Human beings love to leave their mark on the world. Perhaps it's our longing for immortality, to be remembered, to be seen. Sometimes we do it at the expense of leaving things well alone - carving hearts on trees, building cairns out of rocks. In some places, cairns have been banned because of the damage they do to natural ecosystems. If I see one on the beach, I usually knock it over. Putting aside any concerns for insects and other creatures that use the rocks as their habitat, leaving such reminders of human presence can spoil it for the next person. It's nice to at least be under an illusion that you're alone in the wild.

But even I leave footprints.

On our beautiful Surfcoast beaches, footprints travel up and down the sands. It's rare to find a beach without them. Gone are the days without crowds in Winter - even on a windy, cold morning, there's people and dogs walking up and down the beach. When I walk up to the other end of Point Roadnight, a place I frequently surf, I look at big more closely at the wooden pylons that stand for a seawall to protect the cliffs. They've been there ever since I can recall - bleached white by the sun, the huge iron bolts bleeding sanguinous rust down their bones.

To be honest the reason I've stopped to look closely at the pylons is because I desperately need a pee. In the old days there would be no one to see you - now I have to wait for two sets of couples and six dogs to pass and make their way up the stairs to the cliffs. Meanwhile, jiggling, I notice hand prints adorning six of the pylons - clearly kids, as who else would want sticky ochre mud on their hands? The hands make the pylons into something else entirely, beyond their function. They become totem poles, artworks. I remember being a child wild on this coast, using the ochre as warpaint.

Inspired by someone here on HIVE that was trying to take more artistic, well composed shots with their phone, I play around with some angles. They are so photogenic, providing a stark contrast against sand, sea and sky. The sharp lines of grain are infilled in places with lichen, dark green streaks that break up the cold white.

The rocks along this coast are all different, but on certain beaches like this one and Lorne, are reminders of rock's volcanic origins, big bubbles that have burst and left hollows and craters on their grey surface. A few smaller ones we've brought home for garden landscaping - you aren't allowed, but don't tell anyone. One day in a thousand years time they'll wonder how these rocks travelled so far inland. 'What kind of human takes rocks from one place to another for no reason but garden vanity?' they'll wonder, shaking their heads, and hoving over the earth so as not to leave footprints.

The surf is small, but it's breaking - just. I keep looking in case it's worth going out, but know I have a while for the tide to drop. Still, I'm enjoying this gentle observation of the beach and doing relatively nothing. Part of me didn't want to come down as I had so much to do, but once I got there, it's delightfully pleasant. Especially after I get to pee. It's then that I notice what I think is a dog tag, nailed to a pylon. How long has it been there without me noticing, all the hundreds of times I've walked up this beach thinking of other things? Clearly it's not an actual dog tag - no dog lives for over sixty years - but I do wonder why the tag. I like it. I like the idea of a tiny tag hidden somewhere in plain sight when I die. Somewhere you wouldn't notice unless you glanced in a particular direction. Perhaps I want a kind of immortality, too. Vale, Mad Dog Fitz.

Walking back to the carpark I take a few snaps of the cliffs, as they look so spectacular against the blue sky. I count at least six signs for people to stay away from them - still, people don't, and every few years people lose their lives sitting under cliffs when they collapse. I've seen a huge landslip from out in the water once, huge billows of dirt clouding the sky. Luckily no one was under that one. But erosion happens. We forget about it because we're not immortal - we have little concept of long time as our lives are so painfully short. A cliff, we imagine, stays the same way for centuries. But it doesn't - it erodes, collapses, shifts, reveals fossils, lands huge rocks onto the sand below. Last year a 27 year old died when the cliff collapsed not far from here. HIm and his friends were sheltering in the shade on a blistering hot day. I can't even imagine his parents pain.

By the time I get to the carpark, the tide is going out a little. It's a high low, so not a lot is happening. I stand there with a few mates chatting before getting into my wetsuit.

Despite the freezing weather, there are a group of older woman going swimming in their bathers, like they do every day here. They say it takes a good 90 seconds for your body to acclimatise, although I can't imagine it getting much better than omfg it's freezing. They also say it adds years to your life, boosting immune function and the body's inflammatory response.

I haven't been surfing in months really - COVID, winter, and the third season of El Nina looming has changed the weather patterns enough to really effect the waves. A mate of mine bought an E-foil just because it meant he could get out on the ocean - with a battery and motor, he could get out and ride the swell bumps at least. Another guy I know there was telling me he took his to ride the wake of the boats in Port Phillip bay. Anything to get wet. I get out and ride three waves before the wind picks up like a mofo - it was a real struggle to paddle in despite being pretty close to shore.

Still, as they say, it was good to get wet, and feel grounded being by the sea.

I hope someone nails a tag on a pylon for me when I go.