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Calvert's Beach
Dec. 22nd, 2008 09:16 pmChristmas is almost upon us, A's parents have arrived and our little flat is feeling quite full. I'm working up to close of business on the 24th, and not back until we re-open on the 5th - not ideal, since I haven't accrued enough leave yet, but welcome none-the-less, especially since I'm still sick, and now A is too.
This virus is driving me bonkers - it's been over a month now, and every time I think I'm over it and attempt normal life it knocks me back down again. A Saturday morning spent shopping results in a written-off Sunday. Attempted bushwalks are called short 20 minutes in. I have had enough! Last Friday, after waking up as tired as when I went to sleep, I took the day off and did very little. Saturday we did even less. Sunday arrived, full of sun and warmth and promise, so we took ourselves out for a stroll along Calvert's Beach. I struggled to make it back to the car, and promptly fell asleep on the drive home. I did not move for the rest of the day.
I haven't been on time for work in weeks.
So yes, I'm looking forward to my 10 days off, though of course I'm going to try to get out and about as much as I can.
Anyway, Calvert's Beach: it's out on the South Arm, not all that far out of Hobart, and largely surrounded by a reserve (though not entirely, as evidenced by a large sign threatening any who dared to trespass above the high water mark). On the day we went a stiff on-shore wind whipped the scruffy swell into foamy chop, stained with floating clumps of kelp. It's a strange beach to me, having grown up around the sub-tropical surf beaches of the Gold Coast. The plants and animals are all wrong, with strange red jellyfish and a family of crows patrolling the sand. The strangest of all was a 10m section of beach patterned with dead and dying beetles, a green swaith along the tide line. Where they came from, and why they died there en-mass I do not know. Perhaps some bizarre beetle beach orgy in the foam? Or maybe they were feeding on some washed-up kelp and taken out by a rogue breaker.
I'm used to understanding the ecology of a place, but I can't quite get my head around Tasmania yet.
The beach made me homesick for a place that no longer exists; for the still wild beaches of my childhood and the ocean in my dreams.
This virus is driving me bonkers - it's been over a month now, and every time I think I'm over it and attempt normal life it knocks me back down again. A Saturday morning spent shopping results in a written-off Sunday. Attempted bushwalks are called short 20 minutes in. I have had enough! Last Friday, after waking up as tired as when I went to sleep, I took the day off and did very little. Saturday we did even less. Sunday arrived, full of sun and warmth and promise, so we took ourselves out for a stroll along Calvert's Beach. I struggled to make it back to the car, and promptly fell asleep on the drive home. I did not move for the rest of the day.
I haven't been on time for work in weeks.
So yes, I'm looking forward to my 10 days off, though of course I'm going to try to get out and about as much as I can.
Anyway, Calvert's Beach: it's out on the South Arm, not all that far out of Hobart, and largely surrounded by a reserve (though not entirely, as evidenced by a large sign threatening any who dared to trespass above the high water mark). On the day we went a stiff on-shore wind whipped the scruffy swell into foamy chop, stained with floating clumps of kelp. It's a strange beach to me, having grown up around the sub-tropical surf beaches of the Gold Coast. The plants and animals are all wrong, with strange red jellyfish and a family of crows patrolling the sand. The strangest of all was a 10m section of beach patterned with dead and dying beetles, a green swaith along the tide line. Where they came from, and why they died there en-mass I do not know. Perhaps some bizarre beetle beach orgy in the foam? Or maybe they were feeding on some washed-up kelp and taken out by a rogue breaker.
I'm used to understanding the ecology of a place, but I can't quite get my head around Tasmania yet.
The beach made me homesick for a place that no longer exists; for the still wild beaches of my childhood and the ocean in my dreams.
