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

Balnarring Pylon remnant Cape Schanck for Sunday Best

 

There is a subtle art in slowing time without quite surrendering it.

This photograph was made at just 1/8 of a second—not a true long exposure, but slow enough to catch the water in the way the naked eye often perceives it: flowing, breathing, yet still retaining its shape. The difficulty lies in finding that fleeting balance. The sea has no metronome; its speed changes with every surge, every retreat, every breath of the tide. A fraction too fast, and the water freezes into fragments. A fraction too slow, and it dissolves into an indistinct veil.

It is therefore a little like fishing for a moment that may never return.

This was one of the frames I managed to catch two weeks ago at the remnants of the old Balnarring jetty. Among the weathered timber, restless water and shifting light, everything came together for just that brief instant—the kind of quiet, fluid beauty that happens to be exactly my cup of tea.

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

Balnarring Jetty at Mornington Peninsula for Thursday H2O Thurdsay

 

I am presently undertaking a three-week placement in regional Victoria. The first week involves continuous 24/7 on-call duties, leaving little opportunity for personal time.

The photograph shared here was taken late last year. Joel and I had become quite captivated by the idea of capturing a particular perspective of an old jetty pylon. Though we never quite achieved the precise image we had envisioned, the final photograph possesses a distinct character of its own.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Abandoned jetty at Rapid Bay for Water H2O Thursday

 

Rapid Bay's jetty was originally constructed in 1942 to facilitate limestone mining operations. However, as the years passed and industrial needs changed, the once bustling jetty was abandoned in favor of a newer, more modern structure. Today, it stands as a hauntingly beautiful relic of the past, with its skeletal remains stretching out into the turquoise waters of the bay.

This forgotten jetty has become a magnet for those seeking adventure off the beaten path. Divers flock to its underwater world, where schools of fish, colorful coral, and sometimes even the elusive leafy sea dragon can be spotted amidst the submerged pylons. For photographers, the jetty offers an endless canvas of rustic beauty. Each visit reveals a different facet, from the play of light and shadows to the dramatic backdrop of rolling waves and sunsets that paint the sky in hues of orange and pink.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Old jetty remains on Balnarring Beach for Water H2O Thursday

 A different take on the jetty in Balnarring Beach. 

I will need to come back at full peak tide. 

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday