Western Trail

AustHeritage

Western Trail

A long walk through the west side of Port Phillip Bay has taken us through the most unsightly, unseen and unloved landscapes in Melbourne, and also some of the most unusual, unexpected and delightful landscapes as well. The walk has been a true odyssey.

One Sunday I went over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. It was a fine cool day in late autumn. We drove to Altona Beach. I have no idea why. We walked from one end of the beach to another along the sea wall. Altona beach is very flat and clean. We checked out the fisher dudes at the end of the pier and as ever nothing being caught. We noted the housing stock and discussed the matters of the day. As we walked off the pier we heard a brass band. A group of cadets were marching towards the main shopping centre with instruments blaring. They were practicing for Anzac day, nothing like the sound of a brass band on a Sunday morning. We walked on and rested on some large rocks at the mouth of a creek running into the bay. There was a derelict pier jutting into the creek a little further along. A mystery. We sat and rested. I looked out to Point Cook and remembered that as a kid swimming at Altona beach I often wondered what existed between Altona and Point Cook.

The terrain looked flat and full of possibilities. You could see the point quite clearly from where we were sitting. There was also a great view of the city skyline. I enthused that we could canoe around to the point. Peter; measured as ever, suggested that this might be a younger mans pursuit. We walked back and passed the shopping centre. Peter got a coffee that was apparently quite acceptable.

A few weeks later one Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. We stopped for a coffee at the Coburg coffee mall. We drove to Altona and picked up from where we left off. We walked along the path at the end of the beach wall and came across a park with a bright yellow Circus tent. I say circus tent but it was a large complex with two big spires, vans, stalls, fences and mobile homes. No animals. We walked on past the Circus and came across an old WW1 ammo works. The derelict pier we saw on the last walk was part of the ammo works. There was an old rail line from the pier heading into a heavily fenced off area. The historical marker told the story of the ammo dump and storage area. There was a huge mound of earth where they would have stored and denoted the bombs. We walked on and crossed the bridge over the creek. The bridge lead to a path, we followed it. The path led along the creek. On the other side of the creek there was a sports stadium and unused paddocks. In the paddocks there was a ute with three hunting dogs running along side. A mystery.

The path turned back towards the bay and led to the highest point around. The high point was called the hundred steps and at the centre was a sculpture – about 3-4 meters high like an upright hammer, but instead of a hammer head it had imbedded cones on each side.

The view really opened up. From the ammo works on the left to Point Cook on the right and along the beach stretched a massive disused salt marsh. Originally it would have been wet lands – very flat. I had never known that there was a salt flat there. Peter speculated that the salt mine I worked in as a teenager was probably processing the salt from those salt flat.

We decided to walk back via the salt flats. As we walked deeper into a grey abyss I could hear and smell the unmistakably smell of two stroke petrol. We came upon the rusted hulk of a VW beetle and a Datsun 1600 that was so rusted it was hard to determine if it was upside down or right side up. We found our way back to the bridge and walked back to check out the Circus. We noted the large mobile homes and caravans that were parked. I wondered what sort of life it could be for carnies. All the female staff on the various stalls looked identical – the house look- a heavy make-up, hair in a tight pony tail. Peaked cap. $37 adults. Peter was dead keen and was convinced the circus would provide low rent thrills.

Walked back. Had some ethnic food - a ham sandwich, a lammo and a cup of tee. Hmm lammingtooooeerrrrggghghghghghhh.

A few weeks later one Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. We got some coffee at the Coburg coffee place and headed off. I parked the car at the hundred steps car park and we ended up walking into the strangest place. The day was overcast and the sky was troubled and grey. The path headed south and ran along the edge of a housing sub-division. After a long walk we came upon skeleton creek and another weird sculpture. The sculpture was a wire world earth ball on the end of 3 meter concrete cone. It was a representation of migratory birds that use the area. I really admired the craft.

The path ended at Skeleton Creek, we walked along skeleton creek to a crossing then found what appeared to be a road into the salt flats. Naturally we followed it. The road traversed a desolate empty salt marsh. The ground was neither salt nor soil. The plants were neither weed nor wood. The water ways were neither salt nor fresh. The landscape was post apocalyptic. A very weird place. It was quiet, still and eerie.

Ahead in the distance was the silhouette of a small shack. The sky was getting greyer and more churned. It was dead quiet. Out of nowhere a larger rabbit sprang into the air and ran off into the distance. We walked to the shack. The shack was made of black timber and seemed neither used nor abandoned. The power line that we had followed terminated at the shack. The shack had what looked like two mining sluices connected to it with large pumps underneath the sluice. The scale was domestic – A mystery. We pressed on.

We walked on over hill and down a dale, over a bridge, through a gate and along a path. Flat, empty, spooky waste land. Peter said we would meet a bearded stranger. I laughed. The sky got more churned and grey. The air remained still.

In the distance barely discernable on the horizon was a spire. As we got closer I could make out a tower connected to what looked like some sort of loading ramp that was about 15 meters high. We pressed on. We got quite close and came upon a fence which we had to climb over. The spire was a monument. The tower spire ramp structure was a monument built by the Kennet Govt, a monument to the migration. This monument was in the middle of nowhere. There was a long wheel chair access ramp (the loading dock) leading to an observation deck with a spire. The structure had plaques all over it with a migration theme – home, hope, famine etc. The structure afforded great views back to the city. We had reached our destination.

We walked back discussing the folly and cost of such a thing and speculated about the light planes buzzing about. In the distance I noticed a bearded bloke trudging through the salt marsh at a right angle to road we were on. As we got closer he reached the road and started to walk towards us. As we came upon him I acknowledged him and noticed he was carrying a very large skull of a bovine. “A cow skull”, I commented, he said it was probably a bullock skull, he said he collected them professionally – oohhkay. A mystery. I was happy to see him melt into the distance behind us. We walked back. It was a long and weary walk.

The next Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. We got some coffee at the Coburg coffee place. Spoke to some of Peters friends. We took the Point Cooke road and headed east to see how close we could get the spire by road. I drove to the Point Cook homestead which is in sight of the migration spire. We wandered through the homestead to the beach and walked along the beach and headed west.

The water was absolutely pristine because there has been no rain. Peter commented that you can have a clean bay or clean streets not both. There were footprints in the sand ahead of us. A mystery. Peter told me a story about a dying man dreaming that he was walking on sand and could see two sets of footprints, one was his own. He noticed that each time there had been troubles and difficulties there was only one set of tracks. He asked God about the tracks and God explained that the second set of tracks was because God was walking with him. The man asked God why there was only one set of track when the going got tough, why had God abandoned him when the journey got difficult. God said he had not abandoned him at all and there was only one set of tracks because God had carried him at these times. A very uncharacteristic theme for Peter.

The sand was soft so we decided to go inland. We came across an idealic picnic ground, protected from the elements with hedges and well looked after. A mystery. We walked back to the beach and hit a dirt track heading west along the shore line – we followed it. We eventually got to a very high wire fence – Point Cook RAAF air base. We followed the fence to the beach. The fence was completely missing at the sand so we kept walking along the beach.

We reached a rocky outcrop and waded out. We had reached our destination. In the distance we could see a very long pier. We decided we would walk back and drive to the other side of the RAAF base. As we walked back two bi-planes one painted as the red baron and the other as a RAF plan were practicing manoeuvres. What a bonus.

On the way back we walked along the dirt track all the way to the homestead. Peter told me about his Geelong Grammar experience with the bike and packed lunch you yang trip. Lunch sounded disgusting. Along the way I saw a huge field mushroom. I picked it. The smell was amazing and it reminded me of my childhood when we went mushrooming. We got back to the homestead and had some ethnic food. Ham and mustard sandwiches, rissoles, lamington and a brew – aaarrgghhhhhhhhhhh.

We drove to the other side of the RAAF base and tumbled upon the most amazing little community of beach boxes / shack. Along the foreshore were large beach boxes – boat shed type / one room beach shacks. They were cheek and jowl and right on the water line. They stretched for about a kilometre, some with solar power, some with antennae’s, some with radar dishes, most with water tanks and a few for sale. They had a Daryl Kerrigan feel about them. A 70s feel. Past their prime. We decided this was the start of our next walk

I had the mushroom for breakfast the next day and it was delicious.

The next Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. This time no coffee, no mall, no chit chat and stuffing about – it was straight to business - Peter was on a schedule. Drove to the starting spot got out of the car and heard 4 air piercing cracks, the distinctive cracks from .22 rifle off in the direction we were heading. A mystery. We decided that the shooters would have no idea we were around so decided to drive to the mouth of the Werribee River and start our walk from there and walk back to where we had planned to start.

Werribee south is one big cabbage patch. It is a vast market garden that stretches from the bay side to Geelong road and everything in between. Cabbages, collies. Every square inch is ploughed. I had no idea how extensive the Werribee market gardens are.

We got to the river. The area is set up for boating. We walked along the beach path and then took a dirt track to follow the beach line. We walked along the road then crossed into a cabbage patch to stay walking along the beach. Then crossed though a horse paddock. Eventually we got to the starting point. Walked back. The cabbage farmer came to check if we were cabbage duffers.

At the river mouth we noticed a sign for a café. A siren call. We could not resist. We went to check it out and found the teapot tea rooms. Really homey. It was a house with 3 middle aged women cooking things in the kitchen. Home made soup, scones, bangers and mash. Bacon and eggs. It was a small house run by Iris a Scotts lady. The scones were superb. Iris was keen for us to try her special breakfast – Gamon, black pudding, eggs, beans, tomatoes and mushrooms. The food was excellent. We told Iris we were walking to Geelong. We asked about the land on the other side of the river. Apparently it is commonwealth land and access is prohibited. Iris said that the local bird watching club from time to time get permission to access the land.

On a lazy Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. We drove to Werribee, though the main shopping centre and took a tight left just before crossing the rail line. We drove past the aviation hangers and turned left into the Western Sewerage Treatment Plant. We were not very confident that we would get very far. We drove south past the main office complex and then headed east. To my surprise the roads were all public access. The road crossed over what can only be described as a river of shite. A large, concrete culvert that channelled a determined, relentless surging river of shite heading hurriedly to the coast. The river of shite ran though a sprawling treatment complex.

The thought of falling in was almost too much to bear. We pressed on. The dirt road took us to within sight of the mouth of the Werribee River. We took another left and ended up at a bluff just north of the river mouth, over looking the Werribee River. An amazing contrast. On one side pasture, on the other side dense crops, as far as the eye could see, every square inch was under crop with cabbage or collie. So much cabbage. We drove back towards the coast and parked at the roads end. We could see the mouth of the river.

A short walk and we reached the western side of the Werribee River. It was great being right at the mouth of the river. We could see the harbour, the car park, the Tea Pot tea rooms. I felt as though this was a major milestone in the odyssey. It gave me a sense of triumph, being on the unpopulated side of the river.

We walked back to the car and noticed a track along the coast heading west. Naturally we took it. The path meandered through a grass paddock and ended up at a dirt track at the very eastern most tip of the western treatment plant. The western treatment plant is gigantic and from ground level is vast labyrinth of square ponds extending into the distance. It is not until you look at it on google earth do you realise the enormity of the operation.

We headed west. The track skirts the southern edge and is meters from the sand line. The track is elevated about 2-3 meters above sea level. The track goes on and on and on. We passed pond after pond after pond and I am sure that without the sand line as a guide I would have been quickly lost. On the path were reeds, lakes and birds, on the other was the ocean. And it was so for hours. It was one of those walks were the horizon seemed to never change. Ahead I could see an unfeasibly thin straight line of greenery between the ocean and the lakes.

The line looked too thin to walk on but as we approached it, it widened out and was the same as where we had just been. We walked for hours like this. We came upon a maritime navigation beacon and it was as though the beacon broke a spell.

We walked about 500m past the beacon and stopped, we had reached our destination. We walked back – a long and weary walk. What I did not know until I checked on google earth was that we were apprx 500 m from where the river of Shite empties into the ocean. Stopped at Werribee and indulged on ethnic food.
The next Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. We decided to go down the Geelong road and take a left about half way to Geelong. Drove to the end of the road and parked. To the east was the south western tip of the treatment plant. We had driven to the other end of the pondage system. To the west was a sandy track right on the waters edge. We jumped a fence and went into the treatment plant. The obligatory sign this time said bird watcher permit holders only. We walked along the track. We noticed a late model 4wd buzzing about in the labyrinth of ponds and paths. It would appear quite close but be a 2 or 3 ponds away with no direct path between it and us. Then drive off and re-appear behind us or near us, always a pond or two away. A mystery. We walked on past a minor river of shite running into the bay. We walked on. Occasionally I could see a glint from the 4wd way off in the distance. We came to a river that the main river of shite emptied into. I think it was Little River. It was a pretty big river to cross and a natural barrier. We followed the river to the beach and came across a bird watching hutch. The last entry in the log was over 12 months ago. We had reached our destination. We walked back to car.

We drove back to the main road and noticed a sign that said prohibited area. We decided to take a look. The road headed due south west and ended up at a large wire razor fence and locked gate with some very serious signage. Army EO area piss off. The EO stands for explosive ordinance and you get a sense about signage after a while and these signs meant business. This and the fact that the gate was locked meant we could not go on. On the way back we inspected some old ammo dumps which were left unlocked. Nothing to see but old rusted tin and wood structures.

The next Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. It was crisp cool dry early spring day. We started our next walk at the same point as the last one, but this time we took the sandy track along the waters edge. The track meandered west for about a k then just ended. We walked along the beach. The sand was fine and white and the water sparkling. The beach eventually narrowed and ended so we tracked inland. Just beyond the beach there was a low marshy wetlands about 20-30 meters wide then an embankment. We crossed the wetland and walked along the embankment and came to a road junction.

One track led to the beach and the other track became the boundary of yet a

other vast pondage system. Pond, ponds, and more ponds. The beach track was a state reserve, locked and closed off with warning signs of course. The state reserve was a lagoon mangrove eco system that seemed quite pristine. We took the pond path. It was elevated above the mangroves and offered a good view of things. The mangroves eventually thinned out and became tidal logons, and then became a small inlet with tones of birds.

The ponds were the ponds and a very similar landscape to the other treatment ponds, but seemed to have more bird life. We walked parallel to the mangroves and came to a section of empty ponds. They are massive earth moving undertakings. I could not tell if they were done recently. We walked on and eventually came to the end of the ponds and the track bended in-land and eventually came to the road just near the EO gate. We had reached our destination. Walked back. Got escorted out by a squadron of small swallow type birds. They must have been nesting because they were very angry with us being there. As we walked along, a new group would be disturbed and fly up from the mangroves and buzz us. A large number settled on the pond and watched as we left. It was like a squadron of fighters attacking two large bulk carriers. We got back to the marshland between the path and the beach. Peter took a few shots of mosey rocks that I had not really noticed on the way in

Got back to the car. We had gone as far as we could on the eastern side of the EO base. Our next walk would have to start on the other side of the base.

The next Sunday I dropped over to Peters. A walk was on the agenda. We drove down Geelong rd to Avalon Road. Avalon road runs past Avalon airfield and took us back` to the cross road leading to the EO base. We drove back along Avalon rd and took the only south based road. It took us past the engineering sheds at Avalon. We passed a sky blue 747 that must be a training plane for apprentices.

We kept heading south. We came to a concrete factory and quarry and followed the road west. Eventually got to a road heading south. Drove past more salt marsh. Salt marsh to the left, rocky scrub to the right. Drove through salty swamp marsh and came to a shanty town on the beach. They were like the beach huts around werribe but a lot more like a shanty town. They were built on a long spit of land. On one side were the ponds of the salt marsh.

On the side was the bay and across the bay it was mostly heavy industry. There was a communal public amenity building. The shanties were dank, third world slums in the middle of salt marsh. To really set the tone, there were bent and leaning power poles with sagging power lines. It made for such a pathetic image.

We parked the car and headed west towards Geelong. It dawned on me we were close to the end of our odyssey. It was a windless grey day. The bay was like a mill pond. The air was calm and cool. The path took us past a large bluestone manor that was now part of Avalon College. Avalon College is an English Language college in the middle of the most depressing landscape I have ever known. We pressed on along the beach crushing the little shells under foot as we went. The crunching sounded like a squad of soldiers in boots marching on wet asphalt. It was an amazing sound. We walked along the beach and rounded a bend and there looming from nowhere was the clock tower of Geelong Grammar across on the other side of the Corio River. We walked out onto a long spit that projected into Corio bay and reached the very end. This was Lime burners bay and sadly the very end of the odyssey. I felt like planting a flag or something. We had walked from Altona beach to Geelong. What a crazy thing to do.

We walked back along the south side of the spit then cut back overland towards the beach. I noticed some bleached leg bones. Not sure from what animal at first but it was definitely a femur bone, about a foot long. Saw another. Then noticed a skull. The skull was long and slender. I could not work it out. It was almost snake like but way too big. Then I looked around and noticed there were skulls and bones everywhere. We had wandered into some sort of grave site. I then worked it out. The bones were from greyhound pups and they were everywhere. I counted three in tact skulls and countless bone fragments and detritus everywhere. The pups had either been dumped in the river and washed up on the beach, then been scavenged by a fox or birds, or dumped in situ. Seems a lot of trouble to go to, to dump them there, so I have concluded they were dumped in the bay or the river and washed up. A sad note to finish our walk on but so characteristic of the west side of the bay. The east and west are like the yin and yan of a modern city.

We walked back to the car. Drove around to Geelong Grammar - Peters old school, parked at the Corio Bay Sailing club and had lunch.

Our walk is done.

Consider the west and east sides of Port Philip Bay - twin sisters separated at birth. One lives in the lime light and goes to the ball, the other uncomplainingly works hard to keep the house in order. The west side owns the the ammo dump, the salt works, the rusted cars, the mining shack, the air base, the cabbages, the river of shite, the sewage treatment ponds, the explosives base, the concrete quarry, the heavy aviation, the sad shanty town and the dumped pups - indelible marks that go hand in hand with fish and chips, beach views, sail craft and sipping lattés at a beach side café. Is this the same bay as the one decorating St. Kilda and Brighton? There is a world of contrast between the two sides of the bay - genteel residential amenity on the east and unseen industrial grunge on the west.

Note: The best time to do the walk is from late autumn to early spring. At other times the mossies, the flies, the heat and the snakes would make it hard going.