For a while there – let’s say most of 2016 and the start of this year – it almost seemed like the Fleurieu Sound Map wouldn’t continue. As several blog posts had indicated, at various points from 2015 to mid-2017 I was hugely unhappy with my creative practice for several reasons and on several occassions I felt compelled to put several projects and possibly the entire thing on ice for an indefinite period.
Well, how things have changed! I’ve overcome my discontent, and as (another) several posts have indicated I’m back with it and fully engaged with things, feeling a genuine passion for things again. Insofar, the sound map is resuming with a bunch of new and archived recordings being prepared for documentation. It’s a really, really good time at the moment and I’m having a ball getting the FSM back up and running again.
So, with that in mind here’s a sonic apperitif comprising of two new site recordings, from Ingalalla Falls and Second Valley Forest Reserve respectively. I’ve also added a bit more depth to the field notes accompanying the sites, which previously have felt a bit too concise. Follow the link below and click on Updates to find the new ones.
More is to come – I’d forgotten how time consuming the post-production process is with HTML-ing, audio uploads and pinning the things on Google Maps. I’ve got some little audio snapshopts from Parawa and Torrens Vale (done on the same road trip) and also more recent recordings from my Mum’s property which feature the new Sound Devices Mix Pre-3.
In the meantime, check out the new additions to the soundmap and make sure you also check out my new video blog covering the visits to these sites!
A re-worked version of my People’s Weather Report which will be broadcast on Radio National very soon. This version incorporates a revised spoken text and Fleurieu-centric field recordings. The earlier version of the Weather Report will be installed as part of Arts House’s Going Nowhere project at North Melbourne Town Hall (21-23 November)
I’m sitting on the sand beneath Normanville jetty, looking out to the ocean. The jetty’s century-old character comes into relief: supporting posts weathered by the elements, rusted bolts, horizontal beams which have been periodically carved or illustrated with pocket knives and pens – inscribing initials, romantic allusions and indecipherable text. During the peak of summer, tar will occasionally ooze from the beams and emit a pungent, though strangely satisfying smell combined with the salty air and heat.
I’m facing south looking down the western coastline of the the Fleurieu Peninsula. The visual quality of the peninsula’s coastline is striking – Normanville beach with its ancient sand dunes stretching elegantly into the distance, eventually joining a succession of sheer cliffs and bluffs; concealing secluded beaches, reefs and caves.
I begin to wonder what the future will hold for parts of the coastline.
Normanville Beach will be transformed, the jetty eventually submerged; and what of the ancient sand dunes that overlook the beach and extend down the coastline?
What of the beach houses and shacks that are nestled behind just a thin strip of native vegetation looking out onto Lady Bay? The shallow dunes will have given way to rising tides, the parcels of vegetation and large clearings transformed into a network of lagoons. The beach houses and shacks rendered no longer habitable – their prefabricated ruins having gradually washed away into the ocean.
Terrestrial caves that were explored as a child are most likely transformed into underwater caves.
What of the marina at Wirrina Cove holiday resort? Submerged breakwaters, pontoons torn from their moorings and capsized vessels clustered together?
The secluded beach coves of Second Valley once covered with large pebbles and rock outcrops. Now all immersed in water; the ocean risen and making its way to meet the cliff tops that overlook this part of the coastline.
Then, nearing toward the headland of the peninsula is Rapid Bay. The once long stretch of beach is now submerged marked only by two impressive landmarks that still remain above water; at the southern end: a quarry that was dug into the side of a steep hill in the 1940’s. Its airborne dust of floating limestone particles that settle into the seabed, turning the water an attractive turquoise blue. Then, at the northern end of the bay: just above the water’s surface a slight opening of what used to be an open air cave, now colonised by ocean life.
Then, above Rapid Bay is Starfish Hill and an installation of wind turbines; one of many wind farms that have been installed across South Australia over the past fifteen years. The wind turbines on Starfish Hill will most likely survive a significant rise in sea levels, but who knows what other environmental cataclysms await us in the near future? In a way their presence is a comfort, they are a symbol that reminds me that we can make difference and turn things around.
TLR, November 2014.