Wilsons Promontory National Park

Start with the sand. If you are standing on Squeaky Beach, shuffle your feet and listen. The white grains squeak under your soles, a small rubbing sound, almost like boots on fresh snow. Ahead of you, the water runs from pale green to deep blue. Behind you, rounded granite boulders sit on the shore, splashed with orange lichen. This is Wilsons Promontory, and most Victorians just call it the Prom.

First, where you are. The Prom is the southernmost point of mainland Australia. It reaches into Bass Strait, the stretch of sea between Victoria and Tasmania. It lies in Gippsland, a few hours' drive south-east of Melbourne. You reach it across a long, low neck of land called the Yanakie Isthmus. That neck is mostly sand and scrub, and it is the only thing tying this granite mass to the rest of the continent.

That link was once much wider. During the last ice age, sea levels were far lower than today. Bass Strait was dry land, and the Prom was part of a land bridge joining the mainland to Tasmania. People and animals could walk across. Then the ice melted and the sea rose. The valleys flooded, and the high granite ground became the headland you see now. Some of the islands offshore are the tops of old hills.

This country was home to people long before any European map was drawn. The Traditional Owners include the Gunaikurnai and Bunurong peoples. Their connection to this coast goes back many thousands of years. Shell middens, which are old heaps of discarded shells from meals, are still found along parts of the shoreline. If you come across one, leave it exactly as it is. These places are protected, and they matter deeply to the communities who keep these stories.

Now look at the rock itself. The Prom is built mainly of granite, a hard, speckled stone formed from molten rock that cooled slowly underground. Over a very long time, wind and water wore it into smooth domes and giant rounded boulders. Some look as if they were stacked by hand. Up close, you can see the crystals — pinkish feldspar, grey quartz, small black flecks. Those same quartz grains, broken down and washed ashore, help make the beaches squeak.

Here is something many visitors miss. The squeak is not found on every beach. It depends on the sand grains being very clean, rounded and similar in size. When dry grains like these press together, they rub and make that sound. Wet sand stays quiet. So if Squeaky Beach seems silent, walk up to the dry, soft sand above the waterline and try again. Children usually find this out within about ten seconds.

The Prom has been protected for a long time. The first parts were set aside for nature in the late nineteenth century, which makes it one of the oldest national parks in Victoria. Over the decades, the park grew to cover almost the whole peninsula. Much of the southern part has no roads at all. You can only reach it on foot, along tracks that cross heath, forest and empty bays.

The heart of the visitor area is Tidal River. Here a small river runs out to Norman Bay, and the water is often stained the colour of strong tea. That colour comes from tannins, natural compounds that leach out of plants and leaf litter upstream. It is not pollution. The campground, the visitor centre and the main car parks cluster here. On summer holidays this place fills with families, tents and the smell of sunscreen and barbecue smoke.

And now a surprise. During the Second World War, this quiet area was used for training by Australian commando units. The rough terrain, cold water and isolation made it useful for preparing soldiers for difficult missions. A memorial near Tidal River records this chapter. It feels strange to imagine such a serious purpose in a place now known for holidays and wombats. But it is a reminder that every landscape carries more than one story.

The animals here are easy to see, and that is part of the Prom's appeal. Common wombats graze around Tidal River in the late afternoon and evening. Eastern grey kangaroos and emus feed in the open grassland near the isthmus. Bright crimson rosellas, red and blue parrots, flash between the trees. The wildlife can seem tame, but please do not feed it. Human food makes these animals sick, and some birds have learned to snatch it from your hands.

If you want to see the shape of the whole promontory, walk up Mount Oberon. The track climbs steadily from a car park above Tidal River. It is a real climb, but the final stretch ends on granite slabs with wide views. From the top, you can see the curve of Norman Bay, the line of the coast, and islands scattered across the strait. On clear days, the sea seems to go on forever. On windy days, hold on to your hat.

Farther south, beyond the reach of cars, a lighthouse stands on South East Point. It was built in the nineteenth century to guide ships through the dangerous waters of Bass Strait. Reaching it means a long hike over several hours. Out at sea, you may also spot Skull Rock, a granite island with a huge hollow carved into one side. From some angles, it really does look like an empty eye socket staring at the waves.

This landscape has also faced hard years. Bushfires have burned parts of the park, and heavy rain and floods have closed sections for long periods. Each time, the heath and forest have slowly returned. You may notice blackened trunks with fresh green shoots growing from them. Many Australian plants survive fire this way, sprouting new leaves straight from their bark. Recovery here is slow, but it is real.

Before you go, pause for a moment where you are. Listen to the surf folding onto the sand, and the wind moving through the tea-tree. Notice the granite under your hand, warm or cool depending on the hour. As you walk back, look down at your footprints in the pale sand. Within a few tides, the sea will smooth them away — just as it has smoothed this whole coast, slowly, for a very long time.