We were awoken by the kids from next door. They weren't particularly loud but each entry and exit involved a door closing noisily. The alarm went off at nine, me thinking eight so when I got up after a few "snoozes" it was twenty to ten, no time for a shower which was a good excuse as it looked a bit manky. Helen was fantastically irritated by the kids, mouthing about having a word with their parents. Surely not as bad as Fat Bloke's kids reciting times tables at 6am after a heavy night on the ale/vinegar as it was.
Almost as soon as we start we stop in town for a giant stork loitering on a fence in the wharf area. We pile out and film it and its friends for an age before he finally swoops off. Sometime later in the day a sign alerts us to his pelican status. I guess the big bill should have given it away.
The South Gippsland Highway was another frankly quite dull drive alleviated by the bush fire smoke on the horizon and the extraordinarily poor quality of the radio speakers. Most Aussie radio (at least, NZ, they have some) is a bit patchy through the hills and plays rubbish Aussie music -- a combination of cheap covers, rap or lusty wishful thinking -- so we (I!) tune into ABC's Australia Nation [Radio Nation?] and listen to spoken rubbish instead. Today we had a long interview with someone who was clearly speaking rubbish -- the usual cult-theology of spaces within yourself that you can reach by down-charging your mental and physical states...AARGH! -- aided and abetted by the presenter who gave the listener the impression that this guy was serious. Anyway, this interviewee was the only person who could speak, everyone else on the radio has been stumbling over their words, stuttering, putting dramatic pauses between every word as though, childlike, they have to think how to pronounce each word. It's really distracting, which may be a good thing, given the content. On the other hand this blokey was in fine form. I can't do it justice but something like: I'm working in the new burgeoning field of psycho-ecology which I invented.
We followed a particularly badly made ute. It had a hard top over the load area made from the rear end of an estate, all painted dark yellow. Yuk. A few seconds later it clicked that it was a taxi for disabled people, the hatch of the estate plus a ramp making it particularly easy for wheelchair access. We had lunch in Foster where I couldn't help but notice that the prevailing fashionable size for women was not of the sort commonly used on the catwalk. The Land That Fashion Magazines Forgot. We did a bit of shopping, bread and wine [Wolf Blass Yellow Label for AU$13]. Also some (branded) soap as I'm not sure the hotel freebies I've been carefully using achieve all that much.
We diverted onto tourist drive #92, carefully unmarked on the map. The AA/RAC equivalent freebie maps are fine for driving between the main towns but a bit useless after that. Actually, like the UK, you can drive between the main towns using just road signs and a little local geography ("Manchester is north of Birmingham") so they're pretty useless altogether. However, as tourists, we're obliged to make frequent reference to them: where are we?
dunno
The 92 did allow for a couple of stops: the caves where there are no clues whatsoever as to what, where, why. Just a car park and some steps down to the rocky beach. By empirical study I ascertained that the tide was coming in quickly so we retired to the car. Just up the road is Eagles Nest which has a little display telling you nothing at all but you can see the caves we were meant to go in. They were round the headland from the car park so I guess we would have been stuck there for six hours if we'd arrived half an hour before. The Aussie tourist board needs to take a peek at NZ for some help with tourist information.
Arriving in Cowes (hand of friendship with Cowes, Isle of Wight) our "cabin" turns out to be another caravan in a holiday park. Ho hum. We hit the local tex-mex for an uninspiring meal and off down the road for the (Phillip Island) Penguin Parade. Like in NZ, they've built a huge amphitheatre for the thronging masses [up to 4000] to watch the little fellas waddle ashore. Once again, no photography allowed. Instant refusenik mode, we're not paying AU$15 and not be able to record anything. We take a hunch that just by the entrance where there's a fence overlooking the rookery we'll be able to catch some of the post-dusk penguin action.
An hour and a half later, in the chill wind (no longer sandal weather!) Helen spots a little penguin right beneath us. On comes the infra-red and I shoot some film of an 8 inch penguin waddling around mouthing silently. In the meanwhile about thirty yards away there is a terrific squawking coming from the [long] grass. This is augmented by the thousands of shearwaters (we discovered their name tomorrow!) mimicing the calls in the air. The shearwaters had appeared at dusk in a manner I'd liken to a scene from The Birds, swooping low over the terrain. I remember reading the first couple of chapters of The Birds as a kid and being too terrified to read anymore. I had a couple of bad dreams about it too. I'll have to go back to it and quell my fear. All four of the nesting boxes adjacent to the fence ejected at least one hungry looking baby penguin on the lookout for some nosh from mum or dad. Of course the shearwaters are doing the same and it's quite a sight to look up into a clear-ish starry sky and see a brown bird flash over head squawking in, frankly, a pterodactyl-like fashion.
We'd been watching these guys for half-an-hour when we were booted off our spot by the staff. He said he didn't mind us filming just no light and stick to the path as the penguins have burrows all over. We were a bit pissed off but a few minutes later saw why. Between us and the path a pair had made a nest in a clump of trees. Their route there must have taken them all round the building as they arrive quite late (just as the throngs emerge) and probably get quite frightened. Kids and adults chase them. In fact the penguins nest anywhere around, notably in the grassy, tree-filled gaps between the car parks and you're encouraged to check below your car before driving off. We didn't see any koalas on the way back.
Amaroo Holiday Park, Cowes S38.45295 E145.23576 Elev. 21m (after a while this became 42m)
Copyright 2003 Ian Fitchet. All rights reserved.