28 Degrees

by Dot English

from The Bushwalker Magazine 1947

Being seized with one of our periodical urges to exercise which afflict us but seldom in this city of scrambled seasons, we decided, as it was midsummer, to spend a fortnight somewhere in that region of Victoria known as the Western Coastal District, a name somewhat misleading to novices as it faces directly south-east.

The southern extremity of this coast is stormy Cape Otway, the continent's second most southerly tip, standing sentinel over treacherous Bass Strait in which lies King Island, the scene of many wrecks in the early days of the colony. Ome such wreck, causing the greatest loss of life. was that of an emigrant ship from England whose four hundred odd passengers (men, women and children) were drowned. Many bodies were washed ashore, but as the local inhabitants had only one spade on the island, it was inadequate for the job of grave digging, so an appeal appeared in the Melbourne papers of the day for volunteers to go to the island and take spades to help bury the victims. At the same time a protest was lodged against the authorities who, although this wreck was by no means the first on that shore, still failed to put a beacon light on the island.

We already knew Torquay and Anglesea, having had a biking-camping trip there Christmas, 1942. Lorne, the next place mentioned on the map, is too much of a tourist resort, so we decided to skip it and continue on to Apollo Bay. One goes by train from 14elbourne 45 miles to Geelong, then 70 miles by service car round a high road cut into the cliff faces and consisting chiefly of continuous c-shaped curves. On the landward side lies a long range of steep hills called mountains, off which the rains run freely and frequently so that, in a distance of 30 miles, twenty-flve rivers and creeks course down to the sea.

It was drizzling when we got out of the car somewhat sick and sorry for our respective selves, and facing the rather desolate prospect of grey sea, cold, wet sand and no place particular to go.

We had been told that we could buy provisions at the local shops, but our informant failed to mention that country shops here go in for a midweek half holiday, and of course to-day was it. A foraging tour of the shopping centre revealed some sort of a fish restaurant open, where we had a meal and fed 'the infant her little selection of private victuals. Then, somewhat consoled, we once more faced the open road.

We passed a couple of inhabited motor camps with the usual sprinkling of uninviting concrete buildings. Curious eyes gazed at the unfamiliar sight of two hikers plodding through the rain with dripping groundsheets covering their packs and flapping around their knees, and a twelvemonth-old baby in a sling in front, quite enjoying the novel situation

The rain eased off, but the road went on and on. To the left lay the wild sea shore, breathing out loneliness and desolation and to the right were fenced sheep paddocks. As the situation showed no sign of improving, we decided to pitch camp a couple of miles out from the township and do a bit of scouting around next day when the weather might be kinder.

The late sun shivered out spasmodically from behind scudding cloud as we abdulled the tent low to the ground in a small saucer-like depression among the sparse, coarse grass and low, storm-weathered scrub of the sand dunes. Seagulls screeched up and down the deserted beach and out on the leaden sea a flock of black swans rocked on the waves, caring little whether or not we imperfectly warm-blooded humans liked the general effect of grey skies, cold wind and .showers.

The baby was fed and bedded down In her hammock slung under a nearby bush, and we were not long in following suite. There were more scattered showers and all night long the wind moaned over our hollow the tent flapped the temperature sagged through the shivering thirties and we wondered whether perhaps it howled less Insistently around our third-floor flat back in Melbourne.

Here we spent ten days, shone on by a pale and fickle sun and rained on by Irregular showers. Exploration trips round the Ironbound coast, while the small one slept In her hammock and kept the seagulls company, revealed vast sunless stretches of waste waters that beat on the black-fanged shore where long trailing streamers of yellow-brown seaweed waved hopelessly with the tides; precipitous hills rising straight up from the sea and covered head high with Incredibly prickly bushes; a black mans of rock separated from the mainland by a narrow channel, called Seal Rooks, which belied Its name by having no sign of life, either vegetable or animal Shelly Beach, some distance further round, was at least true to label, being covered with cartloads of shells.

It was pleasant one fine evening when we act off for a prowl about In the hilly sheep paddocks, leaving the little elf Infant asleep under the green bush, her white hammock shining In the soft twilight soft an a summer moth. The setting sun was crowning the hills with a greenfold aura as we crossed by a footbridge over the river where, the wild black swans rocked above their reflections by the reedy margin. A soft sea mist clung to the hollows, but we turned our backs to the sea and, set our eyes on the highest point of the nearby range of hills. They were well grassed and steep, and reminded me of the green and happy hills of New Zealand where I climbed so long and long ago. From the top we saw the coast in miniature stretching away In beautiful curves, lines of foam making a lacy fringe to a vivid lapis lazuli sea which misted towards the, horizon, to merge with a sky of slightly deeper hue. 'We descended in the gentle twilight and thanked our stars for this one glimpse of the Better land, vouchsafed to us because the weather gods chose to co-operate.

Warning of an approaching LOW on the daily weather map decided us to vacate before we were flooded out of our hollow.

"And to think," I said sadly as we huddled in the service car watching the. scowling rain, "that only five or six hundred miles north you can lie on the beach and bask cat's hours in the sun any old day of the week."

"That may be so," replied Ira, who always likes to see the whole of the picture, "but If you go a similar distance south you strike the northern limit of drift ice from the Antarctic~"

That was an aspect of the situation which had -not occurred to me. I pondered it the rest of the way home.