Rights of Passage
Tom, a dear friend and teacher in photography, introduced me to a world that would shape my life forever. Our shared passion for photography, surfing, and adventure led to countless explorations, but it was my solo trip to Cora-Lynn Cascades in the Otways Forest that became a transformative experience. With a small Canon camera and a heart ready for challenge, I ventured into the wilderness to rediscover myself after a long-term relationship ended.
That first night, fear was my companion. The unfamiliar sounds of the forest—bats, koalas, and rustlings I couldn’t identify—kept me awake on a half-inflated mattress. A nightmare of being dragged from my tent punctuated my restless night. But as dawn broke, a profound shift occurred. The golden light filtered through the ancient forest, and a sense of self-gratitude washed over me. I had faced my fears and proven my independence. That day, Tom joined me, teaching me the fundamentals of photography. He introduced me to the nuances of composition, the dance between light and shadow, and the importance of waiting for the perfect moment.
The below photo of me at Cora-Lynn marked not just the beginning of my journey as a photographer but also a deeper understanding of myself. This place became a cornerstone for my growth, resilience, and transformation—both in life and art.
SANCTUARY
Cora-Lynn is more than a destination; it is a sanctuary, much like the sacred sites revered by the Gadubanud people, the traditional custodians of the Otways Forest. For thousands of years, the Gadubanud lived symbiotically with this land, their stories and practices intertwined with its rivers, trees, and wildlife. Their legacy reminds us of the profound connections we can cultivate with the natural world. As photographers, we are not just capturing a scene but also engaging with the spirit and history of the land.
The ancient trees of Cora-Lynn—grandfathers and grandmothers of the forest—are living testaments to resilience and interconnectedness. Their roots hold mountainsides together, their mycelium networks nourishing and communicating with neighboring trees. These sacred giants inspire reverence and provide a grounding energy. Capturing their grandeur with a lens requires more than technical skill; it demands presence, respect, and a willingness to listen to the stories the land wishes to share.
Cora-Lynn reminds us that the land is alive, always changing and renewing itself. The forest repairs and restores, taking back what is no longer needed and giving life to the new. As photographers, documenting these cycles of growth and decay deepens our understanding of the interplay between life and time.
unfamiliar familiarity
Each return to Cora-Lynn reveals something new. After a trip to Italy, where I was captivated by light refraction at Lago di Carezza, I revisited Cora-Lynn with fresh eyes. On that visit, the light bouncing off a 10-million-year-old ravine, illuminating ancient coral imprints in the limestone walls, stopped me in my tracks. The interplay of sunbeams and greenery deepened my connection to the place, inspiring a photo that spoke to both the age and vitality of the forest.
Seasonal changes amplify the richness of this evolving landscape. I’ve seen the streams of Cora-Lynn swollen with spring rains and nearly dry during summer. Each visit offers a distinct mood—dragonflies flitting through the air, spiders weaving intricate webs, or the vibrant greens of new growth in contrast to autumn’s golden hues. Understanding how light transforms the forest in different seasons has refined my approach to photography, teaching me to capture not just what I see but what I feel.
The act of sitting still, observing the shifts in light and shadow, and waiting for the right moment has taught me patience and presence. These qualities have not only enriched my photography but also my connection to Cora-Lynn as a living, breathing entity.
patience
Cora-Lynn has become a teacher of patience. Returning to the same place time and again cultivates the discipline to wait for ideal conditions. There are spots I’ve marked for photos but haven’t yet captured because the light wasn’t right or the moment wasn’t complete. This patience extends beyond photography, nurturing a deeper awareness and appreciation for the process of creation.
Familiar places like Cora-Lynn are playgrounds for experimentation. Over the years, I’ve tested new techniques, lenses, and compositions, using the forest as a safe space for creative expression. Experimenting with different colour temperatures, angles, and compositions has taught me how to bring out the emotional tone of a scene—from the warmth of summer’s golden light to the still, cool hues of winter.
These visits have become more than photographic outings; they are personal journeys. I’ve returned to Cora-Lynn in times of joy and struggle, each visit offering me a mirror to reflect on my own growth. This sacred place has held my creative highs and lows, offering guidance through its steady, enduring presence.
seeking sanctuary
I encourage everyone, photographer or not, to find their own Cora-Lynn. Sacred places ground us, offering lessons and inspiration with every visit. Building a relationship with a place over time deepens our understanding of it and ourselves. Each time I return to Cora-Lynn, I leave with something new: a lesson, a vision, or a sense of peace. Most recently, she gifted me the inspiration to write about our connection.
When we revisit a place, it becomes a container for our creative and spiritual growth. It is a space to experiment, to reflect, and to create without judgment. These sanctuaries remind us of the beauty in stillness, the value of patience, and the joy of rediscovery. In their quiet wisdom, they teach us not only to see the world but also to truly see ourselves.
As you read this, I invite you to reflect on your own sanctuary. Where is it, and how can you deepen your bond with it? These places remind us that, like the forest, we too are ever-changing, ever-growing, and endlessly capable of renewal.
