Ruminations and recipes from a small kitchen in a big city.


The pointy end of the peninsula.

The event (see yesterday's post) commenced somewhere in the wider part in the distance and proceeded into the foreground where, at the narrowest section, a fierce southerly blast blew everyone's hats into the water; and then along the road at the top, down around the lip at the end of the peninsula, up the steps and back. The waves of wild Bass Strait make a stark comparison with Port Phillip Bay's gentler waters. What you don't see in the picture is the Bellarine Peninsula, like the opposite crab's claw. It appears so close as you crest the last rise that you think you could long-jump the Rip and land on it. No wonder so many ships were lost at the point where they meet:

"On April 3 1936, at 7:30AM, and in relatively calm conditions, Nairana, under command of Captain McIntyre, was approaching Port Phillip heads with a full load of cargo, while most of the 88 passengers were either in their cabins or having breakfast in the dining saloon. A few passengers were on the deck to experience their passing from Bass Strait into the Bay. Suddenly, and without warning, a huge wave rose up from the calm waters and and struck her starboard quarter. She rolled over to such an extent that the water came up to the boat deck, more than 40 feet above the water line. A passenger named Parsons, his wife and 20 year old daughter were swept from the promenade deck and were never seen again. (A fleet of small craft later searched). Robert Gillow, another passenger, was killed when the wave smashed him against the ship. His wife and infant daughter had a narrow escape as did stokers in the boiler room who became pinned against the bulkheads by barrows, shovels, and loose coal. Many passengers received injuries while in the dining room, food and crockery were thrown around and some were scalded by hot water."
(Picture courtesy Mornington Peninsula Shire.)

1 comment:

jo said...

Tht is simply gorgeous