Listen mate, if you’d come halfway round the bloody world to find yourself gazing upon a splendid natural harbour that was damned near unusable due to the ferocity of the currents at its all-too-narrow mouth, standing on a rocky outcrop that might possibly support goats, but certainly not the sheep and cattle you’re going to have to drive overland in the hope that somewhere on the other side of the bloody bay there’d be decent pasturage for them, well, you’d be feeling pretty bloody wry too, mate.
The hilly spine of the western arm of the Mornington Peninsula is unsuitable for most cultivation (although it did provide a source of lime to early settlers, it should be understood that this means the stone, not the fruit), including, perhaps surprisingly, Rye. But then, it was that very absence that got the region its name.
Early settlers, facing the circumstances described above, quickly came to the conclusion that what this situation called for was a drink. But if they were to drink their whiskey, they realised, there was only one way to have it with rye.
Suburbs near Rye: