The Great Coastal Highway

The folks down-under love their meat and dairy. While vegetarian options exist at most grub stations, flesh dominates. From kangaroo burgers to crocodile steaks, meaty concoctions abound for the giddy carnivore.

As Mr. Johnson and myself ventured east along the Great Coastal Highway, cattle stations, dairy lands, and sheep ranches stretched as far as the inquisitive eye could see. Opposite the ocean to the north, green pastures seemed to provide plentiful bounty to the animals – a smorgasbord of grassy plains to fatten the complacent creatures. (Our venture northward to Alice Springs confirmed the meat infatuation with million-acre cattle stations!).

It was the south that we were most interested, though. Here, the cold waters touching the icy antarctic shores at the bottom of the world meet the rocky, cliff-strewn southern Australian coast. Whales migrate through these cold waters, penguins frolic, and enormous swells pour into giant foamy waves for a multitude of surfing fanatics. Around every curve, views from the elevated lookouts would present tiny insulated bodies floating in the tumultuous sea, waiting for an epic ride. A brief meander into the water provided an adequate conception of the rather frigid temperature of the ocean, yet neither this nor the enormous waves crashing into the burning red walls dissuaded the persistent riders.

The Great Ocean Road hugs the coast for about 250 miles. It presents a winding road cut along cliffs, rock-outcroppings, and pleasant bays. Koalas abound. Arising from our attic-like dwelling at the forested YHA hostel, a couple of the gray fur-balls sat high in eucalyptus branches, looking lethargically and with near disregard at Travis and myself as our cameras fluttered with a multitude of exposures.

After contenting ourselves with the digital equivalent of rolls-upon-rolls of pictures of the fuzzy little bears, the Great Ocean Road brought us upon more Koalas, and over-priced lighthouse, bays, surfers, piers, and finally to some spectacular rock formations towards the latter end of the ride.

Hundred of thousands of years of erosion left the Twelve Apostles stranded from the coastline. They lumber from the rolling sea, standing tall and defiant while looking ever into the southern horizon. As natural wonders tend to decay with time, so some of the apostles have crumbled and fallen into the sea. Only five or six still stand guard, but their visual magnificence seems no less stunning. A well-timed visit left us swimming in a myriad of colors shown with great extravagance by the sky, the sea, and the rocks. Hours passed as we observed the sun plunge with fiery brilliance into the cold Antarctic Ocean.
Travis, privy with common sense, returned to the car following the exit of the sun. I waited in vain for penguins, foretold by the travel guide to waddle upon the shores beneath the Apostles. No “sea torpedoes” appeared, but I did confront either a dingo or a fox in the twilight. Not exactly a screwball, flightless bird, but a good end to a great day.

The following day we searched in vain for whales, spotted some wallabies in a lush volcanic crater, and raced back to Melbourne to return the vehicle.