Three weeks before year’s end, we set off on a long-looked-forward-to summer holiday, conveniently forgetting that Australia is home to some of the most dangerous animals on earth.

Naively excited, as only the normally deskbound can be, we left the safe familiarity of our city behind and drove south along the Hume Highway, stopping only for second breakfast at Bundanoon, morning tea at Goulbourn, elevenses at Gundagai, lunch at Tarcutta and afternoon tea at Holbrook, finally arriving at the border town of Albury, and pausing for a well-deserved bite to eat, before crossing the Murray River. We reached Bright an hour before day’s end, with enough light left for a picnic supper on the banks of the fast-flowing ice-cold river of this pretty little Victorian Alpine town.

Bright sits at the edge of Mt Buffalo National Park, so the next day we packed our lunch boxes and trekked to the summit of The Horn, eerily reminiscent of Mt Doom in The Lord of the Rings.

The next part of our road trip took us south east along the Great Alpine Road, through picturesque Harrietville, nestled at the foot of the range on the Ovens River, before climbing up to Mt Hotham and Dinner Plain, both with spectacular views across to the Snowy Mountains and Mt Kosciusko.  

In the late afternoon, after a long snaking drive down to sea level we reached our destination: Lakes Entrance, which sits at the mouth of the vast Gippsland Lakes that run parallel to Ninety Mile Beach at the edge of the Tasman Sea. This is where our seaside holiday would begin.

So far it had been the perfect trip, except for the scarcity of country bakeries on the journey through the high country. However, our first day in Lakes Entrance provided ample opportunity for that kind of indulgence before we explored the nearby beaches. Our favourite was Lake Tyers beach and although the temperature hovered in the early 20s and the beach was deserted, only us and a hand full of gulls, we were determined to brave the ocean for our first swim of the season.

I stepped into the water, expecting the heart chilling temperature we’d encountered last year at beaches further west near the border of Victoria and South Australia, but was wonderfully surprised. The sea here was simply invigorating. I felt like all the daily stresses of working and living in a big city were being washed away. I wanted to play in this aquamarine paradise forever but streaky clouds had begun to blow across the sky and were now playing hide and seek with the sun, turning the water dark blue and obscuring the sandy bottom. Deciding it was time for lunch, we let one final wave carry us onto the sand. Little did we know that we weren’t the only ones looking for a feed. On the way back to the car park, at the crest of the sand dune path, I turned for a last look at the ocean, and there right in the shallows, where we’d been swimming only minutes before, was a large black fin. It zig-zagged quietly through the water never veering from its lethal trajectory. We had almost crossed the path of this deadly beast.

At the other end of Ninety Mile Beach is Wilson’s Promontory, which juts thirty-five kilometres south into Bass Strait and on its edge is the tiny locality of Yanakie where we had driven to after our time in Lakes Entrance. Our little cabin had a stunning view of this beautiful mountainous national park; a perfect place for walking in winter and edged by white sandy beaches, perfect for swimming in summer but I wasn’t planning on swimming again any time soon. Each night as I’d drifted into dreams, I’d seen that black fin cruising at the edge of the water. And during the day as we explored the region, I couldn’t help thinking about our near miss.  

Over the next few days, we visited Squeaky Beach, named by Tourism Australia in 2024 as the best beach in Australia. We explored Whisky Beach and Picnic Beach and Norman’s Beach, all breath taking. How could we not swim here! But fear kept us out of the water. As we stood on the sandy access track to Cotter’s Beach looking longingly at the turquoise sea, I noted a strange movement from the corner of my eye. Turning slowly, I saw an emu, standing in the dune grass staring at us quietly. And then I noticed another one, and another, and another… all together I counted twelve! We stood still, hardly breathing, until one by one the whole mob wound their way slowly behind the shallow sand hills and disappeared from sight. I was elated to have seen these giant flightless birds that were happy to roam the sand dunes without ever being tempted to step into the water.

Later that afternoon, we found ourselves walking along a forest path near a mangrove inlet called Millars Landing. At a curve in the track, just past what it was easy to believe had once been a set of worshiping rocks, I spotted a small skink lizard. I could see its little heart beating hard as it waited for us to move on. Moments later we stopped again, standing dead still and silent, listening to a soft rustling sound in the ferny undergrowth. A few meters away, warily watching us, was a beautiful chocolate brown swamp wallaby. Eventually it lost interest in us and turned back to its foraging. But before I could take a step, my partner grabbed my arm. I froze. Just in front of us, at the edge of the path was a long thin snake with grey brown stripes. My heart began racing frantically as I held my breath. After what felt like a lifetime, it slid slowly and silently across the track and into the low bushes. We watched it move well away before stepping forward again. We had just missed another deadly encounter. Had we not stopped to look at the wallaby we might have stepped right into the path of a highly venomous tiger snake.

With such convincing evidence that it was even more dangerous to stay out of the water, we got straight into the car and drove quickly back to the best beach in Australia, changed into our cossies and ran into the surf. After all, what were the chances of two sharks being in exactly the same place as us?

The final part of our holiday was spent at a stunning beach house at The Honeysuckles near the town of Sea Spray right on Ninety Mile Beach. So, it was convenient that we’d gotten over our shark phobia. The Honeysuckles is a tiny locality, nestled between sand dunes and wetlands, boasting unsealed roads and no street lighting. It’s a place that feels removed from the progress of time, where each night the Milky Way with its hundred billion stars seems to hang within touching distance, and the cool sand of the beach is lit only by otherworldly light.

Each day we lay on the warm sand watching the rolling surf stretch forever to the east and west, with nothing but sea before us all the way to the southern horizon. We had the unpatrolled beach to ourselves as we splashed and played in the waves like a couple of wild children. It was on our second last day, once again as we were leaving the beach by a dune path, that I turned to look back at the water.  And there, like a nightmare returning to haunt me, was a black fin cruising the shallows. I couldn’t believe it. Was it the same shark? Had it followed us these ninety miles? I didn’t have any answers. All I knew was there was no way that I would be getting back in the water again! After all, how many warnings does an idiot need?

At that moment, two actual children walked past us with their surf boards. Dutifully we pointed out the shark.

“Nah. It’s a dolphin,” one kid said without even looking up. The other one had the grace to look concerned.

If this was a dolphin, it was a seriously unhappy one. 

We spent our last day exploring the Gippsland Lakes Coastal Park that stretched to the east from the safety of our car. This was how we discovered the Trincullo shipwreck, the remains of an iron barque that was driven onto a sandbar by gale force winds in 1879. Miraculously everyone survived, thanks to the bravery of one sailor who leapt off the boat tied to a rope and swam through the wild, (no doubt shark infested) surf to the shore. Looking now at the iron skeleton of the boat sunken peacefully into the sand, it’s hard to imagine the chaos that passengers and crew went through. Looking now at the surf, it’s easy to imagine the sharks.

As we drove back to the Honeysuckles, we noticed some kangaroos gathered on a deserted golf course just outside Golden Beach. I turned my head to look at them, intending only to take a quick glimpse, when my passenger gasped and I jerked my eyes back to the road. A lone golden roo broke from the verge, where it had been camoflaged by the long yellow wheat grass waiting for the perfect moment to cross. It hopped gracefully across the road only a few centimetres in front of our car. I slammed on the breaks and forced myself not to jerk the steering wheel to the side as it joined its mates on the green. I cursed myself for being so stupid as to take my eyes off the road, even for an instant. Despite staying out of the water, despite staying away from bush trails, we had still managed to have an almost deadly encounter with a wild beast. Sadly, it was not to be the last.

The next day we said goodbye to this awe-inspiring part of the world and headed north on the Princes Highway, which winds treacherously, in all its single lane glory, through the mountainous south west forests of Victoria and New South Wales, until the start of the dual carriageway just south of Nowra. The holiday had ended and as my mind readjusted to reality, it kindly replayed the hundreds of news reports that I’d seen over the years about fatalities on this wild stretch of road. As a passenger, I reminded myself that we’d avoided several dangerous encounters on this trip. When it was my turn at the wheel, I tried to remain focused on negotiating the bends and ignoring the incessant tailgaters who insisted on overtaking us every time the solid white line broke (and sometimes when it hadn’t) as if chased by demented demons.

Several times this happened as we headed to the border, even though I was driving at the speed limit. Who were these people that acted on impulse, driven by their illogical desire to win against time? Were they gamblers with a death wish? Or simply lacking imagination? Apparently, the double demerit system during holiday periods doesn’t exist in Victoria. Could this be why this ridiculous behaviour seemed more common here? As I was thinking this, another driver flashed by, overtaking on the other side of the road as if we were racing in a video game. Suddenly as we rounded a bend, I noticed the flashing lights of an emergency vehicle coming towards us in the other lane. I slowed as the ambulance screamed past, flaring in my side vision like a shooting star, then slowly let go of my breath, praying hard for the life of whoever was waiting for that ambulance.

By the time we crossed into New South Wales we had definitely earnt a mid-morning break so we pulled into the aptly named far south coast town of Eden. Here, I knew from past experience, we could sample a heavenly array of sweet baked goods. A few minutes later, sipping a soothing cup of tea at a quaint country café, I contemplated the animals that chose not to kill me this summer: two sharks, one tiger snake, a very silly Roo and the most dangerous animal of all, Homo sapiens.