Wild Dog

by Bonnie Pockley

Apollo Bay 2014

It’s funny how you can see something a thousand times before noticing just how spectacular it is. As we left for Apollo Bay this week (the Victorian coastal town I’ve been going to since I was born and the place my mother grew up in as a child) I felt suddenly grateful for the beach and valley’s extraordinary beauty and aware of how privileged I am and have been to experience it, to have taken it for granted. We stayed at my grandparents’ place – coming and going from the house that has now slept 4 generations in it, a place whose stairs I still believe are haunted but whose charm and comfort leave you breathless when you stop to acknowledge it. We idled away hours in deep appreciation of fruit laden branches, lush clovered lawns, cold glassy water and a river-flat full of chestnut trees. We fell easily into the morning ritual of looking out through the valley to an open sky and azure sea. Everything became a promise of  adventure and the day ahead – mornings and evening spent lying on the sand and paddling in the calm waters of the river-run to Wild Dog; an oxymoron if ever there was one because it is a local safe place for toddlers to play in just beside a patch of rough, treacherous sea.

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