Recently I camped for a week at New Country Swamp in Mummel Gulf National Park, about 40 kilometres south of Walcha.
I was glad to be in an AWD for the 15 or so kilometres of muddy road in from the Oxley Highway.
While previously logged, it was a wet forest rapidly regrowing.
My first morning gave me a gorgeous sunrise, with the swamp glowing in many colours.
The two walks are short: one looked out between Snow Gums and over the swamp, the other over Mummel Gulf itself.
There were masses of these Banksias around the camp and through the bushland.
The tree fern regrowth was prolific, softening the forest.
My eyes kept being drawn to the mosses and lichens that thrived in this moist forest…and one rare epiphyte.
And of course there were lots of fungi, on rotting logs and on the ground. None really spectacular, but so plentifully hard at work doing their bit in the ecosystem.
I’d have to say that I most loved the alpine grass clumps, which seemed softly, shaggily cheeky!
I was there to write, so the walks were less important than the weather, although the wood being wet made my evening fires difficult.
The Glass House Mountains inland from Nambour on the Queensland Sunshine Coast are spectacular volcanic plugs. Captain Cook saw them from the sea and thought they resembled the glass furnaces of his native Yorkshire.
But of course they had long been significant to the local Gubbi Gubbi and Jimbaran peoples, and while each peak has its own name, were known collectively as ‘Daki Comon’ or ‘Standing stones’ .
It rained most days of my brief visit, but I was fortunate to be shown a lovely rainforest creek and waterfalls on the private property where I camped.
Being so lush, everything was growing fast and tall, like this fig about to flower.
I was curious about this forest of tall shrubs/small trees, with unfamiliar deeply lobed leaves and prickly stems, but familiar Solanum white flowers and small round fruit. Sure enough they were, but disastrously rampant introduced members of the family, weeds, either Solanum torvum or Solanum chrisotrichum… or both!
One morning we went to a very special place for breakfast, the unique ‘Secrets on the Lake’. Its cabins and café in the rainforest were overwhelmingly artistic, every piece of timber carved with skiil and whimsy.
The café had great views from its verandah, and great food – at very reasonable prices.
There was not enough time to look at the many carved delights to be spotted, small and large. I’d need to go back; I’d love to stay in one of those cabins.
Secrets indeed!
I found it hard to believe that the owners and creators of this gorgeous place were having trouble selling it, despite the ludicrously low price. At around my age, the couple are in need of a rest; they certainly deserve it!
I’d class ‘Secrets on the Lake’ as a national treasure.
In any home I’ve had, where possible I have cloaked the verandah in vines as living blinds, to give me shade in Summer, fabulous colour in Autumn and sunshine in Winter.
At my Mountain it was a mixture of Ornamental Grape/Glory Vine (Vitus vinifera) and white-flowering Wisteria.
Each verandah was also decorated with a 1904 old-fashioned climbing rose, Crepuscule. Its generous repeat flowering of raggedy apricot blossoms even survived the munching possums and taller wallabies. It has a sweet if subtle fragrance, which you can bring indoors, as its small clusters make good cut flowers.
When I left the Mountain, I couldn’t take the rose, but I took cuttings of the Glory Vine and at my next place there were a lot more verandahs for it to cloak, so it took longer, but continued to give beauty in framing the great views there. That four acre place helped me acclimatise to civilisation, but it was too much work for me, being ex-dairy land, not bush.
In the rural town of Wingham, where I was flooded out in 2021, cuttings of that Glory Vine came with me, were planted in the raised beds below, and loved it. Here the vine gave me privacy as well as shade.
The Crepuscule was harder to source, but eventually took its place and began to grace that verandah.
Now, in my final downsizing (apart from the coffin) I planted more Glory Vine cuttings; these ones were from my daughter, who’d kept the vine continuity going. They took, and rapidly did the same job.
In a serendipitous moment, I found a Crepuscule as a solitary bare-rooted cutting, on special in a supermarket. Weird that they even had a heritage rose, weird that I got the last one. It was waiting for me…
Even here on the coast, which is not often rose-friendly, it is happily growing up and along the lattice.
I can’t describe the pleasure I get from seeing my Glory Vine and Crepuscule gracing my latticed verandah externally, and giving me shade, privacy and pleasure when I look from within.
Perhaps I’m a boring gardener, but when you’ve had to move a lot, the continuity of these two plants is a comfort, a nostalgic link that I cherish.
Like my old timber furniture, they have been with me on my life’s journey, through fire and flood.
Port Macquarie has many large and handsome native fig trees, which I think are Port Jackson or Rusty figs (Ficus rubiginosa).
Currently they are laden with fruit, which will turn red when they ripen. Whilst edible by humans, they are not deemed very palatable, but are eaten by flying foxes and many native birds.
In flower right now on this coastal walking strip is another tree, with such pretty pink flowers and deeper pink buds that I wondered if it was indeed native. There are several of them, but growing near such a populous area I could suspect garden-escapees…
I was surprised at the size of the tree on which it blooms, and then spotted an even larger tree covered in the same flowers.
But I was right to be suspicious: this is actually Norfolk Island Hibiscus (Lagunaria patersonia), a native of Lord Howe and Norfolk Islands.
It is also called Itchy Bomb tree, as it can irritate airways and skin, and has proven an invasive weed in mangrove forests. It certainly does well here, and by the size of these trees, has done so for a long time.
The native Swamp or Spider Lilies (Crinum pedunculata) are showy enough to also be garden plants, but they do belong here.
And this native one I know is often used in landscaping: the Blue Flax Lily (Dianella revolutum), here showing its purply-blue berries that follow the bright blue flowers.
All this late Spring lavishness within minutes walking from busy streets… amazing!
As the day dawns cloudy over Griselda’s Hill, I am happy to tackle this shortest walk here. Not being a national park, it does not have as much useful information re the length of the walk and what it involves.
A flock of Little Corellas gathers near my camp as I leave.
I don’t know anything about Griselda but her Hill is steep and rocky, and gets steeper and rockier as I climb.
Yet plants grow on most of the harsh hillside. Here masses of Silver Mulla Mulla bloom, in greater profusion than anywhere else I have seen it.
I almost reach the top, to the level where the Rock Grasstrees (Xanthorrhoea quadrangulata) begin.
I turn to take in the view, seeing two of the observatories in this world class Dark Sky place. They were one of my reasons for coming here, but the long weekend and school holidays mucked up my schedule.
But as I refocus on my close view, with great surprise I notice a wallaby sitting right near me.
I say hello. We look at each other for some minutes.
I praise her beautiful striped tail and ask if it ends in a point or not.
She doesn’t reply, but instead hops up higher to show me the thick end.
I later ask at the shop for any info on the animals here, but staff seem to be all backpackers, as at Wilpena.
This is, however, a Yellow-footed Rock Wallaby. I just didn’t know about that spectacular tail.
What a special meeting…
She makes me reconsider where I am. The height is now considerable, and I am not one for heights. I start to feel that pull to falling… this is beyond my comfort height.
While I am inclined to keep going, as I am so close, do I need to?
No.
I love the rocks here, but I know the trip back down will be an issue, even with my stick to help me balance.
Each step has to be weighed up, as to whether the stones to be placed under stick or foot are loose … which many are … which part of my bifocal glasses will give me the right depth perception, and how do I see what’s growing around me if I must watch my feet so closely??
Griselda, this is not really a walking track… and it is certainly not for someone whose agile mountain goat days are clearly over.
I turn back and gingerly make my way down, stopping often to take photos.
Harsh it may be, but plenty of plants have adapted to growing here.
This pretty lilac-flowering shrub is Limestone Fuchsia Bush (Eremophila freelingi).
There were lots of these: Tomato Bush, (Solanum quadriloculatum) from the same family as our domestic tomatoes and potatoes.
But I only saw one of this, which seems to have blue borage-like flowers, not purple as all the solanums do here. A mystery?
Now and then among the rocks is a shrub of surprising delicacy, the pale yellow of what I think are Elegant Wattles (Acacia victoriae).
I kept hearing and seeing Willie Wagtail birds, but they are mostly too fast for me to snap a photo.
A great deal of chattering drew me to what i think I also saw at Acraman campground in Flinders; the sociable White-browed Babbler. And they do babble…
I do reach the bottom of Griselda’s Hill, grateful not to have slipped on any loose rocks. It is only then that I notice the sign there which says ’Griselda’s Hill Climbing Track’.
Lack of info: sorry, Griselda, you never said it was a walking track…
En route I spot this shrub, which has to be Leathery Senna (Senna artemisioides subsp. coriacea), a first for me.
And I am still wondering about Griselda; a gritty girl indeed if she climbed that hill often…
The shadow of Heysen looms large here; this is the view of the Range he chose to paint as the Three Sisters, and to this point he would apparently come for a sunset beer. It is much greener today than it must usually be, but the green veil is not grass.
There is a walk that roughly follows the trail between Hayward’s shepherds’ huts, using both the dry Aroona and Yuluna creeks. The views to the range over the ever-present pines are stunning.
Zooming in, I can see large holes that might be caves and I wonder who or what has used them.
These Northern White Cypress pines grow everywhere, and at the base of most is a Fragrant Saltbush; seems like a beneficial arrangement; birds like the red berries of the saltbush and sit in the tree to eat them, plus the tree would catch some shade and water.
On the flats I see more emus, flighty as usual (that’s a pun; I know they can’t fly). I now know that the very runny splats I saw at Bunyeroo are actually emu scats, as they are here too. Emus poop as they walk, which is why their scats are often on tracks.
I have seen a few of these small trees, and I think they are Eremophilas, Emu bushes, but what sort ?
I miss my experts… and I don’t mean Dr Google. ‘Eremophila’ means ‘desert-loving’, and are usually found where emus are too; apparently emus like to eat the fruit.
The galahs and cockatoos love the woody female fruit of the pines, and although these trees don’t have flowers, when the tips of the male cones at the end of the leaves trees glow golden, ready to release their pollen, you’d think they did.
But boffins, what are these shy little plants, I want to ask?
What is the ground cover that has created these fluffy seed? Eruptions in one isolated patch?
And why are the rocks on only the one slope coloured almost blue with lichen, be they in sun or shade?
Like with the River red gums, I am now addicted to taking photos of this range each time I see it from a different spot… I promise not to share them all.
On my return from the walk I found my overnight neighbours had left, which was a relief. I had thought it admirable that the father had brought three small children camping, aged maybe 4 to 7, but I hadn’t realised he had also brought a motorbike.
This morning he started it up and gave each of the kids in turn a full-on road ride sitting in front of him. Nobody was wearing helmets…
I winced at the danger to the kids, and the loud roar of the machine (I hate the things), but I held my tongue.
I wondered what their mother would say about this, if she knew.
And last question: why are there so many bush flies here? It’s impossible to walk without a fly veil or you need a spare hand for constant flyshooing…
From Wilpena Pound to Bunyeroo Gorge the drive is through so many White Cypress (Callitris glaucophylla) trees that you’d think they were plantations had they been in lines. Decoratively shaped and clearly hardy, growing on the stoniest ground, these trees were very useful to the Adynamantha people, the wood for woomeras and spears, the gum and resin for adhesives and medicinal purposes.
But by this photo I felt I was heading into the real Flinders Ranges, with such rugged beauty lying in wait.
Native daisies abounded: the white ones are Showy daisy-bush (Olearia pimelioides ssp. pimelioides) and the yellow are Showy Groundsel or Camel weed (Senecio magnificus).
Probably the most common flowering plant everywhere I have been in these arid places has been the Hop bush, the Dodonaea. I assume that the greenish-yellow ones will mature to pink, the Lobed-leaved Hop-bush (Dodonaea lobulata). But here for the first time I saw a few bushes with much darker red flowers. I have now been able to check that the leaves are the same, so they are not a different species. But why some bushes nearby flower earlier, so have already matured to a darker red, I do not know.
These small bushes were common, and I think they are Silver Mulla-mulla (Ptilotus obovatus). Incredible what plants can survive in these harsh stony ’soils’.
For this Bunyeroo Gorge has a whole walk dedicated to its extraodinarily varied geology; I did half of it, which is how I can identify the many odd and smoothly rounded slopes of ultra-fine stones near where I am camped. It is ‘Bunyeroo Formation’, with cypress trees sometimes growing out of it and sometimes with larger stones scattered over it.
The Bunyeroo Gorge walk itself follows a mostly dry and of course stony creek bed, with the gorge rising beside it, well signposted for the different formations… and often beyond my ability to discern the object of the sign.
These ranges must be a geologist’s dream, and I feel guilty for not appreciating enough the ancient history laid down here in the layers.
Instead it is these mighty River red gums (Eucalyptus camaldulensis).that catch my eye time and time again; I could have done a whole post on their amazing trunks. I have to force myself to stop taking photos of their many varied shapes and markings, let alone their incredible ways of coping, being such grand survivors of both flood and fire… another sort of ancient history.
Speaking of history, at my campground there was one other group, a doctor and his family from Iraq, but originally from Palestine. What must they feel as their homeland is destroyed and the world does not stop it?! Unimaginable…
They had hoped to see some Aboriginal rock art here, but I explained it is now more protected… except in places where industries like Woodside’s gas projects still take priority. They said that similarly in the Middle East, much history has been destroyed.
But as the sun came up, we moved onto the more immediate topic of our tiny and annoyingly clingy bush flies, suddenly appeared. What are they after on our faces and where do they go at night? I wished I knew more…
Leaving Mutawintji National Park the illuminated sign said the road was closed to Broken Hill and Tibooburra, which meant the Silver City Highway. So I had to take the only alternative, Waterbag Rd, which had been closed only days ago. Being in an AWD, but not a 4WD, I was justly nervous.
But the only iffy parts were in washouts near the beginning, and from the dreadful roads at my Mountain I was used to picking the highest and driest path in advance as I drorve up to them. Most of the 65 or so kms were through properties and more like this.
I did see emus… but also goats…
Some stretches had a bluish tinge to the paddocks. The fact that there was a green layer in most places has to be unusual, from the recent rains .
But I did reach Broken Hill. I cannot credit that the old overburden heaps are so close to houses; surely they must still blow dust over them?
Not being tempted to hang around the city, I headed out to view the famous Sculptures.
But I do not relate easily to most abstract artworks, and I found the natural rocks on the walk from there more to my taste.
More interesting, more varied. OK, so I’m a Philistine…
I was to stay close by, at the Starview Primitive campsite that night.
There was only a short walk there, and as on the one downhill (and unfortunately then back uphill) from the Sculptures, I mainly saw rocks and some familiar plants, like this yellow Cassia (Senna) and a Nightshade (Solanum) struggling on the harsh hillside.
Every now and then there were isolated scatterings of lumps of a white marble-like stone. I asked a passerby, but he was as ignorant as me.
But tomorrow I am heading north to the Flinders Ranges, and I expect to see many different and unidentified things there…
I rarely stopped on the far-too-long and far-too-straight drive west. From Cobar to Broken Hill and beyond, as expected the dirt was orange-red and the low wattles were yellow. What was NOT expected were the MILLIONS of feral goats.
Many, many healthy herds of multi-coloured goats of all ages, some horned, were grazing by the sides of the highways. If I pulled up, they ran into the scrub. I began saying there must be hundreds, then thousands and these were all I could see from the road, but now I know there must be millions.
I saw many red kangaroo corpses and carcases and bloody streaks on the road, especially nearing Broken Hill (B-doubles can’t stop) but I saw no goat road kill.
Cane toads, cats, camels, rabbits, cacti… and goats.
I stopped only when I saw the first far hills.
For my first real stop that was not just a necessary stopover on the long drive, I headed to the NSW Mutawintji National Park, now run by the traditional owners, the Wiimpatja.
At the surprisingly well-equipped (flushing loos and a shower) Homestead Creek campground, the creek was mostly dry but had damp patches. Flood debris amongst the beautiful River Red Gums showed how high and fast that creek had run in the recent rains.
The long dirt roads in were only barely dry and open.
But further up the gorge there were many rock pools. What an oasis in this landscape…
There was also some well-preserved and protected cave paintings: the Yarra stick (left) once made of human hair and emu feathers tied to a stick, used to drive bad spirits out of sick people, and the Groonki mark (right) to denote a significant site, both said to have been made by the Cleverman.
I stupidly took a wrong turn, left the lovely creek and climbed, a route that was denoted ‘challenging’ and ‘for experienced bushwalkers’ (which I am not) with a rope ladder descent required. I had read this and thought: well, I’m not doing that!
It took me up high and across the harsh and stony Bynguano Range.
So I did the challenging bits, and right after, had to squeeze through this rock passage and walk through water…
All up, it was a six hour walk instead of three.
I met many of these Hop bushes, Dodonaea, in flower, some immature and green like this and some already turned pink, but all pretty.
The other frequent sightings were the shrubs of Dead Finish (Acacia tetragonophylla). I knew this one because it is also at Bimblebox in Queensland and it is called that because if this hardy plant dies, everything will be dead, finished.
I would come across these two in many other arid places, both in NSW and South Australia.
And of course, so would the bloody goats be there…
The ’dog beach’ or Nobbys, near Port Macquarie, is only a short walk along a busy road away from me. But even on the roadside, there are surprises, like these native Everlasting Daisies, Coronidium elatum.
The native Hardenbergia vine was splashing its royal purple about, even climbing up saplings where it came across them.
Two other flowering plants caught my eye, but both unfortunately proved to be introduced invasive ‘weeds’ from South Africa, so the boffins tell me.
The first was a plentiful shrub of purple and white flowers, Polygala myrtifolia.
The other, less plentiful, was Tephrosia grandiflora, the Grand Hoary Pea, although its buds were not quite open, so looked less pink than the flowers do.
There are many figs in the wind-shaped tangle of trees and bushes that hug the coastal hill that Pacific Drive runs along. But this curvaceous fig is sheltered, so I still do not understand its loopy choices.
You need to be early on this beach, or the many doggy pawprints obscure any other evidence of creature visits, so I was pleased to find this bird print trail still visible.
Unfortunately some dogs left other less pleasant ‘souvenirs’, which their owners are supposed to collect and take with them.
Those pawprints also ruin a good photo; I was lucky to find this relatively unspoilt runoff pattern. Rutile?
But dogs can’t impact the impressive rock piles here. I liked that this large one was untidily piled enough to leave chinks of sea light shining through.
So even close to home, it’s worth keeping your eyes open for what Nature will surprise you with next.
I had been wanting to try the Queens Lake Fire Trail, but as it is near North Haven, it’s a fair way off.
However, this day, heading that way, I thought I might have time to finally take that walk.
Luckily I brought the gumboots, as most of this walk was a wade.
With the amber water against the white sand, it was attractive, but slow going as the water got deeper. I was never sure that my gumboots would be taller than the water as I stepped in.
I kept wading for some time, thinking that the trail must lead me to Queens Lake. Maybe it does, eventually, but wading is wearying, and after about 45 minutes, I turned back.
Not that the wade was wasted, as Spring has sprung here, with a dainty but prolific native show, and not of wattles, as I’d expected.
There were masses of pink boronias, and a few trigger plants for a start.
Many others, mainly white and yellow, waved from the dry background.
There were lots of banksia trees, and some, like this one, were so thick of trunk and gnarled of bark that I think it has seen many a wet and dry season here.
I can’t imagine this fire trail will be dry soon… and I hope it isn’t needed.
Plots Fire Trail was my last to investigate – a definite wade rather than a walk. It was the wettest yet, but here the banksias were perhaps the most magnificent and plentiful.
I have learnt that there are hundreds of different banksias, especially in Western Australia, often extremely restricted in their choice of habitat.
I hazard a guess that the millions of shrubs here are Heath Banksias, ericifolia, feathery-leaved, bright red-tipped, overwhelmingly prolific in the gift of their beauty.
Today for the first time I saw two samples of a different Banksia species, serrata, I think. This whole plain is regenerating after fires so perhaps this species does not take so well to fire.
The last generation stands much taller, as bare dead trunks, but the regrowth at their feet is vigorous.
And colourful, bright and cheery with many warm tones, above the black mud and stagnant water I am slogging through.
I can hear lots of frogs but of course I see none. The watery trail is, however, full of what I think are frogspawn, small islands of eggs that look like bubbles.
The young paperbarks keep catching my eye, with velvety new leaves masquerading as soft pink flowers.
My next walk I hope will not be such a wade, but I have learnt a lot about these swampy areas from the fire trails that I hope will not be needed for a long time, as so much energy has gone into the spectacular regrowth.
