The Bight

AUSTRALIA | Tuesday, 19 October 2004 | Views [171]

I open my eyes. Sunspots scatter my vision like burnt poppies.

Here on this dry plateau the only sound to be heard is the rasping breath of wind. Her icy fingers lash at my hair. She screams in my ears, her voice only to be lost to the caverns of space. Withered leaves are cascaded over brittle rocks. Dust devils scoot past and disappear into the glare of the sun.

I stand on the edge of a limestone cliff. A tower of rock, carved by wind and sea. Bleached by sun and salt. Its sheer face is a mosaic of earthen colour. Pearly whites fade through to honeycomb and a deep russet red. Below me is the beaten silver sheet of the Southern Ocean. The water ripples like folds of satin, receding into a pastel horizon of baby blue. Waves of turquoise heave themselves onto the stained rocks at the cliff's base.

Suddenly a sound breaks the silence. A giant breath and whoosh of air strikes to the core of my heart. V-shaped spouts billow from the water's surface, droplets of water cascading like diamonds. The winds icy fingers disperse the spray of water into arcs of fine mist. Dark shapes glide underneath the surface. And then they are everywhere, giant noses breaking the surface, tail flukes slapping the water like the crack of a stockman's whip.

To be so close and to hear the breath of giants. To see immense bodies gliding throught the water. One of nature's finest gifts.

Tags: The Great Outdoors

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