Bek’s Beach

This story is about a woman. A woman, her dog and a beach. Well at least that’s what she thinks her story is about. In her mind her story is a simple one, perhaps not even worth a mention, not remarkable enough to be spoken about, let alone written down. But as I sat in her kitchen shovelling spoonfuls of her coconut raspberry cake into my mouth and listened to her speak, I heard something far greater. I heard a tale of a grand adventure, of a traveller who paced the sand of a stretch of beach, who met and fell in love with strangers and who grew a tiny life inside her with every step she took. It was far from simple and as I fumbled to quickly swap my spoon for a pen, I saw a little sparkle of delight in her eye, that such a humble moment in her life could be seen as something quite remarkable.

For dog lovers, “Stumers Beach” at Coolum on the Sunshine Coast, is no secret. Fido hooks and ice cream buckets half filled with water and sand, line the entry. Pet owners, keen to let their canines scurry wild and careless across an expanse of beach and water, flock to its shoreline unclipping leashes and collars the moment their dogs’ paws hit the sand. It was here that Bek found herself one sizzling summer morning, strolling this shoreline with her dog, Mack. He would dash out in front charging into rings of other dogs that sniffed and pawed and licked. Unlike other times elsewhere when she’d have yelled and clapped and called him back, here, she let him be. Instead she focussed on the soft sand pushing its way through her toes and the tiny heartbeat fluttering in her belly. This beach was her perfect answer to a hyperactive dog needing to blow off steam, and a form of exercise a pregnant woman could still do with a rapidly growing tummy.

Everyday she found herself making the same trek, barefooted with her sarong whispering around her ankles. And every day she began to see the same set of familiar faces.

“How long now?” they’d ask smiling at her ever expanding waistline.

“Can’t wait to meet the baby,” they’d cheer. She barely knew them and yet she felt she did.

“I loved seeing them each morning,” Bek said. “There was a miner called Wayne, who’d been through hell and back, who would walk his Jack Russell, Sarge. He’d stop and chat and we’d laugh.” It was these momentary chats that made her feel, “really connected to the coast.”

Except for the regular walkers and the steady ebb of inquisitive dogs, Stumers was void of the hustle and bustle of other beaches. There were no umbrellas, no colourful beach towels and the only noticeable change was the weather. When storms tore at the shoreline, stripping away sand to reveal jagged rock, Bek navigated her way around new formations. These subtle changes occurred weekly alongside her body as it adjusted to accommodate her unborn child. Some days she’d venture into the calming waters, firmly believing that the gentle rocking motion of the waves would transfer themselves into the one who lived inside her.

Her intuition was correct for she gave birth to a charming baby boy, serene and as tranquil as the sea she’d joined herself to. As her and her husband made their first trip home from the hospital with their newborn, it was only natural that they chose to stop at their place of sanctuary. Together they made their way across the sands of Stumers’ to where the waves kissed the shore and very gently sprinkled the salty water upon their son’s head. The sea and the boy had finally met, two passions; place and child.

Now with the addition of a baby girl, Bek and her little family rarely find themselves at Stumers anymore. Their connection with land and place was but for a moment, fleeting but unshakeable.

As we travel and explore it is only natural for a certain place to be needed for a certain purpose at a certain time. And Stumers was just that for Bek, her belly and her dog, their necessary journey, their grand adventure.