Drive. Drive. Drive. I think I may have found the most wretched place on earth, while driving down The Great Ocean Road. I finally came to The Twelve Apostles and perhaps the apostles were begrudging the loss of their Saviour while dishing out their wrath towards the unholy sinners that gazed upon their faces, gouged from the earth.

Having driven through decrepit weather for hours on end, the finale of the journey and I find myself standing on the windiest place on earth, I’d come this far and through rain, hail or shine I was gonna stare at these guardians of the coast line, but was ill prepared for the onslaught I was to face.

I was nearly knocked down by the fury of the offshore gale, the full wrath of the gods howling at us as from all sides, as we gawked at these rocks. It was near impossible to even capture the spectacle without being whipped by the stinging pinnacles of unseen forces. Bass Strait is not a forgiving place and it is certain that the Apostles were just as unforgiving. Perhaps we were sent there as penance for our wretchedness but we managed to brave the evil eye of the Apostles as we defiantly stood and dared stare into the abyss.