It’s 6:30pm and I’ve unhitched in an industrial area side street. I’m trying not to dribble my beer following a marathon filling at the dentist (ouch!…no, that’s my credit card). Murphy’s Law is down to a niggle as I wait for a spare part to arrive from Melbourne. I’m supposed to be near Wilsons Promontory by now, but the wreckers sent the wrong part to the mechanic last week so I had to circle back to Sale. Now I’m just across the road from the mechanic. Hopefully it arrives tomorrow.
The last week was spent exploring more of Ninety Mile beach. Unsurprisingly it looks pretty much the same wherever you go. The currents are very sideways and warning signs are everywhere. The first three days I spent at Reeves Beach, about 60klms west of Seapspray. The site was somewhat oversold in the guide, being a lot smaller and disjointed than the blurb implied. Ended up roadside but still only 5 minutes to the beach. In Victoria, you quickly learn to check the weather forecast every few hours. But, even on a clear day, the wind can make the sand dance and ripple and the sea mist is a constant in the distance.
There was only a small AM window of the first morning to make a token start to the beach life season. Throwing the beach towel down was essential to avoid blending in with the sand completely and becoming collateral damage for a passing 4wd. Still, I sucked in every ray of sunlight until the dermabrasion started to remove more than the top layer of skin, at which time I beat a hasty retreat from the stiffening breeze to spend the next two days glued to KAYO.
On a whim, I left Reeves Beach a day early, took a left, and headed to McLoughlin’s Beach, only a 15 minutes away. This destination was sight unseen but what a difference! It’s essentially an estuary village and launching pad for boaties and fisherman to get “outside”. Not quite at the end of the road but off the beaten track, this tiny outpost had few surprises instore. First up, designated wetlands and boardwalk. I took the walk. On any other day the bird life might have been worth that walk, but with the wind blowing hard, even they had better places to be. The treasure at the end was a humungous carpark next to the boat ramp and a perfect place set up for the night. In 15 minutes I was back and even managed to get out of the wind.
McLoughlin’s Beach is way over there, behind the trees in the distance.
With nothing better to do, I grabbed the camera and headed across the river. Some people would find uncertainty somewhat disconcerting, I thought to myself as the narrow track disappeared into the looming wild wood. But you’d have to be a keen axe murderer to be out in this weather. More likely to be home in the shed – sharpening. It was only a ten minute walk before I was once again spilled onto Ninety Mile Beach. This time, the beach was a lot wider and even more exposed to the elements.
There was still one more surprise waiting for me. I had almost made it back to the footbridge when I glanced up and saw my “axe murderer”, standing only a few metres away, gazing at me intently. Clearly, he had seen me before I had seen him. He was not afraid and just stood there with that “Don’t make me come over there ” look. Happy to oblige Skippy. I was half-way across the river before he relaxed. The river, incidentally had been reduced to a channel with the outgoing tide, becoming more tidal mud flats then river – not the fishing paradise I had imagined. I probably would have stayed longer, but had to get back to Sale to get that spare part fitted and there was this niggly pain somewhere in the upper jaw.