More Magpies

All is not well in Waterline Crescent Park. One of the bottle trees – the one housing the Magpie nests – has lost most of its leaves. I await a Council arborealist's diagnosis of the problem. The upside is that we are privileged to see much of what goes on in nest number two.

And there is much to report since the middle of October. Mrs Magpie was indeed sitting on eggs and at least some survived the big storm. Two hatched, and the chicks are now almost adult-sized. There's a lot a flapping but no take-off as yet. And they do a lot of grooming.

The Original Chick (OC) is still on the scene. She continues to demand food although she is perfectly capable of foraging for herself...

...and noisily follows her da around, looking bereft when he strides off, having other matters to attend to.

The OC also sits opportunistically by the new nest (on the left, below).

But her persistence pays off. Mrs M passes her the odd morsel while attending to the two newbies (below – Mrs M to the left). Is this conclusive proof therefore that Mrs M is the original? The Newbies can't be far off fledging. In the meantime, they spend a lot of time sitting and surveying, rather exposed in their denuded bottle tree.

New takes on Byron

Donna Wheeler in Shore thing: Australia's beach obsession for Lonely Planet describes Byron thus: 'Byron Bay... can sometimes feel like a victim of its own popularity, but for most of the year its cluster of beaches and surrounding hinterland preserve an almost eerily transcendent beauty that has long inspired talk of ley lines and magic power of place.'

I anticipate many happy returns to Byron while I am living in Queensland. 'Transcendent beauty' goes some way to explaining the draw (see also Nothing beats Byron, September 2010). I will attempt to capture different elements of that specialness.

Hinterland

Bangalow

The visit

Months of anticipation.

The countdown: weeks, days, hours, fractions.

Friday 21 October. Checking international arrivals at KL. Surprisingly, almost-welling tears in the knowledge that Malaysia Airlines MH135 from LHR has landed safely.

Checking the departure board. They're at the gate. Take-off on time. The last leg.

We're at Brisbane's International terminal early, of course. It's strangely but delightfully quiet. Touch-down bang on time. Joy. Where shall we stand? What if they turn that way as they come out? Are those people off the KL flight? 30 minutes later our visitors appear. Shrieks of delight. At last my daughters are part of my Australian experience.

They feel the heat, smell the foreignness. My friend drives. I keep turning to them in the back. Look at the lights of the CBD; this is the Gateway Bridge. Do you remember it from years ago? It's twice the size it was. We're in Bulimba already. This is Oxford Street – it's always buzzing, but it is Friday evening. At the house. Cries of approval. Cases in rooms. Food on the plane was awful: Muma's rice salad. Hardly any sleep: early nights all round.

An early wake-up for me, as always. They are under my roof at last. Contentment. They meet us for breakfast down by ferry terminal on our return from Powerhouse Farmers' Market. Certain amount of disbelief as they wave from a table as we get off the Cat. This arvo, the 'Introduction to Brisbane' CityCat ride – Apollo Road to University of Queensland and back to Bulimba. It's sunny and warm and the city looks very fine. This is the Powerhouse, Floating Walkway, Story Bridge, Customs House, Riverside, the CBD, Kangaroo Point cliffs, Botanic Gardens, Captain Cook Bridge, Pelican sculpture, Goodwill Bridge, Maritime Museum, Casino, Brisbane Square Library, 'Tensegrity' (Kurilpa) Bridge, 'McDonald's' (William Jolly) Bridge, Go Between Bridge... And an invitation into the ferry master's wheelhouse for a couple of stops to learn how to dock a high-speed catamaran on the fast-flowing Brisbane River. Later, the first barbie for the girls.

Sunday in both senses – Queensland weather on its best behaviour. It's cute little furry animal time and we're off to the Lone Pine Koala Sanctuary.

None of us is happy with 'animals for tourists'. Only one koala in a real tree, and lots of resigned roos in an enclosure, being prodded and photographed by giggling-but-sometimes-squealing, mainly Asian visitors. And a kookaburra in a cage puts all heaven in a rage. We decline to cuddle a koala, and take small consolation from the fact that the $120 entrance fee (for four) might somehow help koala conservation. An almighty storm in the evening. The girls marvel at the rain battering and entering a closed window; I quiver at each lightning flash, always a source of amusement for others.

At 5am on Monday morning, a disturbed 'yachtie' moors his boat by Eagle Street ferry terminal, with a bath boat (City Ferry) to either side, and threatens to blow up his boat. If this was the Old Country, the river would have been closed and the riverbank evacuated within a wide radius. But we are in Australia. As our Cat passes within 100 metres of the incident, albeit more slowly than usual, everyone cranes and gawps and some take pictures (of very little). Our first shopping expedition is not thwarted. The great search for Havaianas (below, on Wategos beach). Once located at City Beach, which colour, what size? Must have a horizontal stripe through the sole. Oh, and the boatie? The seige ends after 16 hours when the man sets fire to his boat, bayonets himself in the stomach and jumps into the river having also been hit by 'non-lethal rounds' fired by police.

Tuesday is Byron-day. Manic packing. Deadline: have to be at Gold Coast Airport to meet a midday flight from Melbourne. Down the Pacific Highway into New South Wales, back into Queensland, then finally into NSW - how to confuse a mobile phone. We're early. Much excitement about the sisters and brother reunion and long-been friends together again. Same as it ever was. Pack into the car for the final 35 minutes' drive. Sibling catch-up in the back – 13 months' worth. Lush green pastures and pointy peaks, and then we're turning off the highway. As ever, straight to look out over Belongil. Rather more than cotton-wool clouds but still sunny. We have rented a house at the back of Clarkes Beach, on the edge of Arakwal National Park. Roomy, quiet, feels as if we live here. Everyone slots into their comfort zones.

A wonderful night's sleep – no barking dogs, no excessive ute acceleration, no snoring. Oh, the joy of waking to a glorious sunny morning in Byron. Even a whipbird whip-cracking close by. Breakfast at Twisted Sista as good as it ever was. Then retail therapy for girls and the gym for the boy. A picnic lunch and sunbaking on Wategos. (Does anyone not feel good on Wategos, looking out over that sun-kissed sweep of ocean?) A black cloud on the northern horizon is heading up Brisbane way but all's well in Byronworld. A beer at the Beach Hotel before supper at Fresh on Jonson.

Time to be more adventurous. I can't come to Byron and just gaze adoringly at Wategos every time. Drive over the top to Bangalow for the morning. Green main thoroughfare with cute, irresistible shops full of indulgences. Otherwise much the same routine... bit more retail in Byron, beers at the Beach... Ah, it's been a while since I've heard brother's and sisters' banter and bickering: normal service has resumed.

Early-morning walk on Clarkes for me: mood-enhancer. Sadly, our last breakie at Sista's. And a final retail moment - at the bead shop. My LBF (long-been friend) is going to make us girls necklaces. We eagerly place bead allsorts into our collecting trays. Tea at the Balcony. Once more unto Wategos. Us girls are paddling and my son is swimming when there is an Amityville moment. The police clear everyone out of the water. A shark's been spotted from a low-flying plane. My son has never moved so fast. Speculatory huddles along the water's edge. Suddenly there's a huge shadow beneath the surface: a humpback. We'd seen 'blows' near the horizon and now there are two in the Bay. No shark in evidence - tinge of disappointment.

Farewell to Byron. Heat and congestion, fortunately not northbound, on the way back to the city. No vacancies in this house tonight. Hamburger special order at our favourite local restaurant.

Tooings and froings for a couple of days: my dear LBF departs for Melbourne on Saturday; my son's girlfriend arrives from Melbourne on Monday. And in between – swimming at the smart July-opened Colmslie pool, just up the road, another barbie, and visits to South Bank, 'the heart of Brisbane's cultural, lifestyle and entertainment precinct'...

...and Coochiemudlow Island, the most easily accessible (seven minutes by passenger ferry) of the Moreton Bay islands and less than an hour from Brisbane. A curious little place, strangely other-worldly; not so much Southeast Queensland as outback-by-the-sea. 'Interesting' locals as well as punters. Pleasant Melaleuca and Casuarina woodland; narrow, fine-sanded little beaches that remind me of those bordering Scottish lochs. Not a user-friendly name, however, from the Aboriginal word for red rocks. Inevitably, and fortunately for once, it's affectionately shortened to Coochie (Coochie Coo?).

It's Tuesday of week two and a bigger-trip day. More frantic packing and squabbles over who sits where in the car. Late getaway. Very warm and sunny already as we head for the Sunshine Coast. Rainbow Beach is either at the northern end of the aforementioned, or at the start of the Fraser Coast, or on the Cooloola Coast, depending on which travel site you read. Turn off the Bruce Highway at Gympie. Rainbow is almost 80k away, on the Inskip Peninsula, but it feels more beautifully isolated than that, especially once you're on the roller-coaster road through the Great Sandy National Park.

Rainbow reminds me of Byron but scaled down and without the hype. My son has scanty memories of a place with nothing there during his travels in a camper. In fact there are two supermarkets, two bakeries, a post office, ice cream parlour, numerous cafes, clothes and gift shops, a backpacker and student travel agent, various types of accommodation, surf club, pub (hotel) , fish and chip shop and more places to eat than we could get through in five days. But no bank. Take plenty of cash if you don't want to pay fees at ATMs.

There are wonderful beaches, surf, coloured sands and intriguing sand features, lagoons, a lighthouse, long treks or short walks. Many people just pass through on their way to Fraser Island but Rainbow Beach merits a little longer and closer attention to detail (see also Rainbow's magic, November 2010).

And so back to Brisbane, some of those who had sunbaked with tender skin, and the one who had body surfed with bruised ribs.

The last week was bound to fly by. The days must not be whiled away but put to good exploratory use. We do the real touristy bit on my son's last day before his return to Melbourne – the Wheel of Brisbane. This offers three, faster revolutions in half the time than on the London Eye for example, but the views of the river and the CBD make it worthwhile. All the way from West End we speculate about how much the experience will cost. By the time we approach the ticket office, we're up to $400 for four. It's $15 a head – almost feels like a bargain.

We do the National Park thing on Wednesday. Springbrook, about an hour south of Brisbane is beautiful and desolate in the dire weather that closes in as we climb 900 metres above the Gold Coast and prevents us from seeing the mother of all views (Best of All Lookout). We are in the clouds as we head along Repeater Station Road (!). We do see pademelons hop across our path, however.

Wunburra Lookout

Purlingbrook Falls

Denied our Springbrook lookouts, we descend to the Numinbah Valley and Natural Bridge. This valley is stunningly beautiful – lush and almost alpine. (Next time I'll stop and take photographs.) Natural Bridge is reputed to be a splendid basalt arch carved by Cave Creek beneath the Springbrook plateau's western cliffs. But the dramas that have punctuated my daughters' visit are not done yet. As we attempt to turn off the Nerang-Murwillumbah Road to observe this natural wonder, we are stopped by a friendly-but-firm security guard. The Steven Spielberg '$150 million dinosaur blockbuster' Terra Nova is being filmed at the Bridge today and public access is not allowed. A sign 20k back down the road would have been helpful: we've been heading towards New South Wales for the last half-hour. We volunteer to be extras but he's heard that one before, so we harumph back to Brisbane.

The last full day is beach day and the Sunshine State has to pull out all the stops to live up to its reputation. A girl's gotta go back to Blighty from Oz with a bit of colour. A glorious start gives way to pretty serious cloud as we set out and the girls look up ominously. 'It will be better on the coast,' I assure them, 'Trust me.' They clearly don't. We're off to Woorim on Bribie Island which is the nearest, what I call 'proper' beach to Brisbane (see also Fast forward, July 2010). Which means no mangroves, pale sand, hint of surf.

The beach is not as clean or as big as I remember. The tide's right in and there's a dune stabilisation programme fencing off the back. Then the Bogun family arrive to fish. First, they park right next to us in the massive, almost deserted car park; and then they make camp, on a beach stretching out of sight with only a handful of sharers, just 20 metres from where we're sitting. They have a large dog that they tie up to a dune-stabilising stake. It barks loudly and incessantly. They release it and it then proceeds to run into the sea every time one of the men casts his line, barking loudly and incessantly. I could happily kill it within ten minutes; I can hear dogs barking incessantly from my lounge room back in Bulimba. Mrs Bogun is not wearing enough clothes and a muffin-top spills over her shorts. She squeals each time she catches a tiddler and she seems to be getting closer. I don't think she's all there. I dearly wish she wasn't. We pick up our towels and walk. The sun comes out; the tide goes out; the day is rescued.

Just as longed-for visits come to pass, so must they end. We finish with a flourish: it had to be shopping, didn't it? And where better than Paddington – that's Paddington in Brisbane, not Paddington in Sydney. This is where workers lived, then students dossed, and gentrification has inevitably followed. Renovated Queenslanders sit on seriously up-and-downey lanes with enviable views. We head for Latrobe Terrace, where high fashion mixes with vintage and you can browse upmarket homeware and fabric shops, bookshops and antiques before eating healthily in cafes and coffee shops. We could have easily broken the bank: serious restraint was called for, and for hours longer than intended.

A final walk along the Brisbane River at sunset; the last supper at The Jetty.

By kind permission of Olivia Forsey

Cases in the boot; the last of many recent trips to the airport. Keep smiling; deep breaths; don't think. Slow-moving check-in queue. Goodbyes. A few tears. Quiet house on our return. Midnight and they're still here in Brisbane but not with us: for some reason, that's the really difficult bit.

On the weekend

We had an Australian weekend.

The barbie

First thing Saturday we went to collect a barbecue we'd ordered. We didn't have one to bring with us from the UK and in any case we probably wouldn't have been allowed to without risk of fumigation and a to-do. We've survived quite happily for nine months without one, my friend having had a rather strange notion for a while that we might be the first people to come to live in Australia and not become barbecuers. Maybe it was memories of doing it in the rain in the UK or maybe he just didn't want to be like the Aussie Bloke in the corner with tinny in one hand and tongs in the other.

Then I received My Grill: Food for the Barbecue by (chef, restaurateur and TV presenter) Pete Evans for my birthday... from my friend. There had been a sea change. Within two weeks, we were driving back from Aussie BBQs in Murarrie with an enormous box on top of the car. It is a Weber charcoal grill: no namby-pamby, easy-peasy gas for us – well, only in order to get the thing lit in the first place.

The dam

Afterwards, we drove to Lake Wivenhoe, along with many thousands of other people from Greater Brisbane. We were there to watch the release of, according to the Courier Mail, 1,500 tonnes of water per second from the reservoir into the Brisbane River as part of flood mitigation measures following the big rain of 8-11 October (see A bigger wet).

The damming of the Brisbane River had been contemplated since the end of the 19th century, but the Wivenhoe Dam wasn't built until 1985. It is 2.3 kilometres long and 50 metres high, and has a concrete spillway section with five steel gates that are each 12 metres wide and more than 16 metres high. I have read a few times that the reservoir holds more than twice as much water as there is in Sydney Harbour. I imagine few people know how much that is, so I find it more helpful to know that the reservoir holds roughly 2,000 times the daily water consumption of Brisbane. Not that I know how much that is either, but at least now I have some idea when water supplies might run dry if there wasn't any more rainfall over Southeast Queensland.

The reservoir has a catchment area of more than 5,500 square kilometres, which receive an annual rainfall of 940mm. During the big rain, Maleny, a pretty little town in what is known as the Sunshine Coast hinterland and which is not far from the source of the Stanley River, the Brisbane's major tributary, received more than 400mm in less than two weeks at the beginning of October, breaking records that had stood for 60 years.

The reservoir was soon full to capacity after the deluge, necessitating a 'big spill' for the first time since 1999, hence the day tripping to see the action. The strong wind whipped up the spray and, even though all the gates weren't fully raised, the water swirled and tumbled furiously down river, flooding beyond the designated channel so that trees stood with their lower trunks submerged.

The water release coincided with a high tide, so several inner suburbs of Brisbane were put on flood alert. The increased volume of water from rain and spill meant more debris than usual was being carried downstream, and ferry services in the city were suspended for several days.

To get to Lake Wivenhoe, we drove from The Gap (in northwest Brisbane) through the Brisbane Forest Park, an area of high hills and bushland that, in brilliant sunshine but also fierce wind, was uncrowded and very agreeable – below are the views north and south from McAfees Lookout, named after the first settlers in the area.

We drove through Mount Nebo and Mount Glorious, highland hamlets that felt remote and much further away from the CBD than an hour-or-so's drive. The descent to the lake on the other side was twisty and steep. This being merely an afternoon's jaunt, we headed straight for the dam, but there is no shortage of recreational opportunity here, with camping and picnic areas, a walking trail, boats for hire and birds to watch. I was surprised but delighted to learn that fuel-powered boats are not permitted on the lake. Which means no jet-skis, one of the most environmentally irresponsible and irritating gadgets ever invented... in my humble opinion. After our queue-and-view at the spillway lookout, we drove across the dam before looping round to Lowood and back on to the Brisbane Valley Highway, and taking the Warrego Highway and the Ipswich 'motorway' (one of the most speed-restricted roads around at the moment) back into the city.

Bayside

Sunday is run-day, but not content just with that, we decided to go cycling bayside – which provided another photo-opportunity for recently acquired equipment (the bike carrier).

Bayside refers to all those places on Moreton Bay where would-be Brisbanites who can't face living in the inner city buy homes. (That's not quite fair: onshore breezes and bay-and-island views have attracted people since Brisbane's early days.) They include Redcliffe and Brighton and Sandgate and Shorncliffe north of the Brisbane estuary; and Wynnum and Manly ('No, Mum,' this is Manly in Brisbane, not Manly in Sydney,' one woman explained to her elderly mother as she wheeled her along the prom) and Cleveland and Redland Bay to the south. Roads head out east from Brisbane's southern suburbs to these coastal havens – so the Wynnum Road goes to Wynnum and the Old Cleveland Road goes... you guessed... to Cleveland.

We live very close to the Wynnum Road, so off we went, wary of low bridges. And we did indeed come across what must be one of the lowest in the whole of SEQ as we wended our way through Wynnum to the sea. We cycled along the esplanade pathway – now on the lookout for out-of-control toddlers or smalls on scooters – from the breakwater at Wynnum, through Manly, as far as Fig Tree Point in Lota. And – after all that rain – it was sunny and warm with just the right amount of breeze for the boats in the bay.

And then, tired but content, in beautiful early-evening light we drove back to Bulimba for our first barbecue at home.

We need more practice. Will La Niña permit in the coming weeks, I wonder?