Unknown Waters: Swimming Out to a Shipwreck

On one sunny 36 degree day, Issy, my newest housemate, suggested driving south to one of Melbourne’s popular beaches and spending the day there. Of course, Freya and I jumped at the idea. We packed our bags in the morning, hopped in Issy’s car (known fondly as the ‘Shitbox 3000’) and set out for the day.

Melbournes beaches become more beautiful the further down the coast they are, so we drove for almost an hour to Half Moon Bay, blasting a juxtaposing mix of Olivia Dean and Skepta to make the journey pass quicker, and to distract us for the heat seeping into the unconditioned car.

Once parked and onto the beachfront, we saw a sign pointing towards a beach cafe and the need to quell our morning brain fog took over. I’ve developed a rather severe coffee addiction here in Melbourne, which can be excused by the city’s world-renowned coffee culture.

Iced long blacks in hand, we trekked along the sand, which felt like large sugar grains between our toes. Although the beach was packed with groups of half-naked locals lathering on suncream, we managed to find an empty space and plonked ourselves down on our new beach towels — a Christmas present from my dear friend Oli. Though this was relaxing for a good twenty minutes, the sun made it feel as though it was burning holes in my skin. The UV was a shocking 12, which meant that I was in danger of looking like a Squashie sweet if I wasn’t careful.

To alleviate our discomfort from overheating, Issy and I ran and splashed into the sea. We were mindlessly swimming around when we noticed a bunch of paddleboards heading towards a large, rock-like structure out at sea. It was an abandoned shipwreck! After a little deliberation, and an irrational (yet very rational) fear that sharks could eat us before we got there, we hyped ourselves up to swim out to it.

After 20 minutes of swimming, we were just a few metres away from the boat, but we couldn’t quite figure out how to actually get onto it. We were itching to climb up, but it seemed as though the deck was jutting out of the water with no obvious route up. Just as we were considering turning back, a friendly Aussie man paddled by and told us that around the rim of the boat was a ledge we could stand on. We could use the ring rails on the sides to pull ourselves up, but we ought to be careful of the black sea urchins, which could spike our feet.

We climbed up the side of the wreck, and before us was a wide deck encrusted with brick-red rust. The deck was perforated with circular windows, which allowed us to peer down through the body of the boat and into the dark pool of water sitting still within the skeleton of the warship. We peered over each window hole, making ourselves dizzy imagining how deep down the boat must go. Apparently, this is a prime scuba diving spot, but I can’t think of anything more haunting than exploring a shipwreck like this one. Sharp, black mussels coated the front of the boat — dazzling yet dangerous things that could effortlessly slice open the feet of bold tourists.

Sunbathing on top of that boat was idyllic, and it felt so surreal to know that this ship was sailing not too long ago. Well, I did some research and the internet told me it was called HMVS Cerberus — a breastwork monitor ship which was the first to be powered solely by steam and not by sails. Launched in 1868, it served for both the Victorian Navy and the Royal Australian Navy before it was purchased by the local council and purposefully sunk in Half Moon Bay to form a protective barrier against storms.

This was one historical adventure I’ll never forget — and one Freya certainly won’t either, having sat on the beach worrying we were dead, completely unaware that we’d swum out that far.