Yesterday I finally made both my deadlines, and we’d had just about enough of work, so we took the afternoon off, and while the fiance was finishing off the final touches on his work for the day, I played ‘find a new place’ with Google maps. I found somewhere that I was pretty sure we’d never been to before, and considering it was in the middle of the kind of area that is known best as ‘through’. You get to nice places through other bits, the ‘through’ places are the ones with the petrol stations, and the 24hr mcdonalds and the truck stops, but they’re just flat straight kind of places where trucks can park.
So I wasn’t really hoping for much, as a lot of this side of Western Port Bay are little fishing/holiday villages in mangrove swamps, but hey it was better than staring at my screen, or going someplace we’d already been heaps of times and just looking out of the car at it.
Eventually we turn down a road with a sign leading to somewhere I swear the fiance said was ‘Jail and Preschool’ (turns out it was JLM preschool), and we’re into new territory for us. It’s lush green flat farmland. The whole area used to be under the sea at some point, and it’s still very close to sea level, so it floods a lot. It was very wet, and most of the poor cows looked like they were wearing dark brown pants.
We wind around some roads, and I can see the water in the distance. I navigate us based on roughly where I thought the pretty bits would be, and we see the little jetty. It’s really quite nice and peaceful here.
Being thoroughly burnt out and needing some real world for a while, we got out and started to walk. I had read that there was a car ferry from Coranella that takes you to French Island (which is mostly national park, and has restrictions on what you can build/do there). There just doesn’t seem to be anywhere that you could actually drive on to a car ferry at all, it’s just… a bit small. So walking around the bay, we get to a bunch of old wooden posts in the water, and we jokingly say ‘this must be the ferry terminal’ (turns out it is). There’s this huge pelican sitting on top of one of the posts, and half the time I think he’s a carving, he’s utterly motionless.
It’s still reasonably warm, and the sun is shining down as we walk around the grassy area next to the bay, and then, as you’d expect, the grass recedes and it’s sand and rocks. Or so I thought, but I won’t spoil the surprise, because hey, I still didn’t know at this point, so you can find out like I did.
We’re happily clomping over the rocks, me in my $10 cheapo shoes, and I’m admiring the rock formations, there’s so many colours in them, deep iron red, and a bright yellow, and a strange blue-grey colour.
The fiance ends up having to take a support call, so I take the chance to sit down for a bit, cheap shoes don’t help when walking.
I’m sitting there for a little while, enjoying the sun on my back, when I notice that my butt is getting cold and kinda damp. Cold rock, I think, and as I’m putting my hand down to help myself back up, the rock feels… clammy, and kinda slippery. I scratch it, it’s clay. This lovely looking rock, in fact almost all this lovely looking rock we’ve been clambering around on is clay of different types. The seat of my jeans is covered in clay, my shoes are utterly ruined (good thing they were cheap)… and my fun isn’t really happening any more.
I didn’t really want to say anything, because the fiance is having a really nice time, and he’s been working hard too, so we keep walking around the bay, my shoes getting ever so much worse, until my feet actually start hurting, at which point we turn back.
It was starting to get a bit dark, and with my butt still damp (and clay covered) from the fake-rock, we made our way slowly back to the car, and headed out. Next time, I think we’re going to try to get to French Island, and explore there, which will either be fun (if we can take the car), or tiring (if I have to ride my bicycle, me != fit).
On the way back we passed a bunch of people out walking their dogs, which is really nice to see, there was a beautiful brindle Staffy, and a lady had a little scruffy mop on a string which was valiently struggling to go walkies with her. It’d be a kind of nice place for a holiday home.