Hawkesbury Postman reveals offshore life
AS our boat approaches Dangar Island public wharf, three happy kids are waiting in anticipation – the two boys for the mail, their sister for a stash of homemade Anzac biscuits.
These are the children of Dangar’s postman, and during the winter school holidays, they are tasked with meeting the daily delivery.
Parcels and letters in hand, they run back up the wharf, past the cafe and general store, and a row of wheelbarrows, which residents can use to transport parcels or shopping home. Others use a flying fox. Bar a small handful of service vehicles, there are no cars on Dangar Island.
The Riverboat Postman has been servicing the Hawkesbury’s offshore community from Monday to Friday continuously since 1910.
Back then, the postie set off in a rowboat. With progress, a paddle steamer took over and as the service got bigger, so did a business opportunity. Today, the Riverboat Postman departs from Brooklyn in a twostorey ferry that covers 40km of waterfront. Members of the public can come along for the ride and learn a little of the history and lifestyle of this tight-knit river community.
Dangar Island once housed the workers who built the Hawkesbury’s first rail bridge, which opened in 1889. These days it’s full of “eccentrics, artists, just beautiful people”, says Natalie Smith, who ties up the boat and hands over the mail.
“Everyone knows everyone on the river. It’s never boring and there’s always a scandal,” adds skipper Justin Pigneguy, who’s lived on the Hawkesbury for 38 years.
As offshore life goes, the 250 people on Dangar have it relatively easy. Being a stone’s throw from Brooklyn, they have power, telephone lines, town water and garbage collection.
The further upriver you go, the more basic life becomes.
For years I have loved this river. I have swam in it, fished in it, slept in houseboats on it and crossed it by car and rail more times than I could count. I love its vastness, its stillness, its dramatic escarpments.
But I had no idea of the Hawkesbury’s chequered history. I learn that Peat Island, just past the road bridge on the right, was once a mental hospital – now empty, eerie and for sale. Milson Island, across the water, was a quarantine for retired soldiers with venereal disease after the First World War, before becoming a low security prison. It now hosts NSW public schools students on sports camps.
Opposite Milson Island, lurking in a shadowy bend, lays Australia’s first warship. The navy acquired HMAS Parramatta in 1910 and she worked in the Pacific, southeast Asia and the Mediterranean before returning to Australia in 1919. In her later years she transported building materials to the Hawkesbury until she ran aground during a storm in 1933. Rusted and beaten, she rests there still.
On the point sits the tiny community of Bar Point (pop 40), where the Postman’s job becomes a little confusing. There are no house numbers, just names like Fisherman’s Haven and Blotto Grotto – and lot numbers, which up to four houses may share.
Thankfully, Natalie knows exactly where the winterwarming crates of Dan Murphy’s are headed.
Bar Point is where the power network comes to a halt.
Rounding the point, it’s just the 200 million-year-old sandstone, the sea eagles and the jellyfish. Stunning and peaceful.
“This part of the Hawkesbury is what it would have looked like when the first settlers came,” says Justin. “And this is how it will always be.”
In-between time, it was much busier – by the mid 1800s, the river population had grown to around 4000 (compared to around 1000 today, including Brooklyn). But many farmers left after the opening of the train line to Windsor mid-century, which almost killed their river trade.
Settlements were sold off, land subdivided and new houses were built – some of which are the homely, colourful weatherboards emitting woodsmoke curls that I admire today.
But with most of the land now designated national park, it’s unlikely more houses will be built.
Locals like it that way. Six properties along the Postman’s route are so remote that we can’t see them from the river. Hidden away down shallow creeks, they are marked simply by a red wooden stick poking out of the water – from which the postman hangs a sack for the resident to collect later.
Our furthest stop on the route is Marlowe – a tiny collection of houses sitting below the rock amid river gums and palms. An elderly lady is eagerly awaiting her mail. After exchanging pleasantries with Natalie, she drags her shopping trolley down to the water, loads her boat and sets off alone. I guess the river keeps you young. Our last stop and perhaps a highlight, is the tiny township of Milson’s Passage, where its self-proclaimed king John Carrick is sitting at the end of the wharf on his throne, greeting us with a smile and regal wave.
He jokes the community has been renamed the Democratic Republic of Milson’s Passage, and in the wake of the federal election, suggests we’d all be better off relocating. “We’re also a tax haven,” he adds.
But it can’t be always be fun living without power and water.
“You have to be pretty inventive out here,” says Justin, who lives in nearby Sunny Corner (pop seven). He uses solar power and spring water, and while he doesn’t have access to terrestrial TV channels, he has Foxtel and catches the ABC and SBS via free-to-air satellite service Vast.
When I ask which people tend to be drawn to offshore life, he tells me the community is a complete mix of young and old – professionals who commute to Sydney, those who work locally and retirees.
And there are around 50 children on the river, including on Dangar Island. Around 10 of these are home-schooled; the remainder travel by boat each morning to Brooklyn, where they go on to the local public school by bus or on to high school by train.
I question whether kids on the river are limited but Justin says his own 10-year-old son has plenty of friends his age to play with. “He’s never bored, he’s always messing around in boats,” he says. “It’s a great life.” IF YOU GO The Riverboat Postman departs from Brooklyn daily Monday to Friday. Tickets: Adult $55, Senior $45, Child $15. Price includes tea/coffee, homemade Anzac biscuits and full Ploughman’s lunch.
* The writer travelled as a guest of the Riverboat Postman.
AAP