After the perils of Wilson Promontory, any exposure to wild life was always going to be a risky proposition.
Undoubtedly sensing our trepidation, Dirk and Victoria lent us the Subaru for a trip up the GOR. Built after WW1 to employ demobilised soldiers, it took 18 months and 3000 men to excavate a path 250km long into the coastal rock. Remote communities were connected for the first time and the area developed rapidly.
From Abbotsford in Melbourne we drove to Torquay beach for lunch.
Following Lonely Planet's advice, we stalked the fairways of Anglesea Golf Club in search of the kangaroos that do much of the work of the green keepers. Two coffees and a slice of cake later it became apparent that they had retired from the heat of the day and we moved on, not entirely unhappy with our brief sojourn to middle class Victoria.
At Split Point Lighthouse we climbed to the highest elevation on the coast line and learned about the isolated life of the keeper and the small community that grew up around the tower. A combination of the remoteness of the location and the onset of the telegraph, for which a station was constructed adjacent to the lighthouse in 1854, caused bad feeling between the rival technologies.
The tower keeper was clearly reminded of his reduced status when the telegraph swept into town and provided the burgeoning colony with a near instantaneous means of communication. He must have felt a certain schadenfraude when the under sea telegraph cable from Split Point to Tasmania was severed in 1857. Already frosty relations cooled significantly to the point that tower keeper and telegraph manager, though living in houses less than 50m apart, communicated with each other by tart written missives directed via their respective headquarters in Melbourne, five days ride away.
The acrimonious correspondence can still be seen at the public records office but while the tower still warns shipping of the perils of Eagle Rock, the telegraph has been consigned to history.
Fire's burned dangerously close to hill side houses at Teddy's Lookout and the vista was heavily wreathed in smoke for 20 miles in either direction along the coast. Even the azure sea dulled as the smoke robbed it of its refraction. Inland and uphill, we hiked to Erskine Falls for spectacular views of a 40m cascade before pausing for longer than intended at Kennett River.
We searched long and hard, for Koalas in the trees there, but saw none. Until that is we saw one, and then saw dozens once we knew what we were looking for. High in the Eucalyptus trees, they sat wedged in the forks of branches, motionless and all but invisible. Undoubtedly benefitting from the narcotic effects of the Eucalyptus leaves that are their staple diet, they loll in a soporific state, waking only to eat, mate or occassionally stumble into the path of a passing car.
Wallabys bounded across the path ahead of us as we descended. Brightly coloured parrots ate from our hands, more fearful of each other than us.
Finally striking camp at Apollo Bay we spent a windy night adjusting tent pegs and tightening guy ropes as the tent bucked and rocked in the gale. Somewhere between dusk and dawn we snatched a few hours sleep and woke to clear skies as the front had blown through.
Undoubtedly sensing our trepidation, Dirk and Victoria lent us the Subaru for a trip up the GOR. Built after WW1 to employ demobilised soldiers, it took 18 months and 3000 men to excavate a path 250km long into the coastal rock. Remote communities were connected for the first time and the area developed rapidly.
From Abbotsford in Melbourne we drove to Torquay beach for lunch.
Following Lonely Planet's advice, we stalked the fairways of Anglesea Golf Club in search of the kangaroos that do much of the work of the green keepers. Two coffees and a slice of cake later it became apparent that they had retired from the heat of the day and we moved on, not entirely unhappy with our brief sojourn to middle class Victoria.
At Split Point Lighthouse we climbed to the highest elevation on the coast line and learned about the isolated life of the keeper and the small community that grew up around the tower. A combination of the remoteness of the location and the onset of the telegraph, for which a station was constructed adjacent to the lighthouse in 1854, caused bad feeling between the rival technologies.
The tower keeper was clearly reminded of his reduced status when the telegraph swept into town and provided the burgeoning colony with a near instantaneous means of communication. He must have felt a certain schadenfraude when the under sea telegraph cable from Split Point to Tasmania was severed in 1857. Already frosty relations cooled significantly to the point that tower keeper and telegraph manager, though living in houses less than 50m apart, communicated with each other by tart written missives directed via their respective headquarters in Melbourne, five days ride away.
The acrimonious correspondence can still be seen at the public records office but while the tower still warns shipping of the perils of Eagle Rock, the telegraph has been consigned to history.
Fire's burned dangerously close to hill side houses at Teddy's Lookout and the vista was heavily wreathed in smoke for 20 miles in either direction along the coast. Even the azure sea dulled as the smoke robbed it of its refraction. Inland and uphill, we hiked to Erskine Falls for spectacular views of a 40m cascade before pausing for longer than intended at Kennett River.
We searched long and hard, for Koalas in the trees there, but saw none. Until that is we saw one, and then saw dozens once we knew what we were looking for. High in the Eucalyptus trees, they sat wedged in the forks of branches, motionless and all but invisible. Undoubtedly benefitting from the narcotic effects of the Eucalyptus leaves that are their staple diet, they loll in a soporific state, waking only to eat, mate or occassionally stumble into the path of a passing car.
Wallabys bounded across the path ahead of us as we descended. Brightly coloured parrots ate from our hands, more fearful of each other than us.
Finally striking camp at Apollo Bay we spent a windy night adjusting tent pegs and tightening guy ropes as the tent bucked and rocked in the gale. Somewhere between dusk and dawn we snatched a few hours sleep and woke to clear skies as the front had blown through.
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