In Search of the Platypus

With some rather odd, nondescript directions, I made my way through some very dark, windy roads, presumably through some forest to the edge of what was said to be Lake Elizabeth, though I couldn't see a thing in the darkness of the cloudy night. I parked my van in one of the flat spots and waited for morning and our platypus sightseeing tour. As with the koala, but even moreso, I have always loved the platypus, doing book reports and presentations on it while in elementary school, even creating a larger than life-sized papier-mache model for one of my classes. It was such an elaborate creation that we were sad to see it go, so we actually buried it in the yard of my house. Needless to say, seeing a platypus for me wouldn't just be another random experience. It would be something that would be one of my earliest dreams fulfilled, and I was really excited as I tried to fall asleep. However, I tried not to build up the event too much, as the ranger from the wildlife park said that he'd only seen two of them in his 50-some years in Australia and that they are quite hard to find. I awoke a few different times during the night, dreaming that I'd missed my alarm and the tour, only to find that it was still the wee hours of the morning. Finally, it was 5:45, and I got my things together in the complete darkness just as two cars pulled up, presumably the tour guide and his guests. As the blonde, bearded man came up to my window, he announced that he was indeed Bruce (though I didn't even get his name over the phone), and I met the British couple and their two young children that would be accompanying me on the tour. We grabbed the paddles and flashlights and headed off into the darkness of the woods.

Along the way, the five and six year old children were getting a little restless, being up so early in the morning and not being able to see anything in front of them, though they were quickly wooed by the shining lights hidden in the rock walls, given off by the glowworms. Hundreds of little white lights glowed in the darkness, hidden during the day behind the ferns and undergrowth of the forest. Fifteen minutes after beginning our long, dark walk, we arrived at the edge of a tiny lake, the clearing providing just the slightest hint of the morning light. Mist and darkness stood over the lake, looking eerily like one out of a suspense film with dead tree stumps standing tall throughout the lake, which had apparently been created by a landslide that blocked the river in the 1950s. Bruce slid the two canoes into the water and tied them together, forming a sort of catamaran, and the six of us jumped in and glided along the silent, glassy water. Lake Elizabeth is known to be the home of six or seven platypuses (he used this as the plural, so I will too), so we were hoping that we'd be lucky to see them. In the slightest light, he said that they will first appear as silver streaks in the water. Only fifteen minutes of slow rowing through the untouched water and he spotted some movement in the distance. Far off, I could see the small, slender outline of something along the water's surface for a few seconds before it dove down again to feed. We circled around the lake, looking this way and that, seeing bubbles and silhouettes. Soon, the light began to come through the mist, and we slid in and out of the tree stumps, following the platypuses as they went up and down between feeding and resting and catching their breath. It was incredible to see them moving effortlessly through the water as we tried to follow along, trying not to make noise or disturb the timid creatures. A few would surface near our boats for 10 or 15 seconds before diving back down, getting away from whatever large creature appeared to be watching them from the surface. Despite never getting a super close-up view of the animal, it was unbelievable for me to actually be able to see one of these amazing anomalies of nature that had almost reached a mythical standing in my mind. I couldn't help but think how happy I was to really see one and how proud my younger self would have been to know that I'd actually see one in the wild. All in all, we had about 15 or 20 platypus spottings during the three hour tour, ranging from about 20 feet from the boat to all the way across the tiny lake (maybe 150 yards in length) and being anywhere from just a moment above the surface to a minute or so of chewing their food and catching their breath. The lake itself was also a very peaceful experience, so the tour was definitely worth the money, and I was thankful that I was able to find such a random thing.

As we headed back to our cars in full daylight, I saw the huge, white-trunked eucalyptus trees and large ferns that covered the thick forest around the lake and my sleeping spot from the night before. I thanked Bruce for another amazing wildlife encounter, and I headed off down the road. My next stop was a pair of waterfalls in the same area that I'd seen in a few photography books. A small, tightly packed dirt road amongst the thick forest led me to Hopetoun Falls, the first of my stops, and just before arriving, I turned the corner to see my first wild wallaby sitting on the edge of the road, before hopping off into the woods as it heard my car approaching. Walking down to Hopetoun Falls was a steep trail, leading through more ferns and gum trees before revealing a small creek and some impressive 35 foot falls over a sheer escarpment into the water and mossy green rocks below. Not content with the view from the lookout, I jumped the wooden railing and headed onto the rocks for a better view. The views at first were great, but when I made a step for the rocks, I realized that they were incredibly slippery. A few key words came out that made me glad there were no children around, and I soon found my foot slipping into the cold water. I braced myself with my hand as my right foot went in about shin deep and my left toe was also submerged, just for good measure. I pulled my foot out as quickly as it had fallen in, but I could already feel the wetness in my shoes. My shoe and sock were completely soaked, which I knew would make for a fun walk back up the trail. In spite of the shoe incident, I did get some good pictures and marveled at the picturesque place, all to myself.

My wet foot and I next moved on to Triplet Falls, which was another one hour trail to the falls. These falls were much larger, a series of large cascades falling over large boulders and inclines, though they were significantly less photogenic. As I arrived to the lookout, an older couple was just leaving to go back up the steep hill, so I figured I'd admire the water for a while to give them time to get back to the car park. I guess I misjudged their speed, but I headed back up the hill and was soon upon them. I said a few words politely as I went by, and apparently they were in the mood for talking. As I slowed down, they told me all about their travels from nearby South Australia and asked about mine, also reminiscing about the wife's trip to America in 1976 and other random facts. I meandered back and forth, knowing that I didn't have much time left before I'd need to hit the road and get back to down before the last of daylight but not wanting to leave them behind. I took in more stories of them digging for opals and being proud of me for enjoying my "early retirement," and we eventually made it back to the parking lot, where I bid them farewell and headed back to the coast for the last part of the Great Ocean Road and a potential spot to sleep.

(A few more shots of the Great Ocean Road first)

(Note the nice rainbow)
(London Bridge - these two landmasses used to be connected, but the land bridge in between the two collapsed in 1990, leaving two tourists temporarily stranded on the part on the right until a helicopter rescued them.)

(Lake Elizabeth in the early morning.)

(The road along the way to Triplet Falls)

(Scenic Hopetoun Falls, taken with one wet foot)