I think I'll let the photos of Salmon Holes do all the talking.
After all, I don't think I have the words to describe the vibrancy of the turquoise ocean as it darkens to reach the horizon, contrasting with the equally vivid sky that darkens from the horizon to greet us in a suitably sky-blue shade.
Or the striped rock face sliding into the sea with scarcely a splash, the rippling green decorations having lost their footing and started slipping down the slope in imitation.
We didn't brave the several hundred steps down the steep side to join the fishermen, preferring to savour a little longer the view already before us.
A little further west around the coast are the Blowholes.
Along the path lookouts warned of our impending arrival, ensuring that the wildlife had disappeared into the undergrowth. Even the lookouts were difficult to capture, constantly flitting between their sentry posts.
The blowholes are delightful, but not spectacular.
The swell, and thin rock crevices through which they could be heard meant that they were more of an audio delight, and I am more of a visual person.
Ignoring the blowholes I wandered off in the direction of the cliff edge to find a comfortable rock and instead direct my camera at the waves crashing on the sun drenched rocks below.
Meanwhile, Claire was seated even further up the slope staring off into the distance where the fine sea spray was creeping up the green hillside across the bay from us.
After all, I don't think I have the words to describe the vibrancy of the turquoise ocean as it darkens to reach the horizon, contrasting with the equally vivid sky that darkens from the horizon to greet us in a suitably sky-blue shade.
Or the striped rock face sliding into the sea with scarcely a splash, the rippling green decorations having lost their footing and started slipping down the slope in imitation.
We didn't brave the several hundred steps down the steep side to join the fishermen, preferring to savour a little longer the view already before us.
A little further west around the coast are the Blowholes.
The blowholes are delightful, but not spectacular.
The swell, and thin rock crevices through which they could be heard meant that they were more of an audio delight, and I am more of a visual person.
Ignoring the blowholes I wandered off in the direction of the cliff edge to find a comfortable rock and instead direct my camera at the waves crashing on the sun drenched rocks below.
Meanwhile, Claire was seated even further up the slope staring off into the distance where the fine sea spray was creeping up the green hillside across the bay from us.
Unfortunately the Gap and Natural Bridge were closed due to construction to improve the paths leading out to them.
So, we had to head straight on to the wind farm instead.
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