Well, maybe not so perilous nowadays, but back in the 1930’s it was a single lane death trap, hugging the Surf Coast’s sheer cliffs with only a few places where drivers could pull over to allow other cars to pass. Yikes – you wouldn’t want to back up your Y model Ford around this in the dark.
Victoria’s 151-mile-long winding coastal road, built with the blood, sweat and tears of 3,000 returned WWI soldiers between 1919 and 1932 at a rate of about 1.86 miles a month. Pretty good going considering they got the job done with not much more than their bare hands, explosives, pick n shovels and wheelbarrows.
“It’s a memorial to the returned World War I soldiers, the poor buggers who built this road. Can you imagine the extreme toil? But we love it because it means we’ve commenced the woohoo part of the journey. It’s gorgeous, just wait. You often get whales cruising out there around September. Waves cresting. Birds wafting. It’s camping with mates. Summer. Azure skies. The forest. This road brings all the best things, you’ll see.”
– Ava, waxing lyrical to the Silva boys on the joys of the road and its wild ocean and forest surrounds, Siren’s Wave novel by J.A. Hazel.
Well no, not really, Bran’s beauty is a tad more Nordic than this poor shipwrecked lad’s.
In the mirror, he saw wet, stringy waves of hair hanging like seaweed about his face, two days’ worth of golden-brown stubble, dark smudges like kohl under his tired, blue eyes and worse, he could clearly see the painting on the opposite wall. Waterhouse’s ‘The Siren’. Shit.
There she sat on her rocks of doom, long mahogany hair streaming down towards the wretched fellow who clung there in vain, too focused on her to be aware that he was drowning in the water. A wave of nausea pulled Bran under. The look on the guy’s face. He fucking knew that feeling, utter terror, mixed with an all-consuming, yearning fascination.
– Bran, coming to unhappy terms with his Ava obsession, Siren’s Wave Novel by J.A. Hazel.
Hokusai’s wood block print of the great wave, seen dwarfing snow-capped Mount Fuji, Japan’s highest peak, just does something to me. The destructive beauty perfectly illustrates nature’s power, makes me feel vast and connected and at the same time, humbled and awed.
A vibrant blue and white tattoo of a great wave curled out from under his t-shirt sleeve around his bicep. It looked like a section of an old Japanese Hokusai woodblock print. An unstoppable rogue wave. And exactly like him, beautiful and catastrophic …
Ava, discovering Bran’s tattoo, Siren’s Wave Novel by J.A Hazel.