A Cup Before the Coast Wakes

It’s always colder than you think before first light. The kind of restless cold that moves sideways off the Southern Ocean touches everything, leaving it all a little quieter than before. There’s something sacred in that half hour before the first car speeds by. Before anyone’s checking emails. Before anything except the fog and your breath exist.

I had pulled off somewhere west of Wye River the night before. Just a flat curve of earth above the sea, where the trees lean away from the wind and the ocean never quite lets you forget it’s there. No signs, no fences. Just enough space to roll out a sleeping bag and leave the door cracked open to the sound of waves below.

When I woke, the sky was still slate grey and the sea was louder than it had been all night. I pulled on a jumper, climbed down from the tray, and crouched next to the stove. The wind came in steady from the south. It pulled at the flame and made the kettle hiss sharp and high. Steam rose slowly in the cold, curling up and away into nothing. I waited for the first cup to cool just enough to hold. That familiar warmth bleeding into cold fingers. First sip with eyes closed. A breath held a second longer than usual. That was all.

The sun took its time. Light filtered through the clouds in soft sheets. Not dramatic—just enough to shape the ridgeline and catch the tops of the trees across the road. It was the kind of morning that doesn’t ask anything of you. Doesn’t rush you on. It just offers a small stretch of stillness and lets you decide what to do with it.

There’s not much out here besides time and space, and maybe that’s the point. Most people drive the Great Ocean Road to see the coast. But the best parts are the ones you don’t plan for—the quiet pull-offs, the slow starts, the mornings when the wind wakes you before the light does. You go not to arrive, but just to keep moving. To catch the wind before it changes. To start the day with nothing but the sound of water, the warmth of your hands, and the ephemeral feeling that this is exactly where you’re meant to be.

I finished the cup, rinsed it with a splash of cold water, and packed it all away without hurry. The road would be waiting. It always is.