Not a Beach Person.

I used to say I wasn’t a beach person; I was a mountains person—like you only get one choice. Sand and salty water had nothing on trees as far as the eye could see, crisp fresh air, and hiking trails.

As a child, the beach didn’t feature much in our holiday schedule. We were water-skiers, so sought out lakes where we could skim across the water all day and laugh around the campfire at night.

For the most part of my adult life—until more recently—I rarely went to the coast, and if I did, it was to tick ‘beach trip’ off my parenting to-do list, or to visit a beachside living friend. And on such trips, I had no inkling to swim in the ocean or to sit on the shore. I could find no pleasure in water that angered paper cuts, moved in unpredictable patterns, and dragged the floor from underneath my feet. I could find no joy in sandy toes, sandy fingernail beds, and a sandy scalp.

Oh no. I would much rather be amongst meadows lush with greenery, fractured only by freshwater streams. I would prefer to navigate trails, climb hills and scramble over rocks.

But then a good friend kept rattling on about her love for Apollo Bay.

I had visited Apollo Bay before. Once, I ran there from Lorne— a triumphant 45-kilometre run—as part of the Great Ocean Road Running Festival. It is hard to appreciate a town when it’s overshadowed by blisters and chafing, and there’s no hope of getting a seat in a café unless, of course, you were one of the clever ones that booked ahead. It’s hard to be grateful for the sea when you only use it for the therapeutic benefit of recovery.

My first ‘real’ date with Apollo Bay was post-covid-lockdown-numero-uno. We’d barely left our 5-kilometre radius in months. My bay-loving friend was escaping to her ‘second home,’ and encouraged me to bundle up the home-schooled kids and join her. So I shelved my anti-beach attitude, put my faith in her opinion and booked a few nights at one of the motor inns.

It could have been the lack of tourists; poor Melbournites were still locked down and international travellers would be held back for many more months to come. Maybe, I was just desperate for something (anything!) to break the grind of having two teenagers at home All.The.Time.  Or, possibly, the ‘exciting’ walks to the supermarket were starting to wear a little thin. I’m not quite sure what the catalyst was, but regardless, on that little September getaway, I formed a bit of a crush on Apollo Bay: salty seas and sand and all.

Such a crush, that I booked the family in at the Marengo Holiday Park the following January. Oh Marengo! You delightful devil. This caravan park set high on the hill (a cliff face even?) provides the perfect setting to sit back, have a cuppa and stare in awe at the great big, mysterious world of water. And a little scramble down some rocks (a rock scramble, I say!) and we found ourselves on beaches that seemed almost untouched, albeit for the occasional fellow dog walker.

And a path into town. A perfect little path and a perfect little distance. 2.5 kilometres to coffee, a smattering of shops (not too many to feel commercialised, but enough to while away an hour or so), a playground, and the skatepark; where I would be almost guaranteed to find my teen tribe. Did I swim on that trip? I can’t recall that I did. But the ocean was beckoning me with its lovely sunrises, its not-too-daunting waves and its modestly patronised beaches.

Holiday time rolled around again, and again we weaved our way back through the Otways (mountains, if you will) to find ourselves checking in at the Apollo Bay Recreation Reserve, a little closer to town—just 1 kilometre, by my Garmin—because despite the ability to be M.I.A all day, walking anything further than a kilometre is, apparently, torture for teenage legs.

Still, no complaints from me. A shorter walk means multiple walks, in my book. Coffee in the morning followed by a sit on the beach (shoes off, socks off, feel that sand!). A little lunchtime stroll to collect a loaf of bread. And a mid-afternoon catch-up with a friend, another coffee (or gin!), and another plonk on the sand to look at the ocean—because my, how she changes from hour to hour.

Walks aside, I don’t mind a jog (although, these days the distance between Lorne and Apollo Bay is incomprehensible). Short jog, long jog, flat jog, hill jog; so many choices and all as equally beautiful and motivating. I can run from the Rec Reserve (we’re on an abbreviated-name basis, now) to the viewing platform just past the surf club. I can run out to Marengo, especially if I am craving a glimpse at the panoramic sunrise from my favourite spot, or I can do the Marengo to Wild Dog Road route and return if I want something a little longer.

Then to relax back at the van, amongst the lush green surroundings of the pet-friendly caravan park, is heavenly. And what, prey-tell, weaves its way along the border of the Recreation Reserve? A stream. Stop it.  Grab my book.

And finally, after the ocean kept reaching out and asking me to dance, I relinquished. I’ve tiptoed, I’ve ankle skimmed, I’ve knee-dampened. I head-ducked. I’ve body surfed (badly), boogie-boarded (mediocre-ly) and hold, up, I even bought a wetsuit, so that I could take a dip in the ocean—the salty, sandy ocean—all year through: middle of winter and all.

There’s a moral to this story. We’re not made exclusively for the mountains, solely for the lakes or for the coast alone. We’re made for it all. We’re made for living and loving; for exploring and growing and for being prepared to change our perspectives