Robert's Ramblings

I first set foot on Achill Island, County Mayo a couple of years ago. At the time I was only a little aware of its significance in the life of Ireland’s beloved pirate queen, Gráinne Ní Mháillem (Grace O’Malley).

In the last few months my awareness of this incredible woman and her place in sixteenth century Irish history has blossomed as I have worked with my wife to bring Gráinne to life in Jennifer’s 2020 Adelaide Fringe performance depicting her life in narrative, poetry and song.

We still have a few more shows to go but already we are wishing ourselves back on that rugged western coast of Ireland, the ‘Wild Atlantic Way’ and the home of Grace O’Malley.

These enigmatic and almost unnerving sponges around Edithburgh Jetty seem to me like some ancient sentinel lifeform left to observe the passage of evolution.

When I think of them in that way it no longer seems strange that these are animals, not plants, and that it is more than likely that this sentinel began its life as free swimming organism perhaps thousands of kilometres from here.

Sponges express a milestone in evolution marking the transition from single cell to multicellular organisms around 600 millions years ago; a feat that took biology around three billion years to achieve.

This creature may not be so ancient; or, maybe all is not as it appears. In an eerie way it reminds me of a movie I watched long ago. About how ‘in space no one can hear you scream’. Well the same goes for being underwater as well!

Time will tell if this alien seed germinates or if it really is just an ancient sea sponge.

Australian beaches in summer are fabulous places to keep cool, so fabulous in fact that in some places they have to be closed for the safety of visitors not accustomed to reading the waves and surf and currents.

For our tourist destination beaches I reluctantly agree this makes sense. Fortunately for us locals we have another fifty nine thousand kilometres of unmanaged coastline to play in.

Regardless of if you surf, swim or dive, it’s a kracka summer!

#beach #sand #lifesaver #lifegaurd #blue #bokeh #depthoffield #bondi #krackasurfcraft

This place is so close and yet so hidden. Our secret garden guarded by sea on every side. One lone bridge keeps the curious away. This is a place you really need to make an effort for.

Torrens Island is so close and yet so detached from awareness that most South Australians are not even curious. To most, it’s just a place where an old power station ekes out its last few years of productive life.

The more I discover about this secret savannah of salty marsh-land the more I want to.

There was a time long, long ago when I dived here armed with sturdy gloves and a catch-bag. What would ensue was a cat and mouse game of stealthy ambush; the hunter; the prey.

Since the day I first took a camera underwater my catch-bag has stayed dry and now seeing crayfish brings me a different delight.

I captured this image at my most favourite shore dive of all time; Chinaman’s Hat on the York Peninsula, South Australia. Plan to dive here if you ever visit.

Oh, I still play the cat and mouse game of hunter and prey, but now it’s about getting the best image I can.

There is a swim-through from amidships to the bow on the wreck of ‘The Australian’ that is packed with bright orange bullseyes.

It’s worth a dive here just to experience them parting then reforming behind you.

The dark space and severe fish crowding make taking a photo here a real challenge. They are so close and so shiny and the strobe light falls off so fast that you get a some quite strange lighting effects.

Better perhaps to just swim though and enjoy view.

This parched hillside in the Barossa Ranges caught my attention due to the interesting lines carved into the barren ground.

As I got closer the ground began to wriggle and quiver like some larval infestation. It struck me how close to the truth that idea really was.

The cause of those abstract striations revealed.

During yesterday’s commute home the view into the distance became muted in a wind driven dusty sky.

Strange brown clouds billowed up from the horizon and the smell of dirty rain filled the air.

I was not able to capture that initial apocalyptic feel as the rapidly changing clouds and sky shifted the mood but at least I did not go home empty handed.

The bright lights; they sneak around corners, steal our nights, fill the world with their indifferent scrutiny and threaten to expose our deepest secrets.

Yet looking up I am reminded of the sun, of its nurturing warmth and the life it brings to the world.

This this light I welcoming shining on me in the deep and dark places I dwell.

There is not a single place on this planet where you could walk in a straight line (if possible) and not find your self on a seashore somewhere with a seemingly limitless expanse of ocean beyond.

All paths really do lead to the sea.

I’m categorically not a morning person. At least that’s my excuse for missing almost every one out of the two precious golden hours gifted to us,

This particular morning I broke my habit and my sleep to hopefully capture something special. Too bad I could not get a clear view; or is it?

I had many amazing adventures in the Barrossa Ranges during my early years.

Hikes on my own, camping evenings with friends, day picnics with family and maybe even a little truancy communing with nature are all there in my recollections.

Nightfall in a wild place, at least wild to a child can be just as terrifying and scary as it is exciting and exhilarating.

I relished all those memories reliving this Barrossa eventide.

Many years ago I had the fortunate opportunity to tour Torrens Island Power Station and see first hand a gas powered turbine generator in action.

It was a defining moment for me in realising that ‘electricity’ comes in all colours from dirty black to eco’ green.

AGL will be mothballing this facility in the coming years and hopefully greener power will keep it that way.

It’s still pretty cool though...

Somewhere between clear blue summer skies and rainy grey wintery days is a special place where beach and horizon meet in a golden celebration of texture and colour.

It’s a good place to be...

There once was a rascal of a schoolboy who’s name was Jeff. I’ve no first hand knowledge of his adolescent reputation other than the recollections of a good friend.

What Jeff had was a vision for his city to transform it from just another big city into a world class expression of urban life.

As an outsider my first awareness of Jeff’s vision were the amazing motorway sculptures on route from the airport to the city. That was twenty years ago now and the rest is history.

This creation by Denton Corker Marshall, affectionately known as ‘The Ribcage’ reminds me of what Jeff might have been seeing at the end of the tunnel all those years ago.