Candillac Gorge San Remo For Sunday Best

 

Cadillac Gorge at San Remo is best visited when the tide breathes gently against the rocks — high enough for drama, yet low enough to let you wander into its sculpted heart. That day, however, the sea had risen too far, climbing to 1.1 metres, a restless height that sealed the gorge from reach. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the sound of water striking stone, each surge echoing through the basalt walls like a low, thunderous heartbeat.

Joel stood a little distance away, cautious of the spray that leapt unpredictably from the rocks. I remember how the wind lifted droplets that glistened like glass in the pale afternoon light. In the pools nearby, small whirls turned upon themselves — patient, persistent, as if tracing the rhythm of the ocean’s hidden pulse.

Though we could not step into the gorge that day, its beauty was no less felt. Cadillac Gorge revealed itself in fragments — in the crash of waves, in the shimmer of foam, and in the humbling reminder that nature does not always open her doors, but when she does, it is on her own, magnificent terms.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

Flamingo in Heathsville Sanctuary for Saturday Critter

 

Whenever indolence crept upon me, I would make a gentle escape to Healesville Sanctuary — a place that asked for little effort yet always rewarded the eye. It was my refuge for effortless photography, where birds perched in calm familiarity, and light played kindly even on the most languid days.

It has been a long while since my last visit, but I still recall one image taken with a modest compact camera, its humble lens far from the precision of modern devices. Yet perhaps that simplicity lent the photograph its charm — a red so vivid, so unrefined in tone, that it burned with an honesty no high-resolution sensor could ever reproduce. In its rawness lay a certain poetry, the kind only memory and imperfection can reveal.

Linking Saturday Critter

Bore Beach Sunset San Remo for Skywatch Friday

 

The place I was meant to visit was actually immersed in sea water right there. Another day of miscalculation. But before the staircase down to the beach, I spotted these misty glow in the valley nearby. It is quite pleasant

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Bore Beach San Remo at Gippsland for Water H2O Thursday

 

My apologies in advance — over the coming weeks, my posts will be devoted entirely to the seascapes of this beloved coast. I find quiet joy in the short drive and in the patient search for light, texture, and tide along its edge.

Bore Beach at San Remo carries a history woven deep into Victoria’s maritime past. Once part of a rugged fishing and trading route, it served as a working shoreline where boats were launched into the often restless waters of Bass Strait. In the late nineteenth century, the nearby township of San Remo grew around the bridgehead that linked the mainland to Phillip Island, becoming a small but vital port for granite, coal, and the island’s dairy produce. Local fishermen would gather at Bore Beach before dawn, their lanterns swaying like low stars, setting out to sea for snapper and salmon.

Today, the beach remains quieter — its industry replaced by contemplation. The wind carries only traces of those early voices, mingling with the cry of gulls and the rhythmic pull of the tide. To wander here is to feel both the endurance of the sea and the fragile beauty of human memory along its shore.

Sony A7RV 

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Bandicoot Walk Blairgowrie for Sign2

 

This narrow track at Pearses Bay, in Blairgowrie, slips away from the main path like a secret whispered by the dunes. It winds between the scrub and the salt air, where every turn feels both familiar and new. Without the guiding signs, one could easily lose their way—the land itself seems to invite a gentle bewilderment. Even the signpost, weathered and bold, carries a hint of adventure, as though pointing toward a story rather than a direction.

Below, the bay reveals its hidden chambers—sea caves carved by time and tide, echoing with the murmurs of the deep. They beckon the daring to descend by rope into their cool blue silence. I smile at the thought, and decline. Some beauty, after all, is best admired from the edge, where wonder and safety share a fragile peace.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Pearses Bay Track Blairgowrie for Treasure Tuesday

 

Pearses Bay has become our chosen trail—Joel’s and mine—a place where the land curves gently toward the restless sea. The walk unfolds with a quiet grace, the salt wind brushing softly against the face like a familiar hand. There is solace in its constancy, a rhythm of air and tide that speaks without words.

With a telephoto lens, I linger by the shore, studying the water as it folds and unfurls in endless conversation with the rocks. Each ripple, each surge, becomes a stanza of motion and light. It matters little whether the sky is bright or brooding; the sea always offers a new language to read, a shifting mirror for the mind. And so, we return—drawn by the hush between the waves, where observation becomes a kind of prayer, and the simple act of looking feels like belonging.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Fitzroy St Murals and Graffiti for Mural Monday

 

It has been quite some time since I last took a leisurely stroll through Fitzroy. Today, I managed to find a parking space in the car park depicted in the first image—a structure whose interior proves no less forbidding than its stark exterior. There is, however, a certain raw charm in its decay, a sense of urban history etched into the walls. Amid the gloom, a large mural—an expressive portrait splashed with bold strokes of colour—graces one of the concrete surfaces, lending the place an unexpected civility and artistic spirit so characteristic of Fitzroy’s creative soul.

Nearby, a vivid depiction of Sonic the Hedgehog caught my eye—a playful echo from the 1990s that stirred a quiet nostalgia. Its bright hues and carefree energy stood in delightful contrast to the rough textures of the surrounding walls, as though childhood memory itself had been painted onto the heart of the city’s grit.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Spencer St urbanscape Melbourne for Sunday Best

 

I have previously featured this striking staircase, though not in full detail. Recently, I noticed a resurgence of interest in it across various media outlets, prompting me to revisit my archives and showcase these images once more.

This elegant spiral staircase is located on Spencer Street in Melbourne, within the precinct of the Southern Cross Station redevelopment area. Designed as part of Melbourne’s wave of contemporary architectural renewal in the early twenty-first century, it exemplifies the city’s commitment to blending form with function. The structure’s sinuous curve and contrasting textures—smooth white surfaces against the warmth of timber and the industrial coolness of steel—embody the modernist dialogue between art and engineering.

Despite its architectural merit, the staircase has long drawn both admiration and controversy. Many photographers have been captivated by its sculptural beauty, though the building’s security personnel were often less enthusiastic—reportedly instructing photographers in no uncertain terms to leave the premises. Yet, as with much of Melbourne’s modern design, its appeal endures, quietly asserting itself as an icon of the city’s evolving urban landscape.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Linking Sunday Best

Koi Carp, Taiwan for Saturday Critter

 

They appeared happy and relaxed as they glided through the clear, sunlit water. These koi carp were spotted in the front pond of a museum I visited during my trip to central Taiwan earlier this year.

Koi carp hold a special place in Asian culture, revered not merely for their beauty but also for their symbolic significance. Originating from Japan and China, they are often associated with perseverance, strength, and the pursuit of excellence—qualities drawn from an old legend about koi swimming upstream against powerful currents to transform into dragons. Their vibrant colours—ranging from pure white to deep crimson, gold, and black—represent various virtues such as love, prosperity, and success.

In temple gardens, courtyards, and museum ponds alike, koi are kept as living works of art, embodying a serene balance between nature and human cultivation. Watching them move gracefully beneath the water’s surface evokes a sense of calm and continuity—an ancient symbol of harmony still treasured in the modern world.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Saturday Critter

Old Vintage Hardware Store in Maldon at night for Skywatch Friday

 

This photograph was taken several years ago. The tungsten street lighting along the roadside proved a formidable obstacle to achieving a proper long-exposure capture of the Milky Way. As can be seen, the galactic core appears somewhat distorted, and the roadside sign bears an intense orange-yellow hue that disrupts the serenity of the scene. In post-processing, I was compelled to subdue the colour saturation almost entirely. Perhaps a monochrome rendering might better preserve the atmospheric quality of the composition.

Yet, despite its technical imperfections, the image remains a cherished memory. I would not now venture into the quiet hours of the night to attempt such a shot again—too great the risk of passing traffic or untoward encounters on those dim country roads.

The scene was taken near the old hardware store in Maldon, Victoria—a fine relic of the gold rush era. Established in the late nineteenth century, its timber façade and pressed metal signage speak of a time when craftsmanship and commerce flourished hand in hand. The store once supplied miners and settlers with shovels, nails, and kerosene lamps—tools that built not only homes but entire communities. Even now, its weathered walls stand as a reminder of Maldon’s industrious past, the first town in Australia to be officially classified by the National Trust for its historical significance.

Thus, the photograph—though imperfect in exposure—captures more than the night sky: it holds a fragment of history, both personal and regional, where the stars and the spirit of an old goldfields town meet in quiet dialogue.

Sony A7RV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie for Water H2O Thursday

 

Long drives across country Victoria once again—rushing from one destination to the next with scarcely a moment’s pause. As the saying goes, there is no rest for the wicked.

This image is from one of my previous water exposure studies at Pearses Bay, Blairgowrie, on the southern Mornington Peninsula. I thought I might share another, this time capturing a different whirling motion of the ocean.

Geologically, Pearses Bay forms part of the rugged Bass Strait coastline, carved over millennia from the Tertiary limestone and sandstone cliffs characteristic of the region. The relentless action of wind and sea has sculpted dramatic rock platforms, blowholes, and tidal pools that testify to the Peninsula’s ancient marine origins—remnants of a seabed that once lay beneath warm, shallow waters some 10 to 15 million years ago.

Historically, the bay takes its name from early European settlers in the Blairgowrie district during the mid-19th century, when the coast was known for lime burning and small-scale maritime trade. Today, it remains a place where geological time and coastal solitude converge, inviting both reflection and respect for the enduring power of the sea.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Sidney at night for Sign2

 

During my visit to Sydney in May this year, I found myself captivated by the quiet poetry of the city’s nocturnal signs. Each evening, I wandered alone through its luminous streets — a gentle form of walk therapy, where movement and solitude met in quiet accord. The first and second photographs were taken at the Estée Lauder light-up event — a touch theatrical, perhaps, yet undeniably radiant against the cool night air. The third captured an aged warehouse sign near Chinatown, its faded letters whispering of another era. The final image revealed the grand entrance of Luna Park, aglow beneath the stars, where nostalgia and laughter seem forever suspended in the shimmer of electric light.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign 2

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie For Treasure Tuesday

 

While Joel remained absorbed in his phone for the greater part of our venture, I busied myself with the more patient art of observation. Along the curve of the bay, I lingered with my camera, experimenting with various lengths of exposure, seeking to capture the secret motion of water and light.

The tide moved in soft eddies, curling like pale silk across the sand, and the wind traced fleeting patterns upon the surface. Each long exposure revealed another rhythm — the sea breathing in slow, translucent whirls, the rocks standing still as time itself slipped past in silver veils.

I found a quiet pleasure in these swirls, these transient forms that vanished even as they appeared. In them lay something of the eternal — the ceaseless conversation between sea and shore, between motion and stillness, between the human heart and the timeless patience of nature.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Lake Boga town silo art mural for Mural Monday

 

I often pass through Lake Boga on my monthly journeys to Swan Hill. The town’s name, often misheard as “Lake Bogan,” belies its gentle charm — a small holiday township set beside a broad, tranquil lake where families gather for boating and water-skiing.

The lake itself, though now a haven for leisure, bears a deeper history. For countless generations it was home to the Wemba-Wemba people, whose connection to its waters long preceded European arrival. Major Thomas Mitchell recorded the lake in 1836, noting the Aboriginal encampments that dotted its shores. A brief Moravian mission followed in the 1850s, an early but short-lived attempt at settlement. With the coming of the railway in 1890, the township flourished as an agricultural district, its fields and dairies nourished by the lake’s waters.

During the Second World War, Lake Boga gained national significance as a secret Royal Australian Air Force base, where Catalina flying boats were repaired and maintained — a vital, if understated, contribution to Australia’s war effort. This proud history now finds renewed expression in a striking new mural by Tim Bowtell, painted upon the town’s grain silos. His work portrays the Catalina aircraft and its commanding officer, George “Scotty” Allan, bathed in the golden light of a Mallee sunset.

Thus Lake Boga endures — a place where the quiet rhythm of rural life mingles with echoes of ancient habitation and wartime service, its still waters mirroring both the passage of history and the enduring artistry of those who call it home.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie for Sunday Best

 

This photograph was taken a week ago at Pearses Bay. Joel, somewhat absent-minded and preoccupied with his phone, seemed scarcely aware of the hour, while I managed to capture this seascape of swirling tides and foaming whirls. It marks my third visit to this striking stretch of coast.

Pearses Bay, lying along the southern rim of the Mornington Peninsula near Blairgowrie, is shaped by the restless breath of Bass Strait. Over millennia, waves have carved its sandstone and limestone cliffs into sculptural terraces, their pale strata revealing an ancient marine history when this land lay beneath a shallow sea. The shore’s reefs and rock pools glisten with seaweed and abalone shells, while the rhythmic surge of the tide traces nature’s ceaseless dialogue between land and water — a landscape both serene and elemental.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

Mudskipper found in Taiwan East Coast for Saturday Critter

 

For some time now, I have been drawing upon images from my archives. This particular photograph features a mudskipper, which I encountered along the east coast of Taiwan—an especially fascinating discovery at the time. Mudskippers are extraordinary amphibious fish, noted for their ability to live both in water and on land. Commonly found in intertidal zones, mangrove swamps, and muddy riverbanks, they employ their muscular pectoral fins to “walk” across surfaces. Their prominent, elevated eyes provide a wide field of vision above the water, while their capacity to breathe through both gills and skin enables them to flourish in the dynamic environments where sea and land converge.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Saturday Critter

Maldon Milkyway Sky for Sky watch Friday

 

I once shared a vision of the Milky Way above this quiet township, and now I offer another—its silver arc stretching across the heavens, with the glow of an old shop sign below. This is Maldon, Victoria, where time seems to linger in the stones and timber. In the gold-digging days of the nineteenth century, the town pulsed with restless hope, as seekers from distant lands pressed their hands into the soil in search of fortune. Though the fever of those years has long since passed, the streets remain adorned with weathered facades, each one a relic of dreams pursued. Beneath the eternal canopy of stars, Maldon keeps its vigil, a place where the sky whispers to the earth, and history breathes gently through the night air.

Sony A7RIV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Sky watch friday

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie for Water H2O Thursday

 

Last weekend, Joel and I made a quick visit to Pearses Bay near Blairgowrie. The bay remains remarkably untouched and little visited, a quiet stretch of coastline where rugged limestone cliffs frame the ocean and narrow pathways lead down to the sand. The sound of waves breaking against the rocks echoes through the coves, and on a calm day the water takes on a striking clarity, with hues of turquoise blending into the deep blue of Bass Strait. It is the kind of place where one feels both secluded and restored, far from the busier beaches nearby.

On returning, I found myself once again immersed in a heavy workload. My professional commitments have increased significantly over the past month, which has made me reflect on how quickly circumstances can shift. Not long ago, I was contemplating the idea of semi-retirement. In some ways, the widespread acceptance of telehealth by those living in regional areas has reshaped the practice of medicine—sometimes into a model that can feel reduced to what one might easily search for online. To add to the challenge, I have also endured a series of flu infections contracted from the nursing homes I visit.

Sony A7RV

FE 16mm f1.8 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Butterfly signs in De Graves St Melbourne for Signs 2

 

These sculptural artworks—three-dimensional signs, one might term them—once adorned a window near Degraves Street, a corner of Melbourne where I am often drawn to practise my candid street photography. Though now removed, I long admired their playful presence, which lent character and charm to the laneway’s ever-changing canvas. Their absence recalls another fleeting installation: the celebrated butterfly display in Centre Place, where hundreds of delicate forms once hovered in mid-air, transforming the narrow arcade into a living allegory of lightness and renewal. That display, too, has since been taken down, yet it remains in memory as part of Melbourne’s tradition of ephemeral art—urban adornments that flourish for a season, enchant passers-by, and then vanish, leaving behind only recollections woven into the fabric of the city.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Signs2

Murtoa township Victoria Australia for Treasure Tuesday

 

It is a township through which I must invariably pass on my way to Horsham. In former days, I would often pause there, undertaking locum duties on weekends, and the journey itself, meandering through a succession of rural settlements, was a source of quiet pleasure. Murtoa, with its deep roots in both nature and human endeavour, rests amid fertile plains once traversed by the Jardwa people, whose presence shaped the land long before European settlement. The town later grew around the railway and the great grain silos, including the celebrated Murtoa Stick Shed, a remarkable relic of wartime ingenuity. Yet the changing face of medicine has altered my connection to this place; where once I served in person, the rise of telehealth clinics has supplanted such visits, and my footsteps are now absent from its streets, though memory and history bind me still to its fields and heritage.

Sony A7RIV

FE 24mm f1.4 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Hosier Lane Mural Melbourne for Mural Monday

 

For a brief span of time, a mural appeared upon the walls of Hosier Lane, its authorship unknown to me. Remarkably, it remained unmarked by graffiti or the careless hand of tagging. The work bore a comical air: it depicted an office worker suspended upside down, his tie caught and twisted about a pole, as though the trappings of his profession had ensnared him in an absurd fate

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Wreck Beach Moonlight Head Beach for Sunday Best

 

Joel and I have journeyed to Wreck Beach on three occasions, each visit impressed upon us by the austere beauty and the peril of that lonely shore. Remote and forbidding, it is a place where the turbulent Southern Ocean pounds without respite, and where the rising tide swallows the sands entirely, climbing high against the sheer cliff faces and leaving no safe passage.

The path thither is no easy one. A descent of more than three hundred steps leads to the long strand, and from there the traveller must endure a walk of nearly five kilometres along soft and yielding sand, each step burdened by the pull of the sea winds. Yet at the end lies a solemn reward: the scattered relics of wrecks long past, anchors and iron fastenings now half-buried in stone and seaweed. These are the remnants of the Marie Gabrielle, driven aground in 1869, and of the Fiji, lost to these merciless waters in 1891. Once proud ships upon the trade routes, they met their fate here, on a coast that mariners dreaded and named a graveyard.

I have shared images of this place twice before, but in revisiting my photographs I felt compelled once again to dwell upon its memory. Wreck Beach is more than a strand of sand—it is a living monument to history, where the power of the sea and the fragility of man’s endeavour stand forever in stark and solemn contrast.

Panasonic G9

Olympus 17mm f1.2 

Linking Sunday Best

Seal seen at Sea World Show for Saturday Critter

 

When last I walked through Sea World upon the Gold Coast, I could not help but marvel at the radiant spectacle before me. The dolphins arced in perfect symmetry, the seals clapped as though with laughter, and the gathered crowd delighted in the illusion of joy. Yet within me lingered the shadow of what I had once seen in sober documentaries, where the gloss of performance was stripped away to reveal confinement, separation, and lives bound to pools smaller than the seas they once knew. The play was glorious, yes, but it carried the weight of sorrow.

In recent years, questions have only deepened. Animal welfare advocates, particularly PETA, decry the keeping of dolphins in artificial lagoons far too small for creatures who might, in the wild, traverse vast oceans each day. TripAdvisor, recognising the unease, withdrew from selling tickets to Sea World in 2019, a gesture that marked a shift in public conscience. And though the park proudly unveiled a state-of-the-art marine hospital in July 2025—proclaiming its devotion to rescue, treatment, and release—critics still whisper of breeding programs, separations of mother and calf, and deaths uncounted in public record.

The park itself is not of the same ownership as its American counterpart, yet the echoes of Blackfish still ring across the Pacific. The haunting story of Tilikum the orca lingers as a parable, casting doubt upon any institution that commands marine mammals to perform. To its credit, Sea World Gold Coast has mounted genuine rescues, freeing whales from nets and tending to stranded creatures upon the shore. But for every story of compassion, another arises of captivity’s toll, of creatures whose intelligence and spirit exceed the limits of the enclosures that bind them.

Thus my memory of that visit remains divided: wonder at the beauty of the performance, and grief for what such beauty conceals. The truth of Sea World is, perhaps, like the sea itself—ever shifting, capable of reflecting both splendour and cruelty, depending upon the light in which one chooses to stand.

Linking Saturday Critter

No 16 Beach, Rye for Skywatch Friday

 

Upon the evening of my visit to Number Sixteen Beach at Rye, the heavens lay utterly cloudless, and the setting sun cast its mellow radiance across the waters. Though this stretch of coast is among the most frequented along the Mornington Peninsula, fortune granted me solitude; not a soul was present to disturb the tranquillity. The waves, breaking upon the sand with unhurried constancy, left a delicate froth in the foreground, a lacework of the sea that I found singularly pleasing.

Number Sixteen Beach, so named after the original trackway once marked by numbered posts guiding visitors through the dunes, has long held a reputation both for its rugged beauty and its perilous seas. Unlike the sheltered bay beaches of Rye, this ocean front faces the Bass Strait, and its powerful surf has made it a place admired by walkers and naturalists rather than a safe haven for swimmers. The limestone cliffs and rock platforms that frame the beach bear silent testimony to the restless shaping hand of wind and tide through countless ages. In former times, the local Bunurong people knew these coasts intimately, gathering shellfish from the rock shelves and reading in the land and waters the signs of season and story.

Thus, standing alone at sunset, with the waves whispering their endless song, one is not merely a solitary observer of beauty but also a quiet inheritor of a long continuum of human presence, reverence, and memory upon this shore.

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Bridgewater Bay Sunset on the cliff for Water H2O Thursday

 

Standing upon the sand cliffs of Bridgewater Bay at Blairgowrie, one is immediately struck by the deceptive stillness of the landscape. The cliff edge on which I stood was, in truth, precariously poised above a cavern hollowed out over centuries by the ceaseless force of wind and tide. Beneath my feet lay a deep cave, its roof eroded and thinned to a fragile crust that may collapse at any moment. My companion, Joel, wisely urged me to step back, reminding me that the grandeur of the view is often matched by the peril of the elements that have shaped it.

These overhanging caves are a signature feature of the Mornington Peninsula’s rugged coastline. Formed by the relentless pounding of Bass Strait waves against the friable sandstone, they represent both the transience and endurance of natural architecture. Over time, the softer layers of rock are worn away, leaving behind dramatic vaults and caverns beneath seemingly solid ground. Such formations are not uncommon in this part of Blairgowrie, where the interplay of geology and oceanic power has carved out a coastline as beautiful as it is dangerous.

The sand cliffs themselves bear witness to an ancient story. Much of the Peninsula’s coastal geology is composed of calcarenite, a form of dune limestone laid down during the last Ice Age when sea levels were lower and winds piled sand into vast dunes. In subsequent millennia, these dunes hardened into stone, only to be gnawed once more by the restless sea. Thus, what today appears as a sheer and formidable cliff is in fact a fragile palimpsest of natural history, its fate determined by the invisible pressures at work beneath the surface.

On this occasion, I carried my newly acquired FE 16mm f1.8 GM lens. Yet the wide angle, though technically perfect, seemed inadequate to capture the sense of awe and danger embodied in those cliffs. For no lens, however fine, can wholly convey the vertiginous impression of standing on ground that trembles with impermanence, overlooking caverns sculpted by time and tide.

Sony A7RV

FE 16mm f1.8 GM

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Taipei Signs for Sign2

 

There is this wall mural in various post offices in Taipei I like the designs.

I spot English sign in Taipei Street in an old building 

These old street looks used to be something i despise. Now I actually like how they look authentically

Linking Sign2

Point King Jetty, Sorrento for Treasure Tuesday

 

Last weekend, when the weather turned unfavourable, Joel and I sought shelter and diversion in the comfort of a Japanese bar, where we enjoyed a glass of sake together. Another quiet weekend of food and drink, and the indulgence that inevitably follows.

Point King Jetty, once the preserve of Melbourne’s affluent elite, was originally constructed in the 19th century to provide a landing place for the distinguished visitors who travelled by steamship to the Mornington Peninsula. The secluded shoreline of Sorrento became, for a time, a playground of privilege, a place where the wealthy could disembark directly onto their own stretch of sand, shielded from the crowds. Today, however, such exclusivity has long since dissolved, and the jetty—though weathered by time—welcomes visitors of every kind, including casual wanderers such as ourselves.

On that particular day, the sky unfolded in sweeping dramas of cloud, shifting and curling above the calm waters of the bay. The photograph I share was taken during that visit. The curious shade of blue is not the true reflection of the sea, but rather the result of a known issue with the Sony camera’s sensor I once used. At the time, I lacked the patience to correct the colours in post-editing, yet the image remains for me a testament not only to the scene itself, but also to the imperfections and character of the tools with which it was captured.

Sony A7III

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Byaduk Cave Silo Art, Budj Bim for Mural Monday

 

Last year, whilst engaged in employment near Warrnambool Hospital, I took the opportunity upon a quiet weekend to journey into the surrounding districts in search of fresh air and a measure of repose. My travels carried me towards the charming township of Byaduk, a settlement of modest size yet notable for its enduring ties to the land and its recent contributions to the celebrated movement of Australian silo art.

The silos of Byaduk, once plain and utilitarian structures of rural industry, now stand transformed into monumental canvases that honour both the natural world and the heritage of the region. Painted under the hand of contemporary artists, they breathe new life into these sentinels of the wheat trade, which in earlier decades symbolised the prosperity of Victorian farming communities. Today they form part of the larger Australian Silo Art Trail, a cultural endeavour that has swept across the nation, turning the functional relics of agriculture into enduring public galleries beneath the open sky.

In beholding these works at Byaduk, one perceives not merely colour upon concrete but the meeting of past and present—an echo of toil upon the land now reimagined as a celebration of beauty and memory, binding the township more deeply to both its own history and the broader story of rural Victoria.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Fungus in Mount Macedon for Sunday Best

 

Another weekend has been marred by inclement weather. Joel and I sought our customary refuge at the Japanese bar, where the comfort of warm sake provided some consolation. Indeed, I intend to replenish my supply of sake regardless.

What follows is one from my collection of macro studies of fungi, taken upon the slopes of Mount Macedon. The mountain, with its cool and shaded gullies, provides an ideal environment for such delicate growths, whose minute forms reveal unexpected intricacies when examined closely.

For those who journey from the eastern fringes of Melbourne, the approach to Mount Macedon is a gentle transition from suburban streets into pastoral scenery. One may take the Eastern Freeway, continuing westward until it joins the CityLink or Tullamarine Freeway. From there, the Calder Freeway leads north-west through undulating countryside, with fields and woodlands unfolding in succession. After approximately an hour’s drive, the great massif of Mount Macedon rises ahead, its slopes cloaked in towering eucalypts and, in the cooler months, veiled in mist. The road winds upwards from Macedon township, affording ever-widening views of the surrounding plains until one arrives at the forested heights where nature’s more secret marvels—such as the fungi I photographed—lie hidden beneath the canopy.

Sony A7RV

Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

Linking Sunday Best

Emu in Kyabram Victoria Australia for Saturday Critter

 

Though the beak in this portrait is a touch over-exposed, the eyes hold the true essence of the bird—bright, alert, and commanding. This photograph was taken near Kyabram in Victoria, within the grounds of a wildlife reserve dedicated to the preservation of native fauna.

The emu (Dromaius novaehollandiae), immortalised in both Aboriginal tradition and the national coat of arms, is the largest bird native to Australia and second only to the ostrich in stature worldwide. With its powerful legs, the emu is capable of remarkable speed, traversing the plains with strides that echo the ancient rhythms of the continent itself. Its feathers, soft and dusky, provide protection from the sun’s harsh radiance, while its sharp eyes and inquisitive nature mark it as both wary sentinel and curious wanderer of the open country. For countless generations, it has held a place in the mythology and sustenance of Australia’s First Peoples, its form appearing in story, dance, and art.

Kyabram and its surrounding district lie within the Goulburn Valley, a region shaped by the slow meander of rivers and the fertility of their floodplains. Once a mosaic of woodlands, grasslands, and wetlands, it offered rich habitats for kangaroos, wallabies, waterbirds, and of course the emu, whose foraging paths crossed the open country in search of seeds, fruits, and insects. In more recent centuries, settlement transformed much of the land into orchards and farms, yet sanctuaries such as the Kyabram Fauna Park safeguard the memory of what once was, allowing the visitor to encounter these creatures in surroundings that still whisper of the older Australia.

Thus, within this single image—an emu’s brilliant eyes meeting our own—one glimpses both the enduring spirit of a species and the layered history of the land upon which it strides.

Pentax K20D

A 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Portsea Beach, Mornington Peninsula for Skywatch Friday

 

This steadfast rock has ever been my compass for long exposures, a sentinel against the shifting tides and the passing of seasons. Last weekend the heavens conspired with storm and rain, and so I turned from the unruly present to the stillness of my archives, where calmer skies and gentler seas remain preserved.

Portsea Beach itself is a place where time and tide weave their eternal dance. The cliffs and outcrops, born of sandstone and limestone laid down in forgotten oceans, stand weathered yet unyielding, their faces etched by centuries of wind and wave. Each stone bears the script of ages, each ripple of sand a fleeting verse upon the vast poem of the shore.

Here the sea gathers its strength, for the Southern Ocean presses against the narrow Heads, surging into Port Phillip Bay with a restless spirit. The waters may gleam like glass beneath a quiet dawn, yet within them lies the memory of tempests, of ships dashed and lives claimed. Beneath it all, the Bunurong people once walked these sands with reverence, their footsteps bound to the rhythm of tide and season, reading the coast as one might a sacred text.

To stand upon Portsea Beach is to linger at the threshold of worlds—the ancient and the present, the serene and the perilous. It is a place where nature holds dominion, and where the solitary rock, enduring amid the breakers, becomes not merely a subject for the lens but a symbol of patience, memory, and the silent grandeur of the sea.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Bridgewater Bay Blairgowrie for Water H2O Thursday

 

Both Joel and I longed to breathe the briny air and hear again the timeless voice of the sea. A fortnight past, we made our way once more to the cliff-tops overlooking Bridgewater Bay at Blairgowrie, drawn by the desire to attempt long-exposure photography in a place yet untried. Though the conditions were far from perfect, the novelty of the location, with its rugged beauty and the promise of new discovery, gave the venture a certain poetry of its own. Joel, ever patient, came to collect me from my home, but through my own misjudgment—having earlier taken my mother to supper—I delayed him by forty minutes. That tardiness weighed heavily upon me, for I felt I had stolen time from both him and the sea itself.

Bridgewater Bay, where we stood, is no ordinary shoreline. It is a place where the restless waters of Bass Strait carve their legend into limestone cliffs and sandstone shelves, where tidal pools mirror the heavens and the wind carries whispers of ancient times. Once a hunting and gathering ground for the Boonwurrung people, who knew the rhythms of these shores long before our cameras sought to capture their moods, it later became part of the maritime frontier of the Mornington Peninsula. The bay has borne witness to shipwrecks and storms, and its eroded rock formations—arched, honeycombed, and sculpted by centuries—stand as natural monuments to endurance.

Thus, as Joel and I set up our tripods against the evening light, I could not help but feel that our own small pursuit of a perfect image was but a fleeting gesture in the vast theatre of time. The bay, with its layered history of people, tides, and stone, seemed to forgive my lateness, reminding me that all human haste dissolves before the patience of the ocean

Sony A7RV

FE 16mm f1.8 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Melbourne Wheel and neon signs on South Bank for Sign2

 

Night falls over Southbank, and the city transforms. The high-rise towers along the riverbank begin to glow from within, their windows lit in squares and strips of amber, white, sometimes warmer yellows, occasionally a cool blue or green. Some windows are full; others only partially illuminated. Their light spills out onto the Yarra below in shimmering reflections — a mosaic of brightness dancing on the ripples.

Along the Southbank Promenade, street lamps and decorative lighting trace the edges of walkways, railings, and trees, giving form to the river’s edge. The softer glow of these lamps contrasts with the intense brightness of the office towers and apartments. There is also a fairytale quality to it — the river acts as a mirror, doubling the spectacle and blurring the boundary between built structure and reflection.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2