Through mountains haloed in mist we wandered. Umbrellas and ponchos setting us apart from the average hiker… if only there was one to pass us by on the sandy trails.

Carly’s shoe that had been faithful for so many years fell to pieces on her, but any attempts to go bare foot were rebuffed by a path that peevishly changed from soft silky sand to stones and mud puddles.

The fog dampened sound, all was silent. Hazy faces emerged: a rock imitating a man eating an ice cream, another a deranged swamp creature and finally a living one – the furry face of a wallaby.

Back at the Tidal River Car park a sign had boasted a photographic trail of the latest flood event, never had photos of damaged bridges been so celebrated. We came upon the replacement recycled plastic boardwalk with some disappointment, as man’s mark tends to destroy the daydream of wilderness, especially when moulded from plastic bags. How exactly are you meant to pretend you that the cratered boulders are trolls caught out in the light of day when you’ve got plastic underfoot, albeit much more comfortable than being knee deep in the much and the mire. It was good to see the workers had a sense of humour though, their lunch spot emblazoned with not one but two larrikin signs.

And then through a chaos of bare tangled branches was the ocean.

So blue it warmed your soul – Waterloo Bay. On a distant rock sat a black and white bird, our naked eyes keeping the dream alive that it might actually be a penguin, not even 20-20 Dylan could say it was for sure. Closer inspection with the zoom lens sadly showed it to be more like some sort of Petrel, no offence Petrel, but you just aren’t in the same league as a Little Penguin.