Colossal Apostles!
We woke to blue skies (and a forecast of only 17 degrees) which was good news because we had a big day of sightseeing planned, including a long-awaited peek at the landmark landforms the Great Ocean Road is famous for - The Twelve Apostles. The general consensus around the place is, the best way to see these magnificent rocks is by helicopter. To get a bird’s eye view of this coastline would be sensational, to say the least. When we were planning our trip, it seemed out of the question - the cost prohibitive, with six of us to accommodate. A couple of days ago, Rossco floated the helicopter idea with me and suggested we should take Shia Labeouf’s advice and “just do it!”. We saved money by missing so many other holidays over the past two years and we may never be here again…why not? So, with a wave of spontaneity, he took the bull by the horns, seized the day, put on his YOLO t-shirt and booked us all in for a chopper ride we’d never forget.
We’d decided to keep it a surprise for the kids, though our cover was blown when Rossco fielded a phone call to discuss our flight schedule and may have forgotten 3 important things:
how to whisper
the girls were in the next room
never use the word “helicopter” out loud when you’re planning a secret helicopter ride.
The girls were beside themselves with excitement but agreed to keep it to themselves.*
Circling points of interest on the big paper map, Sam had lined up a stellar day of sight-seeing for us. Our roughly two hour drive from Apollo Bay to Port Campbell would be punctuated by stops along the way, the first of which was a wander down to Shelly Beach. In the heart of the Otway National Park, it would be easy to miss the small sign indicating where to turn-off to this little beach that our landlord at Apollo Bay had insisted was worth a look.
Disembarking the car at the Shelly Beach carpark, we were confronted with a strange noise. The silence of the bush was broken by loud growling and grunting sounds that seemed to be coming from the tall gum trees that lined the sandy track. The noise was echoing loudly. Could this be the elusive koalas we’d so hoped to see on our last foray into this national park? We were hopeful, and once again, channelled our favourite wildlife experts (I was thinking: David Attenborough though Sam pointed out, Molly was wearing her Russell Coit hat) as we crept through the bush, listening keenly, eyes darting around the trees in the hope of spotting something furry. Rossco had a Eureka moment when he made a sighting. Way up in the lofty branches of a eucalypt, two chubby little koalas, their furry bottoms looking precariously placed on the less-than-sturdy branch they shared, were having a bit of a tiff. Even though we could only see their derrieres we were thrilled to have seen (and heard) them in the wild.
The pretty path leading down to the beach forms part of the Great Ocean Walk, and had sections of shady rainforest with patches of sunlight trickling through, and other sections of tall gums where the canopy was torn wide open and the heat of the sun blazed down on us. There were stone steps and timber slats to provide grip and prevent slip on the meandering path. This time Sam was the spotter and as we rounded a bend he spied a sleepy little koala in the fork of a tree, just above our heads! If we’d been elated about the two we’d spotted earlier, about a kilometre up the tree and barely discernible with the naked eye, this little guy was enough to cause mass hysteria - almost close enough to touch. Reflexively, I grabbed my camera without checking the settings and before I knew what was happening, I’d fired off a shot with my flash on. Yep, that’s right. Flash ON. I’d flashed a koala. I’d committed the one major offence I’d been warned about. You can do anything you like they said but whatever you do, don’t flash the koalas. As you can imagine, he wasn’t happy. Immediately my family gave me an en masse death stare. Whispering so as not to disturb our already suitably miffed marsupial, they told me, in no uncertain terms, to get a grip and turn that damn flash off. I obeyed and we did all get some great pics of the little guy, without further arousing his wrath. Crisis averted.
Whenever we walk down to a beach, in the back of my mind I’m already reciting that old adage: what goes down must come up (or is it the other way around? Anyway you get the picture). For 17 degrees, it was rather warm. Had that sketchy weather bureau slipped again? We’d worked up a good sweat by the time we’d made it back to the carpark and were so grateful for the patches of rainforest-y shade along the way.
We’d also worked up a bit of an appetite so we made Laver’s Hill our stop for lunch. There were two places on offer: a pancake palace and a restaurant called The Perch, funnily enough, perched on top of the hill that must have once belonged to Laver, whoever he was. We wondered if they had their own merch at The Perch. The light, airy timber building with exposed beams, open atrium and floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a leafy valley was gorgeous. Boxes of growing strawberries framed the entrance and we were seated outside under a thriving grapevine that twisted around a timber pergola. Wooden bird boxes were attracting a pretty group of crimson rosellas, just over our shoulders. Once we’d been seated and handed the menus, we realised this was a fairly high calibre restaurant. The food was a little out of our budget with mains averaging $40-$50 a pop. The pancake palace was looking good right now. But the ambience in The Perch was so good. Rossco came up with the brilliant idea of ordering some starters to share. That way we could sit and enjoy the atmosphere and still avoid having to wash the dishes. The chef was actually our waiter and gave us the recipe for the delicious bread we were ingesting. I’d definitely recommend this place (but you may need to save up).
Time was ticking and with the helicopter flight scheduled for 2pm, we had to get our skates on, but Sam didn’t know that. He was busy typing our next destination into the GPS. How were we going to keep this thing a secret? Ross was driving and I was in the back seat, putting my best efforts into communicating with him in the rear-vision mirror, saying to him - using only my eyes and eyebrows - “Uh-oh, we are running out of time. We only have half an hour. Are we going to make it?” Luckily my husband is fluent in Eyebrow and replied using his own, “I’ve got it all under control”.
Sam was a little confused when Rossco pulled into the Visitor Centre carpark, claiming he just wanted to check out another lookout he’d found. Already suspecting something fishy was afoot, he really started to twig when he noticed the helicopters parked on the lawn. “WHAT?! NO WAY!!” Safe to say he was a little excited. The girls were also almost jumping out of their skins with anticipation, the lack of surprise-factor not dampening their enthusiasm an iota. Toby seemed to be very subdued.
*This is where I should tell you that Maisy had accidentally blurted to Toby, only because she was just “too excited and couldn’t keep it in”.
Toby, trying to keep his little sister out of hot water, was giving an Academy Award worthy performance in playing it cool. Once she was outed, he was free to share in our collective joy. We could hardly contain ourselves as we were fitted with life jackets and given the safety briefing from one of the pilots (thankfully not ours) who looked like he’d just graduated from nappies. What followed, was a quick allocation of seats, the fitting of seatbelts that even Houdini would’ve struggled to escape, and the distribution of our headsets with the cool built-in mics. Kiwi Louis was our pilot and as we left the ground we all “WOW”ed in unison. It. Was. Incredible. The intense blue of the water contrasted with the bright orange of the towering limestone stacks was unbelievably beautiful and to see this magnificent coastline in its entirety was a treat beyond words. Pilot Louis told us the Twelve Apostles were originally known as The Sow and The Piglets, but for tourism purposes, it was changed, despite there ever only being 8 “disciples”. Yeah, The Sow and The Piglets doesn’t quite have the same ring to it, does it? Disciple Number 8 actually fell into the sea, in spectacular fashion, back in 2005 (imagine witnessing that!) leaving only 7 still standing.
The Port Campbell National Park, home to the Twelve (but really only 7) Disciples, has a blanket ban on drones, but today, when we were up in the chopper, it felt like we were the drone. Soaring over these massive 50 metre high ancient rocks - sculptures divinely crafted thousands of years ago - gave us an amazing perspective and a true sense of their magnitude. What a privilege!
It was a tough act to follow but our afternoon on the ground, visiting lots of the rocks we’d just viewed from on high was just as amazing. Casting your eye over the vegetation in this part of the coast, you’d be forgiven for thinking you were in a manicured English garden. The low scrub and rounded, tightly compacted pale green bushes grow like that naturally but you’d swear they been taken to, by a pair of skilled topiary sheers. Maisy was surprised at how coarse and stiff the little bushes were.
Descending the steep Gibson Steps that traverse the sheer cliff face, down onto the white sand below, we felt tiny as we stood on the beach and looked back up at the wall; as solid and as high as any human-made ancient fortress in history. This beach was phenomenal! As we walked along the water’s edge - the only ones on the beach - we felt like we were starring in a Tourism Australia ad and couldn’t wipe the smiles off our faces.
Our last stop for the afternoon was Loch Ard Gorge, named after an English clipper with the same name. When it was wrecked beneath these rugged cliffs back in 1878 only 2 of its 54 passengers survived, with one heck of a climb back up to safety.
The beach at Loch Ard Gorge has to be seen to be believed. Two giant headlands almost kiss, leaving a narrow channel leading into a pristine beach with crystal clear water and caves to swim around. Everyone had brought their swimming gear but the “Swim At Your Own Risk” signs on the way in were a slight worry, slightly more worrying even than the prospect of a dip in 14 degree water. I wimped out again but everyone else had a quick splash before the hypothermia set in. Next time we’ll pack the wetsuits!
We had planned a sunset visit to the Twelve Apostles tonight , staying at nearby Port Campbell for that very reason but our slightly better-than-expected accommodation on the beach was enough incentive for Ross, Toby and Maisy to just flop on a lounge and enjoy the view. Molly, Sam and I, who have never been known to miss a perfect photo opportunity, headed out again to watch the night fall on our favourite Twelve.
What a huge day!!
