Like the walls of an ancient fort, the Colonnades on Woolamai Beach look impregnable. The Colonnades to Forrest Bluff
By Linda Cuttriss
THE Colonnades are vertical basalt columns that stand like walls of an ancient fort at the western end of Woolamai Beach on the south coast of Phillip Island.
I turn off Cape Woolamai Road and drive to the end of Tampa Road where a boardwalk leads over a short-tailed shearwater rookery to a lookout and steps down to the beach. I arrive at low tide so I have plenty of time to take a close look at The Colonnades and explore westward to Forrest Bluff before the incoming tide swallows up the beach.
From the lookout, breaking waves roll in from Bass Strait. Cape Woolamai lies to the east and Pyramid Rock sits offshore in the west.
By Linda Cuttriss
THE Colonnades are vertical basalt columns that stand like walls of an ancient fort at the western end of Woolamai Beach on the south coast of Phillip Island.
I turn off Cape Woolamai Road and drive to the end of Tampa Road where a boardwalk leads over a short-tailed shearwater rookery to a lookout and steps down to the beach. I arrive at low tide so I have plenty of time to take a close look at The Colonnades and explore westward to Forrest Bluff before the incoming tide swallows up the beach.
From the lookout, breaking waves roll in from Bass Strait. Cape Woolamai lies to the east and Pyramid Rock sits offshore in the west.
| On the clifftop, dark doorways to the shearwater’s burrows are dotted among green mounds of bower spinach. But the rookery is now abandoned. In April, the birds left for their feeding grounds around the Aleutian Islands, off the coast of Alaska. In September, the adults will return as they do every year for another breeding season. From the bottom of the steps I turn towards Cape Woolamai and walk alongside The Colonnades. The columns reach 10 to 15 metres high and formed when volcanic lava cooled and contracted into long fractures connected by seams known as joints. The features of the great wall become more distinct the further I walk. Up close, the vertical joint lines are clear and the columns appear as if constructed of horizontal layers of stone set in mortar. But the columns are not as strong as they seem. They are under siege, attacked by waves from below and wind and rain from above. In some sections, clusters of smooth black rocks protrude from layers of light brown deeply-weathered rock. Here, onion weathering has occurred around central solid corestones. Lying on the sand beneath the columns are several small chunks of light-brown rock and nearby is a smooth black basalt cobblestone. Branches of a dead shrub thread across the edge of the clifftop barely holding the soil together. As I look up, a flash of white attracts my eye. A white-fronted chat lands near a small clump of samphire that clings precariously to the higher reaches. The tiny bird has a pointy bill and its pretty white face and neck are encircled with a distinctive black band. Its mate arrives and the pair flit across the cracking clay foraging for insects. Down on the shore, soft morning light shimmers on the wet sand. Small black, brown and cream coloured stones are scattered across a thin film of water left by the outgoing tide. Long lines of little waves run behind Woolamai Beach. I turn around, stroll back along The Colonnades and continue west beyond the steps where bare cliffs lean away from the sea as if rearing back from relentless ocean waves. The weather-beaten cliffs are old and weary, their lined and pock-marked flanks supported by tougher rock protruding at their base. The shore platform is much dissected into smooth brown rocks with rockpools where water flows and trembles in the freshening breeze. A white-faced heron lands on the rocks and searches for food among the pools. Where rock has broken down to clay and the gradient of the cliffs is less steep, various plants have settled in. Australian salt grass, coastal tussock grass, noon-flower, cushion bush and coast everlasting cover the rounded slopes. For many plants their grip is tenuous. The cliffs are unstable, slowly giving way. Phantom remnants of columnar shapes appear here and there on the rock faces. In places, large piles of black cobblestones are nestled into nooks at the base of the eroding cliffs. Further along the beach is a thick spread of basalt cobbles and pebbles. I walk down to investigate and there, on the adjacent shore platform is an area of distorted concentric shapes where corestones are embedded in onion-weathered, jointed bedrock. Stones that have broken away have also collected along sandy crevices in the rocky shore. I have almost reached Forrest Bluff which curves into the water at the end of the beach. I turn around to check the incoming tide. It is about one kilometre between The Colonnades and Forrest Bluff and it would be unwise to be caught between sheer cliffs and ocean waves. At Forrest Bluff, bright-green bower spinach drapes over the edges of a steep cliff of highly-patterned ferruginised tuff formed from volcanic ash. The bright red tuff is rich in iron oxides and the mottling effect is caused when repeated wetting and drying by rising and falling groundwater has leached the iron oxides from the areas of pale-grey rock. I have dawdled for long enough. It is time to head back. Along the way I spot a little pied cormorant and a white-faced heron standing close together on a rocky shelf near the water’s edge, completely at ease with each other. The cormorant has been fishing as its feathers are shaggy and wet. It seems to be resting, drying its feathers in the sun, but is casually watching the water in case another snack passes by. The heron doesn’t stay still for long. It stalks around the rocks watching and waiting for prey to appear in the shallow pools. It stands tall, takes long confident steps, bends over and curves its S-shaped neck ready to strike a small fish or pierce a crustacean with its sharp, pointy beak. A wave rushes over the rocks and knocks the unsuspecting cormorant off its feet. There’s a flurry of feathers and outstretched wings as it rises up from the froth. The heron, which is just out of reach of the wave, takes one large stride then lifts effortlessly into the air and lands on a high cliff. I make it back just in time. The waves are now rushing up the beach. I dash around the last protruding cliff to avoid my feet getting wet. A couple who have been fishing from the shore are quickly packing up to leave. From the lookout I take time to stop, breathe the fresh sea air and take in the view. I reflect upon how many interesting features can be seen along this short stretch of coast and marvel at this special place. Then again, every part of the coast is special, each piece is unique, every bit is precious. |              |