Exploring Mushroom Reef: A Masterclass in Being Underprepared
Mushroom Reef Marine Sanctuary
I kept stumbling across Mushroom Reef Marine Sanctuary while hunting for new adventures to drag the kids on -sorry, take the kids on- so it had been sitting quietly in the back of my mind, waiting for its moment.
Perched on the ocean side of Flinders, the coastline there is wonderfully dramatic: Basalt cliff faces, wild surf, and rock pools that look like they’ve been placed for the express purpose of entertaining small children. Mushroom Reef sits close to shore and, at low tide, reveals enough of itself for curious humans to cautiously tiptoe across in search of crabs and other tiny marine tenants.
As we pulled into the carpark, the view was everything Flinders promises: rolling waves, kite surfers, and rock pools gleaming in the distance. The reef was only about 150 metres across a rocky shoreline, which from the comfort of the car looked like a “quick stroll.” It was windy, yes, and the clouds were definitely threatening, but I decided to put my faith in the questionable meteorological strategy known as “maybe the rain will go that way.”
We set off. My daughter was immediately slowed by the rocks, which turned out to be significantly more “ankle breaker” than they appeared from afar. After some very slow, very careful picking across the surface, she opted for the traditional piggyback approach. Progress: still slow. Spirits: intact. Wildlife sightings: a few cormorants and fishing birds doing their thing far more gracefully than we were.
Once we reached the pools, we pottered about spotting hermit crab shells, snails, and the occasional shadow of something that may or may not have been alive. It became clear that actually seeing marine animals would require patience and stealth - neither of which our small expedition possessed.
And then came the rain.
At first, a few polite drops. My husband and I exchanged that shared look of, “Should we keep going?” followed by the equally shared but unspoken, “We’re already here…”
A few minutes later, I glanced up to see a huge wall of rain marching directly toward us.
Given we had brought approximately zero jackets, it was time to retreat. I made a dash with the baby while my husband and daughter brought up the rear. By the time I reached the carpark steps and turned around, they were being absolutely drenched in sideways rain -my husband slipping and sliding across the rocks, our five-year-old clinging on like a laughing koala, and the sky behind them looking like something out of a doomsday movie. A true family-bonding moment, if you squinted.
Thankfully, I had packed one towel. Just the one. We bundled into the car, dried off as best we could, and laughed while recapping the long list of things we’d done wrong.
With soggy socks and damp dignity, we went off in search of a warm café and a hot chocolate.
Will I attempt Mushroom Reef again? Absolutely. Next time, though, I’ll choose a genuinely sunny day, allow plenty of time to wander out to the reef without rushing small legs, make sure everyone is in proper footwear, and—lesson firmly learned—pack jackets for all. And while there’s never a guarantee you’ll spot many creatures, that’s part of the beauty of it. Rock-pooling teaches kids that nature doesn’t perform on command; it asks for patience, curiosity, and a gentle respect for animals in their natural environment. Even when the weather takes a dramatic turn, the experience becomes its own kind of adventure - one that reminds all of us why getting outdoors is worth the effort.
Sunday rolled around and I decided this was it. The last day of spring, which meant Melbourne turned on a mixed bag of showers, sunshine, wind, and general indecision. I checked the tide chart, saw that low tide was in our favour, and declared it an adventure day.
The drive down was ominous. Big dark clouds. A smattering of showers. Windswept trees leaning in the direction of “Are you sure about this?”. In hindsight, Nature really did try to give me a polite nudge. But I ignored her. My husband raised an eyebrow. My daughter, the eternal optimist, was already planning which leafy sea dragon she hoped to meet first.
