There's a strong south-easterly wind blowing as I start my walk from the Urquhart Bluff car park to Sunnymead Beach at the beginning of Aireys Inlet. The first section is an ascent, which I'm never that much of a fan of because my lungs aren't that great. Still, you've got to go through some pain, don't you? It's part of life — and cardiovascular health and all that.

As you walk, you can hear the traffic from the Great Ocean Road on one side and the roar of the ocean to the left. Still, it's officially winter now and it is cold, so there are not many people about. The track is pretty overgrown and I even have to clamber over a few fallen branches. I like it that way, where I can see my tiny van and if I sing all the way down the beach to the beginning of Anglesea.

A minute further up the hill there's actually a seat and a picnic table I didn't even know was there. If you're walking up and plan to have lunch, this would be a nice spot to have a break, particularly on the way back from Aireys if you did the walk in reverse.

This twisted overgrown track is actually part of the old Great Ocean Road. There are chunks of asphalt under the dirt and gravel that, if you didn't realise, you probably wouldn't notice. I love walking through these gnarled mini trees, the types of wiry coastal tea tree buffeted and twisted by the wind. Beautiful forms. Native sticky hops with yellow flowers, acacia, and various other native plants line the path and sometimes make tunnels to walk through. There are the pink tips and bells of heath, and moss grows on various rocks. It's fairy country, for a bit.

I was feeling a little depressed starting out, but after 10 minutes of walking I'm already feeling a little bit better. I think it's just that first 45 minutes or so until the fog clears a little easier. Getting out of the house can be torture, but once I'm out there I do clearly feel a little bit better for it.

I pass through a twisted woodland but there are no birds, as usual. There are more in spring when it's mating season. I pass a sign that tells me exactly what bird species are around and, as much as I hate signs everywhere, I didn't realise that the little wrens we see around here were so rare.

I don't know why I'm so resentful of signs. I think I like self-discovery — just glimpsing something between the trees, staying with it for a while and puzzling it over, talking about it with people, looking it up in a bird book, and maybe having it remain a mystery until one day the pieces click together and you go, "Oh, it was that." But such is life these days, I suppose. We like to know everything at once. And I've turned into a grumpy old woman.

Eventually, after I pass through some more wooded areas, where I think I hear the little wrens warning each other that there is a stranger passing by, I start going downhill. The wind is blowing in my face and I'm getting closer to the ocean and further from the road, which is nice.

I stop and walk to a little secret lookout in the scrub where you can look over the magnificent ochre cliffs that are unique and special to this area. Somehow I've got to get down to that section and then turn left and walk back along the beach and hope the tide is low enough. It is probably dangerous for tourists, I guess, but it's nothing for me, who understands this landscape so well after having lived here all my life.

From here, and particularly if you keep walking down into Aireys township, you'll start seeing houses on beautiful properties owned either by people who have been here all their lives and whose parents bought here years ago, or by the very rich. They're houses I would never be able to afford and I'm not even sure I would like them anyway, as they would feel so exposed. Wait, who am I kidding - just in case you were going to buy me one, I'm all in.

Then I decide to walk down onto the beach. I'm a little nervous because I'm not sure whether the tide is low enough yet, but it is going out so I can't go too wrong, I guess.

The tide 🌊 has gone out enough and it is easy to walk around the headland. If you're not confident on rocks, I wouldn't do this section, and certainly not if it's been raining. In winter the clay can be very slippery, so watch your step. I call this the Pirate Cave. In summer we jump into the water that rushes through the opening, but it is too cold now and probably too dangerous with nobody else around.

After a fairly easy stroll along the beach and some rock hopping, you arrive at what we call the Mermaid's Pool. If you have been following me for a while, you would know I do swimming here sometimes in the warmer months. You can even do laps in here and it's pretty special — the coast's best kept secret — although with social media, a lot more people know about it now.

I'm not sure whether many people know that I have started the Ocean Lovers community on Hive. The idea is for people to post anything to do with the ocean — or yes, the sea. We use them interchangeably in English, though there are slight differences if you're being pedantic, but I digress. The main idea is that if you're posting anything to do with bodies of salt water like beaches, sailing, surfing, or walking along the beach, follow the community so you can see when people post cool stuff. I'd love to see you get involved.

I'm really doing it because it's another way I can give back to Hive, and I know that you all know how much I love my beautiful wild Southern Ocean. 💙🌊🐬😎