Day 5 - Apollo Bay, Turton's Track, Waterfalls, The Redwoods and Platypus Paddle

10 March 2020

Good night’s sleep overnight but I think it might be time to dig out the warm pjamas and the extra blanket.  Up early and journal finally published, I’m keen to get onto today’s activities. Perhaps I might be able to get back in time for a rest before the Platypus Paddle this evening.

First stop is to obtain the confidence of a full tank of petrol before setting out. I am grateful that they are open this early as I pull up to the bowser just after 07:30. I laugh and photograph a sign on the fence and share it with friends and family before heading in to pay and am rewarded by an instant chuckle in response.

Pulling out from the servo, I take the opportunity of early morning light to photograph the beautiful avenue of what I think are Lebanese Cedars that line the beach reserve.

While I’m here I may as well wander down onto the sand. I read about a sheltered pocket off the shore where the bull kelp grows thickly. I guess this is a casualty of some rough weather washed up here on the sand. I do my best to suppress thoughts of warming sea temperatures killing the kelp forests as has been reported in Tasmanian waters.

I head back to the car and get on my way, heading for Marriners Lookout. Female Satin Bowerbirds fly up from the verge as I round the corner, climbing up to the parking area. The land was donated for the lookout and access is via a little gate. I linger briefly listening to the birds and head on up the hill. A young Eastern Yellow Robin perches on the fence and Silvereyes call to each other in their soft piping way as they feed in the blackberry bramble. A smile and greetings as a young couple head back to their car and again as I am overtaken by a couple of young men. Someone has put a painted stencil of a face on the trunk of a pathside tree. The views over Apollo Bay and along the coast, north and south are impressive but of course the light is all wrong for photographing the view to the north. After a few minutes I decide it’s time to head off, so I pick up a piece of rubbish someone has dropped and head down the hill.

Opposite the parking there’s an honesty box stall, so I wander over to see what is for sale. Ah, cultural icons and home-made gum leaf bookmarks that have inspirational quotes neatly written on them. I wonder what cash I have on me, but it all works out because my purchases add up to a conveniently tidy sum. I’ve taken my time here and I’m done in about 15 minutes.

Gumnut Babies

OK, where next. I look up the suggested route Loki_Ballarat provided on TripAdvisor and program the sat nav for the first step – Turtons Track, so I figure if I choose one of the nearby waterfalls that should get me in the right position. Turning in from Skenes Creek, soon enough I’m taking my turn at the traffic control point for some roadwork and talking to my daughter on the phone for which I pull over to avoid both driving distraction and inconsistent phone reception. That reaches a natural end by about 09:00 and I’m back on my way. The speed limit along Turtons Track various between 20 kph and 40 kph. It’s not difficult to keep well within the speed and today I seem to pretty much have the road to myself. I can’t imagine anyone wanting to go faster, well, not tourists anyway. 

Turtons Track - photo doesn't really do it justice

In the moist cool morning air the track is gorgeous. Crawling along at slow speed with the windows down seems the most natural thing in the world. The contrast of light and shadow makes it difficult to capture the beauty of the towering mountain ash (Eucalyptus Regnans) and the understorey of thriving tree ferns.

Satnav wants me to turn down a pretty rough looking forestry track. Hmm. I don’t think so. I keep going and sure enough PRB decides to agree with the brown tourist site signs saying turn left for Beauchamp Falls and Hopetoun Falls. They are definitely on my agenda. There’s roadwork for most of the way down towards Hopetoun Falls, this involves more traffic control of course. Large asphalt trucks clue me in as to the objective. They are sealing the road. I mosey along for what feels like a long time, passing multiple groups of workers, heavy machinery and trucks and next thing I know I’m at the Redwoods Picnic Area. Hmm. I’m sure the Redwoods was further than the falls. Oh well, while I’m here I may as well tick this off. There’s only one obvious place to park so that’s easy. Pause to watch the birds for a minute, two yellow robins are hanging about on a log and over on the edge of the trees a Bassian Thrush is hopping about feeding. This causes a sharp intake of breath and a quick few steps back to the car for my binoculars. The first sentence of Birds Australia’s online page for the Bassian Thrush is “Bassian Thrush is often difficult to see. “ Well not here, not today.

Bassian Thrush - best I could do. It wouldn't let me approach

I wander over into the redwood plantation. It’s very quiet and the build up of leaf litter creates a soft spongey feel underfoot, like walking on peat. Tree ferns sit by the Aire River as it gurgles along next to the redwoods. It’s not long before I’m heading back to my car to try to figure out where Hopetoun Falls is. A man approaches and asks in heavily accented English if I know where Hopetoun Falls are. Nope, I’m looking for them too. Before long we’ve got three groups of people all wandering around the Redwoods wondering where to go. One couple goes for a walk and returns reporting nope. No luck there. The foreign couple decide to do the same.

I manage a quick snap of a logging jinker as it passes the parking area. Having not seen any sign for the falls on the way down here, I figure I’ll explore a little along the roads beyond the bridge. Moseying along there at slow speed, increasingly confident this is not the right way another jinker comes hurtling around the corner. He brakes. I brake and we narrowly avoid collision. Thank goodness I wasn’t travelling any faster. The truckie indicates he wants me to stay put and he reverses back and makes a wider arc, keeping his vehicle to the left, well clear of my car. We smile to each other, each with clear indication of “phew, that was close” and we go on our way. I turn around and head back and decide to head to Beech Forest and phone reception to check my bearings. At the traffic control point I wind down my window and ask the traffic controller. “It’s just down this road here” he points. Around him I go. The works truck is parked in front of the Hopetoun Falls sign. Well, that’s caused everyone some entertainment.

The parking area at Hopetoun Falls is pretty busy but there’s space available. I get myself together and head over to the sign and the start of the track down to the falls. It’s a steep track with a lot of stairs among a thriving collection of tree ferns which in places form a ferny tunnel over the path. It’s a pretty walk that brings you to a viewing platform a fair distance from the falls. Some people have evaded the track designed to keep visitors under control and have clambered closer to the falls. That’s not for me so I enjoy the falls for a few minutes and head back along the path to start the climb back to the top. It’s a good workout that’s taken me about half an hour.

Hopetoun Falls - this is all you can see from the upper viewpoint

Where to next? I decide it’s time to head over to Triplet Falls. I’m sure Loki said do that first before Hopetoun and Beauchamp and this is confirmed when I pull over in Beech Forest to check. The drive to Triplet Falls is through some utterly gorgeous farming land. Golden yellow dandelion flowers line the road and adorn the pastures. Happy looking cattle graze in the field and I have nowhere I can pull over to take a photo. This area reminds me of the similar farmland in NSW where rainforest has made way for mostly dairy production, however this is particularly lovely. I’d come here for this even without the reward of a waterfall at the end of the road.

The inevitable stairs on the path at Triplet Falls

The sign at Triplet Falls suggests you photograph the map of the trail before you set out. Another, temporary sign warns visitors that extensive storm damage has resulted in the closure of much of the loop track but the falls are still accessible. Off I go and for quite a while the path is gentle and I’m thinking that this is the easiest track for any of the falls I’ve visited so far. I pause to read the signs about the steam driven mill that operated here, relics of which are gradually being reclaimed by the forest. Along a metal mesh boardwalk, duck under a mossy branch that has reached over the path to slow briskly walking visitors.

I pause to pay respect at a stump memorial to a massacred forest deity, the wounds of battle clear and present. I imagine the timber-getters axes in hand cutting the holes for their boards, spiralling around the trunk as they labour to bring down a giant. On to the seemingly inevitable long flight of stairs to the viewing platform. Wow. Triplet falls is the most impressive waterfall so far. And luckily I have narrowly escaped avoiding the sage advice I was given. The reason you need to go out and do Triplet Falls first, is because the light will be wrong for photographs in the afternoon. I’m in time thank goodness, but it’s difficult to capture the whole scene in one image. I linger and wander to the next little viewing area beyond which the track is closed. Others depart and I am left on my own briefly. Solitude in beautiful places always provides a spiritual lift.

Others soon arrive and I’m getting hungry so I set off, pausing to enjoy the frog chorus and again at a surviving giant to place my arms around it and hongi, pressing my forehead and nose against the trunk, thankful for its continued presence. The air I breathe is scented I feel the life force of the tree. I pull away just as a group passes me on their way down to the falls. To hongi with a tree may seem a bit bonkers and it certainly seemed so to me when our Maori guide had us each hongi a large Kauri tree in Waipoua Forest in NZ, but that was a very moving spiritual experience and I have come to think that more people should do it. As Wikipedia explains:“In the hongi, the ha (breath of life) is exchanged in a symbolic show of unity. Through the exchange of this greeting, one is no longer considered manuhiri, a visitor, but rather tangata whenua, one of the people of the land.” Try it. Exchange the breath of life with a tree, next time you are walking in the forest, but you might linger and sustain the hongi for at least 15-20 seconds.

The hongi tree

For lunch I’m picnicking on my favourite cheese and crackers and a piece of fruit. There’s a nice little group of picnic tables on the edge of the carpark where this can be achieved in comfort. My walk down to the falls has taken about 25 minutes each way, plus the time spent lingering there. Lunch packed away the only remaining item on the list today is Beauchamp Falls.

The drive out along the road from Triplet Falls is no less glorious for being a reprise. It’s over all too soon and I’m turning back onto the main drag towards Beech Forest and the Beauchamp turnoff. The work crews seem to have packed up so that simplifies the turn. Then it’s a longish section of dirt road to the Beauchamp Camping Area.

Fungi on the Beauchamp Falls walk

I spend a little time watching the birds. My attention attracted by a couple of fantails feeding on the edge of the clearing, I take my binoculars to the picnic table so I’m a bit closer. Silvereyes are feeding on some bright jewel like berries on a finely leaved shrub. Scanning with the bins, I see a Musk Lorikeet quietly feeding as well. Flocks of Silvereyes usually engage in constant conversation with each other as they are feeding and this one is no exception. Eventually I figure I’d better make a move and walk across towards the path, briefly stopping to watch a parent Yellow Faced Honeyeater forage and return to feed a fledged youngster on the branch nearby.

Beauchamp falls walk is about 2.5 kms and estimated as 1.5 hours. I check the time. Do I have time to get some dinner and then out to Forrest by 18:30? Should be OK. The path is level and slopes steadily downward.
I take my time, admiring more of the bushes with the tiny red jewel-like berries, alive to the possibility of a potential sighting of the rare Otway Black Snail. I pause again as another Bassian Thrush forages on the path. For most of the walk in I play leap frog with a tour group as their guide stops to talk about this or that and I go ahead, only to have them jump ahead when I stop in my turn. They stop to hear about fuel loads and hazard reduction burning or the lack thereof, I stop to photograph some fungi, they stop to hear about platypus habitat and I go ahead again.

We arrive at the falls at more or less the same time, the group opts to go straight down to the plunge pool and I head up to the viewing platform, pausing to use the steps for some stretches before taking the place of the guy there when he comes down. Beauchamp Falls are beautiful. I did wonder if I really needed a fourth Otways waterfall, but the answer to that is clearly, of course! The tour group is lingering so eventually I brave the crowd and join them at the water. A kind Canadian lady asks one of the guys to show me the crayfish they’ve been watching. It’s a cool variety with whitish nippers and red on its body. I don't know if this one is a native species, but Australia has over 100 species of crayfish including the largest and the smallest species in the world.

Crayfish at Beauchamp Falls

The group heads up and I do too, they’ve gone to the platform and I’ve made a start on the climb out. I’m doing my mum’s trick of using bird watching as an excuse to catch my breath and still my pounding heart. Going slowly is good because among this observational heavy breathing I spot a small bird. Raise my bins. Eureka! It’s a Rufous Fantail! Some people are coming down the hill and the woman is chatting. I look up, catch the eye of the man and put my finger to my lips indicating quiet. Then wave them down, and another finger to my lips. I tell them what to look for and point where it has gone. I hope they got to see it. Rufous Fantails are one of the most adorable Australian birds and they display in such a charming way, flitting about and spreading their fan tail like an exotic dancer but they are not common and they are migratory, coming south from New Guinea at this time of year. They look pretty in pictures, in your hand there intricate facial markings are utterly stunning.

A little while later I’m admiring an Eastern Yellow Robin perching on a branch over the path when a foreign family approach. The young boy shows an interest in what I’m doing so I point the bird out and tell them the name. A Brown Thornbill is hopping around in the undergrowth, these are clever little birds, very dainty at only 7 grams in weight, they like a number of Australian birds Brown Thornbills are clever mimics.

Back at the carpark I head over to the facilities. Easy to tell which one the blokes use. The female side is a bit better, but oh dear. I will wait. Time to hot tail it back to Apollo Bay for some dinner after quickly putting a camera battery on to charge.  

Artwork at the harbour, Apollo Bay

It seems to me, from my research and the time, that a take away fisherman’s basket from the Fisho’s Co-op is the way to go. They are doing a steady trade but service is quick. I spend about 5 minutes eating the scallops, prawns and calamari and a little of the flake, then figure I’m going to have to eat on the go so head for the car, a stop at the traffic control site gives an opportunity to finish all I need.

On arrival at the designated meeting spot in Forrest, another couple alights from their car and we get chatting. They are from Kerang, which they are surprised I have visited and only recently too. Excellent vanilla slice. We discuss the finer points of vanilla slice perfection and in the course of discussing the inferior efforts once you cross the border into NSW I learn that Barham is pronounced Barram. In due course another group which appears to be mother and daughter pull up and then Bruce turns up and we’re away. It’s ten minutes into Lake Elizabeth down an unsealed road. Being in convoy of course our cars get extra filthy. Bruce points out the facilities as he’s handing out life vests, opportunity for a toilet stop if we like before we set out. That seems prudent so off we all go. Back together Bruce leads the way into the lake at a cracking pace. A very brief pause at a mirror billabong and we’re off again. Us oldies are struggling a bit. Kerang is flat, hardly any variation in altitude. I’m just not very fit at the moment and I’ve been climbing up and down stairs and hillsides all day. After what seems like an eternity, the path slopes downward, but not for all that far so we console ourselves with the thought that coming back will be easier.

We wait patiently on the wooden viewing platform while Bruce unlocks the canoes and lashes them together. The guests don’t paddle we all just get to sit quietly trying not to scare any platypus. Bruce tells us snippets about platypus as we go, quietly out onto the lake. The wind drops and the mirror effects increase. The forest is settling for the night. Australasian Coots squabble and rush away from each other on the other side of the water.

Platypus habitat, Lake Elizabeth

We prowl along and Bruce swivels in his seat trying to keep as much of the lake under observation as possible. We’re not having much joy so far, well, it’s a joyous thing to be out on the water in the silent canoe as dusk deepens, but the platypi are not cooperating. As Bruce describes the habitat platypus prefer, it’s clear why they’ve chosen Lake Elizabeth, this is no doubt the Toorak of platypus territory.  We give up on this side and paddle over to the far shore. Bruce spots a small platypus, directing our attention to 11 o’clock. "There it is!" we each think, because exclamations of joy and excitement aloud would scare it away. With each dive the platypus swims about 5 metres, Bruce anticipates his direction and we stalk him for while until we eventually lose him as he nears the opposite shore. Far down the lake towards the jetty Bruce has spotted another we hasten slowly and quietly but it’s gone by the time we get closer. At least I did see it when Bruce pointed it out. Well, it’s getting too dark now, so Bruce expertly reverses the vessel into the pier and we each clamber out.

Canoes packed away we head off in the growing dark. The other groups have brought their torches and assume they need them. Torches don’t really help on a night like this, they just stop your eyes adjusting. Years of bird banding succeeded in convincing me of this simple fact. You will usually see more without the torch. The lady in front is pointing the torch backwards for her companion, which shines the torch fair in our eyes. I drop back to let them get far enough ahead. The man from Kerang does likewise and we chat as we go along. When we catch up to the group, torches are off and we’re admiring glow worms along the embankment. As we set out again, the torches stay away, thank goodness, and we’re spotting glow worms all along the path as we head downhill testing the theory that you can see them more clearly out of the corner of your eye.

We pay and say our farewells before following Bruce’s vehicle back out to Forrest. A simple drive back to the motel, it’s late and I’m exhausted. Brilliant day though.