Lower still

 This blogger was flummoxed the evening prior - how come after crossing a huge mountain range the river in the town was flowing north, whereas surely all flows should now be heading southwards? This geographical pondering was sorted the next day through the realisation that Omeo is somehow still north of the ranges, so high up that there is still a significant way to get down as low as you can go.

The morning sky was a grey fog which had hardend the jalopy's yesterdays rear  windows collected dust into something that resembled cardboard. That was washed off with lots of (cold) kettle water. We then popped upwards to purchase
coffee and breaky vittals prior to taking a quiet stroll through town.

Omeo on a Saturday morning is as vibrant and electrifying as Sea Lake on a Tuesday morning. Aussie country towns in their raw state. It's wonderful. The art gallery girl said it can change in an instant when (as an example) a group of bike riders (motor not lycra) arrive. Considering she appeared to be the the artists muse adorning the walls its not surprising that things would get interesting in that case, however the only real excitement was when a ute carrying two kelpies went past barking a hello to the kelpie in the Op shop who subsequently ran out (kelpie style) to say hello back. Its only because we have a kelpie that we picked this interaction up as a highlight, calmed the Stay At Home down and to tell to him stay and not follow us. Stay..good word that. Any good Kelpie knows what it means.
Heading off towards the coast was the epiphany of the geographical location of Omeo. Up a bit and then down, down and more down though indescribably beautiful valleys with rivers showing the engineers where to build their roads. Didn't stop to get pics as the audio book drama was building and we were on a roll.
And so as the clouds/fog lifted we followed the Tambo, rolled through Schitts Creek (!) turned left at Bruthen and cruised through Nowa Nowa on the way to Lakes Entrance. This was a fabulous drive through beautiful countryside.

Our last abode for this adventure sits high up overlooking Bass straight with green foliage leading down to the golf course at the eastern end of the towns estuary in between. Can't complain about the view, the facilities, the generosity of the host, or indeed the whole ambiance of the localle.
I'm penning this on the balcony of our room with the sounds of the surf rolling in,  their waves carried by the soft easterly breeze with the Milky Way in all it's splendor above, the Southern Cross is showing exactly where mariners over the centuries have focused on and out to sea the lights of our tomorrow nights diner harvesters are illuminating the depths below.
Prior to now, we parked said jalopy at one end of the inland arm, unloaded the foldups and treddled our way along the the paths upon which the locals had specifically built for this purpose. Build it and they will come they said. And so they did. And then we did. And thus the cycle is complete. Via the bicycle. Wheels go around, so does life, and thus we have metaphors.
Whilst we were thoroughly enjoying our leisurely cruise along the waterfront, philosophy was not top of mind. The sun was shining, the sky was a totally pristine blue and everyone and everything seemed to be basking in a warm glow of happiness. Even the people on the path who needed to be "dinged" three times eventually turned and eyeballed with a smile on their face. Managed to word up a dude in a fishing boat to head out that night and catch some fare for us to take home fresh tomorrow so we can consume it in the leafy surrounds of Surrey Hills.Jolly good of him to agree to this contract however this is his livelihood so one must do as one must.
Commuting by foldups is a really good way to go. We stopped at the bakery for lunch (they sell award winning pies, just like Beechworth, Mansfield and Loch do as well...hmm maybe a ponder for another post) and then popped over the footbridge to snap a 90 mile beach pic. It was good to see the SLC have everything set up.

Not unsurprising that no one was in the drink considering the awesome floatable play structure some genius had constructed on the inland arm.
Sure the water is a bit tepid, but if you don't swallow it, look at all the fun you can have. Could've.. Would've...
So we peddled back to the car, packed em in and went home to prepare to go out again.
Our host at the B&B is tireless in her  to the job and happily drove us into town on time for pre`s in the elevated RSL function room ( because it had a view and commandering things is to the heart of the RSL ) it seemed ok to us that we'd crash their empty function room enjoying the view whilst we whiled away the time awaiting for our dinner booking to appear on the timepieces.
Got away with it we did. The dinner on the floatable consuming a quality chefs interpretation of what the area can deliver was amazing. Surrounding the gastronomical experience was the light of the disappearing westward sun which (whilst it was missing clouds to play colouring highlights) with was subdued and thus masterful in its ability to cast a continual changing broad based washed pallet of intermixed hues, reflected off the water and into the consumers senses.

It was a fantastic end to an awesome week. Tomorrow we head home through the significantly boring Latrobe Valley. There may be a bookstop pic of a kelpie to round it off.