290 Barrett, Wilson's Promontory and its Wild Life. \_jJ'''T'm\ 



purple ranges, misty against a tranquil sky or wreathed in storm 

 clouds. Both in weather and scenery the Park offers infinite 

 variety. Nature has a vast canvas for her pictures, and she 

 paints them in the grand style, in her placid and stormy moods ; 

 but she is rarely long content with an effect, and sweeps it away 

 for another. A sunnner morning may come with a rain storm, 

 and within an hour or two there will be clear sky and a wind that 

 barely swings the bluebell on its stem. Then storm again^ — a 

 gale that uproots dead trees on the mountain-side, and makes it 

 perilous to travel on the track to Sealers' Cove. Not long ago 

 a small building on the isthmus was torn down, and, they say, 

 blown out to sea ! The dunes and the flat-topped bushes on the 

 moorland bear witness to the power of the wind. And yet, in the 

 year, there are many perfect days. 



Oberon Bay, whose hinterland is fair country for cattle, is the 

 pride of the Promontory. A ^helving beach, with the curve of 

 beauty, blue sea laced with foam, and wild splendour of 

 granite hills. After storm there are shells to be gathered on 

 the white sand ; cones and cowries, the delicate pinna, and a host 

 of others — nearly 60 kinds have been recorded from the Bay. The 

 rock pools, at low tide, yield a rich harvest. The shore is 

 haunted by birds. Sea-Gulls patrol the shallows ; Dottrel 

 twinkle over the sand ; and Oyster-catchers paddle in the 

 shallows, their plaintive notes mingling with the ceaseless song of 

 the surf. The gullies, thick with tea-tree, are thronged with 

 honey-eating birds. Through park-like country, dotted with 

 Banksias, Eraser's Creek flows to the sea. Here is a good spot 

 for camping, for the creek water is sweet and clear, and a tent 

 can be pitched in the shade of spreading boughs. 



Lilly-pilly Gully, discovered by the ranger, has recently been 

 made accessible to tourists. One of the finest gullies in Victoria, 

 save for a slender track and a string of blazed trees it remains - 

 a place of faery. When the sea is leaping on Oberon's flanks, 

 and wind rushing over the tall trees on Bishop Rock, only a 

 musical murmur, and the wandering cries of birds, echo amid the 

 ferns. A little creek flows along a sandy bed, overarched by musk 

 and myrtle, a mirror for drooping fronds. Hardy ferns carpet 

 the forest floor, mingled with myrtle seedlings, clumps of 

 sword-grass, and jungles of shrubs and creepers. Where the 

 track winds into the gully a cascade of white Clematis and delicate 

 Tecoma flowers, veils the foliage of many trees. From hot sun- 

 shine you pass into cool and fragrant shade. No fire (though 

 the neighbouring hills have been swept) has ravished this gully, 

 perhaps for centuries. 



Lyre-Birds [Menitra victoria;) live in the heart of the gully. 

 Often they are heard mocking the notes of other birds or uttering 

 their own ; but rarely is one seen. The Park may become the 

 last refuge of Meniira, which has small chance, otherwhere, against 

 the fox and the plume-hunter and ruthless egg-collectors. 



An hour's ride from the Darby, in a hollow beyond the Re;d 



