Anne here. My father used to love the poem that started "I must go down to the sea again, to the lonely sea and the sky, And all I ask is a tall ship and a star to steer her by. . . "
He and my mother could quote the entire poem, but I can't, so if you want to read it, it's Sea Fever, by John Masefield.
At times I feel the same need, to escape to the sea, and have it renew my spirit. A few weeks ago I headed to the sea, to Phillip Island, with a writing pal of mine, Keri Arthur, for a writing retreat and a good dose of fresh sea air.
We were both on deadline—Keri's more imminent than mine—so it was a serious writing retreat. All we did was write, walk, write, eat and write again. Even when we went out for dinner in the evening, afterward we came home and hit our respective computers. But in between, there was the sea.
Phillip Island is accessible via a long bridge, and part of it looks toward the gentler aspect of the beach, and part of it faces out into the Southern Ocean, towards Antarctica. The place we rented overlooked the beach and it was magical to stagger out in the chilly morning air (it's winter downunder) and watch the ever-changing vista of the water and sky.
Keri is a keen photographer and nobly got up before dawn to photograph the sunrises. She took most of the photos on this blog and has generously allowed me to use them.
There's something magical about walking on the beach in the morning, when you're the only person on the beach and there's just one set of footprints in the sand. It always makes me think of Robinson Crusoe or some story like that, as if you're the only person in the world.
I'm a beachcomber to the bone, even if there's practically nothing to collect. I don't think I've ever walked along a beach and not picked something up—which is saying something when you consider that my parents lived a stone's throw from the beach.
For me sea-glass is the treasure I search for—I make jewelry from it—but pretty shells and driftwood are also appealing. Beach-combing is clearly in my blood.
My grandfather used to bring home gnarled and twisted pieces of driftwood and mount them on slabs of slate as decorative pieces. As a child I thought them fantastical and possibly magical. I still have some of those pieces.
On the way home I went via the southern side of the island. You can see why much of this coast was called The Shipwreck Coast, can't you? Imagine a ship coming to grief on those rocks.
The "tunnel" below evokes so many childhood memories for me of walking (or running) through the gloomy tunnel of overgrown, twisty tea-trees until you stepped out into the bright sunshine and there was the beach. I don't know if it's particularly Australian or whether other countries have similar vegetation, but it's a scene I know will strike a chord with many Australians.
The day I was there, a truck screeched to a halt in the car-park beside me, a young man jumped out and ran along the path. I passed him on the way, running back to his truck, and when I returned he was dressed in his wetsuit and heading back, surfboard under his arm. Apparently the surf was good today at this particular beach.
Part of Phillip Island is protected — the penguin parade is famous, where the penguins come out of the sea each night and march up the beach to their burrows. But they're not the only protected species. Koalas abound, and I was amused to see several families of Cape Barren Geese — mother, father and fluffy baby goslings — grazing on the roadside, and casually crossing the road, despite the many cars — which all, of course, stopped for them.
I was only away for the weekend, but sometimes a weekend — or even just a day out — can feel like a whole holiday. The sea did that for me this time, even though it was very much a working holiday. I got more work done than I would have at home — and I had a lovely break as well
The beach hasn't always been a desirable or fashionable place to visit. Some years ago I wrote a blog about the history of enjoying the beach when it first became a fashionable place to go.
There is something magical about changing your location and soaking up the peace and beauty of the natural environment. Whether it's the sea, or the mountains, or the forest, or the wide sweep of rolling grassland or the starkness of the desert, I think we respond to our surroundings and are refreshed and uplifted by the change.
What about you — do you ever get a chance for a quick getaway of a day or two? If you could, where would you go for a change of scenery?