Discover the Eyre Peninsula: a place of unspoiled beauty and holiday adventure

Australians are never short of imagination when it comes to naming things. Out Talia Caves way, on the Eyre Peninsula in South Australia, there’s a massive hole in the rocks; it’s called The Tub. As an attraction it doesn’t rate alongside its more famous nearby cousin, Woolshed Cave, and I had no idea what to expect, just something. I found myself peering at a colourful hole with tessellated pavement in the middle and a lovely contrast of hues. What I also found interesting was that the breach that led to the collapse has since been closed by rock falls, so the erosion here has come to a temporary halt. That’s ‘temporary’ as in geological terms, because it’s not going to reopen in my lifetime.

Thus impressed, I moved on, over to the edge of the ridge overlooking the ocean. A sign had forebodings written all over it. The usual unsafe surface and slippery rocks etc. I moved past it because, every time I see a notice like that, it’s a precursor to something good. People have gone beyond, and not doubt some have gotten into trouble, but you can guarantee there’ll be something special. So it transpired.

The unmade path from the top led over crushed remnants of what had once been sea bed. It was very flaky and sandy where people had disturbed it but, further down came a rock shelf with iron oxide reds prominent in the morning sun and, beyond that, the sea, and it was pounding. I suppose it’s fair to suggest that any coastline at the mercy of the Great Southern Ocean will be pounded and the Talia Caves region wasn’t missing out on its share.

There’s something quite profound about standing 20 metres away from a threatening surf. Whatever else you were doing today it suddenly demands all your attention. I’m transfixed by the size of the swell when the sets roll in, which is frequently. There are no sandbars here; just a large body of water moving across the ocean and then, suddenly, it encounters a wall of rock. Something has to give and it’s the wave in the short-term as it splatters itself in most directions with a thunderous roar, spume flicking skywards momentarily as if seeking out another option, but there are none. All too soon it will be caught in the backwash and disappear. It’s probably the irregularity of the break that fascinates me as well. No poetic rising and sucking over in a classic tube shape here; no, it’s jump up and smash all over the place, like the ocean’s version of a heavy metal band.

I find it hard to move on, but there are other things to see, other shapes to discover and I return and drive to the next pull-in place, an unofficial one where I repeat the scramble to the water’s edge and get excited all over again. Then I go to the next, but the drop is a little more serious here. Only bushwalkers need apply as the large rocks are seriously jagged and sharp, and making your way through them requires concentration and balance. Then I reach the point where the bay curves around to Woolshed Cave. Here I find a prominent spot right on the edge and the view is stunning.

There’s a glistening out there, the sun flashing on salty skin as it breaches the surface and rides with the swell. It’s a pod of dolphins and it’s truly amazing to see them crest the wave until just before the mountain of water dashes on the rocks. Only a couple of hundred metres separate us but, were our positions changed, neither would survive for long. We are on the same planet, but of different worlds.

There are no sand bars here, the surf kicks up and smashes over the rock in a show of violence that’s irrepressible and riveting. Spray shoots off as directed by the strata, accenting the grooves being slowly cut in the weak points. The resonance is constant, the only variance the volume as the bright sheets of foam stand erect.

Three other tourists are at the next lookout, pointing over to me, probably wondering just how the hell I got to where I am. They are right to wonder because a little later on I’ll have trouble finding the way back up again. Right now though I’m comfortable, watching the spectacle from this special vantage point, seeing how the waves take weird paths when breaking up, rearing to the sky and then cascading in such a powerful manner I can’t stop shaking my head. Way beyond there’s another headland, set beneath a delightfully blue sky bleached only by a small cloud formation that floats like a doona above the scene. It all seems so tranquil over there but you can just discern the same mayhem going on at the base.

In time I headed around to Woolshed Cave and, while it’s worth a look if you’re there, I wouldn’t recommend driving off the main road to see it if that’s all there is. It would be a bit special if a serious sea was penetrating into it and I imagine the noise would be terrifying, but today it’s only moderate and there’s no danger to be had. I find as much geological interest in the cracks forming outside in the shelf where fingers of water have eroded straight lines of fissures perhaps 40 metres into the solid rock.

Then I decide that it’s such a beautiful day and I’ve deliberately parked with a view to the ocean that, whatever the time, I’m having lunch.

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