The walk continued southwards, descending slowly through the T.C. McKellar Flora Reserve, which one sign described as one of the few remnant pieces of untouched native bush on the peninsula. Being relatively close to Melbourne, and easily accessible by the sheltered waters of Port Phillip and later on, by roads, the peninsula was quickly settled by Europeans and transformed into fertile farm lands. The remaining native bushland isn’t as dense as in other parts of the state, due perhaps to sandier soil and lower rainfall.
The Two Bays Track was finally completed in the 1980s as part of the celebrations around the state of Victoria’s 150th anniversary, the city of Melbourne having been founded in the 1830s. The symbol used on all the trail signs is the blue wren, an exquisite, tiny local bird, which can be seen throughout the area, flitting from branch to branch. The wren was a totem animal for certain Aboriginal tribes - the local nation being the Boonwurrung people. There is a sad, rather predictable history around the encounter between the Boonwurrung and European settlers on the peninsula, not differing greatly from similar stories told throughout Victoria.
As I walked quietly onwards, clouds of Monarch butterflies erupted into the air at every step. It lent the surroundings an almost magical ambiance. I stopped for a couple of minutes to enjoy the tranquillity and was joined by two large Eastern Grey kangaroos, hopping slowly between the trees some twenty metres away.
A steep downhill section led out of the trees and eventually down to a small dam. A couple were sitting on its banks, enjoying the view, the woman puffing on a cigarette. On the other side of the dam, a bobcat (mini-digger) was working furiously, and loudly, removing undergrowth as part of a fire-break clearance (there were notices everywhere about it). As I walked past the couple, I remarked that it was a lovely view, but it was a shame about the noise pollution. I think the woman thought I was having a go at her smoking habit with the word “pollution”, as she looked at me rather sharply. The man laughed and replied that you can’t have everything.
Beyond the dam, I returned to some suburban streets for about 30 minutes, passing many very grand-looking holiday homes. All of a sudden, the suburban sprawl ended again and I was walking up a gravel road, surrounded by rolling green hills, vineyards and farms. It was about time for a break, so I sat down on a conveniently-situated tree stump by the side of the road. As I munched on my muesli bar and admired the scenery, I noticed a medium-sized (about 1cm long) fire ant crawling on my shorts. I jumped up smartly to find the stump swarming with like-sized beasties, intent on protecting their home. I did what any wise individual would do in the circumstances and promptly dropped my shorts to make sure no other ants were already crawling on parts of me I’d rather not have bitten! Luckily I was safe, but decided not to sit down again and instead continued walking up the road.
In four hours of walking since leaving my car, I had only encountered a handful of people - the couple by the dam, two girls riding horses, two women out jogging together and one lone walker: this last probably doing the same as me, but in the opposite direction. This was to continue for the rest of the day, including my solitary lunch break.
What peace, tranquillity this place distills
Away from noise, anxiety and care;
The skylark’s plaintive song, the swelling hills,
the waving grass, the gentle breeze, the air.
And soaking all, the sunlight from on high;
the silent Earth’s great presence in reply.
For the technicians reading this, these lines are known collectively as a “Venus and Adonis” stanza (iambic pentameter, rhyming ababcc), after Shakespeare’s poem of the same name.
The Main Creek track ended at a car park on Boneo Road, where I encountered two men in their 50s preparing to set off on a walk. They asked me if I’d come from Baldry’s Crossing, which was the previous point for road access on the trail, about 9km back from where I’d came. I said I’d actually come all the way from Dromana, at which they were hugely impressed. One of them quizzed me regarding the track, how difficult it was, what I’d taken with me. I could see the plan hatching in his mind as he spoke and he confirmed it when he exclaimed to his friend that they should tackle it one day too. His friend looked a little less enthusiastic at the prospect of a 30km walk but smiled weakly all the same.
I mentioned to the men that I was holding up well but was beginning to run out of water, half in the hope that they would say “don’t worry, we have 100 litres of the stuff stashed in the boot of our car!”. No such luck, so I crossed the road and continued on the track towards Bushrangers Bay. This was territory even more familiar than Main Creek - a short 40 minute walk from the road into a gem of a little cove, tucked into the southern coastline of the peninsula. The colourful name comes from an incident worthy of a Hollywood blockbuster, when two hardened criminals, Henry Bradley and Patrick O’Connor, escaped from Tasmania, hijacked a schooner and forced the crew to sail across Bass Strait, putting ashore at this very bay, before they continued inland and wreaked havoc in the district for a couple of weeks. They were captured, tried and hanged within 40 days of their original escape. A fuller account of this fascinating story is available here.
I drank the last of my water looking out over Bushrangers Bay and along the coastline. The last 40 minutes of the walk followed the tops of the cliffs between the bay and Cape Schanck, occasionally affording excellent views in either direction. It was with some relief that I plodded into the car park and headed straight for the toilets, where I promptly filled up my water bottle from the rainwater tap and drank my fill.
Having walked 30km in one direction, I now needed to call a taxi to pick me up and take me back to my car in Dromana, the cape being beyond any public transport services. Unfortunately, my mobile phone didn't have any coverage, so I walked over to the kiosk, where tickets can be purchased to enter the lighthouse and museum. The man working there very kindly allowed me to use the telephone, but as I was in the act of dialling the number, he mentioned that he could give me a lift into Rosebud if that helped. I accepted the offer enthusiastically and asked him when he was finishing up. “Well, right now”, he said. So, before I knew it, I was in his four wheel drive, heading back towards the seaside towns on Port Phillip. As we drove along he said he was actually going to the Dromana Tourist Information centre, so in the end he dropped me right at my car. He spoke with the unmistakable lilt of the North of England and said he'd been living in Mount Martha (also on the peninsula) and working at the Cape for the past 10 years. A perfect lifestyle - no need ever to go into the big smoke. “The only way they’ll get me out of Mount Martha is in a box!”, he exclaimed with relish.
So, I found myself standing next to my car in Dromana on a beautiful sunny afternoon, feeling tired and rather foot-sore, but deeply satisfied, less than 8 hours after having set off on foot from there that morning. I took off my shoes and discovered that the afternoon's walking had created three rather spectacular-looking blisters on my heels. I changed into my swimming trunks and walked gingerly down the beach and into the cool, clean water. My fatigue washed off me as I plunged under the surface. As I soaked in the water, there was some splashing about 100 metres further out - two dolphins surfaced with a loud exhalation, before nonchalantly rolling and diving again beneath the surface. I smiled, lay back and looked up into the clear, blue sky.
Some video highlights
