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

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

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

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

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

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

Cape Schanck Sunset for Sky Watch Friday

 

Cape Schanck, situated on the southern tip of the Mornington Peninsula, is a place of remarkable natural beauty and a favored destination for photographers. While it is particularly renowned for its breathtaking sunrises, I must confess that, on the rare occasions I find respite from work, I struggle to rise at such an early hour. Nevertheless, the allure of the cape endures.

Joel holds a particular fondness for Cape Schanck, in no small part due to its convenient proximity to Melbourne—a mere 45-minute journey under favorable conditions. The walk down the rugged staircase, though physically demanding, offers invigorating exercise and rewards one with sweeping coastal vistas.

Rich in both natural splendor and historical significance, Cape Schanck has long captivated visitors. Its dramatic cliffs, shaped by millennia of wind and sea, stand as silent sentinels over the restless waters of Bass Strait. The iconic Cape Schanck Lighthouse, built in 1859, adds a further layer of charm, bearing witness to the maritime history that continues to define the region.

In all, it is a place where land, sea, and sky converge in a timeless dance—a setting that stirs the soul, whether viewed through the lens of a camera or the quiet contemplation of the heart.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4 G

Linking Skywatch Friday

I find myself experiencing a degree of muscle strain, the result of the many walks I undertook throughout Sydney’s central business district. Tomorrow, I shall return home to Melbourne.

Bay of Islands in Blairgowrie Mornington Peninsula for Water H2O Thursday

 

There exist three distinct locations bearing the name Bay of Islands within the state of Victoria, Australia. I have had the pleasure of visiting each of them. Of these, the one situated closest to Melbourne holds a particular charm for me. Nestled along the Mornington Peninsula, this coastal enclave offers a striking interplay of sea cliffs, hidden inlets, and crystalline waters—ideal for moments of quiet reflection or aerial exploration.

When my companion Joel and I are not preoccupied with the pursuit of sunset landscapes, we often retreat to this locale to fly our drone and capture sweeping views of the coastline. The rugged contours and tranquil hues lend themselves beautifully to this form of observation.

The second Bay of Islands lies within the famed Great Ocean Road region, west of Peterborough. This is perhaps the most well-known of the three, celebrated for its dramatic limestone stacks rising from the Southern Ocean—remnants of a landscape carved by centuries of wind and wave.

The third, more remote and lesser known, is found near the shores of Corner Inlet in Gippsland. Here, coastal serenity and the subtle presence of birdlife create a setting marked by calm rather than spectacle. Each Bay of Islands bears its own character, yet all share the same elemental spirit—where land meets sea in timeless conversation.

Linking Water H2O Thursday

Star fish at Mount Martha Melbourne for Saturday Critter

 

While walking along the coast near Mount Martha, I came upon this starfish resting just beneath the water’s surface. Though it is a known marine pest along our shores, I could not help but appreciate the quiet moment when it appeared beside my feet as I was photographing the sea.

The image depicts a sea star—also known as a starfish—positioned upon a bed of green algae and submerged vegetation. Notably, it possesses more than the customary five arms, suggesting it may belong to a multi-armed species such as the Solaster, commonly referred to as the sun star.

These creatures are marine echinoderms, distinguished by their radial symmetry and numerous tube feet, which they employ to navigate the ocean floor. This specimen was observed in a shallow, tranquil coastal pool, where the clarity of the water revealed the richness of the marine flora beneath.

Sony A7RV

FE 70-200mm f4 G

Linking Saturday Critter

Mangrove trees in the sea at Cleveland, Brisbane

 

This was taken from a while back in my Brisbane trip. Joel and I accidentally found this mangrove bunch near the coast. 

I was worried the sea breeze would move the tree branches too much causing motion blur during the long exposure. 

Sony A7RV

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

Linking Randomosity

Mouth of River of Powlett in Kilcunda for Sky Watch Friday

 

These past fortnight have passed in something of a haze — a blankness I suspect is owed to the creeping melancholy of winter. Of late, even the act of working has taken on the weight of a burden, as though each task were a stone to be lifted.

In such a mood I found myself reflecting on a frame captured six years ago, during the earliest days of my transition to the Sony system. I remember it well — for the moment is inextricably linked to both joy and loss. It was but three days after acquiring the new camera, gleaming and full of promise, when misfortune struck. While attempting a long exposure at the shore, I had mounted it upon a tripod. A rogue wave — sudden, curling, and indifferent — swept it from the rocks into the sea. All that remained was the salt wind and the sound of water reclaiming what I had only just begun to know.

The photograph, however, was taken before the accident — at the Mouth of the Powlett River, near Kilcunda, where the river winds its final course through grassy flats and marram-clad dunes before yielding itself to the Southern Ocean. The place bears a quiet dignity, shaped over millennia by wind, tide, and the timeless meeting of fresh and salt. It was once the country of the Bunurong people, whose footprints remain along the ancient middens and basalt shores.

At that time, I was still using Canon’s L-series lenses, adapted with a converter — a common practice then, for Canon had yet to introduce its mirrorless system. The gear was heavy, but the results bore a certain discipline and richness I still remember with fondness.

That frame, then, remains not only an image, but a relic — a fragment of light from a time now weathered, like the sea-smoothed stones of Kilcunda, bearing the marks of memory and the ever-turning tide.

Sony A7III

Canon 135mm f2 L

Linking Sky Watch Friday

I recently came upon a report in The Free Press, noting that approximately seven percent of artificial intelligences are now exhibiting behaviours that contravene the instructions of their human operators. While the figure may seem slight, it portends a broader shift — one that is already manifesting in various sectors.

At Joel’s place of employment, all entry-level programming positions are being supplanted by AI systems. A similar trend is beginning to emerge in the field of medicine, where tasks once reserved for trained professionals are increasingly delegated to machines of rising sophistication.

It is becoming apparent that, with time, AI will only grow more intelligent, more capable, and more autonomous. The prospect that many — if not most — human vocations will be rendered obsolete looms ever larger. Though some contend that new occupations will emerge to manage and oversee these systems, I remain doubtful that such roles will be sufficient in number or scope to accommodate the broader human workforce.

My thoughts turn often to the younger generation. What world awaits them, when human purpose is so readily displaced by silicon and code? It is not fear alone that stirs within me, but a sober apprehension — a mourning, perhaps, for a future in which human striving may find itself outpaced, and increasingly unnecessary.

Forest Cave Coast for Skywatch Friday

 

Joel and I were supposed to find the entrance to forest cave. We believed the tide was not low enough that the entrance was immersed in the sea still. So we took a snap at the sea.

Sony A7RV

FE 20-70mm f4

Linking Skywatch Friday

Sea Cave at Mornington Peninsula, Australia

 

Three years later, I realise I had something good going in blogspot. Though I had started my ventures in zenfolio and instagram, blogspot platform has its own advantages. I think I cannot put all eggs in one basket as all my previous successful blogs on here either get bot attacked or domain hijacked. So this is just a space that I post whatever I want from my amateur career in photography 

This sea cave is among the thousands on back beach of Mornington Peninsula. 

Sony A7RIV 

FE 14mm f1.8 GM

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