I hit it hard — or perhaps more correctly, ‘it’ rose up under me like the maw of a whale shark and swallowed my left-hand front wheel, just like a whale swallowed Jonah! As the shudder rippled through the car, luck was on my side — the steering held, though not without a momentary battle to right my course!

Uh-oh, yet another pothole — though only one of the 100s that pockmark this supposedly iconic and world-renowned road. Another life-threatening moment survived! This was no isolated moment, no chance occurrence. This shock-and-awe vignette speaks to the multi-daily occurrence of all Victorian drivers bucking and wobbling over deteriorating road surfaces across the state.

Having lost all vestiges of compassion for the touchy-feely stuff that governments and councils love to proselytise on behalf of their taxpayers and ratepayers, I have no remaining sympathy for virtue-signalling. As the responsible authorities continue to throw funds at issues that are not in their remit, it is doubly irritating to see them ignore the wheel-shattering chasms that dot our roads … or fill them with a ready-mixed gravel and bitumen slurry that washes out with the next rain.

On that note, my plea to the various responsible authorities who oversee various aspects of this idyllic location in which we are privileged to live and which is enjoyed by so many visitors.

Please fix up our roads, manage our cocky-ravaged bins, attend to the height-of-season peaks of waste removal, and use our rates to repair our towns.

Back to the pothole, my lucky escape, my Subaru, and my chance to live and fight another day. As it was such a hit, I feared for my rim. I stopped to check. To my surprise, and though the rim was intact, there was an occupant in the cavern into which my wheel had briefly thumped. There was a large, iridescent, olive-green beetle, upside down and deep in the entrails of recently-poured, crumbling, ready-mixed bitumen, its little spiky legs clawing at thin air.

Though severely damaged by my newly-minted Goodyear tyre, it was still alive — just! Its vestiges of life fast-flagging, the near-hapless beetle made one final lunge at my reaching finger, gripped, and hung on. Lifting it from its cavernous death trap, I felt a momentary sense of pleasure from its rescue … till I saw it began to lose strength and totter.

As I bent forward, I almost imagined its last words to me: “… please, sir, can you ask Vicroads to fix their roads? I lost three of my family last week in just this same way — and now it’s my turn to go” before it toppled, lifeless, back onto the battered bitumen and died.

Leaving the late beetle in a soft nest of grass, I drove on, but I couldn’t help repeatedly channelling Monty Python’s ‘Dead Parrot’ skit in my head. This ‘…dead, defunct, recently-deceased, passed-on, demised, expired, and once-was but is-no-more’ beetle was sounding a wake-up call. Its message? “…these roads are killing roads — they are killing humans and wildlife, both — and must be repaired as a priority”.

As I continued to G’town … while dodging more potholes in the iconic but horribly damaged Great Ocean Road surface and slowing for endless 40km signs signalling ‘Roadworks’, ‘Traffic Hazard Ahead’, or ‘Beware Uneven Surface’ for imperfections that never seem to get repaired … my thoughts turned back to the beetle. How can we, as a coastal community, get through to our Authorities that roads matter … and bring justice to my beetle [and all his bush family and friends] for their daily sacrifice?

What must my Christmas beetle have been thinking pre-rescue as he lay upside down, flailing his tiny legs at the bottom of a beetle equivalent of the Grand Canyon? I imagine something like: “… those walls, look at those walls! I’ll never get out of here! They are too high, too steep, too full of scree. I’m doomed.”

Here, my narrative takes a divergent path from tragedy to wonder … for Christmas beetles are microcosms of beauty, and beauty should always win out against any beast. Ranging in colour from lime green to red, purple, and indigo, their armour-like backs shine in complex iridescent hues like so many tiny mother-of-pearl shells. To other creatures of a similar or smaller size, they may appear a little scary — if not downright menacing — but to us, they are creatures of charm and perfection.

Known as Christmas beetles because this is when they are out and about — like cicadas, they are encouraged to hatch from winter- dormant larvae curled deep underground by the warming soils of summer — they are the noisy and clumsy fliers that try to bash their brains out against our flywire screens on warm summer nights. They belong to the Scarab family, a species made god-like by the ancient Egyptians who believed that Scarabs symbolised birth, life, death, and resurrection.

Warming soils, heavy spring rain, and thunderstorms encourage them to hatch from their larval burrows in our bushland, take flight, and then buzz around like little drunken Messerschmitts in the glow of our outside lights. Their noisy, slow, and wobbly flight is unmistakable. There is something quite magical about watching a 3-4 cm long beetle clamp onto an offered fingertip with its tiny claws, seeking a place to rest and relax. They are quite harmless — they do not bite — and their slow, trusting clamber over a hand allows for easy examination of their infinite complexity. Hold one, marvel at one, but do it no harm, for it won’t harm you.

This has been a story of contrasts. On the one hand, there is the death of beauty; on the other, there is the horror show of a repairable doom. The story of my Christmas beetle is told as a wake-up call — a parable — to illustrate how poor management can so easily beget the loss of beauty.

I have written before [often] about the GOR blight of signage. Add to that a GOR surface that has become a fright to drive. Some might think it time to impose a tourist levy, especially on heavy buses and [almost] the equally heavy caravans that damage the road daily. Though not yet a popular solution, it may be time for the debate to begin.

An entry gate [by-passed with a ratepayer permit] … á la Uluru or the snow fields … placed on the long straight before Anglesea could serve a dual purpose:

1. revenue collection for road maintenance

2. an advisory point re: rips, rubbish, and fire safety for visitors unfamiliar with the road, its beaches, and its hinterland.

Just a thought … and, of course, just a personal view.

John Agar

Feature Writer

A Word From the Chairman

Wow, what a long weekend!

After a summer that disappointed some, the weather gods came with a vengeance, giving us 3 consecutive days over 35 degrees in March for the first time in 80 years. The beach looked more like New Year’s Day than mid-March and the water temperature climbed to a near-record 20.4 degrees.

When the beach was done, there was food and cool refreshments aplenty and many of our visitors stayed until late in the day before heading back to urban heat while lucky locals enjoyed a refreshing sea breeze.

It was also a real feast of music in Lorne over the weekend with the Vulkans performing at the Aquatic Club, Minami Deutsch (from Japan) at the Lorne Theatre and In The Corner at the Lorne Hotel. There were great crowds at each venue, and it is great to see that we can run multiple events on the same weekend, plenty of choice for everyone!

*****

Our brave cricketers made the trip to Colac in Saturday to take on Tomahawk Creek in the Grand Final. In the cauldron, where the temperature hit 38 degrees, they fielded first and despite some tight bowling and sharp fielding, a few of the Creek’s wily older players decided it was a day for hitting rather than running and, with a lightning fast outfield, they amassed an impressive total of 242 runs off their 40 overs.

Our opening batters followed suit with impressive half-centuries from Eddie Erftemeyer and Josh O’Brien before their compulsory retirements at 50. Our middle-order struggled against some most unorthodox but effective bowling for the team to fall short by 68 runs.

It has been an amazing season for our fledgling (there’s that word again!) side. Much credit has to go to Club President Darren Balderas who followed his dream to resurrect the Lorne Cricket Club after a long hiatus. After 2 seasons, I think it is safe to say the Dolphins will be back bigger and better next season. Well done to the players, Darren and the Committee.

*****

It was sad to learn of 2 fatalities on the Lorne-Winchelsea Road in the last couple of weeks. While we are used to statistics, each casualty is an avoidable loss of life, and a lifetime of loss for families and friends. While there are “accidents”, many serious and fatal crashes occur due to loss of concentration, fatigue, impatience, carelessness and excessive speed. As locals, we know that the roads to and from Lorne are potentially dangerous with few opportunities to overtake. Please remind our visitors of this and help to keep everyone safe.

Cheers

John Higgins – Chairman

Lorne Ward Events Calendar

March 

• 17 Deans Marsh Festival, Live music, local harvest, market stalls, dog jumping, kids events and much more

10 am – 6pm at Deans Marsh Reserve.

• 28-13/4 Photographic Exhibition, at Lorne Community Connect

1st prize $1,000, 2nd prize $500 submissions close 19 January 2024.

• 30 Lorne Market

9-4pm https://www.lornemarkets.com/

• 31 Lorne Aquatic & Angling Club – Major Fishing Competition No 3

Weigh cut off 12.30pm. Free roast lunch for competitors, $10 non-fishing members.