I may have been slightly misleading in my last writing. The day was dark and stormy, rain consistent and The Hazards were no closer than dwelling where they often do, in my imagination. The set in rain continued until after lunch, maybe 1300 or 1400 but then cleared. The sky was still threatening, ominous in its blackness but the rain had ceased. I ventured to the beach and witnessed the horror of the storm; the beach was covered in thick foam, the water brackish as far as the eye could see and the saddest part; there were dead and dying mutton birds in the shallow water and foam, clearly exhausted from fighting the storm. It is incredulous that these creatures can migrate across hemispheres but cannot withstand the worst that Great Oyster Bay can meter out. Feeling somewhat sad and very helpless, my visit to the beach was shorter than it might have been under happier conditions.
As the day progressed, the clouds lifted and the sky blued and my mountains appeared in all their majesty. I returned to the beach and was heartened by the small number of birds that actually remained on the beach and by the number that were flying. Clearly, the birds that I had imagined as dying were resting and recuperating. Yes, nature took its toll, but not the toll apparent in the early aftermath of the storm.
I always feel a closeness to my parents when I visit the sea, and this sea in particular as the ashes of both my parents were scattered at Coles Bay. I love the concept that all seas join together and that I can visit with my parents by visiting the sea at any of the world’s locations; this location however is the ultimate. I have for a number of years collected penguin paraphernalia and last time I visited Coles Bay and was thinking about my parents, a lone little penguin swam by. I felt that penguin was the sign that mum and dad were there with me.
It’s quiet here; that is a major part of the attraction. Time to appreciate it some more!