Walk around Cape Otway light station, hike Maits Rest park and Melba Gully park for old forests, see sunset at 12 Apostles.
We wake and David walks into the bush and photographs his second wallaby (our iPad ewill not accept David’s camera cord). We are two of about 10 people who spent the night at the station, so we have a bit of time to wander the grounds undisturbed by clots of tourists who will begin to arrive at nine sharp.
The lighthouse, the second on the mainland, was built in 1848 and was designed to be seen over the horizon, 48 kilometers away, to guide ships along “shipwreck coast.” The structure has no cement or mortar. Its stones, quarried several kilometers away and cut by 70 workmen to exact specifications, were carted by bullock teams. Each stone has a particular set of striations and cut marks because each mason had his own signature way of cutting. The building is constructed by “Ashlar Bonding” and easily supports the 4.5 ton light on top. The stone steps that spiral up the center are keyed into the wall.
We wander around, load the car, wend our way back to the GOR, stop at a few scenic lookouts on the edge of the road and eventually make a detour inland to Maits Rest, a rainforest walk on which Cynthia strikes up a conversation about politics, life, the environment, and the meaning of culture with a woman who says she came to Melbourne as a German refugee during the second world war. The walk is crowded with families whose children are really cute and rather loud.
We complete the walk and get back on B100 so we can stop at Melba Gully, which, we were told, has a really, really big, tall beech tree above a fern gully. The path is very dark and full of ferns and moss, very pretty and a nice break from driving. The big, tall tree fell in 2009 and all you can see is its rotting root ball.
We pass the 12 Apostles, driving another 10-plus kilometers to Port Campbell so we can visit the tourist information center to find out when and where to see the 12 Apostles in the best light and also see the colony of 1,000 little (ferry) penguins that live there. The comely young lass behind the counter is helpful and enthusiastic and maps out the rest of our day as well as most of tomorrow’s drive. She also calls the hotel we go to after leaving her to ask if, perhaps, the camera that David left on the information counter is ours, and says she will wait another half-hour for us to return to get it.
David’s second “lost camera” event. (One of us would like to stop counting.)
We make dinner reservations for later and drive to the 12 Apostles tourist park to catch the remaining seven Apostles at sunset. While we wait for that perfect sunset-behind-the-towering-rocks-in-the-water moment, lined up along the boardwalk with hundreds of Chinese, Germans (including the woman from Maits), French, English, Americans and perhaps an Aussie or two, Cynthia peels away from the railing to explore the other side of the promontory, which has two rock towers that will be lit by the sun, rather than the sun going down behind them. On her way, she comes across a small knot of people leaning down and crowded around a bush partly covered by a log at an intersection of two paths. The people are taking photos of an echidna. Cynthia hustles back to David, replaces him at the railing — location, location, location — so he can see the echidna and the beautiful two towers lit by the setting sun on the other side of the viewing promontory. He sees, he photographs with his twice-rescued camera, and returns to Cynthia.
It’s like a Spaulding Gray “perfect moment” as the sun sinks into the ocean, suffusing the world in an ember-like glow; the clouds above turning violet and purple; the Apostles stark, dark, receding into the distance as the orange limestone cliffs along the shore become dimmer. All we can do, really, is look at each other and nod our heads.
We wait for the penguins but their “season” is mostly ended and the few who remain decide not to show. We drive back to Port Douglas where we get dinner and drink a serviceable cabernet sauvignon from McLaren Vale (The Hedonist, 2016, Kimberly and James Cooter, vintners). (McLaren Vale, we are told, has wonderful limestone soils that plunge down to the ocean, so they drain really well and give their grapes good afternoon sun and just the right amount of rain at the right time.)
Another you-just-drink-in-the-road-you’re-privileged-to-travel kind of day.
Two Tramps 