So divinely quaint and charming with its wrap
around boardwalk over the bay and river, grey and white timber boat-house style
abodes and black swans paddling around
boats – big and small bobbing gently in the lake. We wander around the park like streets of the
village and take in the nautical sculptures hidden amongst the public gardens
then sit on the piers and watch the lines being cast in (and pulled out with
catch) and fantasise about coming here for a week of doing absolutely nothing
except drink great coffee (which we find at the Galley Cafe) and perhaps lazing
on a yacht on glistening turquoise
waters.
This village’s status of precious jewel was confirmed as far back
as 1885 when it was called the “gem of
Lakeland” – at that time there were only 41 inhabitants in the village. I think many an aussie bloke would think the locals
of Metung have their priorities in the right place, especially in 1945 when the
local pub was burning down. The
fire-brigade captain – brave man according to Big M – was declared a hero when
he rescued the beer from the burning building and carried it to the village
green, where the keg was tapped under the Morton Bay Fig and business resumed
as usual. His bust (carved in timber) takes pride of place on the bar of the
re-built pub.
The deep blue of Lakes Entrance was the next enticing gem of
the Princes and a huge favourite with boaties of all types. The bar was like a highway with the amount
of traffic coming and going – the wakes making spectacular white patterns
across the blue. From our vantage point at Jemmies Lookout we could just see
the oil well platforms out in the bass strait, including the flame of the “Kingfisher” platform, some 34 nautical
miles out to sea. Then it was a stroll
of the moorings to drool over the magnificent yachts, ogle at rugged fishing
fleets and ponder the enormous aluminium catamaran that looked like a deep sea
mapping vessel. Along the foreshore sat fabulous chain-saw carved sculptures of
WWI heroes; the war nurse, the stretcher-bearer and the ultimate hero of
mateship, Simpson with his donkey. Sculptured
by John Brady in 1990 into the butts of the Cyprus trees (originally planted in
1924) that grew along the foreshore, they are a magnificent example of ‘bush’
artistry.
At Nowa Nowa it wasn’t
the galleries of wood sculpture that took my fancy but the Stony Creek trestle
bridge built in 1914 which became my next ‘must see’. Set in bushland along a dusty track, this
enormous bridge (a former railway bridge) is now part of the walk/biking track of
the East Gippsland Rail Trail and at 19meters high and 276meters long, is the
largest wooden trestle bridge in the southern hemisphere. 
Further along the Princes crown, we turned off and wound our way past dairy farms and
countless grey nomads setting camp on cosy corners of a riverbank to the
gorgeous little town of Marlo and to where the mighty Snowy River meets the
Bass Strait. The town is a delight for
families and as we sat on the sandy banks at the Snowy’s mouth, eating some of the best fish and chips
ever!!!!, we watch children build sandcastles, net for crabs and other small marine life,
and yell with delight as they were towed on rubber tubes behind boats.
For me it felt very strange to be sitting on
the banks of the Snowy looking at the ocean, for this rivers very name conjures
images of mountains; like the Man from Snowy River riding down a massive slope,
or the enormous turbines built in the 50’s to harness the Snowy’s waters into
electricity, even of trout fishers
casting and drawing back their flys in clear rippling ankle/knee deep
waters. And although I know perfectly well that rivers
head to the sea, I never imagined or thought of the Snowy making its way to
coast. As in the many times I had
visited the Snowy in the mountains and found it exquisitely beautiful, here too
I also found its final flush so very picturesque.
My next bridge obsession came near Orbost where an old
railway bridge over river flats extended for a good length. Although not as intricate or large as Stoney
Creek, this bridge still fascinated me in that for the length and narrowness of
it, it had withstood the pressures and weights of the many trains that passed
over it.
For me it felt very strange to be sitting on
the banks of the Snowy looking at the ocean, for this rivers very name conjures
images of mountains; like the Man from Snowy River riding down a massive slope,
or the enormous turbines built in the 50’s to harness the Snowy’s waters into
electricity, even of trout fishers
casting and drawing back their flys in clear rippling ankle/knee deep
waters. And although I know perfectly well that rivers
head to the sea, I never imagined or thought of the Snowy making its way to
coast. As in the many times I had
visited the Snowy in the mountains and found it exquisitely beautiful, here too
I also found its final flush so very picturesque.
Although it was late afternoon and we still had ninety kilometres
to go till we arrived at our next stop for the night, Eden, we decided to turn
off the highway and visit Mallacoota, the last (or first) official township of
eastern Victoria. What a darling town!
Hidden behind forests of palms, ferns and eucalypt trees, with the
cutest shops, ice-cream parlours and cafes, and with quaint seaside bungalow homes, it was as if the whole town had become a
caravan park with tents perched on footpath verges, in parks and along walkways;
vans and countless boat trailers taking
up every available spot around the main street and foreshore and endless rows
of campers.
We made our way down to the
foreshore and were amazed by the numerous birds settling in for the night on
the small islands in the inlet – pelicans, gulls, shearwaters and many more of
which I have no idea what their species is.
I would have loved to have gone to Gabo Island just off Mallacoota to
see the pink lighthouse (built in 1862) but had to go with a more time viable option (plus keep Big M happy) with the WWII bunkers. Another dusty dirt road through forest and
next door to the shooting range, brought us the bunkers with a sign stating
opening hours were “Tuesday morning – 9am to 11.30am”...hmmm gotta be quick!
One of the interesting sights of Mallacoota was the many
signs outside homes and along the road demanding the saving of Bastion
Point. This pricked my interest to no
end (being an activist from way back) and a little research had me learning that
the East Gippsland Shire Council proposal to ‘improve’ the small villages current boat ramp (that’s in disrepair) comes with a massive breakwater (110metres
long) to be built over the reef and into the surf break (the surfers are well
and truly up in arms about it – they’ve put it on their Endangered Wave list!) and includes a road (to be built on the
beach), carpark along the cliff top and the removal of 3500cu of rocky
reef....not to mention the ongoing dredging of sand. This is all for a town that has less than 900
permanent residents and is classed as one of the most isolated towns in
Victoria. Plus the area of Bastion Point
sits in Croajingolong National Park. I shake my head at the ‘powers that be’
and wish the residents the very best of luck in stoping this monstrosity.
This southern part of the Sapphire Coast is indeed breathtakingly
beautiful; from the azure waters, gold sandy beaches to the heathlands and
pockets of rainforests filled abundant birdlife – on the way into Mallacoota
the bell birds and pilot bird calls were almost deafening – yet it was very sad
to see the destruction done to the forests along the side of the highway. Large tracks of eucalypt stands had been
razored, many of the ‘smaller’ trees just left trashed on the ground; precious
natural resources wasted. Although I
understand this is plantation forest and some felling should be left to become habitat for wildlife,
this amount of waste is actually a fire hazard, not to mention an absolute
eyesore.
As we pulled into Eden, I dismount from my high horse and
look down at Twofold Bay. Another gem
awaits to be discovered.
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