Setting up a picnic, we ate lunch on a veranda attached to the separate barbeque buildings that was across the main lawn. Intrigued as to how the inhabitants grew their own food, Grant, Cherry’s uncle and I made our way down to the organic vegetable garden by the river. It was relatively modest in size, but as I wandered round I couldn’t help feel impressed by the diversity of vegetables they were growing. Looking to investigate further I walked deeper into some longer vegetation and it was then that I heard a frantic rustling up ahead. Stopping dead in my tracks, the grass up ahead started shaking violently and moving straight in my direction – it was just like a velociraptor attack in ‘Jurassic Park’. Thinking back to my initial training and attempting to remain calm, I stood as still as I possibly could. It is a strange sensation as it goes against every natural instinct you possess. My mind was willing my body to run and escape the danger as quickly as possible, but I knew that move could be fatal. Remaining still, the bushes continued to rustle as the noise got louder converging on my feet. Three metres. Two metres. One metre…I dared myself to look down at the ground and as I did, I saw its black body shoot out from the grass, followed by a long tail. The rat sprinted across my feet, not paying any attention to my presence. I sighed with relief as my heart kicked in and started beating again. But then a shuddering thought crossed my mind – what was it running from? Then, from where the rat had just emerged, I noticed the grass move again. This time though, the movements were not of an animal frantically panicking – they were subtle, calculated and produced with purpose. Right then I knew exactly what was coming. Holding my breath, I remained as still as possible and waited for my fate to reveal itself. The nearest hospital was a river crossing, two kilometre walk and eighty minute drive away, so any sort of attack would pretty much mean certain death. It was exactly that thought that was passing through my head when I felt it touch my leg. Before I looked down, I knew exactly what I was about to witness. It was a Brown Snake – generally considered to be the second deadliest in the whole world. With its tongue periodically flicking to taste the surrounding air, it had slithered in between my feet with its dark maroon body following. It moved with the focus of predator – a predator out to kill. Two metres of its body passed between my feet before it was finally gone. Fearing to move, I remained perfectly still for a few more moments before I heard a shout the left. With such drama unfolding I had forgotten that Grant and Cherry’s uncle were here.
‘Look here guys – it’s a bloody brown snake!’ shouted Cherry’s uncle with incredible enthusiasm ‘lets catch the bastard!’
With those words, he ran through the undergrowth chasing it in a style Steve Irwin would’ve been proud of. For so many obvious reasons, this seemed like the most stupid thing to do. Stupid in the same way as playing around with the wires of an armed nuclear bomb ‘just for a laugh’ would be. It is simply madness. Thankfully though, the snake evaded his lunges and we were able to return home venom free.
Five hours later and our Subaru car was finally pulling into Tidal River some 230km away. Bomber was an experienced camper and seasoned traveller, so his claim that Wilsons Prom was ‘the must see place in Victoria’ made this trip rather exciting. Having once described Southend-on-sea as ‘a place that rivals Auschwitz as the most depressing on Earth’, I knew his astute travel analysis was fairly accurate. In his mid-thirties, Bomber (his real name was Anthony, but nobody used it) was a bachelor, freelancing in outdoor education at schools and camps. One of the main reasons he was so good at it was because it was his passion. It is a rare thing to be able to combine a hobby with a job, but Bomber had achieved this feat and appeared a very happy being as a result. Throughout our entire journey, he had entertained us through singing songs, telling comedy stories and playing a huge game of ‘Horse’. This involved spotting horses in the fields, pointing at them and shouting ‘horse’ as loud as you possibly could. The first person to दो सो would receive ten points. Of course other animals were included along the way, including a tortoise which Bomber spotted and subsequently landed him fifty points – that lucky guy. To be honest, it did seem a little like he was making up the rules as we went along, although he assured us that it was purely experience that had seen him romp through to a 500 point victory.
By the time we arrived, the camp site was bathed in darkness, so we set up camp quickly on the sand floor and cracked open our beers. Earlier in the night Bomber had introduced us to a truly fantastic Australian invention – the drive through off-licence. We drove in, ordered our beer and ice and then simply waited as it was carried to our car. Then we drove off, stocked full of alcohol and having wasted no additional calories in the process. Why had no one in England thought of this before? It is quite simply, a genius idea – now, we no longer have to put any effort into getting booze, we can simply roll from the sofa into the car, have someone else load the alcohol at the shop, before driving home and calling our wives to move it into the fridge. Marvellous stuff. Getting the gas-stove burning quickly we settled down for a bit of food after our long journey. Whilst chopping some peppers, I noticed Bomber examining something on his arm
‘What’s up mate, you look concerned’ I enquired.
‘Nothing mate, just checking out this mole on my skin – if it goes black it’s a sign of skin cancer’. He must’ve seen my concerned look ‘don’t worry though John boy, it’s just one of the hazards of living in this beautiful place. Believe me, there’s a flip-side to most things and this is one of Australia’s’
‘Yeah and the fact that every animal is trying its hardest to kill you’ I added, trying to lighten the mood.
Bomber wasn’t depressed though, as it was something he and most Australians had come to live with. They simply saw it as an inevitable consequence of their life, but not a life threatening one if precautions were taken to catch it. I found it difficult to contemplate living in the knowledge that you had a 33% chance of developing skin cancer. I was surprised with how well they were coping with it – their behaviour was admirable. Following a good, fulfilling meal, we were all feeling rather lethargic so I suggested a stroll down to the beach to finish off the beers. It was 11pm at night so, the walk wasn’t exactly straight forward, but as we emerged onto Norman Bay, I immediately knew it was worth it. We couldn’t see the ocean, only hear the roar of the waves and feel the earth trembling as they crashed onto the sand. Taking refuge in a small gap in the sand dunes, we took out a beer each and just sat. The lighthouse flashed intermittently in the distance as a cruise ship sailed across our view. Above us, another incredible canvas of stars again revealed themselves to provide a perfect backdrop. It was nights like this I had dreamed about when planning my gap year. Now I was here and the reality was even better,
‘Quite a night hey Bomber? So, why do you love it here so much’ I asked
‘It’s हार्ड to describe really, hopefully you’ll understand by the end of the trip. I suppose it’s just such a unique place. You get that a lot with this country – just when you think you’ve seen it all, something else of interest emerges. You’ll see tomorrow’
And with that, Bomber quite spontaneously (as he was quite inclined to do) burst into a rousing rendition of a Collingwood football song.
Wilsons Promontory is a national park situated at the most southerly tip of mainland Australia. With an abundance of diverse wildlife it stretches over 90 square kilometres incorporating wild bush land, mountainous walks and some glorious beaches. As with many national parks in the country, there is a strong Aboriginal spiritual connection with some archaeological records, suggesting it was occupied up to 6500 years ago and was possibly used as part of a walkway to Tasmania during ice ages. Having read this information in a local brochure, I could immediately see why Bomber spoke so highly of it. I had already experienced the ‘diverse’ wildlife having had two particularly aggressive possums fight outside my tent for what seemed like the entire evening. Still, it was nice to be up early to witness the sunrise before toasting some hot-cross buns on the fire for breakfast. I had been in Australia for two months now, but it was still hard to believe all the things I had achieved in that time. There were more memories to be had though. So, eager to get my own back on Grant from his early morning wake-up call during the Grand Prix I grabbed a frying pan and wooden spoon. Attempting to keep in my childish laughter, I sneaked into his tent, positioned it by his ear and banged as loud as I possibly could.
‘WAKE UP GRANT! TIME TO GO WALKING!’
‘You’re….an…….absolute……bastard’ is all he could muster in response
Happy that I had finally returned this most annoying favour, I walked across to the modern shower block for a wash. However, having spotted about twenty leaches climbing up the wall of my cubicle, I quickly left. Eager not to have my blood extracted, I decided the sea would provide a much better alternative for a wash. It was then that I remembered that the waters were shark infested – so it was a toss up – leaches or sharks? For some bizarre reason that still remains a mystery to this day, I chose to take my chances with the Great Whites.
The beach we had been on the previous evening was Norman Bay, so we decided to hike north and visit the much talked about ‘Squeaky Beach’. Thinking there may be some kind of exciting fable behind such an unusual name, I asked Bomber about the origins
‘So where does the name come from – is it some kind of Aboriginal legend?’ I asked
‘Ha-ha, no mate, it’s because when you walk on the sand it makes a high-pitch noise. It’s a little bit like a squeak actually’
I was quickly learning not to read too much into place names in Australia as they’re usually fairly straight forward. Take ’90-mile beach’ for example – it’s a beach that stretches for 90 miles. Simple. So with our rations packed and map in hand, we began our 1.5km hike along the headland. The first half provided us with some spectacular views across Norman Bay, which was nice since we had enjoyed it thoroughly but not actually seen it. High above the sea, we had stumbled across a couple of fantastic look-out-points and took the opportunity to have some photos taken. The dense green vegetation along the two headlands provided a perfect frame for the contrasting blue sea and crystal white beach. Across the bay, I could see the ocean vary in colour like the surface of a marble, before becoming clear as the waves broke and blended into the sandy beach below. It was such a wonderful view but what made it even more spectacular was its relatively modest nature. For although this was such a beautiful spot, there were only ten people walking across the 1km beach which gave us an exclusive sense of remoteness. With our hiking gear on, it almost felt like we were explorers who had just discovered this new, natural and unspoiled land. And it was this that made Wilsons Prom special. I was finally realising why Bomber had talked it up so much. Yes it was a great place for hiking and seeing some lovely beaches, but there was more to it than that – it was a real place not dominated by tourism and contempt to be accepted for what it was. The tourist board had not constructed huge bill-boards saying ‘Hey come to Wilsons Prom – it’s swell!’, they were happy to let the fine natural beauty of the spot speak for itself. Thankfully, they had identified the pure essence of the place and realised that by increasing visitor numbers, this would be completely destroyed. So on that note, I issue you this warning – do not visit Wilsons Prom, for your presence will ruin the experience for everyone else. Thank you.
Continuing up to the top of the headland, we took a rest on a strange rock formation. As I looked behind me to the left, I could see Norman Bay with Squeaky Beach on our right. It was a strange sensation to be standing right out in the middle of the sea, trying to imagine a time when this was one solid stone face. Through years of erosion, the two huge bays had been produced giving testament to the sheer power possessed by the ocean below.
‘Bomber, why is the sand so squeaky on that beach’ I said pointing towards Squeaky beach ‘and not on Norman Bay? It just seems strange when they’re both so close together
‘I’ve heard it’s something to do with the quartz content in the sand. But I can’t be sure mate’
‘Just how squeaky is it?’ Grant asked
‘Honestly? You probably won’t notice it’ Bomber said with a smile.
Much to our disappointment, he was right. Climbing down from the rocks, I must admit I was quite excited imagining some sort of orchestral noise occurring when my foot made contact with the quartz sand below. Sadly, I was let down . There was no squeak. There was no noise at all really. I was ultimately a very frustrated victim of false advertising. Not to worry though, for this was a splendid beach which I only had to share with five others. There was a man walking his dog, a couple walking hand-in-hand, Bomber and Grant. Just like earlier, I truly appreciated the remoteness but couldn’t believe such a beautiful spot had remained this untouched.
‘Come on Granty boy, let’s go for a swim’ I said dumping my stuff on the beach
‘Watch out lads cos there’s some strong rips around here. You don’t want to end up like poor old Harold Holt’ Bomber said as we ran off down the beach
‘Harold who?’ I enquired, stopping suddenly in my tracks
‘Harold Holt – he was Prime Minister of Australia back in the 1960s. One day however, he decided to go for a quick dip in the sea near Portsea and was never seen again’
‘He just disappeared?’ Grant asked ‘was it a shark attack?’
‘Nobody knows – he simply vanished. Experts in the area think the most likely scenario was a drowning as there were really strong rips around’
‘What exactly are rips? Grant asked again
‘They’re strong and unpredictable currents which can easily deceive and drown the most experienced swimmer. So you guys watch yourselves’
‘But how the hell are we going to see them? How can we watch out?’ I demanded
‘Hmmm, good point. Well, if you feel yourself going under just make loads of noise and pray someone comes to help you. Sure as hell won’t be me though, I’m going for quick nap.’
With Bomber’s words still ringing, and the unfortunate death of Harold Holt in my mind, I only ventured a few metres into the water. Of course, this decision was made a lot easier for me by the freezing temperature. Even so, the strength of the currents around the beach were very apparent, almost knocking me off my feet on numerous occasions. Determined not to meet such an unfortunate end, I made my way back to camp and threw my wet towel on Bomber’s smiling, sleeping face. Gant too had been a little put off by the story of woe, so we decided to stay on land for the remainder of the trip. With that in mind, we got the map out and planned the afternoon’s activities. Having run over a couple of ideas, Bomber made a suggestion
‘Well guys, we’ve got very limited time here so you’re not going to be able to see much. I think we should do what we can to try and take in as much as possible. And where can you do that? Up there’ he said, pointing behind us towards the top of Mount Bishop ‘from up there, you can see The Prom at its very best’
‘Ok Bomber, it’s just the name that puts me off – Mount Bishop. You see, it has the word ‘mount’ in it which suggests a lot of effort will be required to reach the summit’ I said in response
‘Don’t worry, it’s not too bad a climb and we don’t need to go all the way to the top – I know a great look-out point. Trust me, this will be the best way to see this place’
We began the hike by crossing the inlet at tidal river. Apparently (as the name would suggest) it varies in depth quite dramatically during different tides and has been known to flood sporadically. Thankfully (for the young toddler paddling along the shoreline), it was rather shallow on this occasion. Reaching the base of the mount, I peered skywards towards the rocky peak, contemplating the task in front of us. For the past 2 months I had been encouraging children to challenge themselves and now I found myself in a similar situation. Focusing on the glory that would greet us at the top, we set off at a quick pace entering some typical Australian bush land. The climb wasn’t too steep during these initial stages which allowed us to enjoy the wonderful wildlife in the surrounding environment. Our first sighting (and my first in Australia) was a Kookaburra sitting nonchalantly in nearby gum tree, making a noise that sounded distinctly like an overweight man laughing. After a quick photograph session and a few cricket bat jokes, we soon continued on our way, progressing deeper into a forest that looked distinctly like the Amazon rainforest. It seemed that even in this short 3km walk, the diversity of the Australian countryside could be seen in all its glory. From the open, light and relatively dry Kookaburra filled land, we now found ourselves deep under a thick canopy, navigating around ferns larger than Shane Warne’s ego. Stopping for lunch, we sat down and ate at ‘The Quaint Place’ which had a lovely view dedicated to the lives of those rangers who had served The Prom throughout many years. We sat in silence and simply admired the setting in front of our very eyes before. Then, just as I was tucking into a piece of cheese, I saw something from the corner of my eye. A flash of crimson I thought, but when I turned there was nothing to be seen. Going back to my lunch, I tried to ignore it, thinking it must simply be a trick of the light. But then it happened again - this time though the colour was a deep purple. I tried to ignore it again, but in an instant I was surrounded by four of the most vibrant birds I had ever seen.
‘What are they?’ I asked Bomber as they all began to converge on my sandwich
‘Rosella parrots’ Bomber shouted back ‘they’re native to Australia’
I had never heard of them, but here in front of me, scavenging at my feet like city pigeons, were four of the most flamboyant birds I have ever seen. Even the rainbow itself could not produce such rich and elegant colours. They were the sort of magical creature a child would produced in their colouring-in book and you would simply reject as being a part of their overactive imagination. Incredibly, they were real and trying to steal my lunch. I felt bad kicking (be it rather gently) something that displayed such impressive flair, however, nobody takes my food without a fight.
Passing back from The Amazon, we began towards the summit and hit a landscape that looked somewhat like The Rocky Mountains of Colorado. This truly had been a remarkable journey so far and I couldn’t believe the best was yet to come. Finally, we had reached the peak. Well, it wasn’t really a peak – more a gathering of rocks that formed an impressive overhang facing east. With mount Bishop producing such an air of permanence and stability, these rocks appeared awfully vulnerable, but Bomber assured us that we had to venture out if the view were to be appreciated. To me, that sounded like the exact speech a serial killer would give, just prior to pushing his unsuspecting victims off a cliff. Still, ‘the view will probably be worth it’ I thought and duly began climbing up the sides of the huge boulders with Grant. There were no safety railings or nets, it was simply us and nature. Pulling myself up, I resisted the temptation to glimpse a peak and instead gave Grant a hand up onto his feet. When we eventually turned however, the view was quite simply breathtaking. In fact, it was more than breathtaking – it was awe inspiring. Looking across the sea front, we could see the beaches we had so happily walked along earlier that day and could just about make out others enjoying them now. Tracing a line with our hands, we mapped out the route we had taken along our hike from Squeaky Beach. I was impressed with our achievement as this wonderful secret garden, soared to an even higher level in my estimation. Along the way, all its enchanting qualities had revealed themselves to us, but now we stood and tried to take them all in at once. The result was overwhelming and indescribable. I actually considered not writing about it at all, as there are simply no words that could possibly do it justice. We each sat on our own rock and looked out towards sea. Being so far out from Mount Bishop itself, I felt like I was simply floating gently through the air.
‘Do you ever get bored of this place?’ I asked Bomber
‘Mate, I’ll tell you now that this is one of those places nobody could ever possibly get bored of. Not because there’s so much to do, or so much entertainment going on, but because every time you come back it fills you such an overwhelming feeling. I’m not even sure what the feeling is – you can’t describe it to anyone, but everyone feels it. You know what I mean? It’s an incredible feeling and one I only really experience here. That makes it worth coming back and so I could never get bored. It is one of those truly special regions on this Earth and should be treasured – not just by Victorians, but by everyone’
And with that, two Wedge-Tailed Eagles flew out from the cliffs and circled high above our heads.
We left early the next morning just as the sun was rising on the horizon. Luckily, there was still time to complete our Australian wildlife tour in style as six kangaroos and two emus crossed the road in front of our car. As I watched these defining national symbols silhouette themselves against the poignant red sunlight, I thought about Bomber’s words and felt a real sense of satisfaction - for in this small corner of the country, I had experienced the real Australia. This was not a place you read about in tourism brochures or saw on postcards. Nor was it a marketing trap set up for commercial gain. It was genuine Australia, finally revealing itself to the world in one small, enchanting flash. I felt lucky to have captured it.
