JURASSIC BARK

WE GO IN SEARCH OF POWER AND GLORY IN JAGUAR’S F-PACE SVR

- CAMERON KIRBY

THE AIR IN Beech Forest is still and undisturbed. The waters of Bass Strait meet the lazy flow of Skenes Creek 15 kilometres to the southeast as the magpie flies, but there is no salty sea breeze rustling the trees in this once-bustling timber town. Instead, on an overcast and drizzly day in the middle of yet another open-ended statewide Victorian lockdown, the living world has seemingly abandoned Beech Forest, population 82, altogether. The door to the only pub in town is locked indefinitely, and there isn’t a single visible soul wandering the streets. The only sign of life here is the soft sound of birdsong that emanates from the myrtle beeches.

The inside of the Jaguar F-Pace SVR is an Alcantara and leather-trimmed cocoon, helping shield me from the light misting of rain that is falling. The clouds hang low, as nature slowly encroaches on the edges of the narrow tarmac scar – C159 – that runs through the hamlet. It’s a path that a few kilometres from here transforms into Turton’s Track, a road that when looked at on a map promises to be as challenging as the finest WRC tarmac stage. Traditionally clogged with tourist traffic, it is currently bereft of travellers. That is, except for me and the Jaguar F-Pace SVR.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.

There is no sound, but the SVR’s starter button flashes with the anthropomorphised rhythm of a resting heartbeat.

Ba-bum. Ba-bum. Ba-bum.