Deathmatch: the Apostles vs. Darwin

9 November 2009

Driving down through the heartland of Victoria to the Shipwreck Coast (sometimes they do very well with the names, to be fair). This is the southern coast, so we've come completely across the continent, from Darwin to a place called the Twelve Apostles—which just makes me smile a little bit. Apparently it only takes five weeks to progress from reason to religion.

Nothing between me and Antarctica, and as close as I ever plan to get. We're on the Southern Ocean here, which leads all the way to...well, Antarctica, I suppose. But in a land of great and harsh beauty, this place may take the cake. Sheer sandstone and limestone cliffs dropping into a white-capped turquoise sea, with the solitary remnants of ancient cliffs standing sentinel across the water as far as you an see. Some have arches carved from them, some are crumbling almost as you watch, most are gathered into groupings called things like London Bridge (which ironically partly fell down in 1991), the Apostles, and the Grotto. There are approximately 800 places to stop and gaze in awe, most empty until you get to the ones closest to Melbourne which are positively heaving with Chinese day trippers. Even for a person not exactly friends with mother nature, this coast is amazing.

One of the stops on what they call 'The Great Ocean Road' (we have also variously been on 'The Grand Pacific Way,' 'The New England Way,' and 'The Princes Highway,'--they really like naming stuff) is Loch Ard Gorge, named for the eponymous wrecked ship which made it 3 months from England only to smash up 50 feet from the coast while they were having an arrival party onboard, and all but 2 of the 54 crew and passengers drowned. The two who lived were both 18, an Irish girl and a crewman, who, despite the best efforts of maudlin Victorian newspapers, did not fall in love. Although he did ultimately survive four more shipwrecks and lost two sons to wrecks (nothing like just taking a hint, boys).

From here we followed the coastal road along to Queenscliffe, where we crossed Port Phillip Bay on a ferry nowhere near as interesting as the Caspian one, but infinitely less rusty. Up and over the Mornington Peninsula, picturesque home to lots of vineyards and an Arthur's Seat (lined with palm trees, just like in Edinburgh), and into Somerville for the night. We'd arrived when the convenient campgrounds were full up for some event on a local boat or something, and ended up in what amounts to a retirement park. With extremely nice bathrooms (hair dryer! hair dryer!). Down the South Gippsland Highway to...Gippsland.