Noosa is like another country after Bundaberg. It exudes a kind of metropolitan suave, rather than the country hick atmosphere of Bundy. A resident of Bundy might walk shoeless from his car to buy something from IGA; people from Noosa jog along the wooden beachside walkways in their designer tackies.
It’s expensive of course. They have to try and keep out people who come from places like Bundaberg.
The main beach is surprisingly strewn with rocks for some reason and no good for swimming at high tide. Surfers are fine though.
There are funny looking turkey-like birds wandering around everywhere.
The sunset on the day that I was there was brilliant. There are a few bizarrely symmetrical conical hills in the area which lead you to imagine that you’re looking across the water at a smouldering volcano.
My namesake lives in Mount Coolum, which is twenty or thirty km south. I thought I would go and visit him and play some golf. He had red hair when I saw him last and so I looked out for that when I was waiting for him in Noosa, but a thoroughly silver haired man picked me up.
He lives about twenty meters from a Mount Coolum golf course – far better than living next to the beach, I assured him. The back nine of the course has one par four, four par threes and four par fives, a most unusual layout facilitating a much higher than normal number of hole-in-ones judging by the records in the club house. I managed an eagle on one of the shorter par fives, but had no such luck on any of the par threes.
The par five I eagled (Drive and 6i) and Mount Coolum.
Water shot on the second.
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