Second surf at Cape Paterson. Photo: Liz Low By Liz Low
EASTER Saturday at Cape Paterson was fine and clear and Second Beach was just asking to be visited. I’d not been able to walk on anything other than footpaths for the past few months following my hip replacement in the middle of January. A whole summer had passed me by while I gradually built up my strength and flexibility.
The path to the beach stretched and wound between the banksia and tea trees. My legs and hip were able to walk on the soft uneven sand with enjoyment. The familiar dune vegetation honey smell hung in the air as I followed the path up to the top of the dune. There in the distance was the ocean, blue and bright, at the end of the stretch of green trees and bushes that the path threaded through.
EASTER Saturday at Cape Paterson was fine and clear and Second Beach was just asking to be visited. I’d not been able to walk on anything other than footpaths for the past few months following my hip replacement in the middle of January. A whole summer had passed me by while I gradually built up my strength and flexibility.
The path to the beach stretched and wound between the banksia and tea trees. My legs and hip were able to walk on the soft uneven sand with enjoyment. The familiar dune vegetation honey smell hung in the air as I followed the path up to the top of the dune. There in the distance was the ocean, blue and bright, at the end of the stretch of green trees and bushes that the path threaded through.
I was so happy to be on that soft, sandy path and even happier to reach the peak of the actual beach dune looking at the waves and water spreading to the horizon.
My family ran down the dune to the beach. I was very content to stay up there. I found a comfortable sandy slope where the sand had invaded and filled up the old viewing platform. The sand was warm under my back. Down below, the surfers quietly sat on their boards, apparently with no waves worth catching. The waves rolled in steadily and calmly, a few people walked along the beach. I watched some gulls flying towards First Beach and heard only the gentle roar of breaking waves.
I turned my head to the side. A snake, stretched half out of the low bushes, was looking at me. I saw its sloping, scaly face low and front on. I could see its wide mouth and lips. Its tawny body was about as thick as my wrist and its stripes gleamed in the sun as if they’d been varnished.
We looked at each other for about a second. It turned its head and slid back down along its body to return sleekly to its green protection.
There I had been! On my back, only about a metre and half away from a tiger snake, low enough to have looked it in the face.
There, I was! Still there, but sitting now and looking at where the snake had been. I wasn’t frightened, more amazed and excited. It’s not often you get the chance to look at a wild snake from its level. We had each wanted to lie on the warm sand and I would have been quite happy to share the space with it if it promised to come no further. Unlikely, I know.
Usually, I’m very frightened of snakes when I come across them on a path. The speed of their quick flick away intensifies that fear of how fast and powerful their strike must be. This time, perhaps it was the quietness of the moment that made a tiger snake of about a metre in length seem interesting and not threatening.
Later, I looked up D H Lawrence’s poem Snake, which I hadn’t read for years, and was pleased to find …
I felt so honoured.
My family ran down the dune to the beach. I was very content to stay up there. I found a comfortable sandy slope where the sand had invaded and filled up the old viewing platform. The sand was warm under my back. Down below, the surfers quietly sat on their boards, apparently with no waves worth catching. The waves rolled in steadily and calmly, a few people walked along the beach. I watched some gulls flying towards First Beach and heard only the gentle roar of breaking waves.
I turned my head to the side. A snake, stretched half out of the low bushes, was looking at me. I saw its sloping, scaly face low and front on. I could see its wide mouth and lips. Its tawny body was about as thick as my wrist and its stripes gleamed in the sun as if they’d been varnished.
We looked at each other for about a second. It turned its head and slid back down along its body to return sleekly to its green protection.
There I had been! On my back, only about a metre and half away from a tiger snake, low enough to have looked it in the face.
There, I was! Still there, but sitting now and looking at where the snake had been. I wasn’t frightened, more amazed and excited. It’s not often you get the chance to look at a wild snake from its level. We had each wanted to lie on the warm sand and I would have been quite happy to share the space with it if it promised to come no further. Unlikely, I know.
Usually, I’m very frightened of snakes when I come across them on a path. The speed of their quick flick away intensifies that fear of how fast and powerful their strike must be. This time, perhaps it was the quietness of the moment that made a tiger snake of about a metre in length seem interesting and not threatening.
Later, I looked up D H Lawrence’s poem Snake, which I hadn’t read for years, and was pleased to find …
I felt so honoured.