I remember the previous evening I had watched with a sort of hypnotised wonderment as the sun set against the ranges in the east. I gradually became aware that I was looking in the wrong direction! I turned west expecting to see the real sunset over there, but the sky was a uniform white light, and the land was all cast in a silvery shadow. I found a winding path of sand through the carpets of stone, pebbles and grass tufts down to the water, stood between a couple of mangrove trees and took a picture of Vincent with where the sunset should be, made a few attempts at mangrove tree photography, then carefully worked my way back along the sand path all the while feeling as though I was out of bounds. I had reasoned that if I stayed on the sand I wouldn’t be disturbing anything important.
South Australia’s Department of Environment, Water and Natural Resources say, “These long ridges may look like man-made structures formed from pebbles, but in fact these very distinctive flat-topped ridges are a natural phenomenon.” It does look like a manicured zen garden of sorts, doesn’t it?
When I woke to day 7, 26th December, the sun had already risen above the Southern Flinders Ranges and glared across Spencer Gulf at us with all of its unclouded might. A southeasterly guster was doing its best to blast the sand out from under the shingles. I ventured a short wander along the beach but was driven back by the wind to the shelter of Vincent. Cranked up my driving music and moved along.
Continued south from Fitzgerald Bay into Port Bonython proper and paused for a while to appreciate Point Lowly Lighthouse.
Somebody put the sign on the wrong building.
The Point Lowly Cottages were also pretty cool, though not my preferred style of accommodation. They need wide verandahs, with canvas blinds to pull down against the powerful winds which I’m pretty sure don’t abate for long in this part of the world.
I wanted to get some photos of the gas-loading wharf and fractionation plant, but my shadow wouldn’t get out of the way, so I worked with what I had.
There was a large flock of birds in the distant south that I couldn’t make heads nor tails of, and a single gull swept by at one point. Without any further signs of life about it started to feel a bit touristy, so we slipped out for the road again. Next stop Whyalla…