A Road Less Travelled

Excited to set off!

Thus far, the road trip is going more or less how I’d expected it; spectacular scenery, lots of laughs, camping in the middle of nowhere; the easy lifestyle of a travelling gypsy. Rather unfortunately for me, Steve and Heather’s ‘shotgun’ tradition from the last trip has carried on to this one; each time a new camp site is reached, there is a communal poking-and-chugging of beer. It’s a rather celebrational tradition which has the best of intentions – but so far on this trip we’ve had a new campsite every night. (Stay tuned for the highlights reel.)

The minute we left the big smoke, the clouds were angry and shouting rain. It lasted like this for 3-4 days, the storm whipping up some gnarly waves along the Great Ocean Road. We struck out from Melbourne and landed pretty close to home – Apollo Bay. According to tradition, we all pow-pow-pow’ed and nestled in for the night to our humble dinner of liver pate and red wine, listening to 15ft waves sledgehammer the shore and the rain knock on our rooftop.

We moved on the next day and roamed into Cape Otway to show Tim the wild koalas. We spotted them in their usual spots (including Lady Gaga herself, at her same address) but it was too blustery to make a hobby out of it. We missioned onward, winding down muddy pathways in native forest, passing sopping wallabies and koalas in fetal position. Once at our destination, Blanket Bay, the rain eased up and we were freed from our white cage on wheels. Of course, Steve was itching to get his line wet, and luckily we ran into some vacationing blokes who lent us some of their bait and advice. We didn’t end up catching anything but the view was stunning. That night, Dick and Trav cooked us a mean dinner of their specialty sausage dish and we star gazed for the Southern Cross and roving  satellites before we hit the pillows.

Pushing through the bullying wind, we safely made it to Pinks Beach the following eve. I can’t really say much about Pinks Beach besides they had lots of seaweed on their shore and bugs in their toilets, but it was free and had a beautiful sunset. Tim made a delicious pasta and meatball dish for tea while we chilled out to some CCR like the hippies of another time.

The next day we nicked through Adelaide to pick up our good friend Johnny from the airport. Once we grabbed him, it was already dark, but we were eager to put some distance between us and the city. We ventured through the early part of the evening and arrived in Port Parham to sleep. The next morning we awoke to see that the ocean had peeled itself back from the shore. 500m off, people with rakes were dotted across the horizon. After making some enquiries, we discovered that they were hunting for Blue Swimmer Crabs. Not the kind of people to pass up a challenge, the four of us kicked off our ‘thongs’ and scampered out through the weed in search of some gourmet crustaceans,  armed with a plastic bag and a butter knife. Once we had waded what seemed like miles out in the calf-deep water, we stopped to talk to an old man who had a bucket full of the buggers. He started to laugh at us and pointed at his wellies, explaining that the crabs we were looking for were nestled like land mines in the sand right under our naked feet! He wished us luck and we continued much more cautiously – until the tables turned and the crabs started to hunt us! Johnny got bitten first, and mid-commotion Steve got bitten as well! We had two crabs on our inexperienced hands! Both were quickly captured and held prisoner.

Everyone was on high alert as we cautiously poked and prodded the ocean floor. The boys also discovered, and “spear-hunted” a puffer fish! We left that poisonous little beauty where it was though, knowing full well we couldn’t eat it. Once we had 4 unlucky crawlers we headed apprehensively back to shore, and cooked them right up on our camper stove. Although they didn’t heed much meat, they were delicious and as fresh as you can get!

Lowly Point in Whyalla is where we ended up the next day for camp. Unfortunately this beautiful spot was cursed with relentless flies so we didn’t spend too much time outside, save for our group shotgun and some handstands and rock-skipping on the beach.  

The next day it was a short jaunt to Port Lincoln – what we’ve found to be the friendliest city in Australia so far. Every single person we came into contact with went above and beyond their care of duty to help us out. Even 16-year-old boys loitering at the gas station went so far as to find us a map and follow us to our destination to make sure we arrived safely when we asked for directions.( I may come back here to mother my children one day in hopes these manners rub off.)

A short story that further epitomizes the friendliness of Port Lincoln involves a man named Michael. Once we arrived and parked, Steve got out to ask the i-site for camping information and the rest of us waited at the van. A man was passing by with a bucket and some fishing rods and Johnny asked, “You have any luck out there?” At this, he immediately turned 90 degrees and bee-lined it over to us. After about an hour long chat with Michael, we knew his life story and the gossip of the town. The retiree with back problems donated about 6 King George whiting and 1 squid to our crew which we filleted, battered and BBQ’d at Billy Light Boat Ramp. That night we didn’t indulge in many bevies as the next day, we all had pins and needles for Great White Shark cage diving.

October 6^th was like living a day in a National Geographic. Steve, Johnny, Tim and I rose with dawn to join other thrill-addicts on the Calypso Star II. Everyone’s eyes were filled with a quiet excitement knowing that in a matter of hours we would all be submerged into 16 degree sea water filled with chum, and look right into the peppercorn eyes of a Great White.

Holding in my cookies

The morning started out fine – coffee and croissants, tutting out of the bay; but soon things turned rough as we passed the shelter of land and headed out into the deep blue. 4-5 meter swells rose up to greet us, and although I popped some Gravol, it was too late. I spent the entire 3 hour ride clinging to the railing and keeping a death-glare on the horizon. Steve stayed with me during the entire traumatic experience, rubbing my back and keeping me company. Finally, the torture was over as we sidled up to the Neptune Islands and anchored. (Past this point, the next land is Antarctica!) As a climax to the seasickness, I gracefully spewed my breakfast into the appointed bag and was done with the illness for the rest of the day. (Thank goodness!)

As soon as we had anchored, the teenage crew started hucking carcasses of Tuna into the ocean. They were attached by rope and each had its own white bobber which dipped and dobbed cheerily with the sea. Fish guts and blood spewed from the side of the boat in voluntary spurts, laying a trail of breadcrumbs for the beasts. It didn’t take long for them to sniff out an easy snack. The massive steel cage was lowered behind the boat and group 1 suited up. We all watched on as the iconic fin rose from obscurity, a dark grey shadow beneath it; the shark would break the surface, cruising for the tuna. At the last minute, the deckhands would yank the bait out of the way, so the sharks would once again circle around for a mouthful.

We were group 3. By this time we had seen 2 groups go in and return unscathed. To be honest, I wasn’t scared at all. I don’t think anyone was. You can choose to believe this or not, but I don’t think any of us held any terror in our hearts as we stretched into our wetsuits. We were full of nervous excitement, awe and disbelief – but we knew we were far from any situation that played out in Jaws. (Although Jaws was filmed at the same location!)

One by one, we lowered ourselves into the cage, regulator in mouth. With gumption, I set out down the ladder quickly, only to be astonished once the water hit me. Freezing doesn’t begin to describe it! It was actually hard to catch my breath with the shock of the cold, combined with the steady pump of adrenaline in my blood. I ascended the ladder a little and held on with my mask in the water as I practiced a few breaths and let my body temperature regulate. Once I was breathing normally, I slid to the bottom of the cage with the others.

It didn’t take 5 minutes to see our first shark. In fact, we had a total of 7 sharks cruising around our boat the entire day. On our personal dive, we were privy to 3. One 4 meter one with spots on his tail, a smaller one, and a massive 5 meter brute with scars and battle markings all over his body. These three put on a humbling show for us, striking the tuna bait and sashaying past us, sometimes close enough to touch. Like the horror movies, the monsters would materialize out of the grainy blue, approaching with their famous ‘wiggle.’

Once the 45 minutes were up, we scaled the walls of the cage and back onto the boat. Paralyzed with cold, and mind reeling with the recent showing, none of us could utter a proper sentence. It was only after we indulged in a hot shower, bringing the blood back to our cheeks that we reveled in the experience. The rest of the day we spent watching the rest of the groups go and return as we did, with the same vigour and speechlessness that we had had. We looked on as the creatures visited port and starboard; leaping, sweeping past, snapping and splashing as nature built them to behave. We never tired of the magnificent sight.

The day was a long one; trying to get his money’s worth, Tim managed to slurp back 7 coffees by the time we arrived back to dock in the evening. We were barely able to drink a West End and watch the footage from the day before our heavy eyelids surrendered, and we slipped away safely in our bunks at the YHA in Port Lincoln.

Everyone was in a funny mood the day after the cage diving; quiet, tired, contemplative. We drove out to Coffin Bay National Park mostly in silence. We munched a tuna sandwich sitting on the edge of some cliffs overlooking a beautiful turquoise seascape. When we arrived at the chosen campsite, it wasn’t much too look at so we decided to explore the park in hopes of finding a better beach. We definitely found one in Avoid Bay. Down a road that was dimpled with stones and potholes, we gently urged the van. When we reached the bottom, the journey still wasn’t over; we climbed over massive sand dunes, following a small path which opened up to a massive expanse of smooth sand and rolling ocean with layers of blue leading out to the sky. We decided to make that our home for the evening.

Actually, this particular evening held more action than usual for our troupe. Nobody really woke up until we all had a round of coffees at 6pm. Steve and Johnny were compelled to hook into a shark and had it in their minds that this beach was going to deliver. Tim and I brought dinner down to the shore and watched those two fish-crazy brethren scramble to set up lines and berley bags and hooks and leaders and rod holders.  The sun slid out of the sky and was replaced by a sliver of a moon.

It didn’t take long before the small silver bell on the tip of the rod started ringing to warn of the fish on the other end of the line. In the semi-blackness, under the Milky Way, Steve reeled in a 10lb Australian Salmon! We were all leaping around in excitement at the big catch. We released the fish back into the great beyond and started the perilous trek back to the van with our flashlights aimed strictly on the narrow trail in front of us.

The next morning after some less eventful fishing and a round-robin tournament of com-cean paddle ball, we lumbered back up the dusty unkempt trail to the main road. It certainly isn’t a road that’s travelled much, and that’s probably what makes it so great. Maybe great things that aren’t discovered by many are treasured by all.