by James Grech
It’s a bizarre sight seeing a boat ramp that doesn’t lead to water. 
Stranger still, seeing that same boat ramp cordoned off with a mound of dirt to prevent people driving their cars down it and doing doughnuts on the dry lakebed. 
But it’s a sight we’ve all grown accustomed to. 
I grew up in Colac and every time I’m back in town I’m floored by the rapidly receding water level of Lake Colac.
This lake has always been a massive part of the Colac landscape, so to see the landscape lake-less is like watching a mate shave his head when it really doesn’t suit him.  
It looks creepy and it’s just not right.
As a kid, I can remember having my first kiss on the end of the pier at the botanic gardens. 
Surrounded by glistening water and the sound of waves gently lapping against the pylons, it was a pretty damn perfect moment and under less romantic circumstances, I guess it probably wouldn’t have happened. 
Of course, that pier is now just a distant memory. 
Well, the pier is still there but it is massively out of place perched on its harsh desert landscape of sand and rock. 
Not exactly the most charming of settings and definitely not one to win any romance brownie points. 
For everyone who remembers what the lake used to look like in its former glory, the sight of cracked earth where all the water should be is disturbing. 
When something as constant as the landscape around us can change so dramatically, it makes you feel vulnerable and you realise that maybe the world you’ve taken for granted isn’t as stable as you thought.
Recently, my girlfriend and I went for a drive around the other side of the lake to visit Meredith Park. 
As we were parking, we noticed the shoreline had retreated so far into the horizon it could barely be seen. 
No real surprises there, but something else caught our eye as well. Hundreds of strange motionless objects spread out along where the shoreline used to be, stretching as far as you could see in both directions. 
When we walked a little closer, we realised that each shape was a dead carp and that they were obviously casualties of the disappearing water. 
I’d heard people talking about the fish carcasses around the lake but seeing them all for myself was an eerie experience. 
Witnessing this sea of death is very unsettling and as the water continues to fade away, it appears that things will never return to the way they were.
Now, if you’re an overly superstitious person, all this talk of vanishing lakes and devastated wildlife might be enough to make you think the world’s all going to hell and that the apocalypse is approaching. 
It might cause you to find a large cardboard box and make yourself up a sandwich board so you can spread your message that “The end is nigh!”. 
It might even inspire you to stockpile food and water, start digging a makeshift shelter underneath your house and live out the remainder of your years growing accustomed to your new mole-like surroundings. 
But before you start digging, just take a moment to reflect on Lake Colac’s very long history.
The perfect lake we remember, jam-packed full of precious water, wasn’t always so picturesque. 
There have been four separate occasions between the ’60s and ’80s where the lake had receded to a
similar level as today but still managed to come good. 
And it has also been in a lot worse condition than it is now.  In both 1862 and 1946 it shrunk away to a series of pools only 15cm deep. 
Not only that but it has also flooded between droughts as well. 
It’s all part of Mother Nature’s crazy weather cycle and it’s an erratic pattern of “too much” or “not enough” that has been going on for centuries. 
As long as we are careful with our water conservation, I’m sure that things will bounce back to the way they were.
So if history tells us anything, it’s that our mate with the skinhead won’t be bald forever. He will eventually realise his bald head looks a little too much like another part of his anatomy and grow his hair back, just like the lake will in all likelihood flood again in the near future.
So put down your shovel and don’t bother digging, because you’ll probably be washed out of your underground shelter come the next flood.