With low expectations, I checked in for 100 dollars and found myself in a delightful room, with a wonderful view overlooking the sea and the smell of fresh new paint as it had just been refurbished. Flopping down, I surveyed my surroundings and decided that this was a room I could call home; the cane furniture on which I had plonked my weary self gave it an unexpectedly colonial Somerset Maugham feel. Although the room was memorable, the supper I then tucked into in the hotel’s bistro, wasn’t. Not finished with the day, I then retreated to the bar where I sat happily sipping and reading. Returning to my room, I caught the end of an Oxfam fundraiser on television; it was a tie-in to the Melbourne Comedy Month, with assorted comedians from around the world each doing a four minute slot. Some of the acts were very funny indeed and the programme made realise that I hadn’t laughed out loud for ages… fortunately my cackling laughter was drowned out by the sound of heavy rain pounding on the roof.
The sound of breaking surf and thrashing rain combined to create a perfect lullaby, which even the regular kerchink, kerchink of the pokies could not spoil.
Friday 12th April: the journey continues as follows…
Apollo Bay for a spot of sandy relaxation; Otway rain forest; Shipwreck coast; Moonlight head; the slightly reduced Twelve Apostles with London Bridge; Loch Ard Gorge; Port Campbell; Peterborough; Warrnambool for an optimistic spot of whale watching; Port Fairy, pretty in both name and nature; Portland; Mount Gambier where the cobalt Blue Lake… is steel grey in April. Mileage-wise, a tad ambitious perhaps?
The rain continued throughout the night, but it was fun because of its enormity. In the morning, I wandered briefly around a surprisingly dry Lorne, where I ate a truly Australian breakfast of raisin toast sitting outside a roadside café. It seemed that most of the town, all looking hail, hearty and windswept with surfboards attached to their wrists, as if waiting for a wave to scoot along the pavement, ambled by eyeing my toast hungrily. Wanting to linger in this delightful spot a little longer but knowing that a full day lay ahead, I reluctantly bid farewell to Lorne.
The next scheduled stop was Apollo Bay. The scenic coastline route to my destination is described in tourist blurb as ‘one of the most beautiful and breathtaking drives in the world’ so I decided to first look down upon it by taking a detour slightly inland to Mariners Lookout, which, unsurprisingly, required a hill climb. Almost got to the top when I was overcome by an attack of the heeby jeebies; it was an isolated spot and there was no one else around. I took a few hasty photos from ‘almost’ the top and then trotted nimbly back down to the car park. Another car now took up a second slot, parked too close to mine for comfort. To get into the driver’s seat, I had to enter via the passenger door and scrabble in an ungainly fashion over the gear stick. Fortunately, I guess, there was no sign of the second vehicle’s occupant, which was odd as I had been on the only footpath. My sleuthing vibes decided it must be occupant singular, because unless their passenger had a penchant for climbing over gear sticks, they too would have faced an ingress/egress dilemma like mine: just a tiny bit strange don’t you think?
Out onto the road to continue the scenic drive and by the time I drifted into Apollo Bay, with its glorious stretch of sandy beach, my palpitations had subsided. I rewarded my bravery with an ice cream, which didn’t quite match the deliciousness of the one I’d enjoyed on the sea front at St Kilda… so that’s ice creams done for this holiday. The anticipated sugar rush was welcome, though!
The Great Ocean Road is steep and twisty from this point on, with more breathtaking views. My journey naturally included several stops to take pictures or just to stand and look. Had a scamper on the sands at Wye River Bay where I played with a gigantic piece of kelp and then wrote the wrong date in the sand: I had lost track of time… and my inhibitions. The road then veers inland at a small peninsular which is the Otway Rain Forest – just a tiny piece of unspoiled rain forest. This was one of those rare occasions when I would have enjoyed having a partner with me so that together we could walk deep into the forest. Sorry, the yearning for a partner was not a romantic whimsy, simply all about ‘safety in numbers’ after my Mariners Lookout wobble. However, I did venture for a short distance into the midst of the beckoning trees and was greeted by strange sounds and the wonderful smell of forest myrtle. Was entranced by the variety of gum trees which either looked dishevelled and unkempt, as papery bark peeled off in long dazzling strips, or smooth as smooth can be with bright shiny trunks soaring up into the canopy. Would really love to go back, but next time would be prepared with long socks as leeches and tics are common.
Took a 24km detour to see the Cape Otway lightstation and on the way passed a road sign warning of cows, koalas, kangaroos and… pterodactyls. Can’t think what they were meant to be, perhaps an attempt at drawing a pelican in flight, several of which I had seen but usually bobbing up and down on water. The scenery changed as the vegetation thinned out and then the road petered out, but finally arrived at the lighthouse and was pleased to have made the effort. Climbed to the top for a stunning sea view and chatted to the guide before retracing my steps via a very handy portaloo in the middle of a field. I’m not sure if it was meant for agricultural workers or tourists, either way I was grateful for the facility: another example of ‘timely weirdness’. Talking to the guide, I learnt that:
•The Cape Otway Lightstation is the oldest surviving lighthouse on the Australian mainland. It was built in 1848, and, with Cape Wickham lighthouse on King Island, marks the entrance to the Bass Strait.
•The light, which was originally fuelled by whale oil and later by kerosene, diesel and finally electricity, shone 40km out to sea. In 1994 the ‘Old Light’ was decommissioned and replaced with a solar powered beacon which is positioned directly in front of the sandstone lighthouse.
Even in remote spots you find erudite and interesting guides, just whiling away time waiting until a stray tourist stumbles upon their beloved piece of history and they can spring into cheery ‘information’ mode. Occasionally a spider-fly-sticky web scenario flits across my brain, but rarely. Even if that is the case, I hope I thanked them all adequately for their infectious enthusiasm. Of my conversation with the cheery Cape Otway guide, I didn’t think to ask him an obvious question: “What’s the difference between a lighthouse and a lightstation?” Regrettably, the answer to that is still pending.
The next stretch of the coast is known as Shipwreck Coast and not without good reason. You can see rusting anchors and various bits of various wrecks at various points. Sadly, the road runs a little bit back from the coast, so short excursions are needed to see the points of interest – such as Moonlight Head, the Twelve Apostles (limestone stacks in the sea), London Bridge with one fallen arch, The Arch and Loch Ard Gorge, named after the wrecked Loch Ard from which only one crew member and one non-swimmer passenger survived: both aged 18.
Undeterred by the necessary excursions, I continued my zigzag route ticking off the tourist spots in true tourist fashion. Unsurprisingly, I kept bumping into the same people as we all shuttled from one scenic spot to the next. Board walks mark the paths from the car parks to the viewpoints to preserve the land, but they don’t add to the beauty of the area and they act as a reminder that on this stretch… at least… you are never alone. By the time I had reached this part of the Great Ocean Road a sea fret was rolling in which resulted in grey blurry photographs of what should have been dramatic scenery; that’s where postcards come in handy.
As ever, time was not on my side so I nodded briefly at Port Campbell, Peterborough and Warrnambool, where the whale watching scenario had certainly been too optimistic, and continued westwards before arriving at five-thirty, exhausted, in Port Fairy, an ex-whaling station, ‘Where the Past is Present’. The first thing that struck me was the really wide streets – of course, wide enough to turn an ox cart in. The first hotel I spotted was full, so by default found myself at the Seacombe House Motor Inn which, like Port Fairy itself ‘i
s steeped in history’ relating, I guess, to whalers, sailors and shipwrecks. The old part of the property dates back to 1847 and I stayed in Gun Alley, where, in hindsight, the three windows I marked on my memorabilia brochure look rather less romantic than the name implies. Happily the room was very comfortable and the melting moment with a cup of tea, both of which vanished rather rapidly, were very welcome after a long day on the road.
Dined in their Good Food recommended restaurant and sampled the fish, assuming that it would have come straight from the ocean over which I had been gazing. Not sure that my fish had swum in the Southern Ocean, or if it had, it hadn’t done so recently. Happy to report, no harm done. I’m not a fussy eater, but am weirdly consistent in my dud choices, which I then feel compelled to write about. Not only does eating alone over an extended period, elevate the norm into something of note, there is also the tendency to greedily bolt food when companionless. A book or something to read slows down the process and stops you having to stare into space whilst munching and ruminating over the day’s activities. The only problem with a book, especially a paperback, is that the open pages have a habit of binging closed just as you have a forkful of food a smidge away from your salivating mouth. Stupidly, instinct deems the book more important than the food so you drop the laden fork as you try to hang-on to the page you are reading. Consequently, food and fork complete a perfect arc before splattering back onto the table. You then scoop up the debris whilst taking a surreptitious peek at your fellow diners…wondering if they have witnessed your pantomime. Well, that’s what happened at the Seacombe House Motor Inn… where my book of choice was a Dickensian tome, Dombey and Son, selected from my OU stash.
Returning to my delightfully chintzy room, the day ended with a feeling of self-satisfaction, I had notched up all but two of the places on my day’s agenda. Spurred on by this success, I planned tomorrow’s excursions cosily tucked up in bed… although I did remain a tiny bit alert in case the famed ghost of Thomas McCracken put in an appearance. He didn’t. Unfortunately said Mr McCracken died from a cracked skull sustained in an alcohol fuelled altercation… should I believe everything I read?
Saturday 13th April: did I really think I was going to manage all of the following, plus yesterday’s unseen Mount Gambier?
Having been drawn by chance to a brochure extolling the beauty of the Limestone Coast, I couldn’t resist. So Portland was scratched from yesterday’s incomplete itinerary and another twelve destinations took its place – they were:
•Beachport, an unspoilt haven and ex-whaling station
•Robe, an old fishing settlement and port
•Hindmarsh Island to see the mouth of the mighty Murray River
•Port Eliot on the prettily named Fleurieu Peninsula
•Victor Harbor, famed for a spelling mistake amid its seafaring past
•Waitpinga Beach, with a tiny population swelled by intrepid surfers… a stretch of coast not for the novice
•Cape Jervis and its port used by the Kangaroo Island Ferry
•Port Noarlunga for an 800m snorkel trail
•Strathalbyn, a Scottish heritage town
•Hahndorf, the oldest German settlement
•Tailem Bend, a strategic railhead
•And the Murray Bridge.
So how did I do? Breakfast was a scrum, thanks to a large golf contingent and one harassed waitress, so just grabbed a bowl of cereal before stepping outside to wander around Port Fairy, in the drizzle. It is such a pretty town, but I had no time to do it justice as I wanted to go inland to take a look at Mount Gambier. Stashing George, I pointed the Lancer in the hoped for right direction (north) and set off once again. The route was in contrast to what I had driven before. I passed miles and miles of grassland, bleached blond by the relentless summer sun, so cattle and sheep were grazing on grass frazzled to hay. More warnings to look out for wandering kangaroos and koalas… so far have only seen one dead of each; it would be nice to see one that’s still breathing.
At the Mount Gambier information office picked up some maps and leaflets and headed to the extinct volcano’s largest crater, which was impressive due to its text-book symmetry…it appeared in nature just as one would draw a crater… if that makes sense. The crater-lake is enticingly named the Blue Lake, as it takes on a startling shade of blue under the right conditions. Predictably these conditions were not prevailing on the day of my visit, as the rain-laden sky had produced water that was a familiar English Channel shade of grey. I read that from November the water changes from ‘steel blue-grey’ to ‘brilliant turquoise blue’, so I guess it had peaked and was now reverting to the grey end of the spectrum. Irrespective of its colour, the leaflet informed me that a staggering ‘3,500 million litres of water is extracted each year for residential, commercial and industrial use’, including the production of hand-made Blue Lake paper.
If I had been a little disappointed by Mount Gambier’s lack of blueness, my visit did at least provide me with the answer to an avian puzzle. In the morning, I had been awoken by and intrigued by a loud, possibly indescribable, bird call and here were half a dozen of the species gabbling away in front of me. Their plumage made their genus obvious… they were Australian magpies. They made a human vowel sound – a-eee-i-ooo, which tailed off into a can’t really be bothered attempt at u. Best I can do…
Back in the car I drove through a stretch of boring landscape, which was unusual as nothing before today had struck me as boring, until I hit the Limestone Coast. Wow! The brochure hadn’t lied. And why hadn’t anyone told me about this area before I set off? I would have added even more days to my already extended stay. With regret I had no time to explore properly, but (again) vowed I would return one day. Along this stretch, the sea which gently washes the beaches is a delicate shade of turquoise thanks to the limestone (no English Channel grey here!) The coast is riddled with caves and blow holes, but sadly no time to investigate: poor planning.
However, stopped at Beachport, an historic whaling port, for lunch and found the place deserted, as everyone was at Robe for the tall ships and little ships racing. Beachport’s claim to fame is its jetty which, at 772 metres, is the second longest in South Australia. I think the longest is virtually double the length and is located at Port Germein. It’s funny, but each town or area seems to promote its uniqueness by having the largest, longest, highest… whatever. Possibly in such a very large country, if you’re very small people pass you by, so promoting the biggest thing you have makes touristic sense. Anyway, the extent of the shallow water necessitated the construction of these long jetties, as ships couldn’t get close to the shore. Today the ships have been replaced by anglers who, lured towards a sunny spot, dangle their lines in the hope of hauling in something fit for the table. Beachport sits on Rivoli Bay famed for its crayfish, and a fishing fleet still goes in search of these tasty crustaceans. Why weren’t they on last night’s menu?
When I arrived at Robe it was, unsurprisingly, very crowded but, finding a spot to park, I managed to worm my way up to a vantage point to look at the tall ships, just tiny dots in the distance, but one of which was going like the clappers – truly a ship at full sail. I think it was Russian. The town also hosts a major South Australian surf contest. Along the Limestone Coast you really feel the pull of the sea; it is a beautiful area and I was surprised that I had not heard about it before – but how lucky to stumble upon it. Serendipity, a delight of tumbleweed travels…you never know what lies up ahead.
Having made a few enquiries soon discovered that there was no accommodation in Robe because of the weekend activities, so pushed on to Kingston which is home to Larry the Lobster – all 33 metres of him. It was quite difficult trying to fit him into a camera shot without making him appear more small shrimp rather than large lobster. See, another ‘large’ attraction. I now know that Kingston is also home to one of few analematic sundials in the world which is a horizontal sundial marking sola
r time. Oh dear! One really should read the more obscure guide books before striking out, because there are some fascinating gems hidden just under the main tourist radar, and I had missed this one. Alas a lesson learnt a little too late. And Serendipity can be a fickle travel companion.
Although Kingston wasn’t on my schedule, checked into a Best Western for a night on the beach, earlier than usual as the next bed would have been approximately two hours away and there are only so many miles l can drive in a day. Driving is helped along by alliterative slogans, such as ‘Drowsy Drivers Die’ or perhaps ‘Drink, Drive, Die in a Ditch’, plus assorted short poems urging caution. The black markers beside the road recall where a death has occurred and the red version marks where accidents have happened. These plus all the ‘Kangaroos for the next 12km’ signs set at every 13km, result in a lot to read, keeping you thoughtfully occupied with, umm, your eyes off the road…
Larry the Lobster… another large attraction…
Sitting in the bar with my usual tipple of cold beer and studying my newly acquired maps, I realised that I couldn’t do all that I had intended in the time available, something had to go. Reluctantly I deleted the Fleurieu Peninsula, with its southerly tip Cape Jervis, from my itinerary to head north towards Tailem Bend and onwards to the Barossa Valley. By now my glass had emptied as had the bar…and somehow it was an eerily quiet 11pm.
Sunday 14th April: a slightly less ambitious itinerary today
Birdwood for a vintage car collection and the Barossa Valley for vineyards
Haven’t quite got distances and times sorted out – today’s plan went a bit awry. Interesting chat with a couple from Coonawarra at breakfast, they were most concerned that I was driving alone and told me not to stop for any bandaged person waving me down, as it was a ruse to get me to stop. The blood was tomato sauce and an accomplice would leap from the hedge and beat me up. So, with that cheery thought buzzing in my head, took a quick stroll along the beach and then set off for Meningie, the railway town of Tailem Bend and the Murray Bridge, the first bridge over the Murray. A really relaxing drive, with long stretches of not a lot but still beguiling. Stopped at a pelican viewing point on Lake Albert, but sadly no pelicans; am beginning to think someone forewarns the wildlife of my imminent arrival. Had lunch, a real one this time, of a ham ploughman’s and a lite beer in the German town of Hahndorf.
Travels with George Page 10