Gwinganna

Gwinganna must be aboriginal for 'laid back'. Nestled in the hills west of Coolangatta, this country club style complex with its rustic ambience would be an easy place to 'loose' yourself for a while. Cruise in, put the world on hold for a few days & chill out. Well that's the scenario as it should be, but fact & fiction don't always concur.

Captain's Log, stardate Gwinganna point lost point dark. "Well where is it?", I querried my pax, as we looked down on a grassy hillside boasting nothing more than a tree or three. Graham swivelled around in his seat and peered into the gathering twilight. "Not here", came the accurate if unenligtening reply.

It was just on dusk when the little aeroplane symbol on the GPS drew over the cross hair that was supposed to be our bed for the night. 'Shit', I thought as I engaged the display backlight then flicked through screens to the co-ordinatres page to check the lat & long, 'that's all I need, lost on the first day'.

I figurred on maybe a quarter hour of flying time before lack of light would force us to put down. For now though, the aviating was OK, but the navigating was hopeless so I tried the third weapon in a pilot's arsenel. "Hey, where are you guys", I asked into the microphone, coining a phrase later made famous by another. "Gwinganna!" came the smart arse answer. I could hear them chatting amongst themselves, those other four machines, organising between them who would park where & when. 'They can't be far' I mused as I scanned the horizon. "There they are" pointed Graham. I tilted my head for best distance performance on the bifocals & sure enough, just above a ridge line at about four miles range the tell tale flash of a strobe lamp. Blink, blink,....blink,blink. "Got 'em", I breathed a sigh of relief into the intercom as we tracked towards the little red firefly at full tilt.

I started to relax, I shouldn't have! For Gwinganna, with all its easy going charm, is blighted by a high tension line running right through the belly like some obscene scar. I could just make out the threatening shape of the towers in the gloom, big, ugly helicopter graplers. 'Bloody hell', I thought jockeying for best approach line, 'this is earning your meal for the evening'. "Sing out if you see something I've missed", I urged Graham. He was already looking hard into the gloom, the encoragement on my part was redundant.

We sneaked in, tentatively edging forward, found a spot & put down. Gwinganna was impressive though. A bit like a swim in an unheated pool, enjoyable once you survive the shock of arriving. I wound down over dinner & slept like a log that evening. Morning brought breakfast on the veranda followed by a walking tour. We strayed into a converted church, where the early sunlight streamed in through stained glass windows. It was deliciously warm in there at the beginning of a cool Autumn day. Left to my own devices I would have raided the impressive library & curled up with a book or two on the back pew.

I was just getting into the Gwinganna mood when it was time to leave. Pandemonium as five helicopters all called Cooly tower separately in the space of half a minute. The adrenalin was flowing again. On second thoughts I think Gwinganna is aboriginal for 'too brief'!