Eleven o’clock departure time was an hour ago, yet Newcastle Harbour lay wide, flat, blue .. and empty.
There was no sign of that injured Panamax freighter about to leave the people of this busy little sea port, to whom it had become so endeared.
A march of waves slapped against rocks, catching our attention: "Perhaps we missed it!" someone chuckled, creating a ripple of giggles.
Another: "Well, if the choppers are circling it, then it must be heading upstream towards Tomago shipyards" and the amiable crowd smiled some more.
"It must have run aground in the basin" was another theory contributed to explain the non-appearance of Pasha Bulker, leaving port for climes unknown in Asia for repairs.
"Well, there’s five tugs this time, not the usual three. I’d say they’re all tangled and are trying to sort the mess!"
After all, we had to amuse ourselves in the absence of the star attraction, "it," the coal freighter Pasha Bulker whose astonishing arrival had been the most sensational event in decades.
Meanwhile the Newcastle Port Corporation’s dredge, David Allan, chugged by for the umpteenth time, paranoid, it seemed, to ensure the channel hadn’t suddenly developed a threat that might embarrass the Port, and particularly the Pasha B., in some far-fetched mishap.
"Let’s just check the draught one more time" one imagines the Captain thinking.
The first chopper to arrive that morning was the Australian Broadcasting Commission’s sleek silver bird that thundered into Newcastle’s perfect calm July morning from the south.
After a commanding sweep of the harbour it took station above the Eastern Basin where the Pasha Bulker was being manoeuvred from it’s cosy berth near the wheat silos, scene of many a grand launching in Newcastle’s ship-building glory days.
Soon the bright red Seven Network chopper arrived, then two Hunter Valley tour helicopters and, adding to the cacophony, more Sydney TV network whirlybirds, the swarm buzzing around like so many Hexham Grey mosquitos mistaking the harbour for Hexham Swamp.
Shores north and south of Newcastle Harbour were packed with delighted sightseers, both locals and from several hours drive distant. Even the TV choppers had flown 80 aerial miles north from Sydney.
The day was balmy, clear, blue-skied and bright, with a gentle cooling breeze.
Image right: Fort Scratchley fires a four-cannon salute in honour of a common little ship that became so special.
It was simply the most stunningly-perfect Newcastle day for a perfect harbour spectacle.
Busloads of school students filled the northern breakwater to partake a historic juxtaposition: the Pasha Bulker, a rare escapee from coastal peril, sailing by those rusting hulks beneath the rocky barricade on which they walked.
On this most serenely-beautiful of days before this glorious vista of Newcastle’s headland, sand and harbour these kids stood, absorbing the irony of innumerable broken ships around them that became Oyster Bank victims (and, eventually, the harbour’s northern breakwater) and the sleek silent passage of our lady of the sea, the Pasha Bulker, bruised and scarred, cruising seaward mere tens of meters away, having just escaped both sudden death on Newcastle rocks - and lingering decay on the sands of Nobbys Beach.
And past us she went, shiny and clean, humming efficiently, filling the channel with red and cream hugeness, a large yellow bungee strap hanging from bow, two big staples mending her side, all with spectacle and ceremony, at the same time with respect and humility.
Image left: Local NBN Television news team capture the moment of the decade.
People and vehicles simply packed the northern shore from the east-most tip of the northern breakwater back to the passenger ferry terminal.
Every vantage on the south bore - from Horseshoe beach, along The Foreshore, through restaurant precincts to Honeysuckle - unprecedented crowds .. for a mere Panamax coal ship.
No-one onshore would guess the emotions of those onboard the Pasha B. as she swept briskly along the channel toward Nobbys.
First, curious surprise, as the port narrowed past Stockton, upon seeing the people lining the shoreline, by any standard an immense crowd for this tiny city.
Then the Pasha Bulker’s crew would finally have understood what was happening. This was no idly-curious gathering, nor bored city residents seeking novelty.
Thousands of curious yet appreciative eyes followed the injured ship. A consensus wave of relief flowed with the giant stricken lady, a silent surge of well-wishing for her homeward limp.
This was no mob of gawky sightseers, but a giant communal ‘helping hand’ of encouragement, a show of appreciation for men and ships that are still the life blood of this great port and seafaring nation.
Each time one of these magnificent vessels tests the brink of survival, they become suddenly alive, gathering, as a symbol, tributes and attention normally unexpressed towards the convoy floating just off our coast.
Newcastle .. loves ships.
Fort Scratchley’s World War Two cannons - that last shelled in anger sixty-two years ago - fired four salutes during the Pasha’s channel run. This was indeed a special and fun day, yet something more. Novocastrians, by the simple presence of a port, feel empathy and duty towards ships.
We feel pride when they arrive, pride when they leave. We instinctively - though few realise it - feel a loss, too, when they go. Especially to elsewhere in the world when this country, and this 200 year old port, should still be the major maritime nation it once was.
Now Australia is just a quarry, the very thing our teachers warned us in school, decades ago, while other nations gather the lucrative fees for our huge offshore tonnage.
Did you know the "Australian National Line" is a foreign-owned shipping line and world’s third-largest, yet began life as the Australian Coastal Shipping Commission fifty years ago? Of course you didn’t. You’ve forgotten successive Australian governments have pretty-well given away the farm for some peppercorns.
Each time a ship leaves our port, it steals a little of our pride and former glory.
The excitement of shipwreck is a universal emotion.
Spectators are rarely callous, curiously and empathically staring at some stricken lady of the sea torn upon rocks, or straddling the endless waves that would, if they impossibly could, carry her to dry sand.
The cruel sea, pounding the fragile carcass of this artificial ocean-dweller, is merely extracting the ultimate penalty for imperiling its care and cargo.
With no lives lost, a sea wreck at close range is an imposing, awe-inspiring, and exciting experience, stirring a child’s fascination with large damaged toys.
Image left: Pasha Bulker is fully two football fields long, dwarfing the beach and its suddenly-tiny Beach Pavilion at center-left.
Then, in broken pride, comes sorrow that a magnificent creation be so cruelly and serendipitously wasted.
If shipwreck can be distilled to positive and fascinating elements, thus was the Pasha Bulker that arrived so dramatically and, well, so tidily, upon the smooth white sands of Nobbys Beach, Newcastle, Australia, in the teeth of a ferocious, punishing winter cyclone.
None were injured - except crew’s pride and captain’s career - with the vessel mildly crumpled and bent beneath the Plimsoll. And when the drama faded the City of Newcastle was presented with the most magnificent statuesque icon, freshly painted, shiny and not necessarily undignified in her chosen respite.
With all the air of a grand ocean-going vessel deliberately resting at her chosen port - but on terms of her choosing, the storm simply a means, not a cause.
I
t’s not the first shipwreck to visit Newcastle’s port or beaches, nor will it be the last - while ever stuff-ups remain immutable laws of nature expressed through humankind’s faltering endeavours, and misfortune stands a simple given.
In 1974, during an identical winter rain depression, the 600-foot Sygna floundered in Stockton Bight, then was driven ashore in gale-force winds and high seas. During salvage Sygna stuck fast and broke in half.
Image right: Identical circumstances led the Norwegian carrier Sygna to an identical, yet permanent, fate on Stockton Beach, north of Newcastle Harbour, in 1974.
All manner of schooners, cutters, barquentine, brigantine, paddle and screw steamer, dredge, barge, sloop, ketch, launch, and .. err, ship, have prostrated themselves upon Newcastle’s beaches, rocks, cliffs, breakwaters, bights, bars, and banks - or sadly simply disappeared without trace.
In its first century (1800 - 1900) port traffic comprised a steady stream of typically small ocean-going vessels loaded with timber gained from the shores of the Hunter, Patterson, and Williams Rivers, and many of these tiny ships were built in small shipyards up the river.
Larger ships, to thousands of tons, bore Newcastle’s high-grade coal to Sydney and far-flung ports around Australia, Asia and the Indian Ocean.
In its short life of 200 years Newcastle has hosted an average of one shipwreck a year.
Image left: Oyster Bank, now overlaid by the northern breakwater of Port Hunter entrance
Testimony to improvements in weather forecasting, navigational aids, and maritime procedures, the last four decades have seen only a handful losses.
First honours went to a 25-ton sloop called “Norfolk” that ran aground at Pirate Point in 1800, sailing from the Hawkesbury River to climes unknown. Pirate Point indeed, as the Norfolk - which Bass and Flinders famously used to circumnavigate Tasmania - had been commandeered by a bunch of convicts who made for Port Hunter when spooked by a wild storm.
About 32 vessels have come to grief at Stockton, most on the Beach, a few on the western side, many of them significant-sized boats, including 14 steamers, two motor vessels, and a swag of schooners and large sailing ships.
Twenty-six more floundered and died on Oyster Bank on the northern side of the entrance channel, where the northern breakwater was later built..
Thirty two steam and sail ships ended their careers on the south side of the channel, which is of course Nobbys, originally “Coal Island” and later joined to the mainland by a breakwater that created Nobbys Beach.
Adolphe, a beautiful four-masted, two-year old, 32/2400 tonne, steel barquentine had foul luck to be wrecked on Oyster Bank near the entrance when a tow line to one of two tugs failed in huge pounding waves.
Interesting, but till the Posha Spicer threw itself upon these golden sands, only one other similar event is recorded, that of the Maianbar, a twin-prop steam ship one tenth the size of Pasha B., but equally impressive beside the pavilion walkway (see image below).
The Maianbar, a 490 gwt 30-year old steamer, ended its life on Nobbys beach after a tow line snapped in 1940, and it drifted ashore to sit high and dry in scenes reminiscent of the Playboy Balker drama.
Crews were miraculously rescued time and again from such situations - not by Westpac Choppers, as Ole Sydney Cove had none spare for King’s Town, but - by a crew of very brave men in a giant row-boat and deviously clever rocket-fired ropes.
At least 26 vessels met their sad end in this infamous spot around the turn of the 18th to 19th century, forming a breakwater in their own right, one upon t’other. No wonder the oysters loved it!
Berbice, a 20-year old, 50-meter triple-masted sailing ship of 700 tons, washed ashore at the foot of Stockton Beach by the usual suspect, a south-east gale and huge seas on 5th June 1888.
The classically-lined 1200-ton sail ship Susan Gilmore (Gilmour) lay like a beached whale, another victim to that ultimately wasteful maritime incident, the all-too-common “parting tow rope.”
Starting to sound like an insurance scam.
Our good captain of the Poncha Bjelka is only the second commanding officer in a hundred years to lob one on the wrong side of the lighthouse (correct me if I’m wrong).
Misfortune seems the be the common theme, either the bad luck to be caught in unusually severe wind and swell, or fickle fate parting a tow.
As size goes, this latest misadventure is the largest, being a standard Panamax, second largest the Sygna at 53/35500 tonne (NT/GT).
Polka Dulka seems more likely to remain than float away, a truly most awesome but unwelcome guest in this totally inconvenient landing spot.
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Two hundred years of growth from a timber-getters’ camp to a great industrial region is only eight family generations.
Octogenarians recall relatives who witnessed the celebrations of 1900, when a Newcastle, a mere century old, possessed already its major public buildings and infrastructure, and could describe the building of the first church, jail, or police station.
The first half of last century saw the area’s wealth sunk into even finer structures and the creation of steel milling that turned this large country town into a mighty industrial city.
The second half witnessed manufacturing’s astonishing disappearance, yet the Hunter barely stumbled as smart money moved on to the next transient opportunity.
Newcastle city is essentially unchanged one-hundred years on - other than the loss of tramways and coal-carrying railways that criss-crossed the central basin of suburbs, and the filling of surround foothills to the brink with suburban streets.
Thirty years ago the view east from Newcastle’s hill would seem almost unchanged to, perhaps, a grandparent, reminiscing.
The city reinvented itself upon losing its manufacturing heart in recent decades, docks and warehouses given over to chick yuppie venues and endless landscaping.
A wealthy few amuse themselves in the dawn of this new millennium by peppering the escarpments overlooking Newcastle’s beautiful golden beaches with high-rise apartments - and it seems too many are not enough.
Those fortunate to work in the city centre and live in the traditional inner suburbs find Newcastle a workers’ paradise, with ten-minute commutes and often dazzling vistas from office windows. Lunch break for the humble white-collar worker can take in both a beach lunch and up-market shopping.
In fact, doing anything or going most anywhere in this pocket metropolis is just 15 minutes across town and park at the door. 
We love it!
