Like nearly all of Melbourne we escaped to the bush this weekend. Even the most cursory glance at Instagram suggests that most people took the chance to get down to the beach, the river, into the hills, away to craft. The weather was perfect and everyone, in different parts of the state, seemed to be sharing the same lovely gentle sunsets and glorious morning light.
We went camping, our first time with all the girls. Our camp spot, on private land above the Great Ocean Road in a field of wildflowers, would have to be as good a place to pitch a tent and sit around a campfire as exists anywhere on earth. We were blessed with warm but not stinking hot weather and nights cool enough sleep comfortably in a tent with five other bodies. On Sunday night a ferocious wind sprang up and shook out tent for hours, but by mid morning it had died down completely, leaving such tranquility in its wake that it was impossible to imagine it had ever been. We finally saw a koala too - everyone else who has visited this bit of land has spotted at least one, and our good friends saw a mother and baby. But we were pretty pleased with this sleepy fellow who lifted his head to watch us watch him and drifted back to sleep as we left.
We kept it very simple - sausages and onions, jacket potatoes baked in the campfire, followed by rather burnt s'mores, bacon and eggs for brekkie and takeaway fish and chips the second night. We didn't have a heap of gear, and didn't need it - chairs and a table, books, a plate and mug each was about it. I did wonder what we would do all day up on the ridge; there is only so much gazing at gorgeous views that can be done. But between firewood gathering, game playing, book reading, sunset watching, tent pitching, mattress inflating, and a couple of trips to the beach, the time just flew.