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.
My starring image is of a Sundew (Drosera), a tiny carnivorous plant… and I hadn’t expected to find hundreds of them here. I’d first met these gorgeous little stars in the heath of Bimblebox Nature Refuge in the Queensland Desert Uplands, as different from this environment as you get.
I’d had to go home and fetch my gumboots to return to this walk, as soon after the start of the Elkhorn Fire Trail it was obvious I’d need them.
The Sundews were everywhere in the bog that was the trail. I assumed there were plenty of little insects for them to trap in those glistening drops… and to digest.
In fact, the variety of plants growing in this watery trail showed me long since it had been dry, and thus driven on.
An intensive growth of young paperbarks lined the track.
And where there weren’t paperbarks, there were banksias.
Backlit by the morning sun, this dense banksia forest made a delicate picture, despite the hefty flowers.
The new leaves of a baby paperbark were as pretty in shape and colour as any flower.
The track came to a T-junction with Bells Fire Trail that was equally wet. It seemed as if it would be quite a while before these were needed for fire surveillance, but with the climate so unpredictable, who knows?
I could see the plain that they surrounded. Maybe here I’d find Christmas Bells at the right time?
I took the right turn and, once on drier ground, taller trees began and soon house roofs appeared nearby. I turned back.
Slogging back though the mud, I blessed my gumboots and kept an eye out for Sundews. Even with so many, they were too beautiful to be stepped on.
Following my goal of investigating the fire trails between Port Macquarie and Lake Cathie, I chanced upon this short track.
It was a place where only water-loving trees and plants would live.
The track was not marked as a fire trail and soon ended in a large ‘puddle’ cum pool, clearly much loved by 4WDers. Its muddy depth was impossible to tell, and, not having my gumboots with me, I stopped short of wading through. Water lay either side, so going around was not possible.
But the mirror-imaged young paperbarks, standing slim in their gentle lagoon, were enough to keep my interest.
This seedling glowed with its young growth, a delicate touch of colour amongst the water grasses.
The grasses looked frail but were enough to support these intricate multi-level web constructions, catching the light to become ethereally beautiful.
I suspect the ‘grasses’ were fine reeds, looking at this close-up.
The banksias here were particularly spectacular, and I thought this golden marvel of colour and pattern would be the high point.
But just around the corner, in more sunlight, were several shrubs with stunning gold-tipped silky red additions, actually glistening.
As the world appears to be blowing itself up, to stay sane I have to focus on that closer to home, and look what it gives me!
The walk through the bush in the non-tourist part of Sea Acres National Park near Port Macquarie is gentle and calm… and full of surprises, even alongside the track.
Like this tree, which the boffins at NSW Native Plant I.D. tell me is a Shiny-leaved Stinging Tree (Dendrocnide photinophylla), which I’ve never seen before.
It apparently doesn’t sting as much as the bigger cousin that I know (Dendrocnide excelsa). I didn’t test it. These eye-catching fruits have been appropriately likened to a ‘mass of white grubs’, but birds like them.
There was only one clump of what I’d thought must be a Lomandra, but am told is a similarly strappy tussock called Gahnia aspera, or Rough Saw-sedge. These are its bright orange seeds.
Close to the seaside itself was a treeless slope dotted with these small low starry rings of flowers, which I am told might be Pimelea linifolia, as it is often prostrate like this.
There are quite a few palm clusters near the seaside, and while I don’t really like palms, I have to admire the dainty hula skirts left behind after the fruits have been eaten or fallen. I had assumed these were native Bangalow Palms, common on the coast.
I had arrived when it was still early, after a shower of rain, and was lucky enough to see these dewy spiderwebs parcelling up the leafy ends of branches.
And the pearls strung along this vine… sometimes it’s the simplest things that hold the beauty to make me glad I am here.
I saw a doco on Leonard Cohen recently, where, in his 70s, he said that in this world of today ‘You either raise your fist or say Hallelujah. I try to do both’.
I related to that. My fist is raised at so many things in these outrageous, inhumane times, so I welcome bush gems like this that draw forth a resounding ‘Hallelujah’!
Another Tassie day beginning with impressive low clouds…
A surprising waterhole with surprising colours after a dry climb in Douglas Apsley National Park. People were there, after swimming; I felt the water and again, it wasn’t cold.
And another Tassie day with impressive mountains coming into view… only I think I know these ones, as I am in the Freycinet National Park.
Yes, they are the Hazards, here seen from Coles Bay. They look like they’d be snow-covered in winter, but I asked, and I was told they are not, or not usually.
On the quite steep walk up to the Wineglass Bay Lookout, I decided it is not the mountains here that are most notable, but the rocks. Striped and bulbous cliffs and boulders.
And I could have waited for the orange rocks…
An enormous amount of work has gone into making these rock paths and steps, and the sideshows of nature’s work are even more impressive.
Stripey cliffs and stripey trees, in colours that keep me snapping photos.
A lone example of a Heath, but I am not sure which one: the Common Heath (Epacris impressa) or Pink Moutain Heath (Archeris combari),
But the ever-present and generously flowering Banksias cannot be surpassed with their lemon purity.
I do make it to to the top but the weather refuses to provide a picture postcard Wineglass Bay. The shape is there, but not that brilliant blue as I saw at Bay of Fires.
Arriving at Cradle Mountain Visitors Centre was like being plunged into Touristville. So many vehicles and so many people! Most would leave their vehicles here and get a shuttle bus, which runs every 15 minutes or so, up into the Park.
I was not able to check into the Waldheim Cabins until 2pm, so I did a few short walks down here. The Rainforest Walk and the Enchanted Forest Walks took me into a green world of mostly unfamiliar plants and trees.
In the open there was a field of Buttongrass, a sedge plant that grows in mounds up to 1m diameter, edged by Alpine Coral Fern. I liked the clever signs asking walkers not to leave the path: ‘Plants grow by inches but die by feet’.
The forest was mostly of Myrtles (Nothofagus cunninghamii), ragged of bark and mossed on their buttressed feet. It is not deciduous, but the new leaves will be reddish.
Some lichen (I think) was such a bright green that it put the moss to shame.
The green was relieved by the many fallen Myrtle leaves, dotting the moss like confetti, or caught in spiderwebs on the bark.
Grotesque shapes were united by the green moss, somehow ratified…. or preserved. They had become more sculptures than trees.
On several occasions the green was shockingly broken by a flash of reddish orange, a fungus growing in the cleft of a tree. It seems to be Strawberry Bracket (Aurantiporus pulcherrimus) but mostly was more of a ball, not open enough to form a bracket.
But there were other similar colour notes, as in the berries of this prickly shrub, which I think is Native Currant (Coprosma quadrifida) but it could be Mountain Currant Bush (Coprosma nitida). I don’t have a Tasmanian Facebook group of boffins as I do in NSW and Queensland, so I’m guessing, depending on books… so don’t quote me!
I am sure of these prolific small plants, called Mountain Rocket for their hanging bunches of flat red papery fruits (Bellendena montana).
Dainty and simple white cup blossoms of this small shrub (unidentified) proliferated in more open parts of the walks.
Also white, but not exactly blossoms, were my favourites, and they were lichen that seemed to have opened up… again, I think!! Wish I knew more about lichens. They were scattered over the ground as if they were indeed blossoms, fallen from a tree.
Next post I’ll take you to Waldheim and the amazing world of Kate and Gustav Weindorfer.
At the southern end of Shelly Beach at Port Macquarie, the Coast Walk continues to wind its way towards Tacking Point. But today I am only checking out the very short (600m) part that leads from Shelly to Miners Beach.
The track rises at once, and looking back along Shellys I can see Port’s ubiquitous pine trees.
But very soon the native coastal vegetation asserts itself, wind-combed and shaped.
This walk passes through several delightful greenery ‘tunnels’, a favourite brief fairytale fancy of mine.
It also passes an accessible small rocky cove and beach, where the subtropical vegetation thrives despite the salty position.
The very odd-looking Pandanus tectorius or Screw Pines are a major feature here, although they‘re not pines or palms; their distinctive aerial roots prop them against the sea winds. They are so called as their saw-tooth-edged leaves grow in a spiral or screw-like fashion.
Those leaves are used in weaving for a multitude of purposes in many cultures, including our Indigenous one.
On one tree I spy a single large pineapple-looking fruit. Hard and fibrous, they do not invite a bite, but can be edible with the right treatment, or at least their seeds can.
More easily eaten, beloved by many birds, albeit not so tasty for humans, are the fruits of the small Port Jackson Figs (Ficus rubiginosa) growing beside the track.
So are the berries of the Common Lilly Pilly (Acmena smithii) growing near the Figs.
This being summer, the time of fruits rather than flowers, I see few plants in bloom. This late Swamp Lilly (Crinum pedunculatum) is large and showy, demanding attention. Its neighbour sports the fruit, which is definitely not edible, as it is toxic to humans.
I am almost at Miners Beach, but I have to stop to watch sky and sea combining to create spectacular ephemeral pictures.
Once known as the nudist beach, Miners is hardly secluded anymore, and if clothes are optional, it is not so officially!
From Mooraback campground in Werrikimbe National Park I take the walk to follow the little creek to seek platypuses/platypi in its larger pools.
But it is a very hot day and this walk passes through open paddock flat land before it reaches the first rocky hill. You can see the little creek at the base of those rocks.
From the 1830s until it became a National Park in 1975, this land was farmed, often for dairy cattle. A succession of families tried to make a go of it and the introduced trees, remnant orchards and paddocks remain obvious signs of settlement.
A few kangaroos keep watch as I trudge past, heading for the shade of that hill and its trees, where it has been too hard and rocky to clear or cultivate.
Telltale green denotes domestic survivors; I spot apple and plum trees.
I keep an eye on the creek wherever the walk takes me near it, but the water is murky and the sun is high. I am not here at the preferred ends of the day where a shy platypus might be out and about.
On the way I see some plants I don’t recognise, like this sole bush with its red stems and pretty white raggedy blossoms. The boffins tell me it is Prostanthera lasianthos.
I had been bypassing the many small lilac flowers in the grass by the track, appreciative, but dismissing them as the familiar Wahlenbergia. But then I realised that the flowers on these clumps were different — a single pendant lilac petal with a white eye.
The boffins sent me to PlantNet where I learn it is Slender Violet-bush (Hybanthus monopetalus). ‘Monopetalus’: one petal!
A lilac flower I do recognise is this Purple Flag (Patersonia occidentalis). They are as shy as a platypus, and daintily disposed amongst the tough grasses on this stony hill.
After my last walk and post, I now know the Grass Trigger-plant, of which there are plenty here, but am delighted to spot this caterpillar. I wonder what it will become?
I reach the mid-point of the Platypus walk, and the larger pools, but see no platypus. It is almost noon; too hot to venture out: ‘mad dogs and Englishmen’ as Noel Coward sang… and me … but not the smarter platypus.
On the way back I see one plant with which I am very familar, as it surprised me (and Ludwig Leichhardt, incidentally) at my Mountain with its beauty: the Pink Hyacinth Orchid (Dipodium variegatum). Showing no leaves, no sign of its existence, most of the time, when it would suddenly send up its thick stem, usually in summer, it was always a treat for me. And then the showy burgundy-speckled pink flower!
So while I didn’t see a platypus, probably due to my poor timing, I did see some special plants.
But the main impression of this walk was a sadness, brought on by the remnants of its settlement time; all those families striving to beat this high and often harsh climate, making a life for their families for a time, and then having to move on. I don’t know if they cleared the paddocks or if they were natural, with the bracken-covered slopes above them more likely, so I won’t blame them for that; I can only empathise with those lives of hard work.
Yet I am determined to see a platypus, so I will return and set out on that walk at a sensible time!
The Mooraback campground in Werrikimbe National Park is surrounded by blossom-laden Tea Trees (Leptospermum polygalifolium) at present.
They make as pretty a show as any introduced plant like May Bush (Spirea).
On the shortest walk near the camp, the mown grass track leads past many other white flowering bushes, which I was calling Rice Flowers, but which the experts tell me is Ozothamnus diosmilfolius.
Some were as tall as small trees.
Edging the path in some places, like guards of honour, were multitudes of these pink Grass Trigger-plants (Stylidium graminifolium).
The path led me through mysterious groves of low and spreading trees like these…
…to come out on to such grandeur as here, with a view across the damp Tree Fern gully to Messmate (E. obliqua, Snow Gum (E. pauciflora), Wattle-leaved Peppermint (E. acaciformis) and Manna Gums (E.nobilis).
A large Manna Gum rose in front of me, estimated to be about 150 years old.
This was a delightfully varied and easy stroll, looping back to the equally delightful grassy campground.
Mooraback is a long drive off the Oxley Highway, but worth it!
On the rising slopes above the campground, many surprising spring shows were tucked amongst the rocks. Some, like these White Everlastings or Paper Daisies (Coronidium elatum), only appeared in a few places.
Overall, white, yellow and purple seemed to be the chosen colour palette.
The swamp below the rocks was dotted with hundreds of these shrubs, their delicate creamy blossoms looking like garden escapees, too pretty to be growing wild. But they are Small-fruited Hakea (Hakea microcarpa), which like sub-alpine swamps.
Much less common, to the extent that this was the only one I saw, was another white flowering plant, Coral Heath (Epacris microphylla), with its unusual stems, clasped by dozens of tiny leaves.
I had noticed these shy lilac buds the day before, but next day they were blooming and blue; Thelymitra ixioides, a single-stalked ground orchid that likes to open on warm sunny days.
I saw very few other orchids, such as these Donkeys’ Ears ones, but they had no chance in the major claims to yellow.
The slopes were carpeted with shrubs of the sort we always called ‘Eggs-and-bacon’ as kids, pea flower families, of which there are hundreds of types. There were three discernible sorts here, some prickly, some not and some with more red in their centres (more tomato sauce, as we’d say).
Some were threaded through with purple Hardenbergia.
With all these flowers to see, it was hard to watch my feet on the rocky tracks, let alone look up to the stunning rocks. But I did stop to look up, so rocks and giant boulders will be my next post. So, so much to see!
In Cathedral Rocks National Park, the Barokee campground alone would be enough to keep me returning. Fascinating flora, and fabulously abundant birdsong.
This charming little alpine creek runs through the nearby swamp, its cushioned grassy edges soft and inviting, the fresh water cold, but still inviting.
Being a swamp, it has varieties of rushes, but this stripey one especially caught my eye. I am told it is a species of Baloskion. Maybe tetraphyllum?
My wayward eye was also taken by this quirky baby bracken frond, questioning life before it commits to unfurling.
Unmissable was this small group of plants that the boffins at NSW Plants I.D. say is Tasmannia stipitata, or Tasmanian Pepper Berry. I later saw many such plants higher up, but not in flower, and without the red colourations.
Brilliant red new growths always take my attention, and here at camp these were spectacular, ranging from orange-red to burgundy, some even as part of a quite large shrub/tree.
Throughout the walks and climbs I was later to see many examples, mostly small and isolated – Trochocarpa montana, or Mountain Tree Heath, native to this high country, from the Barringtons to the Dorrigo region.
One more unknown species flashing red by the campground turned out to be Polyscias sambucifolia, or Elderberry panax. A native, its purple berries are edible, but not related to the European Elderberry.
All new to me, and thanks to the NSW Native Plants I.D. Facebook group, now given names and background information.
But I did eventually leave the campground and climb up amongst the rocks, finding more plants to share with you next post.
