Page 129: heading east again

Why did we choose Toora? Well, because this little town was highly recommended by our friends, Peter and Eileen Walton, as was the caravan park here. Toora is such a small place that its name didn't start appearing on the road signs until we were almost here.

Pam and I had a walk around the town (population 674 in the 2006 census) and sometimes it was as if we were the only people left on earth. Several buildings seemed empty and deserted. The few people we did see, however, were very pleasant.

  Stanley Street, the commercial centre of Toora. Most of the time you could fire a cannon up Stanley Street and hit nothing.  

On our way home we called in at "Barb's Place", a little café opposite the caravan park. Barb is very friendly and makes excellent coffee. She remembers Peter and Eileen (see top line) but had lost their email address when her 'poota caught a nasty virus and had to go to hospital. We were able to help her out with the address.

  The little village of Toora as the shadows grew long.  

As it happened, we were in Toora on the 11th day of the 11th month of 2010. At the 11th hour we stood at the little cenotaph with about twenty five others and remembered the fallen in World War One and all subsequent wars. As cars and trucks roared past, drowning out the words, we thought back to the time when all traffic came to a standstill for two minutes in honour of those dead.

As I stood there I began to wonder about the hypocrisy of it all. The last thing I want to do is offend anybody, but my thoughts ran thus: In WW II our bomber crews were sent to bomb German cities. Those indiscriminate bombs rained down on citizens who were as innocent as our own civilians in London, Darwin, etc. Yet they were blown to pieces or burned alive, many maimed, some buried under rubble and probably all psychologically scarred for the rest of their lives - as indeed our own civilians were. Their crime . . . nothing. The crews who inflicted this upon them were called heroes.

Now think about Palestinian fighters who blow up a bus or train and indiscriminately kill innocent civilians in their fight to win back their homeland which is being taken over by the Israelis. Do we regard them as heroes? No, they are cowards and terrorists; they are remorselessly hunted down.

I am by no means a Palestinian sympathiser but, standing there, it made me wonder as we honoured our war dead. It's a strange world we live in.

  a trip to Agnes Falls  

 One of Toora's attractions is Agnes Falls which are in the hills behind the town. On the way there we stopped to photograph a couple of wind generators, part of a wind farm which produces far more power than Toora needs. The excess is fed into the grid. On ya Toora!


On the way up to the falls we came across Silcock's Hill Lookout from where we were able to gaze out over Corner Inlet to Wilson's Promomtory which we visited later.


Looking out across Corner Inlet to the hills of Wilson's Promontory. The inlet is open to Bass
Strait on the left. And such green grass, but the price for that is lots of rain.


At Agnes Falls we parked in the allocated area and walked towards the thunder of falling water. On the walk we saw a pair of large black birds with yellow markings. One of them seemed intent on destroying the trunk of a tree. She was a female Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoo and, using her powerful beak, she had ripped away the bark and wood within until she had reached the pith of the tree. Perhaps she was looking for boring grubs for food. She certainly wasn't doing the poor tree any favours.

  A Yellow-tailed Black Cockatoo. We watched her rip this tree trunk apart while her mate looked on.  

The falls were well worth the drive and walk. The last thing we expected in those beautiful rolling green hills was a steep, rocky gorge.

Left: At the top of Agnes Falls a small weir had been built and from there, not just Toora, but the whole area is supplied with fresh water fed by gravity.
Right: The falls are very deep, the water cascading down, then down again and yet again to the bottom of the gorge.
  Wilsons Promontory National Park  

Wilsons Prom is a rocky formation of low, rugged mountains projecting into Bass Strait and curving back towards the coast to form a partially enclosed expanse of shallow water known as Corner Inlet. Some of Corner Inlet is a Marine and Coastal Park. I can't find out where the name 'Corner' originated but 'Wilson' was an Englishman whose only claim to fame seems to be that he was a friend of Governor Hunter. Wilson's name was put forward by George Bass and Matthew Flinders, no doubt trying to earn some brownie points from the Governor.

The promontory has been made a national park and it abounds in wildlife of land sea and air. There are many lovely sandy coves and beaches.

Back around the year 1800 the area was rich in seals. In 1804 one sealing ship alone obtained over 600,000 sealskins! Yes, the crew of one ship slaughtered more seals than now exist along the whole southern coast of Australia. Sickening!

On a more cheery note, as we drove towards Wilsons Prom, we passed the sign shown below:

  Poor Fellow Me Creek. Isn't that a fabulous name?  

Researching the name I found a mention of it in a copy of The Argus newspaper dated December 1st 1860 - price 3d. Another reference to the creek name occurs in The Age newspaper of October 5th 2002 which claims the creek was "named for a bygone resident who was the last survivor of a Kurnai tribe". We also crossed creeks with names such as Dead Horse Creek, Old Hat Creek, Silver Creek and Golden Creek. No prizes for guessing what used to be mined around there in days of old.

  Tidal River Bay, one of many on Wilsons Prom.  
  Left: The Boss with a hint of a smile. I wonder what she's thinking?
Right: A blow-up of that sheer rock on the horizon in the picture above.