13.3.11 – The Great Ocean Road

13.3.11 – The Great Ocean Road (Victoria, Australia)

One of the things we can do now that we’re in the caravan is to have a good going argument, and we availed ourselves of this opportunity last night.  The issue was the proposed route for tomorrow.  The choice was brief but boring, or exotic and extra winding and long.  Eventually a truce was negotiated and we sloped off to McDonalds where we knew we could get the three essentials of life – WiFi access, air conditioning and ice cream.  Next day, we left at 8.30 am, taking the exotic option – the Great Ocean Road.  We drove through a quiet and sunny Melbourne, out on towards Geelong, coming off the highway in search of a church, it being Sunday morning.  Almost at once we found St. Luke’s Uniting Church, but although it was only 9.45 am, they were already 15 minutes into the service.  They are clearly early risers here.  We crept in to a high roofed, bright modern building to catch rest of the service, and this proved to be well worth it, as were the pancakes, maple syrup and ice cream served up afterwards.  The folk could not have been more friendly and warm, nor the pancakes more scrumptious. 

The Great Ocean Road

The Great Ocean Road winds westwards, clinging to the cliff side, bend following tightly on hairpin bend.  Now it sweeps down to make conversation with the seemingly infinite numbers of golden coves; now it swings upwards again at crazy angles to the next pinnacle, where the road widens briefly to provide the ever-present lookout point. 

Frustrated Surfers

Some of the beaches were long and the sea crowded with surfers, like corks bobbing on the waves far below.  The wind had freshened, roughening the waves into chaotic peaks, which did not seem to suit the surfers needs, so few were able to stand on their boards for long without splashing spectacularly into the turquoise green rollers.  These rollers belong to the Southern Ocean, and there is very little between us and Antarctica, far over the horizon.

Mount Defiance Lookout is perched on the cliff edge.  The story is that, in 1803,  a convict called William Buckley escaped from a camp near Melbourne, and somehow got this far (about 50 miles) through incredibly unforgiving terrain, eating only leaves and berries and such like not very nutricious foods.  His health failing, he finally holed up below where the lookout now stands and lived there for some considerable time, until loneliness overcame him. He decided to give himself up, and began to retrace his steps.  But an Aboriginal Tribe found him, cared for him, and took him to live with them for the next 32 years.  Eventually, he was found, pardoned, and ultimately became a politician in Tasmania.  It is for the reader to consider whether this was an improvement in his lifestyle or not.

Our journey for today ended on a campsite where a cosmopolitan selection of campers in variegated types of accommodation, from complex tented structures which seemed to use every geometric shape possible incorporating multi-coloured canvas, spindly poles and a rigging of guy ropes that would have graced a clipper ship, to ancient Volkswagen vans, spray painted with psychedelic patterns and slogans, to neat and sedate hired vans like ours.  And so the sun set, laying out a blanket of peach coloured cloud above us and reddening the cliffs across the wide reed beds on either side of the inlet from the sea, while the ever present crickets chorused loudly in the grass.