At the furthest end of the beach shadows slink in front of the chatty human-ness of the caravan park far in the distance. Beneath the craggy faces of monolithic rocks, old men glaring down at me, time shunts to a standstill, an ancient story whispering huskily. The strawberry-blonde sands run out, scared off by military formation cracks, the fissures through the rock lattice-like in their uniformity.

The slick rocks are carpeted in acid green algae, a mossy frond beneath the sharp, short frothing waves, and rock pools hold archaic ecosystems – in their indigo corners lurk ancient creatures that talk of evolution.

There is a brooding silence, into which the hissing erosion of water on land dissolves. I can’t hear myself think and as I question why, the tug of the surf reminds me of the primordial force of the land and ocean and their age-old battle for supremacy.

There is no Australiana here. Rather there is a divine sense of peace, snuggled tight into the heady roar of elemental battle. Ancient spirits whorl and swoop, humanity a distant afterthought.

Sigh. Back to the road…