The Fossil Beach

Way out past the river that winds through the Underbelly, round the bend on the edges of the estuary is a rocky beach. The site is well hidden to the point of local anonymity; a friend’s brother tipped me off, but it turns out those sneaky academics know how to keep a secret. The path down to the foreshore is steep and overgrown with periodically barbed warnings to deter the hesitant. Absent cattle have branded the sticky earth with their clumsy grazing on the salt dried marsh. I stumble along nearest to the bank and notice a figure with a smaller animal strolling on the other side of the field well away from the ankle drenching. Occasionally we look over at each other, too far away to acknowledge the other and I find it strange that another person has had the same idea; to walk to a hidden fossil beach on an unfeasibly hot afternoon.

From a distance it looked as if Zac had slipped on some black nylons. He had been chasing two headed crabs down on the rocks and got sucked into a viscous muddy circle. Only when I mentioned that a bath was almost certainly now inevitable did he skulk back towards the solid ground. My fellow anonymous rambler has disappeared and I delicately edge over another barbed obstacle in search of my location. Immediately I am amongst an outcrop of tall grasses that would not be out of place in a Japanese war movie. Zac has run on ahead unconcerned and I am aware that I am at a distinct disadvantage. No one has seen me arrive, and in theory there would be no one to take care my dog. Despite my better judgement I press on.

Finally I reach what can only be the fossil beach. Staring it out across the great estuary sits the squat nuclear castle puffing away like a retired colonel, loath to give up his prime spot. Behind me is the raspberry rippled rock face of ages and at my feet lay it’s undiscovered offerings. I kick around half-heartedly and soon spot a Triassic classic nestled next to a rusty sardine can. I brush off the excess mud and hold it up to the sun. The trip has been a success. I look back over my shoulder at the white-hot giant seething on the other shore and feel its unnatural glow on my back. It’s time to go. I look around for Zac who I locate by his bark. I venture further up the beach to deal with a probable driftwood/dog issue. He is staring up at the rock face like a dog possessed. It is only when squint up towards the afternoon sun and the rock face that I see what has got him so riled. A sheep, presumably from the field above the cliff, hangs attached by a hind leg to a length of barbed wire. I cannot see how the wire is attached but I again presume it to be a fence. The impact of the falling sheep as it slammed against the rock face is registered with the red stain of the creature’s brain. I grab Zac by the collar and parentally drag him away from the scene glancing only briefly back up at the mess. With the sun behind him, the silhouetted figure stands with hands on hips looking down.