It is pitch black as I walk down the trail, but I can hear the savagery of the ocean waves pounding the rocks and can smell the sea air. Other than the sound of the waves, it is dead quiet. And freakily dark.
My headlamp cuts a thin swath of light, just enough so that I can stay on the path and not fall off a cliff into the abyss. I’m glad I’m in Australia, I think to myself; no carnivores that would consider me food like the bears we have back home.
As I near the ocean’s edge, I remember the sign I saw here yesterday in the daylight warning to never turn your back on the ocean. One minute you're there, the next you are sucked into the cold dark waters, never to be seen again. Another reminder to be present.
I stop and close my eyes and feel the power of this place. There is something magical about it.
I ask the spirit of this place to allow me safe passage, and wait for a response. A cool, but delightful breeze kisses my face, telling me I will be safe and welcomed.
It is still mostly dark as I set up my camera and tripod, but there is an intense, dark blue cast over everything. There is a storm coming. And soon.
I take a few pictures. The coming storm is stirring up the ocean waves, the sound is rhythmic but almost deafening. I have to keep wiping the ocean spray off my camera lens.
It starts raining. Hard. I decide to wait it out and hide my camera under my rain jacket. As it gets colder I huddle beside a hill with the loud ocean, pounding rain and hellish wind assaulting my senses.
The pictures I take may be great, or...maybe not. Maybe the storm will clear giving me an incredible, sunlit view, and maybe not.
But right now, it is not really about that. It is about being here. Where no other human is, experiencing this storm, this ocean, this river, like no one else.
Below are actual photos from that morning at the Sherbrook River Mouth, Port Campbell, Australia before and after the storm. All photos on this site can be purchased as prints in a variety of sizes and formats. Contact me for details.
