# Sea and River-side Rambles in Victoria/Chapter 12

CHAPTER XII.
THE HOPKINS.
"Ignota videre Flumina gaudebat,"— Ovid.
Westward ho! Further away from the haunts of men to where, undisturbed by anything but the sweet sounds of Nature, with lovely wild plants around us, giving odour as we press them, we may ruralise at will. We have long had a friendship for this River, for years have wandered, day by day, on its margin, have seen it in all weathers and in all moods,—now gliding along with scarcely a ripple but that caused by the wing of the swallow as it skimmed its surface, or the masses of Jelly fishes which at some seasons abound here, at other times disturbed by winds and floods; which was its grander aspect we never could decide, since each had its peculiar charms to enchant us, but glancing now round our study walls and recalling from the representations thereon, the companions of our rambles there, how pleasingly we are reminded of the happiness we enjoyed—red letter days indeed!
This pretty stream rises in the Pyrenees and flows near Mount Ararat, but passing somewhat away from the Gold Fields, does not prove of service for washing the precious metal,—on it flows through high banks and low, with here and there a steep rock on one side, and rich arable land on the other, the former densely covered with festoons of the bright pink ​Mesembryanthemum or "pigs feces," the green Correa or native Fuschia, the russet flowered Pomaderris, and many others. Numerous are the tributaries to the stream in its course,—Muston's Creek, the Salt Creek from Lake Bolac, then about ten miles from the sea, Black's River or Emu Creek, and further on, Cudgee or Brucknall's Creek: these with freshwater springs supply the current flow. A little lower down we come to the Falls of the Hopkins, whose limpid waters sparkle in the sun, and a few miles further still, to the Allansford Bridge, past which the stream glides musically along, like the murmur of a pebbly brook in the old country, through rich black soil, well stocked with flowers, and tenanted by industrious hard-working men. On the margin of another waterfall, about a mile onward, up to which the tide flows from the sea, is Tooram, the station of John M. Allan, Esq., one of the earliest settlers in the district, thickly surrounded by Eucalypti, Cherrytrees, Box and Light wood, old and young, such as we may travel a long distance without again seeing in such luxuriance.
Nor are these richly foliaged trees, quiet as they seem to us now, destitute of animal life; come you at nightfall, and under the guidance of one of the many Natives who invariably camp here, watch the merry gambols of the Flying Squirrels and Opossums, leaping from branch to branch; listen to the heavy munching of the Wombat, who is feeding timidly on the grass which surrounds his burrow, into which, if he observes us, he hastens with a celerity which his looks belie; the slothful Koala, or Native Bear too, comes forth to feast on the young leaves of the Gumtree, and the long​snouted Bandicoot (Perameles nasuta), climbs about the fallen timber. We have a specimen before us as we write; it measures from the tip of the snout to the end of the tail 16 inches, the tail itself being 2 inches. Iris very dark brown, upper parts of the body dark grey, the lower white, the tail slightly hairy, certainly not scaly, as some writers state (at least in the individual before us), head very long, with slender naked muzzle; fore feet with five toes, the two middle very long, with long claws, the third much shorter, and two clawless rudimentary ones placed some distance behind the others. The hind foot has four toes, the middle one remarkably long, those on each side being only half the length, and the fourth some way back, also rudimentary. One of the claws on the side toe is bifid. We have taken the young from the pouch about September, at which time also the Flying Squirrel breeds.
The Natives avow that the Koala, (Phascolarctos cinereus;) never drinks water, and as we have elsewhere remarked, we are inclined to believe that not only it, but all the animals of this country can subsist for a considerable time without; yet in confinement we have frequently seen it thrust its head into a pan of water, probably to supply the moisture which it missed in the dry long gathered gum stalks and leaves which formed its food,—when these were not fresh, the stems were always devoured first, but when new and moist the leaves were eaten with infinite relish. There always appears to us something cruel in keeping any animal of this kind in confinement, where not only it is deprived of its requisite food, but is unable to follow ​its natural habits and instincts, and what food it does get, is doled out at prolonged and irregular intervals, by the hand of some child to whom it has been given as a pet. They are remarkably fond of being noticed, and when scratched on the head, utter a low sort of growl, expressive of their gratification.
Singularly lazy is this creature in all its movements, crawling from bough to bough, with its young one grotesquely holding on to its neck, and even when fired at, it scarcely deigns to notice, certainly does not attempt to evade the danger.
Down the river but a few hundred yards, and we reach a pretty well timbered hillock, which is a favourite resort for holiday folk, who pic-nic here on festive days. We notice shells of the Oyster in abundance, which has evidently existed here in former days; but no trace of any beds can now be discovered by the enterprising fishermen who reside here about, and on the stones we get fine specimens of the Acorn shell or Balanus; this belongs not to the Mollusca or true shell fish, but to a class called Cirrhipeda, from their cirrhi or arms, the true position of which in the Natural Kingdom has awakened much discussion. In this Balanus so called from the Greek balanos (an acorn,) you will observe that the shell is sessile, being firmly attached by its base, and consisting of six different pieces or valves, varying much in size, but forming a hollow cone: in the opening of this cone are four other valves which serve as an operculum or covering;—wait until the tide returns and you will see issuing from an aperture formed by the opening of two of these valves, the most beautiful plume of feathery ​like cirrhi, which are so densely covered with hairs that the minutest thing cannot pass through them. "Poor unthinking wight," remarks Gosse, "whoever he may be, Infusory, or Annelid, or Cypris, or germ of Sponge, that meets the clutch of those enclosing fingers! The bristles that pass across the interspaces, locking into each other, shut out all chance of escape; the living net is whipped in, the valves close over the orifice, and the ill-fated wretch presently finds himself in the cavernous maw of the hungry Cirrhiped." And there is an allied genus which may be found shorewards—the common Barnacle, adhering by its long flexible and contractile peduncle to pieces of timber, bottles, &c.; its shell which is milk-white, is almost flat and composed of five pieces, two of which on each side are triangular, with an elongated piece at the back; the cirrhi in them are very like. those of the Balanus, being rolled and unrolled with such rapidity that a whirlpool is formed into which minute objects are drawn and captured. This Barnacle is interesting, as having been the subject of an egregious error on the part of some of our old Naturalists, who gave it the name of Anatifera, from an idea that the Barnacle Goose (Anas erythopus-Penn.) was produced from it,—old Gerrard so mentions it in his Herbal, and figures it in all its stages from the shell to the bird. Aldrovandus too gives a quaint picture of the Barnacles hanging from a tree, and the "Goslings hatched on trees," swimming about under the shade thereof, with this superscription.
A little picturesque island next meets the eye, endeared to many from its having been chosen as a ​burial site in early days for near relatives. Further on, after passing some lovely spots in the bends of the stream, overhung cypress-like with the drooping foliage of Casuarinæ, we arrive at Bethungall, where reside more hospitable friends, to whom we never fail to pay our respects in passing, and from this point it is an easy walk to the "Caves" on the coast, alluded to at page 33. Herds of Wallabies frequent this neighbourhood, and even now the Emu is not unfrequently met with, finding abundance of food in the young shoots of the Brake Fern (Pteris esculenta.) On the high banks here, where flourish some gay flowering plants, the Fish-hawk rears its young, and the tracks of the Native Cat are everywhere conspicuous. The Cormorant (Phalacrocorax leucogaster) with its olive brown plumage and white breast, mopes on any snag which may rise out of the water, taking flight for a few yards as our boat disturbs him, but anon perching again the moment all is quiet. The pretty Night or Nankeen Heron, the Blue Crane, and also the White Egret are met with here.
At last, having been steadily sticking to our oars for a few minutes, we catch sight of—
"The sea! The sea! The open sea!  The blue, the fresh, the ever free."
but before we reach it, let us rest awhile and light our pipes, as the air blows keenly in from the coast;—here is a spot for the Naturalist!! Look out on the mud flats yonder, there is a splendid Ibis picking its steps carefully, and keeping a sharp look out for any small Crustacea which fall in its way,—some noble Pelicans too with well crammed pouches we see,—in the shallow ​water are myriads of the long turreted shell Cerithium, Trochi, and others, and where the stream deepens there is a fine Black Swan (Cygnus atratus) floating majestically along. Certainly no "rara avis" is this bird in Victoria, inhabiting all the Western lagoons in flocks, varying from two to six or probably more—they generally move from one place to another at night, uttering most discordant cries as they fly. Bishop Stanley in his "History of British Birds," p. 393, remarks that although this bird cannot dive, it contrives to immerse itself so deep in the water, as to render its body nearly invisible, and thus avoid detection.
The boat-house of the "Faugh-a-ballagh" Club, reminds us of happy days we have spent with its jovial crew on this stream, and it is worth while to land here to stroll through the Cemetery which is so well cared for,—no ostentation whatever in laying out the grounds, but a quiet rural simplicity pervading everything connected with it, and wild flowers springing up spontaneously to deck the graves of those lying there.
Next we come to the Fisherman's hut and punt;—let us rest again on our oars, and see the result of his haul. Here are Bream, Mullet, Salmon Trout, and a stray Herring (which fish is generally taken with a fly higher up the stream), in plenty surely to augur well for the success of any Fishing Company properly organised. We observe specimens of Paludina, or Marsh Shell: and in flower the pretty Myoporum, tightly embraced by the dodder-like Cassytha. We have a specimen of Trigla, or Gurnard, captured here some few years since, which if not identical with the ​Flying Gurnard, which darting from the sea is able to sustain itself for some time in the air, as in the Exoceti, or Flying Fishes, is at any rate nearly allied to it. This pretty fish was about a foot in length, head covered by a bony plate, terminating just before the first dorsal fin in a spine on each side, teeth much crowded, upper jaw defended on each side by short projecting spines. The eyes are also protected on each side by two sharp spines, arising out of the, bony plate before mentioned. The first dorsal is pinkish, about three-quarters of an inch behind the termination of the bony plate and 9-rayed. Second dorsal immediately behind, silvery, with two pink lines across, extending to within half an inch of the tail, 15-rayed. Both these are placed in a furrow, with a row of spines on each side; the pectorals are divided, the upper being very large, dichotomously ribbed, of an olive green, with ultra-marine spots; three cirrhi-like processes, attached at the base by a membrane, form the second pectoral; ventral fins immediately under the pectoral, 6-rayed and pinkish. Anal commences at termination of ventral and extends to tail. Head and upper parts brown, with occasional dots of black, sides slightly silvered, under parts white, mingled with a reddish tint.
But coming to the sea, the channel of the river is somewhat narrowed, consequently the stream rushes down with greater rapidity, now forming deep pools which have formed our bathing places in the morning, and our fishing ground later in the day, from which, as long as crabs were to our hand to serve as bait, we never failed to secure a dish of Bream. The entrance ​to the river from the sea is barred by a reef; but it is about this locality that we can collect such magnificent Alga, driven in here by the high waves. Let us see now; here is a mass which we pull in on our oar's blade, and we find Areschotugia conferta, Acrotylus, Apjohnia lætevirens, Ballia Brunonia; and in a heap thrown up on the beach we discover no less than six different species of Caulerpa, viz.:—geminata, filifolia, sedioides, hypnoides, scalpelliformis, and obscura, Codium tomentosum frequent, Callophyllis, Bryopsis, Curdiæa, Conferva. There are little rocks at the mouth of the river on which grows the elegant box-leaved Alyxia, the wood of which is most fragrant. We once nearly lost our life whilst algologising on the beach near this place; the wind had been blowing a perfect hurricane for many days, causing such a commotion along the coast, as those only who reside westwards can understand,—a lull came, and we ventured forth, tightly buttoned up, staff in hand, to make fresh discoveries amidst the dense masses of seaweed cast on the shore. We noticed at a few paces distance a lovely Calithamnion left dry by the retreating waves, and rushed forward to secure it ere their return. We succeeded. Another met our eye, and whilst stooping to grasp it, we were thrown down by a crested wave, covered from head to foot with sand, and had we not saved ourselves by thrusting a long stick which we carried into the ground, we should hardly have been here to-day to speak of the beauties of the Hopkins. Before closing this chapter, and bidding farewell to our readers we must turn to a very pleasing article by Mackie, on " ​Objects of Design," which lately appeared in the "Art Journal:"—Bright are the flowers of the earth, the first and choicest ornaments; pure, simple, and holy, their charms can ne'er decay, though familiarity and inconsistency may vulgarise, and innumerable misappropriations make us sometimes wish for the contrast that other less showy objects would afford. While the fields are radiant with their beauty, and the gentle zephyrs fragrant with their scented odours, the great tide ebbs and flows over the flowerless plants of the sea. Around the huge rocks the perennial fringes of the olive Fuci, undulate in graceful folds among the swelling waves. I do claim for the neglected vegetation of the Sea-side, an elegance of form and structure, a suggestiveness of mathematical designs, a poetry of association and typical expression, a simplicity and modest gracefulness, which will entitle them to the best efforts of the designer."
Then Designers, Conchologists, Algologists, or pure lovers of nature, whoever and whatever ye are, go to the banks of the Hopkins.