We did a mini roadtrip east of Melbourne this weekend -- along as far as the Lakes National Park in the Gippsland Lakes area, overnight in Sale, and back via Wilson's Promontory. Wish we'd had more time to go further, and do more...

Visually, this was all stunning. The river at Sale -- a cute, low-key marina, gorgeous gums, an old boathouse, and the historic swing bridge; the watery world of Gippsland -- morass, lagoon, and sea, all separated by splinters of land; pretty little country towns like Yarram; the glowing green of coastal Victoria; the surprisingly substantial granite mass of the Prom, with sweeping sea views; and the surely underrated coast road through Inverloch and Kilcunda. Not to mention saw-leaf banksias, which are quite a visual feast all by themselves.

Olfactorily, if there be such a word, the note was warmed eucalyptus. This was the balmiest weekend we've experienced for some time -- pleasantly in the low 20s, which is quite enough to get the essential oils vaporizing -- and walking amongst gums was like walking through a radox bath.

But above all, this was an auditory weekend, full of soundscapes. Here are some of them:

Any of our Aussie roadtrips includes the sounds of Genesis, Moby, Queen, Pink Floyd, and the like pumping through the hifi of our hire car. We don't have anything sophisticated in the way of sound systems at home, so part of hiring a car is hiring some speakers and listening to all our old favourites, beloved from many a previous adventure. But then roadtrips have their own sound quality, too. Ever stood just off the road, and listened to the tyres on the asphalt? There's a frequency that messes with your ears, and makes you think you're hearing things you're not.

We loved hearing the birds this weekend. Squawking sulphur-crested cockatoos, cackling kookaburras, chattering parrots, rasping seagulls doing their I-won't-tolerate-anyone-else-on-my-beach act -- all are welcome to apartment-dwelling ears. But we especially enjoyed the forest of songbirds that accompanied us up Mount Oberon, and the almost surreally exotic calls that echoed across the still water in the early misty morning at Sale Common.

Sale Common was also the source of another superb auditory experience. Never despise the musical qualities of the humble frog. We'd heard a bit of tuning up the day before at a couple of watery places, and we'd detected the distinctive note of the pobblebonk, or banjo frog. We first came across these guys on our Grampians trip, when we camped at Horsham. There'd been a lot of rain, and one evening we were drawn to what sounded like people playing guitars in the park by the river. Not guitars played by people, we discovered, but built-in banjos played by frogs. They formed part of a ravishing three-layered performance -- the shicka-shicka-shicka guys (some other frog?) doing the percussion, banjo frogs doing the plonking, and a whole host of others (crickets?) doing the flutey calls over the top. Truly one of the most amazing things I've ever heard. Well, at Sale in the early morning, they have a different three-part ensemble. Joining the lower-noted cluppa-cluppa-cluppa percussionists are frogs that do a rapid-rifle-fire, wireless-static sort of sound (very avant garde and pushing the boundaries), and, of course, the pobblebonks. As you moved round the wetland, the concentration of players varied, so the overall effect was always changing. With the dark water, the mist, the silvery cobwebs, and the birdcalls, it was extraordinarily atmospheric.

So, here's to ears -- thanks, guys, you made it a unique trip.