Daily Photo – Cromwell

A few minutes later I rolled into Cromwell. The town had a sluggish sort of feel, as if the mist and cloud that hung over it had become part of daily life. People wandered the streets at half pace, ambling between shops with the air of folk who had nowhere urgent to be, and no intention of getting there quickly. I steered through the historic precinct, a curious little corner where remnants of the old town survive – a fraction of what once stood here before the dam swallowed most of it, the rest now lying beneath the waters of Lake Dunstan. Crossing the bridge at Dead Man’s Point, I joined State Highway 8.

Here the lake appeared, wide and blue, holding the light in a way that made the surrounding hills and clouds seem doubled, their reflections stretching into the depths. The water had a calm stillness, broken only by the occasional ripple of a bird. Beyond the shoreline, the mountains rose, their snow-dusted tops hazy and remote, like they belonged to another world altogether. I slowed, not so much to admire the view as to let it sink in, the lake running alongside the road like a ribbon, guiding me towards Clyde.