Victoria Coast Australia

Coast has returned.

After our first look at Australia's epic coastline...

..it was clear we'd barely begun to cover

this vast and surprising continent.

It's great to be back to explore eight new fascinating coastlines.

From the Pilbara to the Torres Strait,

from Norfolk Island to South Australia,

we're setting out to capture

the dazzling diversity of a young nation,

built on an ancient land...

..discovering the secrets, the scenery

and the stories of its people.

Joining me on this grand adventure - Professor Tim Flannery,

a passionate palaeontologist and zoologist

who also writes extensively about Australia's explorers,

distinguished marine biologist Professor Emma Johnston.

A New South Wales Scientist of the Year,

Emma is an expert on the stunning biodiversity in Australian waters.

Dr Xanthe Mallett is an anthropologist, scientist

and keen diver, with a fascination for social and cultural quirks.

Brendan Moore is a landscape architect who is intrigued

by the way people interact with their coastal environment.

And Dr Alice Garner is an historian

who brings a special knowledge of coastal communities.

And as for me, well, I get the job of a lifetime,

because I get to be your guide.

It's an irresistibly epic journey

and I can't wait to get started.

Welcome back to Coast - Coast Australia.

Our first journey covers Victoria's dramatic Bass Strait coast...

..taking in the sprawling Gippsland Lakes,

the southernmost tip of the Australian mainland

and the jagged edge of the Mornington Peninsula.,

Tim delves into his own past in a tale of dinosaur discovery.

The first dinosaur fossil ever found in Australia.

Alice investigates a great maritime mystery.

This bay was the site of tragedy once again.

Brendan checks out a sport that's not plain sailing...

I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing!

..while I'm on a journey into the unknown.

More people have walked on the surface of the moon

than have ever set foot on Skull Rock.

But first, we're heading offshore,

50km east of Victoria's Gippsland coast.

For many years, the waters of Bass Strait hid a prehistoric secret -

a buried treasure.

In 1960, American geologist Lewis G Weeks singled out this area

as a likely place to find black gold.

The first big discovery was made in 1965,

when an exploration company found natural gas

and just a year later, they discovered the real prize - oil.

I've been given a very rare opportunity

to fly the 43km out to see some of the platforms

and to meet some of the people who live and work on them.

Until 1966, Australia had been totally reliant on overseas oil.

Now it had its own supply, right here in Bass Strait.

The very existence of these platforms out here

is testament to ground-breaking engineering.

Invisible beneath us is a complex web of 400 wells.

And a platform like that one doesn't just drill straight down.

On the contrary, it can reach out in all directions,

drawing up on reserves of oil and gas as far away as 6km.

Steve O'Brien is senior operations supervisor on Tuna Platform.

Bass Strait's been his workplace for over 40 years.

It's not a bad office, eh?

Steve, what type of challenges does the Bass Strait pose

for oil and gas exploration?

Well, probably the biggest challenge, Neil, is the weather.

It's, you know, it can be huge.

It can go from what we've got out here right now -

in six hours we could be looking at 45-50 knot winds

and three-and-a-half, four-metre seas.

And how's the structure designed to cope with that?

OK, in two ways.

One - using piles - deep, long piles -

we actually pin the structure into the seabed and then secondly,

the structure itself, the 6,500 tonnes of steel it's made up of

is actually designed to withstand what we call the hundred-year wave.

-Which is what?

-Which is, statistically,

the biggest wave we are going to see over a 100-year period,

and, here, it's a 33-metre wave

coming in from the south-east.

33 metres - so, how high are we above the sea, at the moment?

-Oh, plenty. We're about 50 metres above, so that's OK.

-Right.

If the worst was to happen here, and this thing was, you know,

washed away, what would it cost to put it back?

Oh, Neil.

Little change out of 4.5 billion.

-So!

-Right. OK.

-We don't want to have to rebuild this platform!

-OK. I hear you.

The figures are enough to leave you reeling.

But there's another surprise waiting below in the plant room.

-Right.

-So, what is this? Where are we?

-Have a look at this.

Just...have a feel.

-Oh, it's hot.

-Yeah.

-Too hot to touch, almost.

That's the oil coming up from the reservoir.

That's the temperature it comes up at.

Just under 200 degrees as it comes to the surface.

-That's already cooled a bit.

-Wow!

-Bloody amazing, eh?

So the oil is hot because of its proximity

-to the centre of the Earth?

-Yes!

As the heat rises,

as we go further towards the centre of the Earth,

and, you know, as I say, we're only down a few thousand feet,

but it's quite hot there already.

-That is crazy.

-It's massive, eh?

It takes just four hours to draw the oil from its reservoir,

nearly two kilometres under the seabed.

It's amazing to think that the black gold flowing through this pipe

originated millions of years ago,

as microscopic plants and animals in prehistoric seas,

absorbing the sun's energy.

As the micro-organisms died, they sank to the ocean floor

and were covered by layers of sediment.

As millions of years passed,

incredible pressure and heat transformed them.

At between 60 and 120 degrees Celsius,

they became crude oil.

Higher temperatures turned them to gas.

At any one time,

Tuna Platform is home to up to 60 employees,

from engineers to cooks,

all doing their bit to make sure the precious oil and gas keep flowing,

24 hours a day.

The oil workers aren't the only inhabitants of these platforms.

These places are incredibly popular with the local seal population.

So popular, in fact, that builders have to put in special gates

to stop the seals climbing all the way up to where the workers are.

Since 1969, Bass Strait has produced

over eight trillion cubic metres of natural gas

and four billion barrels of oil.

A 600km network of pipelines transports the raw materials

from the seabed to an onshore plant,

where it's processed and sent off to power the country,

providing 40% of Australia's East Coast gas needs

and two-thirds of the country's oil.

It's a funny feeling, being out here on this platform.

I'm thinking all the time about... This one and others like it

have been here in the Bass Strait for the best part of 50 years,

pumping back gas and oil

upon which thousands upon thousands of people's lives have depended.

And, yet, although it's a gargantuan structure,

and there are others like it,

when you look at them in this seascape,

they seem so insignificant, so slight and so frail.

And you're reminded that, for all we depend on this,

and for how much human endeavour it represents,

in the scheme of things, no matter what we do,

we're still insignificant.

The next step in our journey takes us back onto terra firma.

South-east of Melbourne, near Cape Paterson

and the very Scottish-sounding town of Inverloch,

lies a distinctive outcrop

called Eagles Nest.

From some angles, it resembles the top half of Australia,

rising from the rock platform.

More than a century ago,

Eagles Nest was the site of a landmark discovery,

a discovery that changed both palaeontology

and Professor Tim Flannery forever.

They say that small events can cast long shadows.

And one such event happened right here on this very rock platform,

in May 1903.

The geologist William Ferguson was mapping the Victorian coastline,

looking for coal.

But what he found instead was this.

He doesn't know what it is, at first,

but it's soon identified as the first dinosaur fossil

ever found in Australia.

Experts at the British Museum identified it

as the toe bone of a carnivorous dinosaur.

It was later dubbed the "Cape Paterson Claw".

Ferguson's discovery was long dismissed as a fluke,

partly because of the theory of continental drift.

110 million years ago,

Australia lay 3,000 km further south,

huddled up against Antarctica.

It was believed that cold-blooded reptiles

couldn't survive in such harsh conditions.

Imagine this land 110 million years ago.

Back then, it lay deep within the Antarctic Circle.

And, in the winter, it must have been freezing.

But, during the summer, there was plenty of lush vegetation.

And judging from the Cape Paterson claw,

there were plenty of dinosaurs as well.

The animal the claw came from was like an allosaurus.

It was a carnivorous dinosaur, significantly larger than me.

After William Ferguson,

it was 75 years before another dinosaur discovery was made.

In 1978, a young university student and his colleagues had a hunch.

They came back here in the footsteps of William Ferguson,

and began searching this rock platform.

Pretty soon, they'd made not one new discovery,

but 30.

30 new dinosaur bones.

And that student was me.

But I can't take all the credit.

It was my old friend and mentor, geologist Rob Glenie,

who lit the fuse when he showed me William Ferguson's map.

-That's the map?

-Yeah.

-That's the spot, see.

When I saw that, it would have knocked me over with a feather.

I didn't know, you know, that it had been marked so precisely.

There was, like, almost an X marks the spot for the treasure,

was where William Ferguson said, what is it?

"The tooth of a fish

"and some fragments and scraps of bones of reptiles..."

-Yeah.

-"..found." It was like X marks the spot.

When you showed me that and brought me here,

it really set me off on a different trajectory, you know?

-A different course.

-That's good.

And we discovered the... rediscovered the site after 75 years.

Yeah, It was very, very kind of you.

I took the fossils I'd found to palaeontologist Tom Rich,

senior curator at the Museum of Victoria.

Tom, do you remember when I brought you those dinosaur bones first,

-36 years ago?

-Oh, yes. I remember it. You had a variety of them.

You had carnivorous dinosaurs and you had herbivorous ones.

And we gradually worked out what they were.

But the most important thing about those seven...

those 30 specimens you found, was it showed us how to find them.

Because people had been walking over these rocks for 100 years,

geologists, and had never noticed them.

Ferguson was a one-off.

Since our first discoveries proved the existence

of southern polar dinosaurs,

thousands of fossils belonging to at least six different dinosaur species

have been found along this narrow stretch of coast.

This band of volunteers, called the Dinosaur Dreaming Group,

still makes discoveries on these platforms.

Including what looks to me like a vertebra.

Well, that's amazing because, you know, here we are today, Tom,

finding a bone, not 50 metres from where

-William Ferguson found his claw.

-Mm.

And the site's just still yielding fossils.

There's a saying in palaeontology,

that the hardest fossil to find is always the first one.

Without William Ferguson's discovery,

the world of Australia's polar dinosaurs

might still be a mystery.

But, each year, more treasures are uncovered.

And I can't help feeling that the next great discovery

is just around the corner.

Port Phillip is one of the great bays of the world,

and, for over 150 years, it has also been Australia's busiest port.

From above, the entrance to Port Phillip seems inviting,

but the "The Rip", as it's known,

is one of Australia's most treacherous waterways.

Riddled with underwater reefs,

The Rip has claimed over 180 vessels,

and hundreds of lives.

As historian Dr Alice Garner discovers,

one loss was so great it stunned a nation.

This is Point Nepean.

For many years, this whole area was a highly restricted military zone.

And perhaps the world's most picturesque firing range.

But, half a century ago,

one civilian was issued a special pass, giving him

free access to Point Nepean.

That civilian was Harold Holt, who would later become Prime Minister.

This peninsular and its rugged beaches were Holt's private playground.

Even after becoming Prime Minister during January 1966,

replacing the retiring Sir Robert Menzies,

Holt took every opportunity to escape the tumult of Canberra.

Here, he entered the silent world of the ocean.

Snorkelling, spear fishing

and exploring the numerous wrecks strewn just off the coast.

But that intense passion would cost the Prime Minister his life.

One man who will never forget what happened

here on Cheviot Beach on December 17 1967 is Alan Stewart.

Nice to meet you.

Alan, how is it that you came to be on the beach

the day that Mr Holt disappeared?

I happened to be staying with neighbours of the Holts,

Gillespie family.

And, after breakfast, Mr Holt came over

and said he was going to Cheviot to have a swim.

Asked if we would like to accompany him.

So I ventured into the water to just above my knees

and I felt this incredible undertow.

And I thought, no, this isn't terribly smart,

it's a bit dangerous, so I retreated back to the beach.

And then the surf suddenly built up to a real crescendo.

And it just was a sort of cauldron of white foam.

And that was the last I saw of him.

And it was a very sad day.

Alan raised the alarm, sparking what was then the biggest search

for an individual in Australian history.

In the following days, divers battled the boiling surf.

Here, a young Alan helps authorities, re-enacting the events

that led to the Prime Minister's disappearance.

But their efforts were in vain.

No trace of Harold Holt was ever found.

And what is it like for you to come back to Cheviot Beach after all this time?

I suppose a bit spooky,

but I don't sort of look at the beach and remember the tragic day.

I come here and just admire this magnificent coastline

and this particular beach, here.

A glance through history tells us that leaders who die in office are

usually the victims of an assassin's bullet or illness or old age.

And I think it says something about Australia

that we lost our Prime Minister, not because of rebellion or conspiracy,

but because of his love for the ocean.

From Cheviot Beach, we're heading east around the bottom

of the Mornington peninsular, to Phillip Island.

It's 10,000 hectares of flat, mostly empty countryside.

Over the years, many people moved here to live a life of serenity,

surrounded by the local wildlife.

But, for a few, their Shangri-La turned out to be a mirage.

This spectacular and dramatic bit of coastline

is within easy reach of Melbourne. Perfect for a weekend getaway.

It's surely valuable real estate,

so you would expect a holiday resort,

some houses, even just some shacks.

The fact is, there's nothing to see.

But there used to be a town here.

It was called Summerlands. Houses were spread along this roadside.

But there's nothing there now but abandoned roads

and signposts to nowhere.

So what happened here? How come an entire town has vanished?

Elizabeth Lundahl Hegedus called Summerlands home

for more than a quarter of a century.

-How are you?

-Hello.

Now, correct me if I'm wrong, you used to live here.

Yes, just over there. Just behind those bushes over there.

Can you show me what your house used to look like?

Yes, I do have a photo in my pocket here.

So, we're just in the back garden?

We're just behind the house, actually.

When Elizabeth first came here in the 1960s,

Phillip Island real estate was booming. Land was cheap.

Views were spectacular.

More than 180 houses sprouted, with a population of around 2,000 people.

There was just one problem.

This part of the island was already inhabited.

Little penguins, or fairy penguins,

are the smallest of the penguin species.

For thousands of years,

these guys have called Phillip Island home.

And when the residents of Summerlands Estate moved in,

the penguins didn't move out.

Tell me how you felt about the penguins, the notorious penguins?

-It was lovely. I loved having them around.

-Why?

-I miss them terribly.

Why did you love them?

Oh, just nice.

They're, you know, pets that you don't have to worry about!

Just, it was just nice having them there.

The penguins made nests under verandas and gardens,

even under cars.

They became squawking squatters.

What is the noise that the penguins make?

They have two different calls,

but the most common noise that they make is...

IRRITATING SQUAWKING

That could get on a person's nerves!

-Especially when it goes on all night!

-Yeah.

Despite the racket,

for many years, people and penguins seemed to coexist.

So, why was everyone forced to leave?

Well, it was the result of a patient crusade by just one man.

Hi, Peter.

Dr Peter Dann is one of the world's

foremost authorities on the little penguin.

Back in 1980, he came to Phillip Island

to study the local penguin population.

How much trouble were the penguins in?

The penguins were in a great deal of trouble.

I estimated that there would be none

by 1997. So, the population was just in freefall.

And most of the causes for that

were things associated with the housing estate.

Penguins were being killed by people's dogs, particularly at night.

Penguins were being run over by cars on the roads.

Was there a moment where you thought,

"There's nothing else for it, the penguins have to be left alone

"and the people will have to go."

Yes, and it came to a head, if you like,

when we had an extreme event of vandalism where someone

drove around trying to run over as many penguins as they could,

and they killed 54 penguins.

So we put them in a pile, the bodies of the penguins,

and the media came and that was a great moment

for engaging the public concern about penguins

and what we really wanted to happen in this particular place.

In 1985, at Peter's urging, the Victorian state government made

an extraordinary decision to buy back all the houses at Summerlands.

Over the next 25 years, the town gradually disappeared.

Every last building was either transported to the mainland

or demolished.

I have to say, it's an extreme solution that you came to.

That's right. I've heard of people having to move where they live

for dams or military purposes.

But, in this case, I think it's the only example in the world

where a whole town's been moved for the sake of wildlife conservation.

And it's worked.

Since Summerlands vanished,

the number of breeding birds has trebled.

-It's blue.

-It is.

I was expecting all black.

PENGUIN SQUAWKS

-He doesn't approve.

-No.

This is a male, and it's just moulted,

so it's got this beautiful blue plumage and white front.

-He's almost translucent.

-He is, yes.

-Gorgeous.

Elizabeth's home was one of the last to go, in 2010.

How do you feel now, when you stand here in this wild landscape?

-Do you get a pang of regret?

-Yes. I don't like coming here, actually.

It's a little bit upsetting because I love this part of the island.

And it's more or less off-limits now.

So, yes, I am sad because I had to leave.

But the penguins were here first, thousands and thousands of years

before we ever came, so it's fair, I think.

People may no longer live in Summerlands,

but they still flock here every evening at sunset

to watch what has become known as the Penguin Parade.

After a hard day's fishing out at sea, they return onto the beach

and waddle up through the dunes to their burrows on the peninsular.

They're so nervous about leaving the safety of the dark water

and making this run across the bright sand, so you can see,

they stay together in a group and it looks as if

they're all checking out the area to see if there's any predators,

birds of prey, anything that might come and pick one of them off.

But they're so smartly dressed. They look for all the world like,

it's like a wee gaggle of exhausted businessmen

coming off the last train into the station after a stressful day.

Obviously, you have to sympathise with people who were forced to move,

who didn't want to go, but who ended up having to.

But watching this, watching these little guys make their way

up the beach, I'm struck by one thing more than anything else.

And it's that this will have played out for thousands upon thousands

of years before there were ever any human beings here,

and hopefully, with us finally out of the way, this will

continue to play out for hundreds and thousands of years to come.

Three hours south-east of Melbourne, Wilsons Promontory

is the southernmost tip of the Australian mainland.

It's not for nothing that this part of Victoria is called

the Rocky Coast.

The shore is peppered with dramatic boulders,

their surfaces worn smooth by aeons of exposure.

Just offshore from here,

huge mounds of 380 million-year-old granite rise up out of the sea.

The most tantalising of all of them is that one.

Officially called Cleft Island, its local name, Skull Rock,

only adds to its allure.

It's just 5km off the coastline

and sometimes it seems close enough to touch,

but in fact it's virtually inaccessible.

Many thousands of years ago, when the sea level was much lower,

these islands formed a land bridge

stretching from Victoria all the way to north-eastern Tasmania.

But, for at least 18,000 years, Skull Rock

and its fellow islands have sat in splendid isolation.

-Hi, guys.

-Hello, Neil.

-Looking forward to it!

-How you doing?

I'm joining two scientists from Melbourne Museum, Patrick Honan

and Dr Mark Norman, on the first scientific expedition to Skull Rock.

Taking up nearly one whole side of the island,

a massive cavern stares blankly like an empty eye socket.

Although Skull Rock is impressive from land,

the way it looms on the horizon, it's only when you're out here

that you get a real sense of its scale.

Look into that gaping maw, you feel as if you could fit in there

St Paul's Cathedral or the Sydney Opera House.

Little bit tricky, this thing.

That'll work.

More people have walked on the surface of the moon

than have ever set foot on Skull Rock, as far as we know.

That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for Coast Australia.

For a non-scientist like me, can you explain why

it's so special to arrive on a place like Skull Rock?

This place has got it all.

Islands are little microcosms of evolution and isolation,

so they're really special places, anyway.

Caves are amazing places for animals in the nooks and crannies.

Put the two together, isolate it from the mainland

for 18,000 years and it's just, you know, it's heaven.

It's kind of Lost Valley of the Dinosaurs stuff.

The big question - is there life on this rock?

And, if so, what kind?

There's one down there.

-Oh, you got one?

-Yeah.

Before long, we're closing in on one of the locals.

I've got him by the tail.

Got the back legs. Got him.

Wow! Well done.

A bona-fide Skull Rock skink.

Look at that, that's the first time

human eyes have gazed upon this creature

for maybe tens of thousands of years. Think of that.

Before there was any civilisation or any empires or kingdoms.

There he is.

He looks quite proud, actually.

He might even be one of a whole new species.

The way they court each other, the way they display to each other,

the colour patterns they use, has that drifted away

from what the rest of Australia's populations have been doing.

I'm wondering what other treasures might be waiting

down below in that cave.

There's only one way to find out.

I hope this looks as intimidating to you as it looks to me.

I hope you're getting the full effect.

That's a sheer drop over that lip,

straight down into the unforgiving waters of Bass Strait.

Into the bushes...

Oh, yes, I see the nature of the problem.

It's a vertical drop.

The cave hasn't always been a feature of Skull Rock.

It formed millions of years ago when the sea level was much higher.

Waves hammered against weak parts of the granite face

until they eventually gave way.

Over millennia, the ocean gouged out this spectacular cavern.

This might be...

No, this is...

the most special place I've ever seen.

This is a glimpse of how the world used to look.

The cave's 130 metres wide

and 60 metres deep.

The roof, soaring 50 metres overhead,

is like a stone wave,

poised to break over us.

At the rear we make an unexpected discovery.

It looks like salt.

So how does that form here?

What's happened is the sea spray from huge seas,

over hundreds of thousands of years,

has dried in here, fallen to the ground

and it's never been washed away by the rain.

The salt has been here so long and is packed so hard

Patrick can't even take a core sample for study.

For now, whatever lies beneath must remain a mystery.

But just a few metres away, lying out in the open,

a truly remarkable find.

It's iron.

That...

..I think has been shot out of a gun.

You think that's an eroded cannonball, do you?

I'm not sure where else pure iron would come onto this rock

if people can't climb here.

Wow!

-So it's some passing...

-There's something in it.

-Yeah.

-Something green.

-That's copper alloy.

That could be the outer casing.

Some passing warship has been using the cave as a target.

Some very insensitive human being

has decided to shoot into the eye of Skull Rock.

Is there any record of when?

You know, what century the ships are doing this?

It could be as early as mid-1800s.

Our brief visit's thrown up more questions than answers.

But in a place so isolated, so remote and unexplored,

we can only ever hope to scratch the surface.

I'm sure my companions don't agree

but there's a wee part of me that hopes Skull Rock

never surrenders all of its secrets.

Humans have always felt compelled to risk the elements

and run with the wind.

At Waratah Bay, about 190 kilometres south-east of Melbourne,

Brendan Moar has found some seadogs

who definitely have the wind in their sails.

And they're not even on the water.

The idea of harnessing wind on land

has been around for hundreds of years.

Modern land yachting has largely been about

achieving straight line speeds on dry lake beds or coastal sands.

But in 1999 the game totally changed with the invention of the blokart.

This new design greatly improved manoeuvrability,

allowing tacking, veering and zigzagging at great speed.

At first glance there doesn't seem to be much to a blokart.

Three wheels, a lightweight steel frame

and a standard windsurfing sail.

Put them together, though, and the result is

state-of-the-art land sailing.

Oh!

Developed in New Zealand, the blokart's compact size and speed

has hooked long-time sailors like Russell Whitehouse.

So how did you get into this?

Well, I've been sailing all my life.

I had 40 years of off-the-beach boats

and dinghies and catamarans, had a trailer sailer,

got rid of that and saw this at a show one day

and I got in it and I was hooked.

The blokart's speed record is a sizzling 98 kilometres an hour.

But even zipping along at half that speed,

gets the adrenaline pumping.

Always keep moving...

Before I strap in, though, club president Tim Vance

runs me through what HE calls a few simple instructions.

When you're going up, hold on tight.

Going upwind, pull the sail along.

If you're going too fast, and the wheel starts lifting,

let go of the rope.

-OK?

-Right.

-You've got the jist of it?

-Erm...

-He'll be right.

Well, we'll find out, I guess.

I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing.

These guys seem confident.

I wish I could share that.

Right-ho, gentlemen and Brendan.

Is everybody ready?

Three...two...one...

Go!

SEDATE MUSIC PLAYS

Now, going in a straight line is OK,

but as soon as I try to tack...

Oh!

Kerching! Kerching!

Luckily the only thing bruised is my ego.

I don't think the speed record's in any danger.

But when the wind catches that sail,

I can see why they're so excited.

CROWD APPLAUDS

300 kilometres east of Melbourne,

beyond the deserted and seemingly endless sands of Ninety Mile Beach,

by the Gippsland Lakes,

Australia's largest system of inland waterways.

This series of lakes, marshes and lagoons

covers over 600 square kilometres.

These waters have long been a haven for Melbournites seeking an escape.

But they're not the only ones drawn to this coastal paradise.

Marine biologist Professor Emma Johnston

is on the trail of a unique and previously unidentified species.

Finding a new species of large marine mammal

is an extremely rare achievement.

That's what happened here in this well-populated area

just a couple of years ago.

I'm here to meet the scientist who made this discovery of a lifetime.

In 2006, marine biologist Dr Kate Charlton-Robb

spotted something unusual in these waters.

And, like any good scientific sleuth,

stated investigating.

It took five years of painstaking study

but in 2011 Kate's suspicions were finally confirmed.

So, Kate, what did you discover?

Well, we had the amazing discovery of a brand-new dolphin species.

-Is that incredibly rare?

-It is quite rare.

It's only happened three times since the late 1800s

that a new dolphin species has been formally described.

The new species' official title is Tursiops australis.

It's common name is the Burrunan dolphin.

Burrunan being a local Gippsland aboriginal word

meaning large fish of the porpoise kind.

And its existence took Kate, and the world of marine biology, by surprise.

Basically, we'd noticed by looking at the dolphin

that they are a bit of a mishmash

between the two other bottlenose dolphin species -

the Common bottlenose dolphin and the Indo-Pacific bottlenose dolphin.

Essentially what we were trying to do was just figure out

which of the two these guys were.

But the dolphin's DNA didn't match either bottlenose species.

So Kate investigated further and found other crucial differences

inside the mammal's skull.

So this is the new species. What are the differences?

So, you can sort of see, as a general thing,

that the Common bottlenose dolphin is significantly larger

than australis, the new species here.

There are also really distinctive features that are quite different,

in terms of qualitative things.

We have this quite pinched rostrum here, whereas this is quite flat.

That's a very big difference there. It's quite pinched up the top.

So you did a lot of very fine measurements on a lot of skulls?

Yeah, we did quite a number of different measures -

so tooth counts, the length of the orbits -

a whole bunch of different measures.

I'm desperate to see Kate's dolphin

but finding them in 600 square kilometres of lakes is not easy.

And there's another reason they're difficult to spot -

the Burrunan dolphin population is tiny.

Just 50 live here in the Gippsland Lakes.

100 live in nearby Port Phillip Bay

and a small number call the waters off Tasmania home.

But today our persistence pays off.

Yeah. I can see them.

I get my first glimpse of a whole new species.

So here we go, we found them, they are all around.

There are some coming over here. There's a calf over there.

It's just wonderful.

Four are tightly grouped over here, another few here, some on the bow.

-There we go.

-Oh! Look at those!

Coming across to the bow.

So beautiful.

The perilously small numbers mean the new species is already under threat.

But Kate hopes her ongoing research will help bring her dolphin

back from the brink.

From a newly discovered species to something altogether more retro.

The final chapter in our East Victorian journey

begins at a place called Tyabb,

on the Mornington Peninsula,

with a woman who knows this coastline better than anyone,

at least from the air.

Not everyone on this spectacular stretch of coastline is interested in boats.

For some, the passion is all about another kind of craft.

Look at this. You might think it's a museum, but it's not.

These things are very much alive.

It's like a collection of wonderful toys, they are so glamorous.

In fact, these are predators.

These are fighter aircraft or,

as they are called in the aviation world - warbirds.

Not only is their plumage spectacular,

each one of these magnificent birds is airworthy,

ready to take to the sky at a moment's notice

and they all belong to one remarkable woman,

aviatrix and avid collector, Judy Pay.

Hi, Judy. How are you doing?

Welcome to Tyabb.

-Thank you. Do you fly these?

-Yes, yes.

This is one of my favourites.

It's a 1940s old English biplane

with no brakes, no steering.

It's just really wind in the wires. Stick and rudder.

-Stick and rudder stuff.

-Yeah.

-What is it called?

This is a Tiger Moth, a de Havilland Tiger Moth.

The Tiger Moth was Judy's first classic craft.

Now she owns seven warbirds.

Now, Judy might not like to admit it, but there are others here

who say this could be the pride of the fleet.

This is a single-engine, single-seater P-40 Curtiss Warhawk,

or Kittyhawk, if you come from my part of the world.

She looks better than new but it took a lot of love and care

by Judy and the rest of the team to bring this baby back to life.

The Kittyhawk crashed on an island in Vanuatu

during World War II where it lay forgotten for nearly 50 years.

Until Judy got wind of it, that is.

What condition was this Kittyhawk in when you first encountered her?

I first encountered her on the island in Vanuatu.

It crashed pretty much on a hillside

but fortunately a French farmer, it was on his land,

he put it onto some drums and sprayed it with diesel,

which actually preserved it, quite amazingly.

What little was there was in reasonably good condition.

Judy salvaged the wreck and for the next 20 years

she and her team worked to restore this warbird to its former glory.

This is a one of a kind.

This is the only genuine flying F model Kittyhawk

in the world at the moment.

It's very, very rare and very beautiful.

You know how these stories go, it wouldn't be complete

without me going up in one of these wonderful toys.

This is it, it's a North American T-6 Texan, also known as a Harvard.

During World War II these were like flying classrooms,

hundreds of thousands of Allied pilots learned to fly

in aircraft just like this one.

What a way to see this magnificent Victorian coastline one last time.

I'm betting those pilots training during the war

never had a view like this.

It is a bit special when you go over the water, isn't it?

It is beautiful here, it's a lovely place to fly.

This coastline has been through many changes

and has revealed many treasures.

Just as the aircraft that Judy maintains

are the product of slow, painstaking, constant work,

so the wind and the waves and the weather here

are always working gradually to renew and to reshape this landscape.

And, of course, the people who cling to its edge.

Next time, we're off to South Australia's limestone coast.

Emma dives deep into ancient caves...

So we just swum through a 5-million-year-old Gothic cathedral.

Tim has a close encounter...

For the Europeans of 200 years ago, this coastline here

was about as unknown as the dark side of the moon.

Alice gets a taste of the gold rush.

This is California all over again.

While I take to the air to search and destroy.

Can we go and attack a submarine now?

PILOT CHUCKLES