There are very reasonable explanations for why life seems to pass more quickly as you get older. Such as a single unit of time increasingly being a lower proportion of your total existence on this planet. Yet why is it some things – like being happily married for a year – pass in the blink of an eye while others, such as the tenure of certain demagogues and nincompoops and tax-dodging grifters feel like they go on forever?
Anyway, I can’t believe it’s Easter already. Bring on the chocolate eggs.
Now, if you listen to the type of person who gets annually enraged about the packaging of pagan chocolate eggs pooped out by a giant corporate bunny, you’ll also hear that <insert their home country> is an absolute shithole what with its taxes funding essential services and just about intact sense of compassion for its fellow humans. What patriotism.
Whatever your beliefs, it sure is hard to square this sentiment in Australia with the vistas out the window, the openness in the streets, the chirping in the trees, the coffee in the malls and the geniality in the Bunnings sausage sizzle. Admittedly I haven’t been in a petrol queue recently, and perhaps that is part of the problem. I remain a little distanced, a little disconnected from Ford Rangerman. But, sheesh, Australia, you are a spectacular country.
I find this spectacular country smugly accessible by an electric powered vehicle; no blow ups, no geo-blocking, no sloppy coolant ingress into an automatic transmission causing fraught nerves and $10,000 worth of damage. Just a quick top up in Goulburn while peeing and drinking coffee and eating a peppermint slice before intrepidly entering a charger free zone of 200km. And a lovely drive along the back roads to the Blue Mountains.
Not quite there yet but spectacular already. We spend a night just out of Lithgow, one of a handful of visitors on a hilltop resort overlooking Lake Lyell. There is a mountain chalet vibe to it, which makes sense when you find out it was the labour of love of a Swiss man named Tom. Instead of cows there are kangaroos, the alps replaced by alpacas.
You’d be hard pressed even in Switzerland to experience the absolute serenity of a morning from the deck. Early mists hover over the lake, low clouds rising as a watery sun strengthens. The dawn chorus rejuvenated and expectant of another day in paradise. Or at least until the bogans on speedboats launch from their very expensive taxpayer subsidised utes.
From here it’s funny to turn a few corners and stutter along potholed roads to find yourself in the town of Lithgow. Greeted by the hut of pizzas and the famous colonel. We stop to recharge, take coffee, pop into Woollies and proceed replenished up into world heritage. What better way for Avery to see this for the first time than at Govetts Leap, and the far from Grose Valley.
It is, in contrast to most recent days, cool and a tad cloudy. A good day to grab a warm pho for lunch in Katoomba. Brighter afternoon spells ensure Scenic World lives up to its name. Plenty of scenic and plenty of world. Jammed into the various cable cars and famously steep cog railway.
Wary of being stuck deep in the valley as closing time nears, we make our way back up to the plateau and find ourselves in a charming cottage for a much loved cup of tea and biscuit moment. And as blanket cloud builds, a quiet night in eating one pot noodles and watching The Full Monty on SBS. Time now passing just that little bit more slowly.
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We were both a tad surprised to hear the creaking gate sqwawks of gang-gang cockatoos as we walked out of our cottage in Wentworth Falls the next morning. I suppose we shouldn’t have been, it’s just that for Avery and I they are very much a Canberra thing, a small part of Red Hill thing, an area of land now referred to as gang-gang, as in “Shall we go for a walk at gang-gang?” They are one of our things. And how fitting to be greeted by a pair on our anniversary.
In other bird news, the black cockatoo is frequently spotted on walking trail signs and their cries are also heard from afar, along with astonishing lyrebird repertoires somewhere among the rumpled forests and creeks adorning the Megalong Valley (bonus points for the name). The cockatoo provides the emblem on markers for the Grand Cliff Top Walk, though I’m not quite so sure it’s all cliff top. It is almost impossible to do a walk here without encountering many a stairway.
We walk for a couple of hours, at times atop rocky outcrops with stunning views, at others immersed in Jurassic forests and watery glades. It’s quite an archetypal loop walk, under cliff, over cliff, wombling free. Some use it for their Saturday morning marathon, others for their artistic muse.
In a land of sublime points and narrow neck lookouts, the modest Den Fenella track is unlikely to get the imagination racing. Especially since before I came to write this piece I had in mind it was called Dan Fenella. I pictured some rough track hacked out by old mate Dan to a small clearing where he could smoke a cheeky joint before getting back to that plastering job. But Den Fenella is another matter. And more tediously named after some obscure Scottish ravine.
There’s a little adventure to be had following the creek as it creeps down to the escarpment edge. Umbrella ferns disperse fingers of light, water swirls and cascades among the sandstone. A cooling overhang and a sunny ledge linked by stairways to an inevitable lookout. A natural rock garden with a succulent view.
Of course, getting into this beautiful predicament results in a lumber back up, all the way again to a car park where sightseers can get a small glimpse of Wentworth Falls itself. We need to loop back a bit further to the start, where the gang-gangs congregate and humans pause, eat, drink and embark upon their own adventure. Our particular morning escapade is capped off with high tea at Conservation Hut. A birthday to mark as much as a wedding anniversary.
Bushwalks, lookouts, waterfalls, gang-gangs and too much cake. It sounds like my dream birthday, apart from the fact it isn’t. I self congratulate myself on being such a wonderful husband arranging all these treats for Avery, safe in the knowledge that what is yours is mine (and vice-versa).
Continuing with the not-my-birthday treats, an inevitable food coma nap followed by a highlights tour of more local lookouts. Saving the best to last. First, Evans Lookout, with its commanding panorama overlooking the Grose Valley. Here some influencer caked in makeup not wearing very much climbing a wall. Then the various balconies of Cahills Lookout with mega big views across the Megalong. Here some Korean tourists posing with an Australian flagged towel, naturally made in China, wrong shade of blue.
The final stop the ultimate lookout. The archetypal, iconic, distinctive, cliched spectacle of Echo Point. Creeping golden as the sun lowers, one of the Three Sisters within not quite touching distance. And, yes, of course there were various poses and narratives being beamed to the world here too.
Looking back at my own photos, it turns out we were enjoying this moment pretty much exactly one year after we were bathing in similar golden light among the pine trees behind a sweltering church in Isaacs. Bonded together like a pair of gang-gangs, eternal as sandstone outcrops risen among a sea of gum. Within this vastness, small and insignificant. Together, an entire world.
Thank you again for marrying me. And thank you for your attention to this matter.
There is a colony of koalas here, and I was pleased to come across one in the first hundred metres of my walk. It was around midday and hot, exactly the kind of conditions in which you should not be out walking. But with this early sighting, the pressure was off – no more relentlessly craning one’s neck upward in the usually forlorn hope of spotting a bulbous lump that isn’t a growth protruding from a eucalypt. I could instead loop back to the car concentrating more on keeping the flies from going up my nose. Yes, they are absolutely back.
Still, should you wish to rise from this indulgent slumber, another hour or so east will bring you to the western fringe of the Blue Mountains. Suddenly things change, and not just the petrol price rising thirty cents a litre in as many kilometres. The day trippers are out in force, the coaches idling at every single possible lookout, of which there are many. The escarpment top towns of Blackheath and Katoomba and Leura are brimming with people shuffling between café and bakery, spilling down like ants to the overlooks nearby. Below the ridge, however, and the wilderness wins. Only penetrable at its fringe, placid beneath a canopy of ferns and eucalyptus.
Most cars are heading up or down the Hume Highway, towards Sydney, Melbourne or – even – Canberra. And / or beyond. Fewer are taking an alternate road north, across golden farmland and riverine gorges, passing through the town of Taralga and very little else until reaching the bright lights of Oberon. Here, west of the gargantuan expanse of the Greater Blue Mountains, fingertips of road and trail penetrate into the edge of wilderness.
Walking helped warm things up a little and the gloomy view of Kanangra Walls was eclipsed by the natural serenity around Kalang Falls. This required a little descending beyond the escarpment edge and each step below evoked a sense of immersion in something elemental and pristine. As well as the pervasive eucalypts, native flowering shrubs and bonsai-sized pines and cedars clung happily to the rocky outcrops. Ferns adorned the pools and watercourse of the creek as it disappeared down and down into depths unseen. A trickle seemingly so insignificant continuing to somehow carve out this impenetrable gorge country.
And indeed, by time we got underway some of the gloom had lifted and the initial pedal on smooth tracks though the forest was heartening. Things began to go downhill as the terrain went more steeply and precariously downhill (described as “gently rolling”), compounded by creek crossings and the nagging knowledge that at some point climbing would be inevitable.
Being energetic types, we embarked on a walk along the plateau in the afternoon which – naturally – only involved a few minor ups and downs. Panoramas were a regular companion, the vertiginous cliff line giving way to a green carpet plummeting down into infinity. Caution was high on the agenda peeping towards the precipice, a dizzying spectacle in which you hope not to be consumed. Let the snapchatting youth and boastful backpackers perch on the edge, for we have had enough adventure for today thank you very much; and how much more of a thrill do you need than being a part of this landscape, an insignificant dot in such spectacle.
Working up a thirst, the cold beverages on the second – and final – night were far more fitting. By now, any clouds and wind had completely disappeared and the forest was aglow in the lingering end-of-day sunlight. Even my one-pot cooking failed to ruin the experience. We had been through the tribulations of the trails of dust and drizzle, creeks and climbs and were being generously rewarded. Finishing on a high, Australia at its summer holiday best, and you, and a couple of friends, immersed within it.
Christmas Day came and went with little fuss; a suitable blend of English traditions (think paper hats, Christmas pudding and rubbish TV) and Australian holiday (cue swimming pools, prawns and rubbish TV). And the next day like millions across both hemispheres, I hit the road to expand my horizons, meet up with others, and curse at the appalling driving ubiquitous across the highways and byways of the land.
Setting out, the tones of Jim Maxwell narrating the Boxing Day test helped me along familiar ground to Goulburn and then round the back of the Blue Mountains via Taralga and Oberon. I’m not quite sure when the familiar becomes, well, exotic, but I had never been to Hartley before and I wasn’t expecting to see emus along the roadside. Attempting to quell this confronting change, I popped in for some afternoon tea in the cutesy national trust cafe. Devonshire scones with clearly non-Devonshire cream. Sigh. When will they learn?!
With the day drawing to a conclusion I had to make haste to my first camp spot, passing through a seemingly deserted Mudgee, and hitting the gravel roads into Goulburn River National Park. Here I surprised myself at how efficiently I made camp, setting up gear which had not seen the light of day for a few years. Yes, the swag was back and loving its natural environment.
With all this travel and excitement it was easy to forget that it was Christmas time and today was Boxing Day. It certainly didn’t feel like a typical Boxing Day, but I paid a little homage to tradition by boiling up and coarsely mashing some potatoes and carrot, serving it with some ham, and adding a few pickled onions and a pile of Branston. This camp stove and esky creation was a perfect amalgamation of English traditions and Australian summer holiday, a supremely satisfying garnish to this first day.
But obviously I stop and detour and make inevitable visits to big things like a giant golden guitar in Tamworth. It’s my third time here but I still cannot resist the allure of such a curious, iconic Australian landmark. The car and I refuel, we park up and make lunch of ham sandwiches and crisps. And, comfortably gathering that road trip rhythm, we set off once more, another hundred clicks up the road to Armidale.
Along the Waterfall Way I could make a mid-morning stop at Ebor Falls, a site I had previously encountered boasting a couple of quite magnificent waterfalls. Today, they were an inferior imitation of what I remembered, reduced to a trickle and hidden in the shadows from the morning sun. But as road stop rest stops go, there was plenty to savour: a gentle shady walk along the valley rim, pockets of wildflowers and patches of birdlife, the smell of the bush. All under the deepest blue skies.
From KFC in Grafton, the car headed through patches of woodland and along the picturesque valley of the Mann River. Rugged ranges loomed, neared and eventually required climbing; like so many roads from the coast to the inland, hairpins and lookouts and massive tree ferns clinging to the eastern escarpment. Atop all this a dirt road led off the highway and plunged into the rainforest of Washpool National Park.
I felt as though I had earned a beer and decided to take one with me on a brief amble to a lookout near the park entrance. This is the benefit of having everything in the car and, um, the beer would provide hydration if I ended up getting lost or bitten by a snake or something, right? Thankfully the lookout was a mere stroll and the satisfaction of that coldish beer on that bench on those rocks in that peace with that view under early evening skies without the prospect of getting lost and having snakes for company was something to cherish.
Before breakfast, before packing up, before moving on once more, I could hatch out of the swag and wake up with the world around me. Virtually from my bed a small trail followed the pristine waters of the creek and looped back through a large stand of Coachwood. The sun gradually made its appearance, shafts of light angling through the trees and shimmering through the ferns onto the water. The creek was clear and cool, and after three nights of camping without a shower, it was tempting to bathe. But I really didn’t want to ruin its purity; my mind turned to the allure of the ocean instead.
Without going into lurid detail I did wash each day thanks to boiling water and the use of a bucket, an art mastered in the trip of 2013 with Jill. Simultaneously I could make a cuppa, grill some toast and prepare my morning sink. Sure, it wasn’t exactly luxurious or even two star, but it allowed me some confidence to mingle a little with civilisation each day and order a morning coffee, buy petrol and ice. Which is exactly what I did in Grafton after descending from the hills that morning.
I encountered my first inexplicable traffic jam north of Yamba and speculated that this was being replicated up and down the highway. Still, I only had twenty clicks at a snail’s pace before I could turn off and head to Lismore. Lismore was to herald my proper return to civilisation, something which some people would find surprising in relation to Lismore. But I was to sleep in a proper bed and have a proper shower here, both of which I was quick to enjoy upon arrival. Refreshed and walking Lismore’s unfathomably charming streets, I felt part of normal society again.
gbpilgrim 