Sometimes we overlook the opportunity and joy right on our doorstep. Recently, my wife and I pursued as close as a tour can offer to a wilderness experience in Arnhem Land.

Undoubtedly, it is one of the world’s last remaining tracts of unspoilt wilderness, much of it legally recognised and under the control of indigenous land owners.

Across the top of Australia, there are unrivalled opportunities to witness nature untamed - from the monastically silent termite mounds with their millions of miniature residents to the cacophany of wetland birdlife and slinky stealth of big saltwater crocodiles as the sun sets.

The exotic landscape and the proximity and feelings derived from it are unsurpassed. But, surprisingly, I found something close to my recent wilderness experience literally round the corner of my street.

Perhaps that’s a bit of an exaggeration. I was floating in a kayak off Mount Martha beach on the Mornington Peninsula about two kilometres from my front door.

It was mid-afternoon, the sun entering the second phase of its arc across the winter sky when I noticed a growing population of terns circling port side. They were circling and strafing the water with repeated dives, clear evidence of a rich harvest of fish.

Then I saw them, their curve dorsal fins rising and falling. The fish were being rounded up by a pod of dolphins, with the terns conducting their aerial attack fore and aft of the pod. Fish panicked by the dolphins were peeling off the school, only to be picked off by the voracious birds.

The surface bombardment by the birds and the submarine action of dolphins and their prey boiled the placid waters of Port Phillip Bay over an area of a few hundred square metres.

I was totally immersed, not by physically tumbling out of my kayak, but mentally. Life on land did not exist. Here I was watching real life and death battles, unperturbed by whatever might be happening on land behind me.

For 20 minutes, sitting astride the kayak with my back to land, I was transfixed by nature in action and my connection with it. For a fleeting time, I could appreciate what the indigenous people meant by their connection with land and waters.

The feeling was pure and raw, unadulterated by the temporal distractions of urban life. And it was accessible just down the road, free of charge for anyone who surrendered to it.

The message was clear. Simply being present, being sensitive and observant to stuff happening right on your doorstep can deliver some of life’s most satisfying and memorable moments.

PS. Excuse the poor quality video. An iPhone at its telephoto limit!