A Photographer’s Journey Along the Great Ocean Walk

It’s no surprise to any of us that within an hour of starting this 110km journey we’re already on the beach. The sea beckons, and with the sun beaming down steadily, a swim would be divine. But we’re on a mission and are happy to leave the water untouched in favour of setting our eyes on what lies ahead.

As midday approaches, we cross the Elliott River. We’re single file, our conversation on hiatus to focus on the ground beneath our feet, and the pattern of our breath. One in. One out. (Don’t pass out!) We’ve seen no one. Maybe we’re the only people out here.

After a night below the trees listening to koalas grumble, we’re up early, keen to explore the Eucalypt forest. After the luscious fern-heavy greens of the coastal forest on day one, it’s a subtle change that brings refreshing breezes and babbles of birdsong.

The second day on the Great Ocean Walk is renowned for its mud, and we didn’t escape unscathed. As the sludge did its best to consume our boots we busied our eyes looking for koalas, mushrooms, and flowers – anything to avoid acknowledging the endless bog ahead of us. 

We plodded into Blanket Bay, exhausted, but proud of our effort. We ate dinner with new friends, watched lizards lounging in the sun, and swam to ease the aches of sore muscles. 

Morning brought the biggest reward so far – a cinematic sunrise we could have watched for hours.

Leaving the campground that framed this view so perfectly, we couldn’t escape the feeling that we were missing out on something. This campground had been particularly scenic, boasting a waterfall, a koala with her new joey, and luxuriously flat grassy sites for our tents. Could we have stayed for days? Absolutely.

The trail on day three hit our knees hard. Muddy paths dominated the descents, logs needed large step-ups and rocks tested our ankles. The panoramic views found on top of every hill tempered our fatigue, motivating our steps like moths to a flame.

Day four included an optional detour to Station Beach, and we took it, leaving our packs beside the track marker on the headland. Rainbow Falls was at the end of a long kilometre of sand and was a smorgasbord of slippery seaside moss.

The views from the clifftops got progressively more interesting as the hike went on. When we weren’t solving debating the world’s problems, or talking ourselves up a hill, we were pausing atop exposed rocky outcrops, too caught up in the moment for conversation, and lost in complete admiration of the scenery. 

As often as we stopped for a rest and a handful of trail mix, we took the chance to look back the way we’d come. We counted the headlands, tracking our progress, and marveling at the seemingly endless combinations of colour that the ocean presented with every passing hour.

Day five began with singletrack through a wooded eucalypt forest, littered with more Kangaroo tails than any of us had ever seen in one place before. We took turns leading the group. As the days went by we got better at coordinating our pace. Sometimes walking as a quartet, other times splitting off into pairs or singles, based as much on our mood as the trail we’re faced with. It’s bizarre how the landscape can influence our behaviour in that way. 

Just as we were beginning to miss the wide open expanse of the beaches that had dominated the walk so far, another one emerged through the trees, far below us. 

Despite the 2km walk on soft sand, Johanna Beach was like a dream. Littered with tiny pale purple shells in gorgeous wave-driven lines, it felt untouched and clean. Our rest break passed in silence as, collectively entranced, we watched the water racing itself in leaps and bounds to reach the sand. Almost as soon as it arrived it was gone again, immediately replaced by the next wave.

We could have sat there for hours. 

The dense forest valley we encountered on day six mirrorred our mood perfectly, the temptation to linger here was strong, and we weren’t ready for our trip to be over. 

The staircase back to the clifftops soon dissolves that notion and conversation moves to post-hike meals. With animated conversation about juicy burgers, cold bubbly lemonade, and pizzas bigger than what we could possibly eat, the steps disappear beneath our feet.

Day seven catches us on the back foot. We’re slower to set off today after granting our bodies that extra half hour of rest. We pay for it as the day wears on, sweat using our skin like a slide, sunscreen stinging the corner of our eyes as it drips off faster than we can apply it. 

The eagerness to reach camp was at an all-time high. Finally, in the mid-afternoon, we got there. Tired, damp, and frankly, a bit over it. The burgers were on our minds as we pulled out our dehydrated food and nearly empty bags of trail mix. Despite our lunch lacking the flavour and volume of the meals we’d been dreaming about, the satisfaction was unparalleled. Nothing could have been better in that moment. 

Hobbling around camp after dodging the resident snake and removing leeches hopeful of a free dinner, we set up our tents one last time. Returning to the camp shelter, we regrouped and reflected on our progress as the sun dipped lower and lower toward the horizon.

The view above is a lot more pristine than where we were standing to watch it – crowded together at the tiny entrance of the Devils Kitchen Campground drop toilet. As a photographer, getting into uncomfortable positions for photos is somewhat of a standard practice, but the ridiculousness of our collective position gave us all the giggles, especially when another camper came to use the facilities. 

We’d met just nine months ago on the Overland Track, and now we were just one day away from completing our second multi-day hike together. While lows offset some of the highs, we all agreed there was nothing that our daily five-hour eating-fests couldn’t solve. 

We woke up early on our final day, filled with an energy we hadn’t felt in days. The promise of delectable food and hot showers powered us forward. The views ahead teased and taunted as we strained to catch a glimpse of the 12 Apostles that’d signal the end of our walk.

In eight days, the ocean didn’t wear the same outfit twice. It was blue, it was green, it was white – and every possible combination of the three. Nature’s television put on one hell of a show and the Great Ocean Walk gave us front-row seats for eight unforgettable days on Victoria’s beautiful coastline.