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.
We have very few deciduous native trees, so here in the warm temperate areas we mainly see this seasonal colour show in gardens. As I was recently staying in a house with a lovely old one, I was taken with theirs.
On the tree or off, those autumn leaves are spectacular, as what I think is a persimmon tree shows.
Orange or yellow, they are the falling reminders of summer, be they on or off the tree.
Fruitful or decorative, or both, the variety of colour added to the botanical marvels amongst all the greenery.
Not fallen from trees, but popped up from underground, these small fungi were scattered through the grass like golden-brown coins.
It was a privilege to witness some of Nature’s wardrobe change as it made way for the new green leaves of spring.
Queenstown was so appallingly man-wrecked, so barren, on such a vast scale, that I couldn’t wait to get out of there. I could barely stand to stop and take a few photos. The ‘moonscape’ just went on and on.
Environmental vandalism to rival the Hunter Valley’s open cut coalscape… except Queenstown’s is in the past; the Hunter’s is ongoing.
I later learnt that this devastation is from decades of deforestation, sulphurous fumes from the copper smelters, and topsoil erosion. I am told that some locals resent the small amount of vegetation growing back, as it spoils the now-famous barren look…
I camped near Lake Burbury to recover, and next day headed into Franklin Gordon Wild Rivers National Park.
First stop was Nelson Falls, where a gentle and green short walk led to this soothing split waterfall.
I aimed to stop at every short walk chance, and next along the Lyell Highway was Donaghys Hill. Great lookout at the top, but with uninformative signs; poetic verse when I wanted to know what I was looking at. I can only assume it was the Franklin River and Valley I could see. Wilderness, in any case. The much-needed antidote to Queenstown.
On that short steep walk I saw many of these shrubs, which I have now seen elsewhere; I think it is the unimaginatively named Pink Mountain Berry, which could be Leucophophylla juniperiana?
There was a Franklin River picnic area, with a short nature trail. While these all seem to feature lots of moss, the forest is always slightly different.
I note the way the moss is disposed, as on this greenly lumpy trunk, or the size of the fungi that share the trunks.
It’s still all a sort of fairyland to me.
I am to camp at Lake St Clair tonight, which will be a different world again… the other end of the Cradle Mountain Lake St Clair National Park.
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.
If you like tree ferns as I do, there were so many on the drive into Cobcroft picnic area in Werrikimbe National Park that it was a treat.
At the car parking area, this yellow flowering small tree/shrub was new to me; I’d assumed it would be a yellow version of the white Ozothmanus that was plentiful in the area. But the boffins tell me it’s actually Cassinia telfordii.
The short Carabeen Walk takes me through a lush forest of eucalypts like Blue Gums, and tree ferns.
There are two sorts of tree ferns, the rough (Cyathea australis) and the soft (Dicksonia antarctica), both present in this forest. This spectacular old trunk is so decorated with mosses that I can only assume it is a rough trunked one underneath. I love the little rabbit’s foot pads on its trunk.
The walk is named for the Yellow Carabeen trees that dominate the wetter areas of its scope.
The sinuous buttresses of this species can extend from two to five metres up its trunks.
Vines and clinging ferns climbing up the trees are common.
The track has become narrow, and is not always easily distinguishable, with many fallen branches that I climb over or skirt around.
Hoary-footed old trees are a reminder that these slow-growing Carabeens have been making this forest for a very long time.
The young ones seem slender in comparison.
And it wouldn’t be a typical rainforest post for me without at least one sprinkling of fungi.
For the first time I also collected some leeches on this walk; as they were mainly on my hands, perhaps they got aboard when I hung on to fallen branches as I clambered over them. I react badly to them – physically – so the bites refreshed my memories of that walk for a week afterwards!
If you’ve never been up to the Comboyne Plateau, you have a treat in store. It’s high and green and often wet; I have never forgotten being told as a child that it got six feet of rain a year. At the time I lived on the Central Coast and I knew we got four feet of rain a year, so that was a vivid comparison for me.
I have now been there many times, noting the sign to Boorganna Nature Reserve, but never stopping to investigate it.
Now I have.
Boorganna is a gentle, special place, long ago put aside for us to wander down through its rainforest, along its leafy, rock-edged paths. There are plenty of informative signs on the way, about the forest, its buttressed and giant trees, and its inhabitants.
Most life goes on above us, green and lush and multi-storied, with twisting vines and clinging creepers and giant bird’s nest ferns all competing for the light.
When this forest giant fell, the path was sensibly cut into its girth. reinforcing its size in the minds of us small humans.
Not all the giants have fallen; this Brush Box is estimated to be as much as a thousand years old.
From the foot-stand slits in some of the big stumps, other giants were not so lucky to survive.
I reach the Rawson Falls Lookout, but decide not to continue to the base of the Falls, mindful that while it has all been a gentle wander downhill, the way back uphill will not feel so gentle on my knees.
As always, my eye is taken by details: I love that the fence at the Lookout is as spotted and bearded with lichen as the nearby trees.
I can look down more safely going uphill, and see delights I missed, like this absolute cornucopia of pale fungi.
Or these few strange papery cup fungi … and is that tiny stem in front a baby one?
There are many logs bedecked with fungi imitating fallen leaves … or potato crisps? I love that Nature does not restrict their artistic licence in design.
But of course, being a rainforest, green and ground matters dominate.
In Nature nothing is wasted. Fallen and dead trees are habitat for fabulous fungi, and the damp conditions in these forests encourage them en masse.
Some were solid and strange, unknown to me… unless someone had been sneaking about with a can of whitewash.
Others were like flowers, fringed and delicate fans.
Amidst the profusion of mossy green, orange and white stood out.
Less obvious, but more unusual, were these black ones, looking more like moths which, having briefly alighted on this log, were choosing to stay and transform into the most fanciful shapes.
How beautiful is this cascade of snowy flakes?
Whether weird or wonderful, abundance was the common theme in these tropical forests.
I do love moss and lichen, but fungi have my heart too.
I have been told there is a track through the bushland below historic Roto House. This being a grey and bleak day, the beach does not appeal for a walk, so I aim to find that track.
I don’t, but through a deliberate gap in a netting fence I do stumble on to a patch of soggy forest.
It seems to have become a repository for the drains of the surrounding houses and for rubbish from trespassers.
It is still interesting bush, with features like this Bird’s Nest fern, the epiphytic Asplenium nidus, very low to the ground.
But it is hard to negotiate the muddy bits. And I know I’m not supposed to be here.
I retrace my steps, try the next ‘No through road’ street and find I am at the edge of the Roto House grounds.
A path skirts the lawn and scattered trees that border the wilder part, which today is alive with birdsong.
The tree trunks and tops are beautiful. The koala hospital is nearby, so I keep hoping to see a wild one in these trees, but no luck.
There are patches of colour along the way, from these fungi and from wattle that is starting to bedeck many roadsides.
There is even a strangler fig, familiar to me from my many walks though Wingham Brush. This one also houses another Bird’s Nest fern.
I am going to poke more closely around Roto House…
The things in Nature that catch my eye often do so because they are beautiful or unusual, be they very large or very small, occurring by nature or by nurture.
Early morning, after a rainstorm the night before, this humble garden begonia flower cluster was truly ethereal, backlit, and still holding a crystal drop or two.
But equally eye-catching was this lone fungus standing tall and proud, smack in the centre of a pile of cow manure.
It can be the shy ones like these Native Violets, smiling up at me as I step carefully though the shaded grass.
Or it can be the boldly coloured and unmissably large, like the fruit of this palm!
And some are simply extraordinary, like the fleeting blooms of this cactus plant. As pretty as proteas, they glow as if filled with captured sunlight.
The parent is as tall as a tree and inhospitably knobbly and spiny, and yet it produces such brief beauty, to catch the eye for an evening … and then fold up, and die.
In the Big Fella Gum Forest Reserve, whose mighty trees I admired last post, I was also intrigued by many of its small details.
Like the beautifully delineated shield-like leaves of this young Prickly Supplejack (Ripogonum discolor) which starts out looking as if it’s a shrub then becomes a strong climber. The sailors/Jack Tars on early voyages called it Supple Jack because of its climbing ability, and many parts of the plant are useful.
The few bright new leaves of this tree, Maiden’s Blush, (Sloanea australis) caught my eye several times. The name refers to the colour of its heartwood as well as its young leaves.
Even brighter were these very, very tiny red fungi hiding amongst the deep leaf litter. The water-logged ground beneath was soft, especially near the creek, and I sank several times… but I only attracted one leech.
Other fungi were larger and in the less-noticeable shades of brown.
Although this shelf fungus was so large that it drew attention without vivid colouring except for its white underside.
The extended roots of the big Turpentine were mostly buried under leaves, but this noticeable hump in its progress is clearly being used as shelter.
Unusual shapes and patterns in Nature always fascinate me, as did this small ladder of bark mouths or kisses, the origin of which nobody knew.
And if one tree was puckering up, another was choosing to send its green passenger growing sideways.
This palm chose to cascade its moss from a slit in its decorative lichen-splotched trunk.
And as a final show, in the unbroken depths of this rainforest pocket, a fallen giant lay shrouded in rich green velvet, decaying in beauty while nourishing the earth beneath.
No wonder my spirit itself feels nourished after such an excursion, fed with new sights and understandings, enlightened by others who know so much about our flora.
Much beauty can be found in restricted colour palettes in Nature, like this cloud-embellished early morning skyscape.
Brown is not usually a favourite colour of mine, but here, decorating tree trunks in elaborate patterns of cinnamon, cocoa and cream fungi, it is.
White always draws me in, and fungi can do that beautifully too, studding this slim tree with a constellation of tiny moth-like fungi.
The bush offers fascinating shapes in its restricted colour work too, as here in this water-washed path, where, as my walking companion noted, the tree roots made a perfect natural staircase.
Who needs gaudy colours when such subtle artistry abounds?
