Flinders Blowhole Melbourne for Treasure Tuesday

 

I haven’t visited this place for some time, and yet Flinders Blowhole at Cape Schanck greets me as though no days have passed. The rugged coastline stretches in quiet defiance against the ceaseless surge of the Southern Ocean, and in the distance, a solitary, large rock rises like a sentinel over the restless waters. Each wave that rushes forward tumbles over its surface, forming a miniature waterfall that never ceases, a constant, shimmering cascade that mirrors the relentless heartbeat of the sea.

As the sun leans toward the horizon, the golden hour bathes everything in its tender, amber glow. The light catches each droplet, turning spray into scattered sparks, and sets the rock aglow with a warmth that belies the ocean’s chill. Shadows lengthen across the sand and jagged cliffs, and the sound of the surf—deep, rhythmic, and insistent—fills the air with a meditative cadence.

There is a quiet poetry in the way nature balances motion and stillness here: the steadfast rock, the ever-moving water, the sky’s fleeting palette of gold and rose. Each moment feels suspended, as if time itself slows to honor the simple, profound beauty of the scene. I linger, drawn by the hypnotic rhythm of waves and light, feeling both small and infinite in the embrace of Cape Schanck’s wild, luminous edge.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Mount Alexander Post Box for Skywatch Friday

 

A mackerel sky hangs over Mount Alexander, its blue-cyan wash streaked with soft brown, as though the heavens themselves remember the dust and mineral veins that once drew thousands here. The mountain rises with the quiet assurance of an old storyteller, carrying in its ridges the memory of the gold rush that transformed Bendigo and Castlemaine, when hopeful hands sifted soil and the world’s footsteps converged on this corner of Victoria.

Along the roadside, the rustic tin mailboxes stand like humble sentinels—weather-beaten, crooked, and utterly honest. They belong to a landscape where history is not polished but lived in, where every dent and patch of rust feels like a faint echo of the pickaxes, tents, and fevered dreams that once pressed into this earth. And as the sky ripples overhead, Mount Alexander feels close—not just in distance from your home, but in spirit, a familiar presence holding centuries of stories beneath its quiet, enduring form.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Cadillac Gorge San Remo for Skywatch Friday

 

The day at Cadillac Gorge unfolded beneath a brooding sky, the kind that promises both revelation and ruin. The rocks at the edge of San Remo glistened with the residue of centuries — dark volcanic shelves scarred by relentless tides, their surfaces mottled in lichen and salt. The wind carried the scent of brine and kelp, mingling with the low thunder of the Bass Strait. I had turned my lens toward the gorge, drawn to the strange geometry of stone carved by time and sea — but it was the sky that truly captivated me. The clouds swirled in elaborate layers, their forms restless and alive, the kind of sky that seems to think its own thoughts.

Five seconds later, the world turned. A rogue wave — silent until it wasn’t — rose from the depths like a living wall and struck the rocks with merciless force. I had no time to retreat. The surge crashed over me, drenching my gear, soaking through every seam and stitch, and in that instant, all sense of separation between self and sea dissolved. From the hill ridge behind, Joel was filming the scene — my small figure caught between water and wind, framed by the vast grey theatre of the Southern Ocean. Later, he said the footage looked almost staged — the sea claiming its own drama, the sky its witness — but in that moment, there was nothing contrived about it. Only the raw pulse of nature at Cadillac Gorge, San Remo — beautiful, treacherous, and impossibly alive.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie for Water H2O Thursday

 

Joel and I lingered far too long at the souvlaki shop on our way here, and by the time we arrived, dusk had already deepened into shadow. We hurried to our respective corners, cameras in hand, striving to capture what little light remained before the sun slipped entirely beyond the horizon. There was no time for the elegance of long exposure—only swift, instinctive shots taken in haste.

In my rush, I stumbled and twisted my ankle, the sharp pain dulled only by the chill of water seeping into my shoes. Joel, ever steadfast, came to my aid—only to meet misfortune himself, slipping and taking a fall soon after. Thus the evening unfolded: a pursuit of fading light, marked by mishap and the quiet grace of shared endurance.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Pearses Bay Sunset moment for Treasure Tuesday

 

Last weekend, Joel immersed himself in the intensity of a Metallica concert, their first Australian tour in eleven years—a testament to his enduring devotion to heavy metal music. I, on the other hand, wandered the coastline alone, finding quiet solace in the rhythmic rise and fall of the high tide. Pearses Bay, now celebrated as a prime vantage for sunsets, cast its golden reflections across the water, offering the perfect scene for my photography and a gentle reminder of the beauty found in solitary exploration.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Stingray Bay Warrnambool sunset for Skywatch Friday

 

This small estuarine inlet adjoining Stingray Bay is a hidden gem, lying less than a kilometre from where I once stayed, with road access that remains remarkably convenient. The still waters below capture exquisite reflections of sky and vegetation, a mirror to the tranquility of the surrounding landscape.

Stingray Bay itself forms part of the sheltered mouth of the Merri River at Warrnambool, where freshwater mingles with the tides of the Southern Ocean. The area is renowned for its tidal flats and rock platforms, rich in marine life and bird activity — herons, cormorants, and sandpipers frequent the shallows, while stingrays glide silently over the sandy bottom from which the bay takes its name.

Along the inlet’s edge, the weathered wooden barrier now stands as more of an ornament than a necessity, its timbers softened by time and tide. Once built to define or protect, it now blends into the natural scene — a quiet relic of human purpose slowly yielding to nature’s rhythm.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

Valley in San Remo Gippsland for Sunday Best

 

All was green and veiled in mist, the soft radiance of the golden hour diffusing gently through the fog. The air shimmered with that rare union of stillness and light — when the day seems to pause between breath and memory. I lingered there on a Friday afternoon, content simply to witness the quiet splendour of San Remo, Gippsland — where sea and land speak in whispers.

This tranquil place rests upon the traditional lands of the Bunurong people of the Kulin Nation, whose ancestors walked these shores long before the tides carried new names to them. The cliffs, the grasses, and the mists all hold the memory of their presence — stories of fishing grounds, gathering places, and sacred connections that endure beyond time.

Amid the drifting fog and soft gleam of the sinking sun, it felt as though the land itself remembered — its ancient rhythm still pulsing beneath the calm green surface, inviting reflection and quiet reverence.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie for Water H2O Thursday

 

Melbourne has been drenched in unrelenting rain for the past fortnight, and Joel and I have grown restless, longing to venture out this weekend in search of new coastal sunsets to capture. Among the many memories of our past excursions, the view from Pearses Bay remains vivid in my mind.

Perched upon the overhanging cliff, I took the photograph as the sun sank low over the restless sea. My heart beat rapidly—not only from the precarious height beneath my feet but from the sheer beauty of the scene before me. The light that evening was golden and tender, bathing the rugged coastline in a warmth that seemed to defy the cool ocean breeze.

Pearses Bay, tucked away along the back beaches of the Mornington Peninsula, is a place of quiet splendour—remote, wind-swept, and largely untouched. The journey there winds through narrow sandy trails framed by coastal heath and scrub, where the scent of salt and tea tree hangs in the air. Few visitors make their way down to its crescent of pale sand, hemmed in by weathered limestone cliffs. Standing above it at sunset, one feels suspended between sea and sky—a moment of solitude and awe that lingers long after the light fades.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Sierra Nevada Rocks Sunset, Portsea for Skywatch Friday

 

A place I once frequented, though visiting has become increasingly difficult to plan. The Laowa lens creates a pronounced vignetting that deepens the atmosphere of this sombre image, casting an almost timeless mood over the scene.

The Nevada Rocks of Portsea, located along the Mornington Peninsula’s rugged southern coast, form part of the dramatic basalt and sandstone formations that have withstood relentless winds and tides from Bass Strait for millennia. These rocks tell the story of ancient volcanic activity and gradual marine erosion that shaped Victoria’s coastal geology. Over time, the elements carved out weathered ledges and sculptural outcrops that today stand as both a natural wonder and a silent witness to the passage of time.

Human presence here has long been intertwined with the sea. Early European settlers and fishermen sought shelter in the coves, while Portsea itself grew into a seaside retreat in the late nineteenth century, famed for its cliff-top mansions and its proximity to Fort Nepean—once a sentinel guarding the entrance to Port Phillip Bay. Today, Nevada Rocks remains a place of quiet solitude and untamed beauty, where the power of nature meets traces of human history in equal measure.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Linking Skywatch Friday

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

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

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

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

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

Cadillac Gorge Coast Gippsland for Skywatch Friday

 

Cadillac Gorge in Gippsland is a place of singular beauty, best revealed in its fullness when the tide runs high. Unlike many locations along the coast near Melbourne, which lose much of their drama to the receding waters, this gorge gains its splendour precisely at the hour when the sea presses inward, filling its chasms with heaving, silvered tides. It was during the quiet severity of winter that this particular scene was captured, when the air was sharp, the sea restless, and the light cast a subdued, almost austere glow across the stone.

The natural history of the gorge is deeply rooted in the geological character of Gippsland’s coast. Over countless millennia, waves and weather chiselled away at the softer rock, leaving behind a rugged cleft where the sea now surges and withdraws in eternal rhythm. The walls of the gorge bear silent testimony to this slow labour of time, their strata marking ancient epochs of earth and ocean. In winter, sea-spray often wreathes the rocks in a fine mist, and birdlife—gulls, cormorants, and the occasional sea eagle—can be seen circling above, drawn by the bounty of the waters.

The human history of Cadillac Gorge, though quieter, is no less meaningful. Long before European settlement, the coastal country of Gippsland was part of the traditional lands of the Gunai/Kurnai people, for whom the shorelines and sea caves were places of food gathering, story, and spiritual connection. With colonisation, the coast became a frontier for sealing, fishing, and later, tourism, as travellers from Melbourne sought out wild beauty beyond the city. Today, though relatively little known compared with the more frequented coves of Phillip Island or the Great Ocean Road, Cadillac Gorge stands as one of those hidden places that rewards patient discovery.

Thus, a photograph taken here at high tide is not merely an image of rocks and water: it is a moment within a much older story, shaped by the forces of earth and sea, and framed by the layered presence of human history upon the land.

Sony A7RV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Kitty Miller Bay Phillip Island for Water H2O Thursday

 

Kitty Miller Bay, situated on the southern coast of Phillip Island, is renowned as a premier destination for surfing, drawing enthusiasts with its consistently favorable waves and striking coastal scenery. The bay, framed by dramatic cliffs and pristine sandy shores, bears witness to both natural and human history. Its geological formations tell the story of ancient coastal processes, while the surrounding vegetation reflects the island’s unique flora adapted to the harsh marine environment. Historically, the area has attracted mariners, and remnants of shipwrecks along the shore serve as poignant reminders of the perilous seas that once challenged early navigation. I once visited Kitty Miller Bay in pursuit of capturing a compelling photograph of one such shipwreck, seeking to preserve the interplay of natural beauty and historical resonance in a single image.

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Magic Beach Cape Woolamai Phillip Island for Skywatch Friday

 

Magic Beach, revealed only at low tide along the sweeping shores of Cape Woolamai on Phillip Island, is a place where the natural and the personal converge in quiet wonder. When the ocean withdraws, the sea floor unveils a scatter of ancient rocks, their surfaces carved and smoothed over millennia by waves and wind. These formations are the remnants of a powerful volcanic past, for Cape Woolamai itself is born of basaltic flows and granite intrusions that date back millions of years, their rugged cliffs now standing sentinel over Bass Strait. Long before European arrival, this coastline formed part of the lands of the Bunurong people, who knew its rhythms of tide, bird, and season. Today, it remains both a sanctuary for migratory seabirds and a dramatic landscape that draws the eye and stirs the imagination.

It was here, during the pandemic year when Melbourne lay under lockdown, that I came alone with my newly acquired Sony A7RIV, predecessor of the A7RV, eager to explore its capabilities. Magic Beach seemed an apt stage for such an experiment. I found myself entranced by the interplay of light and shadow across tide pools and rocks, using HDR techniques I had never attempted with my earlier Panasonic or Canon cameras. The solitude of that moment—an island shore, a receding tide, the silence broken only by surf—transformed the practice of photography into something almost meditative. In that fleeting communion, I glimpsed both the deep history of Cape Woolamai and the personal magic of discovery, as if the land itself conspired with my lens to etch memory into image.

Sony A7RIV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Nyah West sunrise for Skywatch Friday

 

Nyah West is the outback town that I visited for monthly nursing home visit. Outside the care facility, the sunrise is always pretty like this.

Sony A7RV

FE 135mm f1.8 GM

Linking Skywatch Friday

Portsea Back Beach for Skywatch Friday

 

My visit to this area during an unusually low tide proved most rewarding in terms of photographic endeavour. The light, delicate and fleeting, was at its finest just before the onset of complete darkness. The exposed ocean floor took on a strange, otherworldly appearance—almost alien in aspect. Portsea itself, a refined and affluent enclave favoured by the wealthy, remains largely untouched by the ordinary tourist trail. Few ventures beyond the cave gate that marks the divide from London Bridge, lending this particular stretch a sense of quiet seclusion and hidden charm.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6

Linking Skywatch Friday