The Great Ocean Road Redux

Sitting along the spectacular shoreline
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Our tour of the Great Ocean Road, or the Great Bloody Ocean Road as some like to call it, may have rather stunk, but that doesn't mean we weren't impressed with the Road itself. It was magical actually, minus the manic chatting of a disturbed tour guide. So we rented a car with B and G and decided to see it in the proper way, with friends, camping under the stars instead of holed up in buzzing hostels. A Melbournian, Gary suggested traveling down the Mornington Peninsula and Magda declared that we should visit scenic vineyards along the way. Being Good Friday, many of the tastings were closed, but we managed to stop at enough to make us appreciate the quality wines of the area. And the quality beer on tap at a little pub, The Pig and Whistle, that is nestled in the lush green hills outside of the town of Flinders. We made our way leisurely down to the ferry that bridges the outlet of Port Phillips Bay on which the greater Melbourne area is situated. In the evening we bedded down at the same camping area in which some of Gary's friends had rented a beach cabin. We had another long, wine infused evening which unfortunately left me blind in one eye in the morning.

Girls in the Grass
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We left after a leisurely breakfast and more good conversation with Gary's friends and their kids and headed to Torquay, the sight of the Bells Beach Surf Classic which was fortunately being held that weekend. The Bells Beach Classic is the world's longest running surf competition, famed for the waves that reliably show up every Easter weekend to give the competitors plenty of action. Don't ask me how the waves know it's Easter, I still can't figure out how the bunny decides when it is. We waited in a short line, short considering it is one of the world's most famous surf competitions, and headed down to the beach to watch the competition. The whole thing was classically Australian in its laid back atmosphere and casual organization. The announcers kept mentioning how crowded the beach was, but actually there was plenty of room and we even found a place in the shade, directly under the TV cameras. The beach was somewhat busy, but was empty compared to Coney Island on any given warm Saturday afternoon.

In Which the Easter Bunny Shows us the Way

Rip Curl
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High tide had tempered some of the normally reliable waves, but we saw plenty of good action. It turned out that the winners of each heat were brought up to the place we were sitting for interviews afterwards so we had a great view of the competitors. Hordes of children plastered with sunscreen and broad brimmed hats swarmed over us whenever a famous surfer was brought by for an interview. The fact that we don't know anything about surfing didn't stop us from enjoying the day, and cheering on some of the spectacular moves that it doesn't take a genius to figure out are somewhat difficult. We were on hand for some of the moments that we'd later seen played over and over in the Bells Beach highlight reel. Can we take credit for some of the moves? Maybe.

At sunrise
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We weren't awarded a surfing trophy but we did each receive a pretty red nose from the sun. We had a little ways to drive still before reaching our planned camping spot near the Twelve Apostles and were starting to worry slightly about the crowds we might find there. After having stopped for an ice cream along the way, we realized that the sun was drifting downwards. Our idea was to reach the Twelve Apostles at around sunset for optimal photography conditions. We raced across through the little towns that dot the Great Ocean Road, up into the Eucalyptus forests that grow along the road as it leaves the coast for a time, and finally down a long hill that leads back towards the sea. By the time we were out of the hills the sun was flickering above the horizon. By the time we reached the coast, all that was left of the sun was an bright pink halo casting faint light on the cliffs just before the twelves apostles.  Our disappointment turned around though as almost at exactly the same time that the halo started to grow faint, the fat full Easter moon blossomed on the opposite horizon. The cows grazing in the field just under the rising white disk started running around, bucking each other like rams.

The View From Our Tent
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Under the light of the moon we headed for a campground that Gary and Bojana had stayed at a few months ago and had found to be deserted at that time. Unfortunately the Easter rush was on and it looked like an over-run gypsy camp when we pulled in. We pulled back out again, feeling irrepressibly optimistic in this wide open country, under the full light of the shining moon. We ate fish and chips in a tiny village on a hill overlooking the gypsy camp and the silvery river that ran beside it to the open water beyond. The little town was as surly as it was pretty, we were foiled at every turn, with every option we explored. Camp sites in the town were full. A bed and breakfast with a huge rolling empty back yard refused to be charmed by the kindly American who swore he would pack his tent up and go the first thing in the morning. The fish and chip lady gave us the evil eye when we asked for ketchup. And yet, maybe it was the moon, the whole situation seemed hilarious. We all couldn't stop giggling. It was as if all these dead ends were directing us to our true, pre-ordained, campsite.

More Rip Curl
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After fish and chips we were driving through the darkness with the moonlit ocean glimmering on our left. We scouted out the parking lot at Loch Ard Gorge, hoping it would shelter at least four more lost travelers. The parking lot was too open though, too close to the 'no camping' sign.

I think we saw the wallaby just as we were turning down a little dirt path towards the ocean, but thinking back it seems he was standing there as if pointing the way. Maybe a little over dramatic. Actually at the time I swore he looked exactly like the Easter Bunny as he stood patiently, waiting to cross the road. He did not have a little basket though. We drove through the car high brush until we reached a tiny parking lot and pulled over. We scouted further and further down the dirt path, looking for the perfect place to illegally pitch our tents. The path was clear in the moonlight and we walked without torches down to the start of the dunes and the sounds of crashing surf. Next to a tidal stream, on a hill of sand, bathed in the silver light of the moon we knew we had arrived.

From our campsite we had a commanding view of a crescent shaped bay, the stream dry where the tide had washed out its bed. Shear limestone cliffs walled us in on the right hand side and a steep brush covered hill blocked us in on the other. The waves exploded dramatically, the white foam shining in the darkness. We drank wine next to a lit candle outside of the tents, next to a little candle and toasted to our success. Only vaguely concerned that we might get discovered in the world's most perfect camping spot, we went to sleep next to the continuous din from the violence that the waves preformed against the rocks. In the morning we woke up, undiscovered, to a moon-set over the still choppy sea. The sun rose behind us, spraying clouds and limestone cliffs alike with a orange-pink flame. Easter breakfast was held on the cliffs above the beach with coffee, granola and toasted hot-crossed buns. We explored our little bay until as the sun climbed in the sky, intruders walking in from Loch Ard Gorge began to arrive and to chase away our solitude. We left our little bay sadly but grateful for its hospitality. After a few short walks of our own we headed back. We stopped in Apollo Bay, yet again, for more coffee and a quick swim in the chilly surf. It was very refreshing, especially since we hadn't had a shower, though we still smelled a bit salty for the trip back home.