Being a West Australian I have always been of the opinion that the best coast is the west coast, however exploring the south coast of Australia in the last few days has invited me to question this assumption and has given me a greater appreciation of the south’s answer to our wild and barren yet beautiful western side of the vast nation i call home.
First stop along the coast was the Royal National Park, located just outside of Sydney, this bush was reminiscent of my grandparent’s farm where march flies and muddy creeks are commonplace. The type of country you imagine when someone tells you they have ‘gone bush’ for a bit.
We continued further south, to a place which more closely resembles something from the teletubbies than from a nation renowned for it’s rainless days, Kiama where we met with some old family friends, sharing red wine and walking their dog Misty in the great outdoors, while keeping an eye out for migrating whales. The view from the balcony of their home shows just how varied this magical place is, where the palm trees remind us that where we stand today there once was a rainforrest, and the mountains on the horizon means that night comes quicker and is colder than in the mountainless West.
The next stop was a small place in whoopwhoop called Duras, a beachside town with trees as tall as the giants you were told about as a smallchild. Located just outside of a national park life is slow and simple here and water is collected in tin rain tanks. The beauty of the ocean reminds me that this land is collected to the land i call home, the same water kisses the shores of my home break. It feels familiar, yet worlds away from rugged WA. As always, standing on the beach looking out into the enormity of the ocean serves as a reminder that although my life’s burdens might seem like the ocean, they are just one a few minuscule water particles in a vast expanse of sea.