Soldier crabs and sunset walks: Why nobody wants to leave this seaside suburb

Sandgate’s inhabitants share a certain feeling. Might it be gratitude? Smugness, perhaps? A sense that we may just have cracked it – life, that is, and the best way to go about it?

Early on weekday mornings or late in the afternoon, any hour of the weekend, you will find us – on bikes, with prams, alone with a podcast, or deep in conversation with a friend or dog – streaming, with single-minded purpose down one of our 25 avenues towards the sea.

The Turrbal people called this area Warra, meaning expanse of water, and it’s not just a cooling breeze on a humid summer day that our foreshore offers, but something more profound – an invitation to stare thoughtfully into the distance, a sense of space, room to breathe.

A long-term camping ground for the Turrbal, the area’s appeal was not lost on European settlers either, and in the late 19th century, Cobb and Co began to bring well-heeled holiday-makers to enjoy the sea air. The train line, completed in 1882, made the trip more accessible to the wider public, and soon Sandgate became known as the Brighton of Queensland, with soft-drink kiosks, boarding houses, and the Sandgate Pier Baths (offering segregated bathing, with women on the northern side and men on the southern) creating a complete seaside experience.

Back then, there was clear water and golden sand, but now, heavy maritime traffic in and out of the bay clouds Sandgate’s waters, and the beach that stretches out to the horizon at low tide consists of silty black mud that clings to your feet, clothes or fur (if you are a dog) and remains in your bathtub for days.

The shoreline is nevertheless a magical place, with a shifting outlook depending on the season, weather and time of day. My favourite is a winter dusk, when the lights of the Hornibrook Bridge pick themselves out against a darkening sky, and the low-angled sunlight reflects off violet pools of water.

Between August and April, our beaches provide a crucial habitat for visiting shorebirds that have travelled thousands of kilometres from the Arctic, Siberia and Alaska. Bar-tailed godwits, curlew sandpipers, whimbrels, red-necked stints, and the critically endangered Far Eastern curlew share the tidal flats alongside armies of small, blue-grey soldier crabs, which rush about busily on vital manoeuvres. At high tide, extroverted mullet sometimes leap above the water; at high tide, when it is still and clear enough, you can occasionally glimpse a more reclusive ray.

Visiting shorebirds share the tidal flats alongside armies of small, blue-grey soldier crabs who rush about busily on vital manoeuvres.

If the foreshore wasn’t enough, Sandgate also boasts three lagoons – Einbunpin, Dowse and Third. Within these ecosystems, and the extensive parks and wetlands surrounding them, more flocks of migratory birds, snake-necked tortoises and eels can be found, along with the occasional algal bloom in years of drought.

My English husband and I first moved here after returning to Australia. “What about Sandgate?” he asked, plonking his finger on the map halfway between his new job on Bribie Island and the centre of Brisbane, where the train line offered an easy commute.

“Sandgate?” I may have scoffed. My only previous experience of the suburb had been a visit to my then-boyfriend’s grandparents, when it was well past its holiday destination heyday. I remembered it as a sleepy place for retirees, replete with bowls club, RSL and several aged-care homes.

My doubts seemed to be vindicated when, on our first night in Sandgate (exhausted from our move, our kitchen boxes still unpacked), we decided to treat ourselves to takeaway at one of the many fish and chip joints only to find they had all closed at 7pm. It was many years before we could get a coffee before 8am as well, a terrible lack considering our toddler liked to start the day at 4am.

All that has well and truly changed during the 18 years we have lived here. Sandgate is now a bustling modern suburb, and not only can we get a coffee from several early-morning outlets, the combination of outdoor spaces, good local schools and a welcoming community have made it a great place for us to raise our children.

With river to the north, sea to the east, and wetlands to the west and south, Sandgate and its neighbouring suburbs have always felt insulated from the rest of the city. Coming home after a week of commuting, you just want to pull up the drawbridge and stay local.

There is at least one good restaurant – Acciuga – and we are spoilt with not one but two great neighbourhood bars. Cardigan Bar is the choice for live music, and Mr Henderson for a good selection of beer.

In recent years, however, Sandgate’s smug secret is well and truly out. House prices are rising, pushing up rents and pushing out lower-income families. New zoning will bring infrastructure improvements and welcome investment to the area, but many are concerned that the character of our sleepy seaside suburb is under threat.

It’s a very modern dilemma. To combat urban sprawl, we need to remain open to greater housing density; to say “yes, in our backyard”. Perhaps alongside the grand old boarding houses, waterfront homes and restored Queenslanders, we need to make room for some new neighbours. Maybe it’s time to lower the drawbridge.

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