Erskine Falls
Tom Zdraveski & Holly Blackmore
For our anniversary, we decided to venture into the Otway Rainforest and undertake a moderate descent to Erskine Falls. The steps were shrouded in shadows and strewn foliage; momentum pulled us onwards through dappled, afternoon light. People clustered around various look-outs, murmurs of foreign language in the clear, wavering air.
Rabbit trails snaked away through the shrubs. We followed one down-stream, clambering over rocks and branches towards an indefinite location. The river ran along beside us, trickling through the trees like a vein of the forest itself. Stopping for lunch – hummus and Cobs popcorn – on a rock in the midst of the stream. A group of travelers smoking joints in the greenery beside us.
Placid sounds of water pouring over stone generated an aura of ease, an atmosphere of tranquility. We watched visitors pose for pictures on stone precipices, the surfaces still damp from earlier rain. Despite human presence, the scene felt entirely untouched. We were temporary intruders. Here to observe, to admire, but not to alter the landscape in any way. It almost felt as if we couldn’t, even if we tried to. The forest seemed eternal, and omnipresent – we were just blessed to have occupied those few scarce hours there.
