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

Sierra Nevada Rocks in Portsea for Skywatch Friday

 

I realise there is only a small portion of sky visible in this photograph, yet it still fits within the theme. This image was captured during a period when I was completely fascinated by my ultra-wide 9mm Laowa lens. I was captivated by its ability to exaggerate perspective and include vast surroundings within a single frame, and I found myself experimenting with it in all sorts of situations.

This particular shot was taken at the Portsea sea caves on the Mornington Peninsula, Melbourne. These coastal formations, sculpted over centuries by relentless waves and wind, are renowned for their rugged beauty and dramatic textures. The interplay of light filtering through the cave openings and the reflections from the ocean create a mesmerising scene—one that challenges any photographer to balance composition, exposure, and timing. Creativity should certainly count for something, especially when working in such dynamic and unpredictable natural settings.

Sony A7RV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Linking Skywatch Friday

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

Princes Pier Pylon Port Melbourne for Treasure Tuesday

 

The photograph was taken at Port Melbourne’s historic Princes Pier, though not during the golden hour that so often bathes the sea in honeyed light. Rather, it was a spontaneous shot—one of those unplanned moments that arise when the day’s itinerary dissolves and the camera remain the only faithful companion. Joel and I had wandered aimlessly that afternoon, having run out of places to go, when the glimmer of light on the water caught my eye. The air was mild, tinged with the scent of salt and timber, and the long-weathered pylons stood solemnly like sentinels of the past. I pressed the shutter almost absentmindedly, more out of habit than expectation. Yet, to my astonishment, that very image would later win a prize in a national photography competition. It felt strange and humbling that a fleeting, almost casual moment could be recognized amidst so many crafted works.

Afterwards, Joel and I drove to St Kilda, that lively seaside district known for its old amusement pier and cosmopolitan charm. We found a small souvlaki joint tucked between the shops, the sort of place that greets you with the aroma of grilled lamb and oregano before you even step inside. The lamb chops were extraordinarily juicy, glistening with their own fat, charred just enough to release a whisper of smoke. We ate in companionable silence, watching the slow descent of twilight over the esplanade—the sea turning from steel to violet, the city lights beginning their nightly shimmer.

In retrospect, that day feels like a quiet meditation on chance and reward—the way beauty can appear without warning, and how memory often attaches itself to the simplest acts: a photograph taken without intention, a meal shared without ceremony. Princes Pier, in its weathered grace, seemed to speak of time’s patient endurance, the lamb in St Kilda, of life’s earthy pleasures. Between them lay the essence of the day—an unassuming harmony between art, friendship, and the small felicities that make an ordinary afternoon unforgettable.

Sony A7RV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Pearses Bay, Blairgowrie for Sunday Best

 

Once again, Joel and I visited this rugged coast last weekend. Our wandering led us to a secluded section of the bay adorned with striking rock formations and restless, foaming waters. There we set up our equipment and devoted ourselves to capturing the scene from various angles, the rhythm of the waves providing both challenge and inspiration. Time slipped away unnoticed; scarcely had we taken a few frames before the sun sank beyond the horizon, casting a final glow upon the sea.

The approach to this spot, along the winding trail of the Back Beach on the Mornington Peninsula, was itself a quiet delight — a path bordered by coastal shrubs and windswept dunes, where the air carried the mingled scents of salt and tea-tree. It is a place that rewards both the patient walker and the watchful eye, revealing new beauty with every turn.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

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

Cadillac Gorge San Remo beachscape for Water H2O Thursday

 

This image was captured with a telephoto zoom lens from a considerable distance. Such an approach is uncommon in landscape photography, yet I chose to remain afar — for good reason. The place, known as Cadillac Gorge near San Remo, possesses a beauty both austere and perilous. Beneath its brooding cliffs, the restless sea breathes with deceptive calm before breaking into sudden fury. Local fishermen know its temperament too well; from time to time, a rogue wave surges without warning, sweeping the unwary from the rocks into the cold embrace of the Bass Strait. From afar, the gorge appears serene — a meeting of wind, water, and rugged stone — yet its silence carries the echo of untold stories, both majestic and tragic.

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f4 G

Linking 

Water H2O Thursday

Lake Tyrrell Topdown View, Mallee for Treasure Tuesday

 

Lake Tyrrell is truly a remarkable place to experience the vast beauty of Victoria’s inland Mallee — a land of shimmering heat, whispering saltbush, and an arid grandeur that stretches to the horizon. Once a great inland sea, this ancient salt lake — the largest in Victoria — lies some 314 kilometres northwest of Melbourne, near the township of Sea Lake. Its name, derived from the Wergaia word tyrille, meaning “sky,” aptly reflects the way the heavens seem to merge with its pale, crystalline surface.

Formed over 120,000 years ago, Lake Tyrrell’s basin collects ephemeral water after rare rains, only to surrender it again to the sun’s fierce evaporation. Over millennia, this rhythm has laid down thick crusts of salt, harvested since the 1890s for commercial use. Yet beyond its industrial past, Lake Tyrrell possesses a haunting poetry. When dry, its bed resembles an immense canvas — cracked, sculpted by wind and heat, patterned with soft pinks, ochres, and pearly greys. From above, the lake appears almost abstract, as though painted by nature’s hand: vast concentric sweeps of colour, delicate fissures like brushstrokes, and tonal gradations that shift with the light.

Standing on its edge at dusk, one feels both solitude and wonder — the landscape dissolves into sky, and the mirrored hues of sunset seem to blur the boundaries between earth and dream. Lake Tyrrell is not merely a geographical feature; it is a living artwork, a reflection of Australia’s deep interior spirit — timeless, austere, and profoundly beautiful.

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Candillac Gorge San Remo For Sunday Best

 

Cadillac Gorge at San Remo is best visited when the tide breathes gently against the rocks — high enough for drama, yet low enough to let you wander into its sculpted heart. That day, however, the sea had risen too far, climbing to 1.1 metres, a restless height that sealed the gorge from reach. The air was thick with the scent of salt and the sound of water striking stone, each surge echoing through the basalt walls like a low, thunderous heartbeat.

Joel stood a little distance away, cautious of the spray that leapt unpredictably from the rocks. I remember how the wind lifted droplets that glistened like glass in the pale afternoon light. In the pools nearby, small whirls turned upon themselves — patient, persistent, as if tracing the rhythm of the ocean’s hidden pulse.

Though we could not step into the gorge that day, its beauty was no less felt. Cadillac Gorge revealed itself in fragments — in the crash of waves, in the shimmer of foam, and in the humbling reminder that nature does not always open her doors, but when she does, it is on her own, magnificent terms.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sunday Best

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

Bore Beach San Remo at Gippsland for Water H2O Thursday

 

My apologies in advance — over the coming weeks, my posts will be devoted entirely to the seascapes of this beloved coast. I find quiet joy in the short drive and in the patient search for light, texture, and tide along its edge.

Bore Beach at San Remo carries a history woven deep into Victoria’s maritime past. Once part of a rugged fishing and trading route, it served as a working shoreline where boats were launched into the often restless waters of Bass Strait. In the late nineteenth century, the nearby township of San Remo grew around the bridgehead that linked the mainland to Phillip Island, becoming a small but vital port for granite, coal, and the island’s dairy produce. Local fishermen would gather at Bore Beach before dawn, their lanterns swaying like low stars, setting out to sea for snapper and salmon.

Today, the beach remains quieter — its industry replaced by contemplation. The wind carries only traces of those early voices, mingling with the cry of gulls and the rhythmic pull of the tide. To wander here is to feel both the endurance of the sea and the fragile beauty of human memory along its shore.

Sony A7RV 

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Bandicoot Walk Blairgowrie for Sign2

 

This narrow track at Pearses Bay, in Blairgowrie, slips away from the main path like a secret whispered by the dunes. It winds between the scrub and the salt air, where every turn feels both familiar and new. Without the guiding signs, one could easily lose their way—the land itself seems to invite a gentle bewilderment. Even the signpost, weathered and bold, carries a hint of adventure, as though pointing toward a story rather than a direction.

Below, the bay reveals its hidden chambers—sea caves carved by time and tide, echoing with the murmurs of the deep. They beckon the daring to descend by rope into their cool blue silence. I smile at the thought, and decline. Some beauty, after all, is best admired from the edge, where wonder and safety share a fragile peace.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Sign2

Pearses Bay Track Blairgowrie for Treasure Tuesday

 

Pearses Bay has become our chosen trail—Joel’s and mine—a place where the land curves gently toward the restless sea. The walk unfolds with a quiet grace, the salt wind brushing softly against the face like a familiar hand. There is solace in its constancy, a rhythm of air and tide that speaks without words.

With a telephoto lens, I linger by the shore, studying the water as it folds and unfurls in endless conversation with the rocks. Each ripple, each surge, becomes a stanza of motion and light. It matters little whether the sky is bright or brooding; the sea always offers a new language to read, a shifting mirror for the mind. And so, we return—drawn by the hush between the waves, where observation becomes a kind of prayer, and the simple act of looking feels like belonging.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie for Water H2O Thursday

 

Long drives across country Victoria once again—rushing from one destination to the next with scarcely a moment’s pause. As the saying goes, there is no rest for the wicked.

This image is from one of my previous water exposure studies at Pearses Bay, Blairgowrie, on the southern Mornington Peninsula. I thought I might share another, this time capturing a different whirling motion of the ocean.

Geologically, Pearses Bay forms part of the rugged Bass Strait coastline, carved over millennia from the Tertiary limestone and sandstone cliffs characteristic of the region. The relentless action of wind and sea has sculpted dramatic rock platforms, blowholes, and tidal pools that testify to the Peninsula’s ancient marine origins—remnants of a seabed that once lay beneath warm, shallow waters some 10 to 15 million years ago.

Historically, the bay takes its name from early European settlers in the Blairgowrie district during the mid-19th century, when the coast was known for lime burning and small-scale maritime trade. Today, it remains a place where geological time and coastal solitude converge, inviting both reflection and respect for the enduring power of the sea.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Pearses Bay Blairgowrie For Treasure Tuesday

 

While Joel remained absorbed in his phone for the greater part of our venture, I busied myself with the more patient art of observation. Along the curve of the bay, I lingered with my camera, experimenting with various lengths of exposure, seeking to capture the secret motion of water and light.

The tide moved in soft eddies, curling like pale silk across the sand, and the wind traced fleeting patterns upon the surface. Each long exposure revealed another rhythm — the sea breathing in slow, translucent whirls, the rocks standing still as time itself slipped past in silver veils.

I found a quiet pleasure in these swirls, these transient forms that vanished even as they appeared. In them lay something of the eternal — the ceaseless conversation between sea and shore, between motion and stillness, between the human heart and the timeless patience of nature.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Treasure Tuesday

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

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