Continuing our exploration of the Great Coast Road, we encounter a region of vertical limestone cliffs that plunge into the sea. These are the formations that people drive this windy road to see.

Tourists from all over the world congregate here—yet another world-class Australian destination. Most people we encounter speak languages other than English. Among them: two Korean businessmen, uncomfortably hiking headland tracks in silk suits.

The tablelands formed when a sea covered the area. Sediments accumulated, the sea level dropped and these rocks became part of a land bridge connecting mainland Australia and Tasmania.

(Some scientists propose that a similar land bridge connected New Guinea with Australia. This would explain how aboriginals came to this continent before humankind possessed seaworthy boats.)

Waves and weather cut into the sedimentary limestones, producing spectacular coastal formations. These four are called the Apostles.

This is a view of two more of the Apostles. They once were called the Twelve Apostles, but over the last century, six have fallen to waves and rain.

A natural bridge can form when hard capstone keeps harmful rains off soft limestone, and the sea wears a hole through. There are several such bridges here. One, called London Bridge, collapsed some years ago. Its location on official maps is marked thus: “London Bridge (broken).” Australians are careful about false advertising.

The formations are impermanent. This seems a little strange to me. The granite features of Yosemite Valley look the same today as when I first saw them fifty years ago. The Great Ocean Road limestone formations visibly change within the span of a lifetime. That rapid erosion is at work is plainly evident in the worn surfaces of the headlands.

Surf attacks the headlands’ flanks even in relatively calm weather.

Rain water enters cracks, percolating through and dissolving the limestone.

This formation looks like it won’t last long. Surf undercutting the base will topple it before rains finish dissolving it from the top.

Old formations disappear. The sea carves out new ones. The process will continue for millennia, so there’s no need to hurry over here. There’ll always be something special to see.

I realize I’ve become attached to places. I miss low-rise San Francisco in the ’50s, Mendocino on the North Coast before yuppies found it, the drive-through tree along Yosemite’s north entrance before it blew over in a storm. This part of Australia’s coast shows me that impermanence is OK. Nothing is ever lost: only changed.