Across the road lay a series of beach houses built into the steep back dunes, their styles varying from the banal to the vertiginous, while beyond in the distance the houses of Lorne crept up the forested hillsides.

Soon we passed the Memorial Arch, erected to commemorate the returned WW1 soldiers who built this road between 1918 and 1932 to link the isolated coastal towns - I wonder if they ever dreamt it might turn into a world -reknowned tourist icon.

Ahead, the Great Ocean Road began to wind up the slope of Cinema Point and head away from the coast. Our path lay directly at the base of the rocky point and beyond; the cliffs of Big Hill being our first potential barrier, but a much better option than climbing over the top of the steep sloped hill. Passing a few rock fishermen, we quickly rounded the point, crossed the boulder-strewn bed of a small inlet and climbed up on to the rock platform beneath the impressive grey and tan wind- and wave-sculpted cliffs of Big Hill.

The passage was much easier than we had been led to believe, but then this was low tide! The path led us across flattish sandstone platforms, spattered with darker "cannonballs" hurled out of some long vanished volcano into the sands, or the spherical hollows of the impression they once made. At places we had to pick our way across rubble fields of jagged boulders fallen from above and strangely honeycombed by the action of the sea, or at times, working our way around the deep channels that cut into the platform and down which the ocean swells surged.

We were now in the Otways proper and the trees were much taller here and were filled with the sounds of forest birds - chirps, twitters, the odd harsh cry and lots of sweet whistling. Reaching the Allendale campgrounds, we left the road and followed a well-marked footpath that flanked a small stream, ambitiously called the St George River, in the direction of Phantom Falls. In contrast to the Surf Coast Walk, all tracks here were clearly signed, but then this is a popular day-walking region.

A low chirring noise at the side of the track alerted the fair Nello to our first "treat" for the day - a few metres away was the sleakly dark blue form of a male bowerbird tending his bower, decorated with the requisite objects of blue to attract his next lady love. Passing by a small farmlet in the forest (someone's little bit of paradise), we climbed steeply up a 4WD track for a comfortable stroll to Phantom Falls (the Otways are reknowned for the large number of small waterfalls and cascades hidden away in its deep valleys).

Leaving the falls, we climbed back into the the drier more open forest of the ridgelines along a wide track. This led us to The Canyon, a narrow rock-walled gully guarded by a small natural tunnel entry. Climbing down and through, we meandered along a muddy path between moss-covered boulders and tall tree ferns, and past the giant eucalypts that grew in this dim and humid environment.

On reaching a junction in the track, we took off our packs and headed up a short detour in yet another dimly-lit fern-filled gully to the Henderson Falls, smaller than the Phantom Falls, but still magnificent in their shady grotto, lined with tall ancient tree-ferns. Here we had our second treat - a cluster of small and delicate epiphytic orchids clinging to a tree fern trunk. It was a good spot for a break.

Retracing our steps, we picked up our packs and headed southward, passing the Won Wondah Cascades and gradually entering a dryer and more open vegetation as the gully widened out. The microhabitats of the Otways change quickly. Crossing the ridge, the track led us down again to the She Oak picnic area for lunch. Refuelled, we continued our southward push towards Castle Rock.

A long and steep climb took us up to the top of a dry ridge, where much shorter eucalypts emerged from a sub-canopy of wattles in bloom. Leaving our packs at the junction again, we made a long detour out along the ridge to the lookout of Castle Rock, with its impressive views over the Cumberland River mouth and the ocean. Below us (only 400m away) lay the cabins of Cumberland River Reserve, our home for the night.

 

Reaching the valley floor, we entered a beautiful world of giant eucalypts and fern-filled flats, with the babbling waters of the Cumberland flowing down over its rocky bed - the sun emerged again to make the setting perfect.

Crossing the river back and forth several times on stones or logs, we followed it down as the rock walls of the canyon closed in, before finally emerging into the grassy setting of the camp grounds.

The odd bird sang and a low growl in the canopy alerted us to the fact that this is koala country, though we weren't to see any till we had finished the day's walk. On reaching the ridge, the track began to follow the line of undulating knobs and saddles deeper into the interior of the Otways; far out to our left we caught the odd glimpse of the ocean through the trees, while to the right we looked down into the wooded depths of the Upper Cumberland Valley. However, as we picked our way along the ridge, our attention became increasingly focussed on the track itself; the red ribbons became rarer and it was clear that that track maintenance had ended. The undergrowth and vegetation became increasing dense and the actual path fainter - we seemed to spend as much time walking crouched over to avoid the overhanging branches as walking upright, or clambering over obstacles and detouring past fallen limbs. Our pace slowed and at times we needed to stop to hunt out the next red ribbon in places where physical traces of the actual track had been obliterated.

Our walk was rapidly becoming a bushbash - our clothes and packs being snagged by intruding branches - but kept on line by the trace of the GPS and the regular and gratefully spotted ribbons - the red by this time joined by the occasional yellow ribbon (and not an old oak tree in sight). We were gradually climbing and the forest floor was becoming wetter and thicker - tree-ferns became more common and the eucalypts were taller.

At one stage, the ribbons seemed to vanish, but we kept on the course of the faint and overgrown pathway using the GPS. When we did spot red tapes again, we happily started following them, only to realise that they were taking us northward and away from our route. Retracking our steps using the GPS, we found the "true" Cumberland Track, now marked by the occasional orange tape, and pushed on westward.

Great was our relief to suddenly emerge onto an old 4WD vehicular track and be able to walk at a normal pace with heads held high. It had taken 4 hours to push through 10 km of dense forest undergrowth, and for the first time we could look around as we walked and appreciate the beauty of the Otway Forest, with its magnificent tall eucalypts, sub-forest of tall wattle and myrtle and dense understorey of ferns and woody shrubs.

Now where was that track?

The track took us quickly to the junction of the dirt Wye Road, at 450m our highest point in these rugged mountains (which rarely rise above 500m). Feeling fairly energy -depleted we stopped for some lunch, but could not dally too long. We were already an hour behind schedule, a schedule determined by the incoming tide that threatened to block the last phase of today's walk.

So began a relentless fast walk for the next 2 hours down the winding Wye Road, passing through the different forest ecotones as we lost altitude and moisture on our approach to the coast. Finally, we emerged in the holiday village of Wye River, passing through the beach houses to step onto the sand just before the mouth Separation Creek.

Finally we reach the coast at Wye River

The surf was up and the tide had already been on the rise for 3 hours, forcing us to push on quickly, with little time for a rest. Passing Wye River itself, we picked our way around the rocks of Point Sturt for one final 5 km push along the shoreline - partly on flat rock platforms already running with tidal surges, partly on sandy beaches, driven high by the incoming waves, and partly crossing jumbles of dark tanl-coloured and strangely etched sandstone boulders that had fallen from above.

Our feet were sore and aching by the time we reached Kennett River and our cabin for the night, some 8½ hours and 26 km since leaving Cumberland River. The greeting committee of koalas, several with joeys, plus king parrots, crimson rosellas and wood ducks hoping for a hand out, welcomed us in.

With a final glimpse back at the Otway hills plunging into the ocean, we rounded Point Hawdon and began our walk across the soft sand beaches and curiously channelled and tesselated rock platforms beneath Mt Meuron to reach the mouth of the Grey River. The river was not much more than a trickle across the intertidal zone, flowing through a bed of tumble-rounded boulders covered in bright green algae. This was to be the signature of many of the small creeks flowing out into the ocean.

Our map showed that a 4WD track led up to the road from above the platform, but it hid from us so we simply bashed our way up, through and under the dense coastal heath to reach the road. The one advantage of walking on the verge of the road was that our pace picked up, the other was that we got a chance to see a convoy of vintage cars pass by. With no earlier escape, we followed the road down for 2km to beach level at Orchard Creek.

It was pleasant to be back on the sand again and, for a while, we were able to walk down a longish beach in a quasi-meditational state, accompanied by the steady roar of the surf as the big swells rolled in from the Southern Ocean. However, beaches in in this part of the world are relatively short and rounding Sugarloaf Hill, we began a procession of passages across broad strangely etched flat rock platforms, pockmarked with hollows of varying sizes, and where the tidal waters followed curious pathways along narrow and shallow cross-linked channels to return to the sea.

Occasionally a jumble of rounded green-algae covere d boulders marked another creek mouth and occasionally we were forced to pick our way carefully around headlands barred by stacks of jagged-edged sandstone boulders, as the waves crashed onto their bases. Both of us ended up with cut hands or fingers, from momentary periods of disequilibration while crossing these sharp obstacles. The tide had now turned and at times chased us up to the soft sand of the higher beach or forced us to wait between surges when crossing a wider channel in the platforms.

Wild Dog Road was tarred, but quiet, and we made quick progress up the creek valley to reach the entry to "Binnawee" property. The landscapes were largely transformed from the natural bush to grazing pastures and, on crossing the bridge over Wild Dog Creek, we found ourselves walking across a paddock of shin-high, dew-covered, lush green grass - a rare sight in drought-stressed south-eastern Australia.

Ascending the shady grove of Old Tuxion Road

Lush pastoral landscape north of Apollo Bay

In fact we were also walking on what was the Old Tuxion Road, which upon crossing a gully and passing through a gate, led us steeply up a ridgeline. It was a hot and sweaty climb in the lee of the breeze, but the track passed beneath the welcome shade of honey-scented myrtles, tall daisy bushes and other flowering trees that once formed part of a dense forest. In fact, across the gully to our left, the slopes still had the native vegetation, a rich tapestry of shades and textures of green as the vegetation changed from gully floor to ridgeline.

A little bit of bush restoration in the hills of Binnawee

The rich tapestry of an Otways forest

Reaching a flattish area, we stopped to take a break and admire the sweeping panorama of inland forest, green pastured hills and the deep blue ocean. We also admired the fact the the local landholder had been restoring the native vegetation on this exposed hill top. Passing through another gate, the track faded a bit as it traversed a dense thickets of flowering wattles and other woody shrubs, before re-emerging into the open grasslands and climbing to the the high point of 345m, The Crow's Nest Lookout, with even more sweeping and spectacular views of forest, pastured hills and ocean. We didn't see any crows but a wedge-tailed eagle did soar past high above us.

The road from here was all downhill and well-formed gravel. On the way, we stopped to chat to a pleasant bloke who showed us through the old woolshed that he was transforming into very comfortable accommodation with panoramic views to be pitched at the bushwalking fraternity. A great idea and good luck to him.

Halfway down the Old Tuxion Road, we took a steeper shortcut, directly down the ridgeline with sweeping views over Apollo Bay township and the surrounding coastline and country - what more pleasant spot to stop and have a slow lunch in the spring sunshine.