mining town of Beacon. Did someone say town? After pushing through barely marked tracks covered with lantana and fresh growth, we came to a small clearing running alongside a pretty little creek. "This is it," said Kev, leaving the rest of us to wonder what was 'it'. "This is Beacon. Hard to imagine it was bigger than Coffs Harbour a 100 or so years ago, isn't it?" After following a few tracks, we found a round hole under some branches that led off into a tunnel. Not much bigger than a man standing, with about the clearance you'd need either side for the handles of a wheel barrow, this lonely prospecting drive was one of the few visible alterations to the terrain we could see. Mostly that was because dense bush covered everything else, and no doubt if you were to clear the lot there'd be some signs of mullock heaps, tailings mounds and possibly even some brick steps or an old fireplace or something.

But nature had well and truly stepped back in to Beacon and taken the place over completely! Even the hole we found looked like it might have been driven in more recent times. Just an old miner's note here, mostly because mining lingo can confuse people who haven't dug. A 'shaft' runs straight down, a 'drive' runs horizontally. You 'drive' drives, you 'dig' shafts, got it? And most prospecting shafts come in two sizes, 'coffin' shafts and circles. Coffin shafts tend to be 6-8ft long and 3-4ft wide. Those dimensions make it just possible to swing a pick and have room for a bucket, because the whole point is to get as deep as you can while moving as little dirt as you have to. Smart mining - and the old guys were smart - means shifting as little dirt as possible until you hit the stuff that pays!

Coffin shafts are usually a sign of older mining, because since the 1960s most prospecting has been done with big bucket drills that leave a metre-wide circular hole or the smaller ones that'll break an ankle if they're not plugged. If 'you bottom on a level' (find some good trace or something), then you clamber down a ladder and 'drive' it. If the dirt's paying, then you slowly bell out around the drive until one day you're looking at a 'ball room'. But by then you'll have lobbed in with the props to make the roof secure. But the real lesson at Beacon was to see how quickly nature had reclaimed what once must have been some severely disturbed country. I could see outlines of old dumps and rocks where they shouldn't be, but if you hadn't known to look, you'd never notice. The 'Nature Nazis' should get out and take a look at things like this, because this is the reality of all their little poled-off carparks and gated tracks - they're absolute bullsh*t. Keep the tracks open, let Australians see and enjoy their own country, and do it knowing that nature can and will reclaim the lot in the blink of a geographical eye. I guess they feel all sensitive about these things because the buggers never get out and have a look! Sorry, I'm sounding off again. But it's a pet hate and guaranteed to get my blood boiling, even in the serene foothills behind Coffs. At least here the people still have access to much of the country, and the proof of the lack of damage 4WDing does is absolutely everywhere. It's a pity the little office-bound nazi turds don't get out and have a look themselves!

From Beacon town site, we drove through the back roads to Bruxner Park Road, turned left on to Bucca Road, drove up through Nana Glen and on to Coldwater Creek Road. Hmm, every creek I'd been near had been freezing cold so far - this one must've been a beauty, eh? By now, the sun was coming down and we were driving towards Mount Gundar and on to Ulong. The sealed road is tight and twisty, and with our tyres still down at 16psi, the vehicles lurched around the corners all the way. Finally we were back on the dirt, running down Moses Rock Road to one of the best campsites I've seen - the Cod Hole Camping Ground. A favourite of the canoeists and rafters who use it as a base camp for tackling the mighty Nymboida River rapids, Cod Hole is a wide expanse of cold river surrounded by dense bush. The campsite is on flat ground up on the banks. There's a shadecloth shelter there and a big fireplace, so we built up the fire and cracked open the fridge. Pat had put in a request for something 'banana-like' to give the cooking segment of the DVD a local flavour. That night, I got him busy threading chunks of chicken, bacon and banana on to steel skewers, while I cooked a pot full of rice and knocked up a sauce. We barbecued the kebabs, put them on plates of rice and poured on a sauce made from sweet chillies, apricot jam, peanut butter, black peppercorns and - wait for it - beer. The beer is optional, but seeing as I was spilling plenty by then, we'd better bung it in the recipe!

Then, just before bedtime, disaster struck. We ran out of beer. After contemplating drinking Milo's power-steering fluid, I settled on a cup of tea instead. It was hardly the fuel you need to fight a cold night in the roof-topper, but hey, at least we went to bed early for once! And we'd had a terrific meal, but there was no name for it, until our producer, the Land Rover-loving Ian Withnal, came up with a beauty - Banana Mouskouri. I can't explain that other than to say it fitted, but trust me, the next morning the 100 or so steps up to the toilets were well walked by all. Talk about a toilet with a view though, which we did, mostly between grunts. The river was too cold for anything other than a quick dip before we were back in the trucks and retracing our tracks from the night before. Still running Milo's Cooper STTs at 16psi, despite some relatively high speeds on wild tracks, it was no surprise that I staked a tyre. The surprise was that after so much abuse, this was the first - and only - flat I'd copped and was to be the only one on this trip for any of the Cooper-equipped trucks.

Shortly after I'd changed wheels, we turned down Orange Tree Road, which was also signposted Mines Road. The country up here was thinner forest, and the tracks easily driven, and before long we were climbing down to a gap in the trees. There, dropping off into the vast distance, was Mobung Falls and some of the most grandiose scenery I've seen. The rocky ledge jutting over a vertical rock face with water cascading down to a dense green pool below brought back memories of the country up behind Armidale and the Wollomombi Falls. Then I realised we probably weren't more than 50 or 60km from there, as the crow flies anyway. That's the amazing thing about this trip. One minute you get the feeling you're right in the middle of dense forest, miles from anywhere, and the next you're back on a sealed road and only minutes from town. Wow, sometimes you don't need days of dirt-road travel just to 'get there', do you? From Mobung Falls, we kept travelling the tracks following Kev's lead in the mighty HiLux. The tracks opened up to graded roads, and suddenly we've dropped down a track reminiscent of the High Country and lobbed on to Platypus Flat.

What an incredible camping ground this would have to be! Lovely grassed flats running down to a wide river, plenty of shade trees and barbecue sites, and yes, there are the toilets tucked up behind those bushes! Excuse I, folks, got to go sing a 'Nana Mouskouri tune. From Platypus Flat, we worked our way back towards Coffs with no particular destination in mind other than looking for somewhere to camp. We'd taken a backroad, so it was almost all dirt until we popped out somewhere behind Coramba, only 10 minutes from Coffs. The smell of cooking steak filled the air outside the Coramba Hotel - err, along with the promise of cold beer, I guess - so we pulled in for a bistro meal that'd take a lot of beating anywhere. About now, all that was on my mind after dinner was looking for a place to unroll the swag. That's when one of the Coramba locals recognised the trucks, and a few minutes later Jenny and Greg have offered us the use of their back paddock and even the bathroom, though admitting that with all of us it could get crowded.

It was a great offer, but the lads wanted to start the last leg of our trip from Coffs, so we decided to drive on and spend the night in the Formule 1 Motel. Unless you're flat broke, I don't recommend staying in one of these prison cell-type things, ever. But it suited us, because down the road Russell Crowe's band was playing later that night, and we figured it was time for a break. Boy, that Russell, eh? Poor bastard's such a lousy muso he's had to buy a whole pub just to have somewhere to play. The best part of the night - apart from leaving - was seeing Jack Thompson roll in. Old Jack's looking pretty well fed these days - maybe not fair comment from someone who's having troubles fitting behind a 45 Series steering wheel. We spent the next day clobbering our trucks up some of the toughest sections we could find, but once again all within minutes of town. Starting with some backtracking towards Coramba, we turned right up Poppiaperins Road and within minutes had to choose directions at a fork in the road.

As one track was signposted 'private', Kev led us up the other, and instantly we were at the base of a steep, wet clay track that was every bit of the Cape's CREB Track, and then some. The red dirt was slippery and the jungle-like forest closed in on all sides. I think Kev called it the Morbid Trail, but none of us could stop grinning! By lunch we were looking at the Commando Trail and doing some silly commando stunts for the DVD. This track was well worth driving, especially as local opinion was we probably wouldn't get to the top. Without a front locker, it took the very experienced Kev three or four goes to get the HiLux safely to the top. Otis did it without lockers, and Milo, with both ends locked and the throttle set, walked up in one go, too. Lowmount brought the 100 up without any problems and managed to make it look like he was superbly comfortable doing it. But it sure wasn't easy!

"Geez Kev, is that the best you've got around here, mate?" Pat jested to Smithy. Kev took it seriously though, and with a look of determination made us follow him back through town and north towards Woolgoolga. A few kilometres short of town, we turned left to Sandy Beach (nope, nobody shifted the beach, the road goes over the top of the freeway) and took Johnsons Road right to the very end. Aha, I thought, my home turf - sort of. We passed the old man's banana farm, now a lychee plantation, and climbed the stiff dirt slope that heralds the end of farming and the beginning of state forest. On this very hill about 20 years ago, my little brother turned one of the family Land Rovers on its roof when the brakes failed and he had to do an emergency stop in reverse into the trees.

I told Kev this and said I figured we'd be in for a waltz in the park up here, but he just looked away and muttered "We'll see". Not long after we'd crested the hill, Kev took an almost hidden track that followed the power lines off to the south. Then he stopped the HiLux and got out, addressing himself to ARB's Lowmount Lowry with his handheld UHF. "Mark," he said, "I'm not taking the HiLux down there, okay? You make your decision with the 100. It'll probably be right with lockers both ends, but that track's too rutted for the HiLux and way too steep in places to get through without lockers." The radio crackled again and a familiar voice came over the air. "Howdy fellas," said Dion, "are you where we think you are, Kev? Up the 'Impossible'? We're right on your cracker!" And with that, Dion and a mate popped out of the forest in his lifted Patrol wagon and joined Otis, Milo and the 100 in a mad scrabble to the bottom.

It was wet, slippery clay and rutted to boot. Actually, you'd fit your boots, my boots and Santa's boots in most of those ruts and still have room for a ladder. Milo's driveshaft got such a thumping I figured it might straighten itself out with a bit of luck, but it's too hard to stop when you're having so much fun. Then, after a slide straight down a wet clay embankment, we were stopped by one of the toughest-looking climbs I've seen. "That," said Pat, with a grin splitting his mug, "is impossible!" "Yep," agreed Dion, "that's 'Impossible' all right. It's a funny track - sometimes a bloke can come out and drive straight up it, other times no end of effort will see you stumped. "Given the rain we've had lately, I don't think anyone's going to make it today!" And with that he pointed up the track to the rusty remnants of a burnt-out Jackeroo. Which was exactly the sort of challenge Pat was waiting for. He hopped into Otis and gave the V6 the berries, lurching upwards until at about the halfway mark, where the track took a quick lurch to the right and the ruts all coincided with some jagged rock faces, and the little Suzuki ran out of traction.

He tried again, and with more power this time Otis almost got over the hump, even if he was airborne doing it. A few more goes, all landing in about the same rut, and Pat had enough. But I'd been watching and figured that Milo, with a bit more wheelbase, might have a chance of getting further. Three goes later and I've almost turned the old girl on her roof trying too hard. There was a precarious moment, captured by the brilliant Robb Cox on film, when Milo was propped up with about one wheel left on the ground, looking for somewhere to fall. Fortunately, we both survived that one, only to roll straight back and almost off the edge of the track into a gully well hidden by dense forest. It was a winch job to recover the old girl, but that gave Dion enough time to plan an assault in his Patrol. With more wheelbase, more power and some of the sharpest driving I've seen, Dion managed to claw his way another yard or so further than us, only to pop a tyre off the rim.

Fixing that, in the dark by now, with dense rainforest all around and his Patrol swinging on a Hi-Lift jack because of the steepness of the track, was more Malaysian Rainforest Challenge than the soft Coffs trip I'd figured on. It took us an hour to get the axle chained up - those bloody Patrols, and all that sloppy articulation, eh? - and a trench dug beneath the wheel so we could get it off. Then it took another hour or so to winch our vehicles up that wet embankment! By the time we got back to the top, we'd all had an adventure of massive proportions. I was busting to tell Kev, but as I walked towards the HiLux he pointed to a break in the forest off down in the valley and said, "Saw it all, Johnno, saw it all. You needed a Chinook rescue down there, eh!" Unbelievable, here we were on top of one of the toughest hills we'd ever faced after a massive day's off-roading, yet 20 minutes later we were treading dirt in to the Temple Indian Restaurant in Woolgoolga!

Muddy, tired, excited and with some badly dented trucks sitting outside, we tucked into a feast of curries that makes my mouth water just remembering. Wow, once again we'd reached new heights of off-roadability - well, we almost reached them - and any expectations I'd had about this Coffs trip turning into a soft-hearted junket had been trashed, despite the fact that we'd eaten restaurant style again. Yet, while that last track might have been the toughest we were to experience, there was plenty more to see and do before this trip was over.

After all, there's still a beach somewhere around Coffs Harbour, isn't there?

ROOTHY'S BARBECUED BANANA MOUSKOURI Kebabs: Skewer trimmed bacon, cubed chicken and lumps of banana on a kebab stick. Now repeat, about four times per person, and cook on a barby or in a pan until the chicken is cooked all the way through.
Rice: Bung a cup full of rice in an iron cooking pot for every sucker, err, diner. Put your hand on top of the rice, flatten it and cover your hand to the wrist with water. Allow the water to boil off and the rice should be just about perfect. Sauce: Add a bottle of sweet chilli sauce to a bottle of crunchy peanut butter in another pot. Warm slowly, adding black peppercorns and a good dollop of apricot jam or marmalade, and thin with some beer if you can spare it.
Serve: Bung the rice on a paper plate, chuck on a few kebabs and spoon on some sauce. Eating: Not hard, just open your mouth and fork it in. Remember to breathe.

Page 1 - 2 - 3