The Pot of Gold at the end of the r..ough bush track…….


It’s out there.

Recently I was lucky enough to be down in the ‘deep south’.

I haven’t really looked around much down there – usually I’ll stick to the south west corner, Margs etc… It’s a bit more predictable…

The Southern Ocean.  Even on calm days its alive with an intensity that you can feel from the shore.  When you get in, its a rush of refreshment – a shot of adrenalin as the water is always a couple of degrees cooler than anywhere else – and so clean.  The coast is rugged and unforgiving.  Not much grows on the headlands.  The average weather for 3 quarters of the year is bitterly cold – southerlies that whip through, straight from the guts of Antarctica.  You need a beard, yes, even the ladies, and smelling like fish all the time is a given.  The tides, the currents, the freak waves that come from God-knows-where to lick fishermen off rocks as if they were never there… and then there’s the wildlife…

But, every now and then, she’s beautiful.

So, I consult my trusty map, look at the wind and make a call to follow some 4wd track to some isolated no-name beach, k’s from anywhere.  Its one of the roughest tracks I’ve ever seen.  It did cross my mind half way down a soft, heavily rutted, 45degree inclined hill that this could be a bad idea. I checked my phone. Yep. Nothin. Not one bar. So I kept going.

There were certain spots on the track which had thick black rubber layered for traction due to the soft hills.  I kept driving in 1st gear for about a half hour, occasionally stopping at junctions to try and work out where the f I was.  I followed my nose and as the sun started to dip, I came over a hill and saw the ocean.

First glimpse.

I’m like, woah.

The little car park, looked well used, but the view was amazing.

There was a small golden beach, about 100m long with rocky points at both ends. Undulating, scrub covered hills fell steeply to the sand.

 Spot my car.

And then, the waves…



from the hill above

I was sitting there, brew in one hand, camera in the other watching the waves I could hear my brother, Frog, saying “YOU WHAT??? YOU DIDN’T F**KING SURF THAT?? ARE YOU F**KING STUPID??”

He’s right.  But, I’ve found, with age comes sensibility (to a point).  I can and can’t say I’m disappointed, just indifferent I guess.  10 years ago, being in the same situation, I would’ve been in that water before the car had stopped.  Now, it’s not just me. There’s 3 more I have to consider.

And, as I sat in contemplation, 3rd brew in hand, camera still in the other with no phone reception and not a person for miles, I was thankful that I was able to be there just to witness that little blip in time.

And the waves kept coming…




The next morning, after a restless night of shattering breakers and sand blowing through my tent, it was still good.  The photos do it justice though, as I’m not showing the 8ft full  beach close outs.

There was a bronze cross that sat in the car park overlooking the beach. It said, RIP Craig ‘Bullfrog’ Noakes. Age 39.  I bet he was a good bloke.

Thanks South Coast and see you soon… and as for this location? Unless you’re prepared to do some searching, that stays between me and Bullfrog.



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One Response to The Pot of Gold at the end of the r..ough bush track…….

  1. Ooh! Amazing photos right here! Love them!

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