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

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

Pirate Bay, Mornington Peninsula, Melbourne

 

It has been a project over the past few years that I try to find these esoteric sea caves which were often immersed in sea during high tides. They are not easy to access but it has become an adventure since pandemic happens. 

The good thing about these sea caves is that no tourists come visit at all. But the bad thing is if anything happen to me, no one would know about it. Sometimes rogue waves would cover the sea cave opening and wash me down the cave into an abyss. The very thought does scare me from time to time. This is why I have stopped photographing sea caves now. Time to do something cheaper and safer. 

Sony A7RIV

Laowa 9mm f5.6 

Sea Cave shots

Loch Ard Gorge, Great Ocean Road for Treasure Tuesday

 

Loch Ard Gorge, situated along the Great Ocean Road in Victoria, Australia, is one of the most captivating coastal landscapes in the country. I miss this spot very much. Though windy and rainy most times, the sea is a gift from nature—a powerful, ever-changing presence that both humbles and inspires.

Geologically, the gorge is a testament to the raw force of erosion. Formed from soft limestone laid down 15 to 20 million years ago during the Miocene epoch, the cliffs and sea stacks of this coastline have been sculpted by wind, rain, and relentless wave action. Loch Ard Gorge itself came into being when an underground cave collapsed, leaving behind a narrow inlet framed by towering limestone walls and a hidden sandy beach. This is part of a larger system that includes other famous landmarks like the Twelve Apostles and London Arch—all gradually shaped and reshaped by the sea.

But the gorge holds more than just natural beauty; it carries a poignant human story. In 1878, the clipper ship Loch Ard struck a reef near nearby Mutton-bird Island in heavy fog after a long voyage from England. Of the 54 passengers and crew on board, only two survived—Tom Pearce, a ship’s apprentice, and Eva Carmichael, a young Irishwoman. Their dramatic survival and rescue unfolded within the very gorge that now bears the ship’s name, turning it into a place of both natural wonder and quiet remembrance.

Today, visitors to Loch Ard Gorge can explore trails and lookouts that offer views of the dramatic coastline and read about the shipwreck that gave the site its name. The area also lies within the traditional lands of the Gunditjmara people, whose deep connection to this region stretches back tens of thousands of years.

Standing there, with the wind whipping through the gorge and waves crashing against the cliffs, it’s easy to feel both the immense power of nature and the layers of history it holds. Though often moody with weather, the sea remains a gift—timeless, untamed, and unforgettable.

Linking Treasure Tuesday

Flinders Blowhole Beach in Mornington Peninsula for Sky Watch Friday

 

This stretch of beach was where I often wandered in search of crabs hiding in the rock pools, timing my steps just before the sun began to sink low over the horizon. The tide left behind pockets of still water that mirrored the sky and, most strikingly, the cave nearby whose reflection shimmered with the changing light. It was a fleeting but beautiful moment, where the ordinary act of looking into shallow puddles revealed both life and landscape in harmony.

The cave and blowhole are part of the rugged coastline at Flinders, on the southern edge of the Mornington Peninsula, about an hour and a half from Melbourne. The region tells a story that stretches back millions of years, when volcanic activity left behind the dark basalt cliffs that now meet the sea. Over time, the powerful swells of the Bass Strait relentlessly carved into these rocks, hollowing out sea caves and forming the blowhole that today draws both visitors and locals. The air there often carries the salt spray of crashing waves, and on windy days the ocean surges with a force that reminds you of its timeless authority.

Flinders itself has long been appreciated for its natural beauty, with its cliffs, rock shelves, and tide pools offering endless opportunities for exploration. Beyond its geology, the area is steeped in human history too: the coastline was known and traversed by the Bunurong people, who relied on its waters for food and held deep connections to its land and sea. Later, it was named after the navigator Matthew Flinders, who charted much of Australia’s southern coast in the early 1800s.

Standing at the blowhole today, watching the sun lower across the horizon and catching glimpses of crabs in the pools, I felt the convergence of many timelines. The fleeting moment of a reflection in water was layered atop a landscape shaped by fire and ocean, and upon traditions that stretch back thousands of years. In that sense, the Flinders Blowhole is not only a place of natural drama but also one of quiet continuity, where the vastness of history meets the intimacy of memory.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

London Bridge Remains, Portsea, Mornington Peninsula for Sunday Best

 

Situated upon the windswept coast of Portsea, at the southernmost tip of the Mornington Peninsula in Victoria, Australia, the site known as London Bridge was once crowned by a magnificent natural arch—an enduring testament to the erosive power and artistry of the sea. Fashioned over countless centuries, the arch stood as both a geological marvel and a cherished local landmark, drawing visitors to behold its stark beauty and the thunderous majesty of the ocean that sculpted it.

The great arch succumbed to the inevitable work of time and tide, collapsing in the early twenty-first century and thus altering the visage of the coastline forever. Yet the place remains imbued with a kind of solemn grandeur. Where once stone spanned sky, now only remnants of its former glory stand—weathered, noble, and quiet.

I used to frequent this place often, long before I began to spend my weekends in the company of Joel. In those days, I found in the solitude of London Bridge a peculiar and profound kind of solace. Though the arch itself has long since fallen, the sea, ever faithful to its art, continues its delicate work. At high tide, waters surge into the heart of what remains—a rocky cavernous bowl—filling it with a shimmering pool of seawater that dances and glistens in the sunlight. It is a sight of singular, haunting beauty.

Joel, however, regarded the place with far less affection. To him, it was barren and uninspiring, its charms too subtle, its colours too subdued. I suppose we all have our own preferences. Where I perceived wild poetry, he found only a muted coast. And yet, I cannot help but feel that therein lies its power: in the understated, in the stripped-down silence of land and sea at meeting point.

Though the bridge itself is no more, the spirit of London Bridge endures—etched not only in the weathered stone and the tides that whisper through its remains, but also in the hearts of those who once stood before it and felt, if only for a moment, the immensity of the earth’s quiet grandeur.

Sony A7RIV

FE 16-35mm f2.8 GM

Linking Sunday Best

Seaford Pier Sunset

 

This pier is an attraction for troubles. It crashes a few times over the year. The place often gets seagulls (sea rats) attacking people randomly. One kid got a blind eye as a result as well. The water smells of organic waste from these flying sea gulls too. 

It looks nice pointing my camera at the sun. Unfortunately these seagulls looked like dusts on my camera sensor!

Sony A7RIV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Sea

Rabbit Rock Silhouette for Treasure Tuesday

 

I stood on this rock taking this shot. Then I was soaked wet by the sea waves. In a few minutes, where I stood was under the sea. It was wild.

This image is what I am after. 

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4

Linking Treasure Tuesday

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

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

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

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

Sea Cave in Inverloch

 

The coastline from Inverloch to Hamer's beach is where dinosaur fossils are frequently discovered. There are numerous sea caves along the coastline too. 

This particular cave is very wide. There are many spiders crawling on the ground as well. Not a fun place to stay still.

Sony A7RIV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

This is linking Image-in-ing

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

Bridgewater Bay for Treasure Tuesday

Miscalculation on my part. The low tide on Saturday was actually not so low 1 metre high. So Joel blamed me for it for the turbulent sea hitting at us. 

For me, sea is my treasure. The gentle hiking and the smell of ocean just cleanse my worries away.

By sunset, it was pouring rain on us. We ended up discovering another fish and chips shop run by Greek grandfather. The snapper and souvlaki were so yummy and delish! 

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f2.8 GM

Linking Treasure Tuesday

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

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

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

London Bridge, Portsea, Mornington Peninsula for Water H2O Thursday

 

Joel and I once again found ourselves in this picturesque corner of Melbourne, drawn by the timeless beauty of the coast at Portsea. The tide had risen halfway, lapping gently at the shore, and we took the opportunity to capture another image of the sea cave before the encroaching waves swallowed the space entirely.

This site, known as London Bridge, holds a quiet majesty shaped by millennia of natural forces. Carved by the relentless action of wind and water, the arch once formed a striking natural bridge jutting into the Bass Strait. For decades, it stood as a proud sentinel of the Mornington Peninsula, a favourite among visitors and locals alike.

However, in 2005, the bridge partially collapsed—its central span giving way to the ocean’s persistent erosion. What remains now is a rugged, windswept fragment of its former grandeur, a solemn reminder of nature’s power to both create and undo. Today, as the sea reclaims the cave below, we are reminded not only of the fragility of these coastal formations but also of the fleeting moments we are fortunate enough to witness.

Sony A7RV

FE 35mm f1.4 GM

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Pulpit Rock, Cape Schanck, Mornington Peninsula, Melbourne

 

Pulpit rock is a basalt type formed by cooling lava. This is a popular location for angling fishing and photographers. Few get hurled out into the sea every year according to the statistics. During high tide, one would be standing at the sea floor scuba diving. 

Coming here is always a challenge. Photographers are like a pack of wolves here. We gonna get our spots like a prized possession. I often browse for stock market news on my phone, squatting on these uneven rock surfaces. 

Did I mention that there were more tourists than the fish in the ocean here?

Sony A7RIV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Cape Schanck Mornington Peninsula