Balnarring Jetty in Cape Schanck for Treasure Tuesday

 

Balnarring Beach is only about 40 minutes from Melbourne, an easy drive that I have made more times than I can remember. Yet somehow, this ordinary stretch of coast became the setting for a rather long-running obsession.

For more than four years, I kept coming back to the same broken pylons and beams, trying to photograph the water in a particular way. I had seen the image in my head: the sea curling and stretching away from the timber, forming those creamy, almost string-like threads of water—soft enough to feel painterly, but still retaining the sense of movement.

It sounds slightly ridiculous when I put it that way. Four years of returning to a beach for a particular shutter speed.

But photography has always had these little obsessions for me.

The tide had to be right. The light had to be right. The waves had to arrive with just the right amount of energy. And then there was the shutter speed—too fast, and the water remained ordinary water; too slow, and the delicate strands dissolved into a featureless blur. I would come home with something close, sometimes very close, and think, perhaps next time.

And then I would come back again.

Looking back, I think that is what I remember most—not just the photograph, but all those earlier visits. The quiet drives down from Melbourne, the familiar coastline, the changing seasons, the times when everything looked promising and somehow refused to come together. Four years is a long time to chase a small idea.

Perhaps that is why finally getting the shot felt so satisfying.

For a few seconds, everything aligned—the tide, the light, the movement of the sea and that tiny decision about shutter speed. The broken old beams stayed exactly where they had always been, while the water finally did what I had been asking it to do for years.

There is something wonderfully nostalgic about that.

Places become part of our photographic memory. We return to them older, carrying different cameras, different ideas, different versions of ourselves. The beach hasn't really changed, but somehow we have.

And every now and then, after years of trying, the sea gives you the photograph you came back for.

Maybe that is the real obsession.

Not getting the picture.

Just having a reason to keep coming back.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Breakfast with a side of visual overload in Adelaide for Mural Monday

 

The pink and blue mural next door was almost as difficult to ignore as the one I photographed last week — although I have since discovered that my so-called gangster geisha may not have been a geisha at all.

Sitting on that little stool with breakfast in front of me, I had both walls competing for attention. This one is a riot of pinks, blues and cartoonish creatures, oversized sunglasses, strange expressions and layers upon layers of tagging. It has that wonderfully unruly language of Australian street art — part pop surrealism, part comic book, part graffiti, with every available inch apparently regarded as an invitation for someone else to leave their signature.

And perhaps that is part of the charm. The mural itself is carefully composed, yet the wall continues to evolve around it, each new tag and scribble becoming another accidental layer in the picture. In Australia, street art and tagging have long occupied this slightly uneasy space between public expression, vandalism and urban culture. Sitting there eating a very ordinary bacon-and-egg breakfast beneath all that visual noise, I found the contrast rather entertaining.

Another week to go before daylight saving arrives and once again decides that my circadian rhythm needs to be rearranged for the greater good. At least spring has already arrived, bringing longer days, softer light and the promise of getting out with the camera again.

I think I am ready for some landscapes.

After all the walls, faces, signs and concrete of Adelaide, I am beginning to crave something with a little more sky.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Bridgewater Bay Blairgowrie for Skywatch Friday

 

You’re probably getting a little tired of seeing sunsets from Bridgewater Bay, Blairgowrie. But perhaps the sunset was never really the reason we came.

This was from a few months ago, one of those evenings when Joel and I simply needed to get away for a while. He had a lot on his mind and needed someone to listen, and I was happy to be that person. There are times when friendship is nothing more complicated than walking beside someone while they empty their thoughts into the open air.

We talked, wandered along the coast, stopped now and then, and watched the day slowly surrender to night. The sea was restless, but somehow the evening itself felt gentle. Five minutes before darkness settled completely, the last light turned everything purple and pink, and the long exposure softened the turbulent water into something dreamlike—a mirage of sea and cloud.

I took the photograph almost incidentally.

What I remember more clearly is having Joel beside me.

Perhaps these are the moments I value most in friendship—not the grand adventures, but the quiet hours when you can simply be there for each other, sharing the same horizon, listening without needing to fix anything.

The sunset eventually disappeared, as all sunsets do. But the companionship stayed.

And sometimes, that is the photograph worth keeping.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Blairgowrie sunset at Bridgewater Bay for Water H2O Thursday

 

At Bridgewater Bay, the evening seemed to lose its edges.

Mist drifted through the last hour of light, softening the horizon until sea, sky and distant rock began to melt into one another. Everything was reduced to a quiet blur, steeped in the gentlest golden glow — a sunset less seen than felt.

Perhaps that was why I didn’t feel like reaching for my phone. Some evenings seem to ask for nothing but slowness: to stand still, let the world blur a little, and watch the light leave without trying to hold on to it.

I stopped updating Instagram this week. Then again, I haven’t updated the site for a few months either, lol. Life has been catching up with me, and perhaps I’ve been learning to let it.

I still prefer the slow web of Blogger to the hurried rhythm of Instagram. There’s something more intimate about it — a small, personal corner where photographs can linger, quietly, without needing to be seen by everyone.

And, of course, I don’t have to pay a subscription for it. That helps too.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Say Cheese Sign in Adelaide Central Market for Sign2

 

Last week, I came across the Smelly Cheese sign while browsing the Sign2 theme, and then stumbled upon another one right beside the store at Adelaide Central Market.

This one was wonderfully weird: two little rats sitting side by side, one proudly posing with a chunk of cheese while the other happily devours it. There was something almost tender about their strange little companionship—two rats sharing cheese as though this were the most perfectly normal arrangement in the world.

Cute? Absolutely. Weird? Completely. And somehow, that combination made it rather irresistible.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Bridgewater Bay Blairgowrie for Treasure Tuesday

 

This was probably one of the most unusual scenes I have ever managed to capture at Bridgewater Bay, Blairgowrie, over the past twenty years. There was something almost painterly about it—an unexpected oil-painting quality, with a touch of impressionism woven into the frame. I absolutely love it.

Joel was around another corner, attempting his own experiment on the same view, though his version didn’t quite come together. I think I may have caught this one a little better than he did, lol.

The foreground water was silky and dreamlike, wrapping softly around the exposed sea-floor rocks, while beyond, the waves fell into a loose rhythm, their movement drawing the eye towards the distance. Above, the sky was steeped in a warm golden brew, with the distant arch quietly anchoring the horizon.

For once, the sea, the rocks and the sky seemed to forget they belonged to nature and decided, just for a moment, to become a painting.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Bridgewater Bay Blairgowrie from cliff for Skywatch Friday

 

This was taken last weekend with Joel, when we finally managed to catch up after some time apart. I was still recovering from my wisdom teeth extraction, which had left me in surprisingly severe pain even two weeks afterwards. Eventually, I asked a colleague to prescribe a course of antibiotics, and the pain cleared almost immediately. In retrospect, it seemed that infection had been the problem all along.

It was a rather sobering reminder of the increasingly cautious world in which medicine now operates. With practitioners facing ever greater scrutiny and the possibility of audits, prescribing can sometimes become an exercise in hesitation rather than simply responding to what is in front of you. It feels like a sad reflection of the times we live in.

Yet, as often happens, photography offered a small escape from all of that.

The view that afternoon was unusual. A thin sheet of mist had settled across the landscape, and several hours before sunset the low sun slipped in from the side, filtering through the haze and quietly transforming the scene. The light was neither dramatic nor flamboyant; it was softer, stranger, almost suspended in the air.

For a brief moment, the landscape seemed to exist between two worlds—mist and light, distance and shadow. I simply lifted the camera and took the shot.

Sometimes the most memorable photographs are not the ones we go looking for. They are the ones that appear quietly before us, at exactly the right moment.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Cape Schanck Beach at Mornington Peninsula for Water H2O Thursday

 

A quiet army of stone stands at the threshold of the sea, where the tide retreats to expose a sprawling bed of smooth, dark pebbles. Balanced with impossible precision, these gray towers rise like modern monuments against the soft, golden blush of the twilight sky, right where the dark volcanic headlands of Cape Schanck meet the churning ocean. Born from human hands seeking a fleeting online trend, these geometric spires wait silently for the next wave, but their stillness hides a deeper disruption to the fragile shore.

Beneath each displaced pebble lies a broken home, as lifting these stones destroys the cool, damp micro-habitats essential to the crabs, lizards, and shorebirds that rely on them for shelter and protection from predators. By pulling this natural armor from the earth, eager hands unwittingly strip the beach of its defenses, leaving the coast vulnerable to accelerated erosion from wind and crashing waves. What lives online as a harmless visual aesthetic ultimately imposes a heavy human footprint on the wilderness, dismantling the pristine, untouched beauty that visitors travel so far to find.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

The Mettwurst Shop Sign for Sign2

 

The Mettwurst shop tucked inside Adelaide Central Market has become my little morning ritual. Each time I visit, I am greeted with a generous tasting tray—a few savoury morsels offered almost like a daily gift.

It is hard to imagine a better way to begin the morning: good food, good protein, and a little taste of the market’s lively spirit before the day properly begins.

Who said getting your protein had to be boring?

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Adelaide carpark mural for Mural Monday

 

I posted the larger view of this mural a few weeks ago. This time, I have moved closer, zooming into the middle-lower section, where the details begin to reveal themselves in a different light.

Hidden within the vast composition is this smaller world of colour, texture and movement—another story tucked into the larger one. The mural sits quietly in an Adelaide CBD car park, transforming an otherwise ordinary concrete space into something far more curious and alive. From a distance, it is a single sweeping vision; up close, it becomes a collection of fragments, gestures and little surprises waiting to be noticed.

The previous post is here Adelaide carpark mural

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Bridgewater Bay Sunset for Skywatch Friday

 

This is Bridgewater Bay without the long exposure, just as the evening was settling in. The ripples in the foreground worked like a treat, catching the last traces of light and giving the water a gentle texture. Behind it all, the sky opened into a warm golden glow, complimenting the scene like a good golden brew at the end of a long day.

I might try to get outdoors this weekend. It has been a while since I managed to catch up with Joel, and perhaps a little fresh air, a camera, and some time together are exactly what I need.

Sony A7RV + FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Smelly Cheese in Adelaide Central Market for Sign 2

 

The sign saying “Smelly Cheese” has a certain old-fashioned charm, sitting so naturally among the familiar bustle of Adelaide’s Central Market. There is something almost wonderfully unapologetic about the name—bold, slightly mischievous, and perfectly suited to a place devoted to the more fragrant pleasures of life.

The Smelly Cheese Shop has been part of the market since 2001, tucked into Stall 44, with its shelves and counters devoted to an extraordinary world of cheese. More than 300 varieties have passed through its doors, from Australian artisan cheeses to carefully chosen European classics, accompanied by crackers, pastes and other little pleasures.

I stopped to try some of the cheese myself, and the variety was impressive. There were familiar favourites alongside more adventurous offerings, each with its own character, texture and lingering flavour. It felt less like simply buying cheese and more like wandering through a small edible map of the world.

In the middle of Adelaide’s old market, surrounded by the colours, voices and aromas of generations of food traders, that wonderfully eccentric sign seemed almost to belong there—a little piece of tradition, with just enough mischief to make you stop and look.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Toriok Ramen in Adelaide for Treasure Tuesday

 

There is something slightly odd, yet strangely comforting, about eating ramen in Adelaide. Among the many bowls I sampled in the CBD, Toriok was one that lingered in memory.

Tucked away on Eliza Street, this tiny sixteen-seat ramen bar has the intimate, almost hidden character of a Japanese noodle shop. There is little pretence—just a communal table, steaming bowls, fresh noodles and the quiet concentration of a kitchen devoted almost entirely to ramen.

I had expected the familiar richness of pork-bone tonkotsu, but Toriok takes a different path. Its signature broth is a cloudy chicken paitan, simmered for an extraordinary 22 hours until it becomes creamy, deep and intensely savoury, yet somehow clean on the finish. The noodles are made fresh on site, adding their own springy bite to the warmth of the broth.

On a cold Adelaide winter day, it was exactly the sort of meal one longs for—a steaming bowl held between both hands, fragrant vapour rising into the air, rich broth warming the body from within. Perhaps it was not Tokyo, nor Osaka, nor anywhere in Japan, but for a moment, sitting there with the winter outside, Adelaide felt wonderfully far away.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Adelaide Mural near a construction site for Mural Monday

 

I had set out to explore Adelaide’s urbex scene, hoping to uncover forgotten buildings and hidden corners. Instead, quite by chance, I found something altogether more charming—a lovely mural sketched across the construction-site fences, turning an otherwise temporary barrier into a small and unexpected canvas of colour and imagination.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Mural Monday

Montforts Beach Sunset for Skywatch Friday

 

The sunset at Montforts Beach was particularly memorable that day. The rocks stood fierce and sharply jagged, their dark edges cutting into the glowing horizon. Below them, the sea appeared almost thick and viscous, its heavy surface catching the molten light. Above it all, the setting sun burned an intense, almost fiery orange, casting the entire shore in a strange and beautiful glow.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Pearses Bay Sunset for Water H2O Thursday

 

The sea foam gathers around the solitary rock at the heart of Pearses Beach like froth on the rim of a teacup, delicate yet restless, swirling and folding with every breath of the tide. Above the water, the last glimmer of sunset catches the surface, scattering a quiet golden light across the waves and turning this small corner of the Mornington Peninsula into something almost dreamlike.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Brew shop sign in Adelaide for Sign2

 

A neon whisper glows against the cold brick, casting a soft, magenta daydream onto the dark city streets. It arches gracefully like a promise, spelling out FRESHLY BREWED in a radiant pink hum that feels both sharp and tender. Below it, cradled inside a luminous, glowing heart, the words PEARLS — 4 — EVA pulse with a steady, feminine warmth. It is a modern constellation of light—warm, playful, and beautifully radiant against the shadows of the evening.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Montforts Beach in Mornington Peninsula for Skywatch Friday

 

In broad daylight, Montforts Beach can seem almost unassuming—quiet, familiar, perhaps not quite as extraordinary as one might expect. Yet when the sun begins to descend, everything changes. The rocks catch fire with warm gold, the shadows lengthen, and the shoreline seems to reveal a secret it keeps hidden through the ordinary hours of the day. There is a particular magic in that fleeting golden hour, when the landscape becomes softer, richer, and almost dreamlike.

These days, Joel and I have found ourselves feasting our way through Melbourne, discovering new places to eat and enjoying the pleasures of good food, partly because the weather has been so unkind to the kind of light and atmosphere we long to capture with our cameras. Perhaps that is why returning to these old photographs feels unexpectedly precious.

Looking back at them is like opening a small window into another moment—a reminder of evenings when the light was generous, the coast was glowing, and we were simply there, waiting for the landscape to become beautiful. Some photographs do more than preserve a place; they preserve the feeling of having once stood there, together, beneath a sky that knew exactly when to turn to gold.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Cape Schanck Sunset for Water H2O Thursday

 

Beside Pulpit Rock at Cape Schanck, the waves seemed to gather in a natural hollow, splashing and swirling in a water-worn pool before slipping back towards the sea. Beyond the dark rocks, the horizon was slowly surrendering to evening, brushed with delicate shades of pink and molten orange. For a fleeting moment, the restless ocean and the quiet sunset seemed to meet in the same breath—a wild corner of Melbourne softened by the last gentle light of day.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Secret Chamber Sign in Adelaide for Sign2

 

The sign in the image belongs to Secret Chamber, an intimate cocktail bar located at Shop 1, 20 Leigh Street in the heart of the Adelaide CBD. Nestled within a vibrant pedestrian laneway known for its nightlife, this uniquely themed establishment embraces an arcane, antique-style aesthetic.Secret Chamber caters to a mature crowd with a focus on immersive experiences. It features an atmospheric, moody interior complete with a confession board, interactive tarot readings, and cosmic astrology-themed shots. The bar is particularly renowned for its dramatic, fogging signature smoking cocktails. It operates as part of a localized bar-hop trio alongside its sister venues, The Sorcerer's Bar and The Caribbean Bar.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign 2