Stormy weekend in Port Albert
by prudence on 11-Jul-2011
The wind roared most of the weekend. But never mind. There was plenty of atmosphere.
We stayed at Rodondo, and breakfast in the big, warm, comfy kitchen was a great contrast to the mayhem happening outside.
The Tarra-Bulga park is a great destination for a windy day. Nearby Yarram, with its fine old buildings, is a handy centre for victualling up, and the drive after that -- through lush pasture, and then steep, green, ferny valleys -- is fantastic. Once you've dropped off the blustery ridge, you can walk through the forest in peace and shelter, even though the wind is powering along overhead like a train. We were delighted and mesmerized by the dance of a lyrebird. Unfazed by the storm, he stretched out those remarkable feathers, jumped, cavorted, and stamped, accompanying himself with an impressive series of exotic whoops and warbles. Stunning.
But there are other wonderful things at Tarra-Bulga too: venerable mountain ash, a profusion of ferns, and a graceful suspension bridge, for example. And when you've temporarily had enough of the cold, the Tarra-Bulga Guest House offers huge pots of tea, excellent snacks, a cheery open fire, and all the weekend newspapers.
Back on the storm-battered coast, McLoughlins Beach provides a boardwalk-and-wetland trail across to Ninety Mile Beach. Again there was a dramatic contrast between the windy bits, with the gale tanking across the water, and the calm bits, in the shelter of the scrub. And this time we were treated to some formation flying by a couple of pelicans, who managed to make a gale look like a lot of fun. The elements are busy knocking the stuffing out of the coastline here, though. The erosion is palpable, with the once supportive legs of the beach access structure now resting on nothing but air.
Sunday brought a power cut -- unsurprisingly, given the amount of vegetation that seemed to come down during the course of the weekend. But our landlady gamely fired up the gas stove and the wood burner, and breakfast was not a problem.
For the rest of the morning we played cat-and-mouse with the rain that today added itself into the stormy mix. Bent double against the gale at times (it felt like walking uphill), we battled our way along the foreshore towards the old port, until the way was blocked by a deep puddle that went well beyond the operational remit of our footwear. Back in town, we did the first few rooms of the Maritime Museum without the aid of electricity. But it obligingly came back on in time to see the dark bit at the back on the wreck of the Clonmel. And electricity also meant the General Store was serving lunch.
We popped briefly in at Port Welshpool, to survey more bleak but impressive coastal scenery (from behind glass this time), and then pointed the car's nose back to Melbourne.
Various photos are here.
All the way along from the Prom to the eastern lakes, this is the "land between". Swamp-land, dune-land, sea that is sheltered by narrow strips of peninsula and island -- it's a fascinating hybrid country that will no doubt continue to draw our interest in the future.
We stayed at Rodondo, and breakfast in the big, warm, comfy kitchen was a great contrast to the mayhem happening outside.
The Tarra-Bulga park is a great destination for a windy day. Nearby Yarram, with its fine old buildings, is a handy centre for victualling up, and the drive after that -- through lush pasture, and then steep, green, ferny valleys -- is fantastic. Once you've dropped off the blustery ridge, you can walk through the forest in peace and shelter, even though the wind is powering along overhead like a train. We were delighted and mesmerized by the dance of a lyrebird. Unfazed by the storm, he stretched out those remarkable feathers, jumped, cavorted, and stamped, accompanying himself with an impressive series of exotic whoops and warbles. Stunning.
But there are other wonderful things at Tarra-Bulga too: venerable mountain ash, a profusion of ferns, and a graceful suspension bridge, for example. And when you've temporarily had enough of the cold, the Tarra-Bulga Guest House offers huge pots of tea, excellent snacks, a cheery open fire, and all the weekend newspapers.
Back on the storm-battered coast, McLoughlins Beach provides a boardwalk-and-wetland trail across to Ninety Mile Beach. Again there was a dramatic contrast between the windy bits, with the gale tanking across the water, and the calm bits, in the shelter of the scrub. And this time we were treated to some formation flying by a couple of pelicans, who managed to make a gale look like a lot of fun. The elements are busy knocking the stuffing out of the coastline here, though. The erosion is palpable, with the once supportive legs of the beach access structure now resting on nothing but air.
Sunday brought a power cut -- unsurprisingly, given the amount of vegetation that seemed to come down during the course of the weekend. But our landlady gamely fired up the gas stove and the wood burner, and breakfast was not a problem.
For the rest of the morning we played cat-and-mouse with the rain that today added itself into the stormy mix. Bent double against the gale at times (it felt like walking uphill), we battled our way along the foreshore towards the old port, until the way was blocked by a deep puddle that went well beyond the operational remit of our footwear. Back in town, we did the first few rooms of the Maritime Museum without the aid of electricity. But it obligingly came back on in time to see the dark bit at the back on the wreck of the Clonmel. And electricity also meant the General Store was serving lunch.
We popped briefly in at Port Welshpool, to survey more bleak but impressive coastal scenery (from behind glass this time), and then pointed the car's nose back to Melbourne.
Various photos are here.
All the way along from the Prom to the eastern lakes, this is the "land between". Swamp-land, dune-land, sea that is sheltered by narrow strips of peninsula and island -- it's a fascinating hybrid country that will no doubt continue to draw our interest in the future.