On the southern flank of Phillip Island, where the wind comes salted from Bass Strait and the cliffs are carved by centuries of tide and weather, lies the so-called Forest Caves — a name that promises darkness and depth, yet offers something more intimate.
It is not a cave in the cathedral sense, no vaulted chamber hidden in shadow, but rather a hollowed sanctuary scooped from a colossal rock. Open to the sky in places, breathing from above, below, and along its weathered sides, it feels less like entering the earth and more like stepping into a secret shaped by patience. The sandstone, honeyed and layered, bears the quiet testimony of erosion — wind polishing its curves, waves chiselling its underbelly at low tide.
The walk there is gentle, a meander across coastal scrub and soft grasses that bow in the sea breeze. Footsteps sink lightly into sandy soil as the horizon widens. The descent to the shore reveals the rock formations gradually, as though they are rising from the ocean’s memory. There is no rush here. The rhythm belongs to the tide and to the distant call of gulls wheeling overhead.
Standing within the cavity, light spills through its openings in shifting patterns. The sea glimmers through natural archways; the sky frames itself in rough-hewn stone. It is a place of thresholds — not quite enclosed, not entirely exposed — where the boundary between land and water feels suspended.
The walk back is as unhurried as the approach, carrying with it the quiet satisfaction of having discovered something understated yet quietly remarkable: not a dramatic cavern, but a sculpted embrace of rock and sea, resting patiently on the edge of Phillip Island.
Sony A7RV
FE 20-70mm f4 G
Linking Treasure Tuesday
