Walking the Surf Coast, Australia

December 2021

The Surf Coast Walk stretches from Fairhaven to Point Impossible on the northern fringe of Torquay. It’s a walk we’ve done before, but this time we’re starting in Lorne, 16 kilometres to the west of the waymarked trail. Our plan is to walk 55 kilometres over two days, taking in deep draughts of coastal wildness as an antidote to this pandemic-restricted year. 

We travel by train, past the Taoist Heavenly Queen Temple and the statue of Mazu, goddess of the sea and protector of people in perilous situations. 

What was once grassland then a wasteland scarred by the rusting remnants of farms is now a monotonous expanse of housing estates. Beyond the oil refineries, the port and the last surviving paddocks, the southern ocean comes into view. The sun, bouncing off the water, scatters wavelengths of turquoise light. The land surrenders to the beauty of the infinitely vast, never still sea.

We wander in the late afternoon sunshine; through Lorne, out to the end of the pier and back along the beach. Mares’ tails, the wispy cirrus clouds that foretell of oncoming rainstorms, streak the upper sky. The glistening-wet sand holds the reflection of the fluffy cumulus clouds that hover above the horizon. As the sun sets, sea and sky become tinged with rose gold and violet. We can just make out the Split Point lighthouse shimmering on a headland way off in the distance.

Lorne to Anglesea (30 kilometres)

We’re up at sunrise, to catch the ebb tide. As we pause for coffee at the only open cafe, mist sweeps in from the sea and intensifies to rain. The vistas of forested cliffs, rocky headlands and half-moon bays vanish. Pacific gulls with scarlet tipped, bright yellow bills stand close to the water’s edge, looking out to sea. Mournful wailing alerts us to a flock of black cockatoos flying high over the estuary. As we watch, they turn inland, making for the shelter of the forest. 

There’s an early morning swimmer and a couple of dog walkers about. Otherwise, we have the long stretch of beach to ourselves. 

After the rain, the coastal springs drip with watery greenness and it’s all soft pink sand and mackerel seas. The sand holds the meandering tracks of crabs and, at the high water mark, the body of a dead shearwater. Mussels and sea snails cling to the rocks as the tide recedes. The pools that form in the hollows become their own mesmerising ecosystems. 

A narrow strip of vegetation separates us from the road that hugs the shoreline for six kilometres. At Cathedral Rock, the road leaves the coastline and climbs up towards Cinema Point. We stay down low, keeping an eye out for rogue waves as we navigate a safe passage around rock pools and sea channels. On this strip of coast, even on a calm day, the water roars into the rocky caves and the waves are unpredictable.

Intriguing rock spheres protrude from the rocky platforms. Did they build up over many centuries, forming around an organism? Or did they erupt from an ancient volcano, rock penetrating rock as they crash-landed here?   

All morning, the suck and swish of the tide, the cry of seabirds and the sighing of she-oaks. 

Beyond Fairhaven we have eyes only for the Split Point lighthouse, our lodestar all morning and our planned lunch stop. The scurrying of a Rufous Bristlebird distracts us but only for an instant, the cafe in our sights. We linger over our meal before nonchalantly setting out on today’s remaining 15 kilometres. 

From the lighthouse, the walk follows the Aireys clifftop track and dips in and out of sandy beaches flanked by limestone cliffs. We’ve done this section of the Surf Coast Walk before and remember it as full of wonder. Entranced by the play of the waves, we stay close to the water’s edge until at Urquhart Bluff we realise the incoming tide is swamping the headland. The water is too deep to risk making a dash for it, the rocks are too steep and slippery to clamour over and it’s too late to retrace our steps. Our only option is to haul ourselves up the cliff that backs the beach and crawl through dense scrub until we find a way clear of our predicament. Eventually, we come to a clifftop track, the track we should have taken a couple of kilometres back at Sunnymead Beach. The tough scramble has its consolation though; the sight of hundreds of jewel-green beetles illuminating the tea trees.

A cold change sweeps along the cliffs as we round Point Roadknight. We follow the salt-weathered fence that keeps people away from the eroding red bluff to the end of the beach. From here, it’s a short walk into town alongside the unnaturally acid-green Anglesea River. 

Anglesea to Torquay (25 kilometres)

An early breakfast at the Anglesea general store then on through Fairyland Nature Reserve. Golden light splinters the tunnel formed by the twisted Moonah trees. Slender blue-winged parrots forage in the coastal scrub.

At the edge of the saltmarsh, there’s a notice advising of the permanent closure of a long stretch of coastline at Demons Bluff. A section of the towering sandstone cliff crashed onto the beach a few months ago and further falls are likely. The Surf Coast track takes us inland, away from the lure of the dazzling views from the edge of the precarious escarpment. 

There’s rain out to sea, softening the blunt bulk of container ships. We walk through heathland still splashed with the colours of spring wildflowers until we rejoin the beach at Red Rocks. White seafoam, left in the wake of storm waves, edges the shimmering silver shoreline. The wind catches the foam and it dances in the blue space around us before falling back onto the sand.

The Point Addis Marine Park is spectacular with its cliffs, rock platforms and small rocky reefs that provide sanctuary for sea creatures. High above Addiscott Beach, we look out on the magnificent arc of sandy bay. Framed by towering cliffs and bushland, it stretches out either side of us and on towards the deep blue ocean.

From Addiscott Beach we venture inland again, through ironbark forest. It’s a landscape of fissured, black-trunked trees, ground orchids and ancient grass trees, some of which are dying from an introduced pathogen, cinnamon fungus.  

Half-hidden in the scrub lies the rusting relics of a jarosite mine that operated for a brief time in the early 20th-century. It produced a red oxide pigment used to paint Melbourne’s ‘red rattler’ trains (or so rumour has it). Long before the mine, the Wathaurung people gathered ochre here and transformed it into body paint for ceremonial purposes. 

From Bird Rock to Rocky Point to Point Danger it’s all reefs, rolling surf and wild headlands. From high up on the clifftops we look out to legendary surf breaks; Bells, Winki Pop, Southside and the Bowl. Every wave that rises up and wraps around the point becomes part of the folklore of this golden mile of surfing.

Layers of shells lie exposed in the storm-eroded dunes. Shell middens like these hold thousands of years of stories if you know how to read them. Several years ago, a young surfer found the key to a 25 million-year-old dinosaur mystery when he discovered the bones of a small whale, Janjucetus. It turned out to be a predatory ancestor to modern baleen whales like the giant Blue Whale. 

Our walk ends in Torquay, wildness giving way to a gentler sea and well-trod promenade. We are both exultant and unsettled after our wanderings. The beauty of the Surf Coast still inspires reverence. But the damage wrought by climate change, urban development and human indifference is diminishing the grandeur of this coastal landscape. It is being worn down by all that assails it.

You might also be interested in walking the Grampians Peaks Trail, the Larapinta Trail, or perhaps the Camino Francés