1770 is still the kind of place where there are more convenience stores than swanky, zinc-top cafés. Where you can surf in the morning, fish in the afternoon and cook your catch over a campfire in the evening. It's scruffy, informal and friendly - old Mavis, who has lived in the area for 60 years, waves cheerfully to passersby from her house overlooking the foreshore.
Away from the hubbub, theme parks and apartment blocks that characterize so much of Australia's Gold and Sunshine coasts, 1770 is tucked away in central Queensland, along the Capricorn Coast. Most people get there by flying from Brisbane to Bundaberg and then renting a car - it's about an hour and a half north of Bundaberg. I decide to do it a little differently and take the Greyhound bus from Bundaberg to Agnes Water, where I rent a scooter.
The rental place, staffed by a crew of motley characters - dreamy-eyed Great Dane, head-scarf-clad owner and barefoot boy, old enough for acne but too young to be smoking - is an adventure in itself. I ride off buffered with knee and elbow pads, skidding and wobbling over the corrugations in the track but gradually getting the hang of it as I zip between 1770 (named to commemorate Captain James Cook's landing in May of that year) and neighbouring Agnes Water. The former is on the bay and sunset side of the peninsula, the latter on the north-facing surf side.
For those who want to learn more about the history of the area, a small and rather endearing museum in Agnes Water houses an eclectic and fascinating collection assembled by dedicated volunteers. Captain Cook memorabilia is displayed alongside exhibits of local interest - from shells and aboriginal artifacts to 1949 editions of Women's Weekly.
I choose 1770 as my first base and stay at Bustard Bay Lodge. The simple, self-contained accommodation boasts uninterrupted views over the bay where Cook first came ashore and shot a 17½ -pound bustard. The town is small, with just 131 registered blocks, and the bitumen road linking it to Bundaberg is a recent addition.
It is not difficult to see why this area, with its year-round temperate climate, is popular with surfers, fishermen, families, campers and those in pursuit of a peaceful holiday. Laden with natural assets - breathtaking views, lush tropical vegetation, pockets of wetland, mangrove creeks and bush right down to the sea - it offers pristine beaches for surfing or swimming. And, of course, there's the reef; this is the closest point to the southern Great Barrier Reef and the most northern surf break.
A naturalist friend who knows about these things recommends that I visit Fitzroy Reef Lagoon. He insists that it is much more colourful and less frequented than the more popular Lady Musgrave Island. It's my first opportunity to experience the reef since 1996 and I am more than a little excited. I book a trip with 1770 Holidays, one of only two companies with a permit to visit the coral outcrop at Fitzroy Reef. Within minutes of setting off, we strike a rock and the boat has to return to the dock for repairs; the bay at 1770 is on an estuary and environmental regulations prevent it from being dredged.
Suppressing bitter, childlike disappointment, I transfer to the same company's excellent eco-tour aboard the bubble-gum pink LARC, an amphibious vessel built in the United States for supplying ships with cargo. As we sweep across the bay and back onto land across unblemished sands, we are entertained with gripping stories of the early settlers - mud crabbers and cattle farmers.
Our pink chariot then tackles the steep, boulder-strewn incline to the lighthouse, built in 1868 and manned until 1968. Coming back down the slope, we get unobstructed views of Pancake Creek, an area of rare estuarine coral with colour and intensity, our guide Col tells me, to rival the Great Barrier Reef.
The next day, I opt for a spot of fishing. Damian Robeck and his wife, Meg, run Hooked on 1770, which offers small, personalized tours of the area's waterways and creeks. Cruising in a motorized canoe toward Round Hill Creek (1770 was originally called Round Hill), we catch a glimpse of a jabiru stork, strutting prince-like along a distant sandbank. I learn that jabirus are monogamous and, sadly, this one has lost its mate. Not so with the pair of white-crested sea eagles whose youngster plunges into the water right in front of us, swooping back up to a treetop to devour his gleaming prey.
