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

Ryūzu Falls in Japan for Treasure Tuesday

 

Many years ago, I found myself wandering the mountain paths of Nikkō with only a small point-and-shoot camera and a tripod as my companions. My intention had been to capture the splendour of autumn leaves, but the season had already slipped away, leaving the branches bare and the forest quiet. What might have seemed a disappointment at first revealed itself instead as a rare gift: in the absence of fiery foliage, the falls themselves became the focus, luminous and unadorned. I pressed the shutter only a few times, yet this image has endured as one of the few remaining from that period of my life. Looking back, I would not dare attempt such a venture again, yet the memory remains as vivid as the sound of the water that day.

The cascade before me was Ryūzu Falls (Ryūzu no Taki, 竜頭の滝), the Dragon’s Head Waterfall, whose twin streams tumble down the rocks in a white veil that, with a touch of imagination, resembles the horns and mane of a mythic creature. The Yukawa River feeds its ceaseless descent, carrying the mountain’s breath from Lake Yunoko down toward Lake Chūzenji, tracing a course carved over countless centuries.

Ryūzu has long been cherished not only for its beauty but for its spirit. In Japan, waterfalls are often regarded as sacred thresholds where nature reveals its force and purity, and where pilgrims once paused for contemplation on their way to the shrines of Nikkō. Standing before the falls, one senses that same timeless quality: the mingling of power and grace, the endless renewal of water against stone. In autumn, the spectacle is even more profound, when maples and beeches ignite in red and gold, as though the dragon itself were breathing fire into the forest. Even out of season, however, the falls hold their majesty—reminding the traveler that beauty is not confined to the height of autumn but lingers quietly in every moment of the year.

What remains most precious to me is not the photograph itself, but the silence and humility it recalls. The memory of Ryūzu Falls is a reminder that nature does not perform for us; it simply endures, and in its endurance, offers us a glimpse of something eternal.

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Fitzroy Murals in Melbourne for Monday Mural

 

I am not sure whom drew these murals. A little punk and sassy. 

Last weekend, we did not venture a coast again. The weather turned sour and high tide at the sea. So we just visited a cafe instead. 

Sony A7RV

FE 35mm f1.4 GM

Lining Mural Monday

Fungus wonder in Lake Sanitarium for Sunday Best

 

After a fortnight of steady work free from on-call duties, I find that my sleep pattern is at last restored. I have also resumed the habit of reading the news and attending to various hobbies. Advancing age has made me realise that I can no longer endure the unrelenting burden of round-the-clock shifts.

This particular mushroom is frequently found at Lake Sanitarium, Mount Macedon. The gentle rear green bokeh it affords is a quality I hold in highest esteem—though, amusingly, it is the very aspect that Joel most dislikes.

Sony A7RV

Sigma 105mm f2.8 Macro

Linking Sunday Best

Regent Honeyeater spotted at Crusoe Reserve, Bendigo for Saturday Critter

 

This bird is the Regent Honeyeater (Anthochaera phrygia), a critically endangered species native to south-eastern Australia. Distinguished by its striking black-and-yellow plumage, the distinctive warty skin about the eyes, and a strong, curved bill adapted for feeding on nectar, the Regent Honeyeater is one of the nation’s most imperilled birds. Its numbers have diminished drastically in recent decades, largely as a consequence of habitat loss and the fragmentation of the eucalypt woodlands upon which it depends.

During the period of pandemic restrictions, I took to visiting the Crusoe Reservoir daily as a means of physical exercise and quiet reflection. Situated near Kangaroo Flat on the outskirts of Bendigo, Victoria, the reservoir was constructed in the 1860s to supply water for gold mining and township use. Today, it forms part of the Greater Bendigo National Park and serves as a place of both recreation and environmental significance. Encircled by walking trails and woodlands rich in birdlife, it provides a refuge for native flora and fauna, as well as a glimpse into the region’s goldfields heritage. My regular walks there afforded me not only the benefits of fresh air and exercise, but also the chance to observe the delicate balance of nature in a landscape that has long borne the marks of human history.

Pentax K10D

FA 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Flinders Blowhole Beach in Mornington Peninsula for Sky Watch Friday

 

This stretch of beach was where I often wandered in search of crabs hiding in the rock pools, timing my steps just before the sun began to sink low over the horizon. The tide left behind pockets of still water that mirrored the sky and, most strikingly, the cave nearby whose reflection shimmered with the changing light. It was a fleeting but beautiful moment, where the ordinary act of looking into shallow puddles revealed both life and landscape in harmony.

The cave and blowhole are part of the rugged coastline at Flinders, on the southern edge of the Mornington Peninsula, about an hour and a half from Melbourne. The region tells a story that stretches back millions of years, when volcanic activity left behind the dark basalt cliffs that now meet the sea. Over time, the powerful swells of the Bass Strait relentlessly carved into these rocks, hollowing out sea caves and forming the blowhole that today draws both visitors and locals. The air there often carries the salt spray of crashing waves, and on windy days the ocean surges with a force that reminds you of its timeless authority.

Flinders itself has long been appreciated for its natural beauty, with its cliffs, rock shelves, and tide pools offering endless opportunities for exploration. Beyond its geology, the area is steeped in human history too: the coastline was known and traversed by the Bunurong people, who relied on its waters for food and held deep connections to its land and sea. Later, it was named after the navigator Matthew Flinders, who charted much of Australia’s southern coast in the early 1800s.

Standing at the blowhole today, watching the sun lower across the horizon and catching glimpses of crabs in the pools, I felt the convergence of many timelines. The fleeting moment of a reflection in water was layered atop a landscape shaped by fire and ocean, and upon traditions that stretch back thousands of years. In that sense, the Flinders Blowhole is not only a place of natural drama but also one of quiet continuity, where the vastness of history meets the intimacy of memory.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Travancore Water Hole reflection for Water H2O Thursday

 

In the 1990s, these sculptural sticks were erected as part of an effort to position Melbourne as a more artistic and culturally expressive city. I still recall the press at the time describing them in unflattering terms, with some critics dismissing them as eyesores or likening them to phallic symbols. I later learnt that the area was considered particularly well suited to black-and-white photography, which prompted Joel and me to visit for a walk. As it happened, the rain had lingered in the precinct, leaving reflective surfaces that added depth and character to the sculptures. It proved to be an enjoyable and memorable outing.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Fushimi Inari Taisha, a Shinto shrine in Kyoto, Japan for Sign2

 

Fushimi Inari Shrine, situated at the foot of Mount Inari in Kyoto, is among the most celebrated and ancient Shinto shrines in Japan, dedicated to Inari Ōkami, the deity of rice, prosperity, and good fortune. Its most iconic feature is the seemingly endless avenue of vermilion torii gates, donated over centuries by individuals and businesses as offerings in gratitude or in hope of future blessings. Each gate bears the name of its benefactor, a custom that has sustained the shrine’s upkeep and expanded its striking pathways. The shrine itself was established in the early 8th century, predating the relocation of the capital to Kyoto, and has long stood as a symbol of devotion, commerce, and the harmonious intertwining of the spiritual and material worlds.

Equally refined within Kyoto’s cultural heritage is the tradition of kaiseki cuisine, an artful form of dining that mirrors the natural cycle of the seasons. Each dish is prepared with the utmost delicacy, not only to please the palate but to reflect the fleeting beauty of the present moment—whether the freshness of spring, the coolness of summer, the richness of autumn, or the stillness of winter. Much like the shrine’s torii gates, which embody continuity and devotion, kaiseki cuisine embodies elegance and transience, reminding the diner of the profound relationship between nature, ritual, and the human spirit.

Fujifilm Pro2

16-55mm f2.8 

Linking Sign2

Infinity rooms Port Melbourne for Treassure Tuesday

 

Earlier this year, a considerable number of exhibitions were devoted to the presentation of so-called “infinity rooms,” a form of immersive installation art that captured much popular attention. These exhibitions became something of a cultural trend, attracting large audiences eager to experience the illusion of boundless space created through the ingenious use of mirrors, light, and repetition. Although they were widely discussed and much admired at the time, I did not record or present them here, and thus the phenomenon has remained unremarked upon in this account.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Hosier Lane mural by Superb_Beefalo

 

I was unable to discover much information about the artist. Nevertheless, the work does not appear to be left unsigned. It is a colourful composition, depicting a green dinosaur adorned with a crown, set against a vividly psychedelic background.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Serenity falls, Queensland for Sunday Best

 

Serenity Falls, hidden within the lush embrace of Buderim Forest Park on Queensland’s Sunshine Coast, is a place where the natural world seems to speak in a softer, older language. The track that winds through the forest leads the visitor past three distinct cascades, each with its own charm, before arriving at the falls themselves—a ribbon of water tumbling gracefully over weathered rock into a shaded pool below. The journey is as captivating as the destination, for the path meanders beneath a canopy of subtropical rainforest that has flourished here for centuries. Strangler figs with their immense buttressed roots stand like sentinels, while piccabeen palms rise in elegant clusters, their fronds swaying with the faintest breath of breeze. Ferns, mosses, and lichens carpet the shaded gullies, their green hues intensified by the constant moisture.

The atmosphere is one of tranquil vitality. Birdsong drifts through the forest, punctuated by the whipbird’s sharp call and the softer murmur of smaller songbirds moving among the branches. Insects hum in the undergrowth, while the cool air carries the faint, earthy scent of damp leaf litter. The falls themselves seem to gather and release this energy, their waters tumbling with a rhythm that both soothes and enlivens. The light filtering through the canopy adds to the tropical impression, creating shifting patterns of brightness and shadow that dance across the rocks and water.

To linger here is to be reminded of the resilience of Queensland’s rainforests, remnants of ancient ecosystems that once spread far more widely across the continent. Serenity Falls is more than a scenic landmark; it is a living fragment of deep natural history, where the subtropical forest continues to thrive in a delicate balance of shade, moisture, and life. To walk its tracks and stand before its cascades is to step, if only for a moment, into a world both timeless and ever-renewing.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

Grey Headed Pigeon in Braeside Parkin for Saturday Critter

 

Braeside Park, situated not far from metropolitan Melbourne, has long been renowned as a haven for bird photography. The wetlands and open woodlands provide rich feeding grounds for many migratory species, whose seasonal journeys bring both colour and life to the reserve. I recall, some years past, attempting to capture these birds with a manual telephoto lens; it was no simple task, for the creatures were swift and wary, and the art of bird photography demands both patience and steady hand.

Among the avian visitors, the Grey-headed Pigeon (Patagioenas plumbea) is of particular interest. This shy and rather elusive bird, distinguished by its smooth slate-grey plumage and gentle bearing, is more often heard than seen within its forested haunts. Native to Central and South America, it inhabits dense lowland forests and foothills, where it feeds upon fruits and seeds high in the canopy. Though not a resident of Victoria, it represents the broader wonder of migratory and nomadic birds whose presence enriches sanctuaries such as Braeside Park. Their life histories remind us of the delicate web of ecosystems that sustain them, and of the fleeting beauty that birdwatchers and photographers alike strive to preserve in image and memory.

Pentax K20D 

A 300mm f2.8 

Linking Saturday Critter

Melbourne Skyline Panorama for Skywatch Friday

 

The panorama of Melbourne Sky View. Joel and I did not feel innovative. We went to grab the famous lemon pie from Cliffton Hill then Northcote to take this drone shot. 

DJ Mini Pro4 

Linking 
Skywatch Friday

Forest Cave Phillip Island for Water H2O Thursday

 

I have sought a somewhat high-key approach in this composition. Though it is not the product of a long exposure, I endeavoured to capture the advancing waves as they swept across the shore, smoothing the sand as though polishing a vast marble floor. The shutter was set at neither too swift nor too languid a pace, thereby rendering a natural softness in the motion of the sea.

This scene unfolds upon one of Phillip Island’s secluded forest-fringed cave beaches, where rugged cliffs and weathered rock bear silent witness to millennia of wind and tide. The dense coastal woodland above, with its canopy of eucalypt and tea-tree, whispers of an ancient landscape that has sheltered wildlife and echoed with the passage of the Bunurong people long before European discovery. Here, in the meeting of forest, stone, and sea, the rhythms of history and nature are inscribed in every grain of sand and every retreating wave.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Ikaho Onsen Signs for Sign2

 

As I have not yet fully recovered from the exertions of my most recent locum assignment, I have for the present refrained from wandering the streets of Melbourne in search of candid moments or sign photography. Instead, I turned once more to one of the albums from my travels in Japan. Among those recollections, the town of Ikaho Onsen stands forth with particular clarity—a place where history, culture, and landscape meet in harmonious accord.

Ikaho Onsen, situated upon the slopes of Mount Haruna in Gunma Prefecture, is among Japan’s most venerable hot spring resorts, its origins traced as far back as the eighth century. For centuries it has been celebrated for the therapeutic properties of its iron-rich waters, which flow in a deep reddish hue and were long believed to promote healing and longevity. The town itself is arranged upon a steep hillside, its heart defined by a celebrated flight of 365 stone steps, each said to mark a day of the year. These steps are lined with traditional ryokan inns, bathhouses, teahouses, and quaint shops, creating an atmosphere at once ancient and enduring.

In the Edo period, Ikaho became a favoured retreat for poets, artists, and travellers, and its charms were frequently recorded in both literature and art. During the Meiji era it attracted statesmen and writers alike, among them the noted author Rokusuke Natsume, who found inspiration in its tranquil setting. Even today, festivals enliven the stone stairway with colour and music, preserving the rhythms of a living tradition.

To stroll through Ikaho is not merely to visit a hot spring, but to step within a cultural landscape where the past remains palpably present—a place in which the slow ascent of the stone steps seems to mirror the centuries of devotion with which this onsen town has been cherished.

Panasonic G9

Leica 12-60mm f2.8-4

Linking Sign2