Landscapes

Low Warrumbungles

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The Warrumbungles National Park is a famed Dark Sky Park, and the Siding Springs Observatory takes full advantage of that. People like me go to the Park as much for its starlit skies as for its rocky spires.

Few places in the Park do not have the dome of the Observatory as part of its skyline.

Choosing Camp Wambelong for my van site as more remote, I did not realise that the main walk from there, to the Belougery Split Rock, was so unrelentingly steep. Being neither a rock climber nor a heights person, I decided my walks here this time would be the low ones.

I had been several times over the decades, but not since the severe 2013 fires. I had walked up some of those steep inclines, but I was younger then and my knees had no aversion to such steepness.

I had even written a short story called ‘Days of Wine and Warrumbungles’, an unusually amusing one for me (it’s in my Peeping through my Fingers collection). 

But the Burbie Canyon Walk was a lovely low meander, with stunningly large Kurrajong trees, whose bright green foliage contrasted greatly with the grey-green of eucalypts. All seemed to have recovered from the fires, except that I saw no casuarinas/she-oaks that were not black skeletons.

Burbie Creek had gone underground, as many of these dry country creeks do, but by the piled-up tree trunks in its dry rocky bed I could see that it must flow very strongly at times.

From anywhere in the Park, the volcanic relics of this ancient activity(13-18 million years ago) can be seen to pierce the sky.

Even the short walks, like the Nature Trail near the Canyon picnic area, took me over rocky areas and past awesome cliffs.

Much of that walk was over this sort of serried rock face, where lichens yet found purchase.

While Camp Wambelong was peaceful and pleasant, with many grazing Western Grey Kangaroo families, there were also far too many healthy feral goats there, and signs of feral pig diggings.

I moved to the larger Camp Blackman, far more swish (and expensive) since its update, with hot showers. But beside the dry creek, under what I think were Angophora trees, it was a quiet treat. And no goats.

On my way out next morning I did the very short tarred Gurianawa Track, coming up behind the smart Sandstone Visitor Centre, with its large water tanks and solar panel array, attempting to be as self-sufficient as possible.

I was struck by the contrast with the wild and rugged skyline behind.

What a place, both ancient and modern. Go see it while your knees are up to it… and before the expanding coal mining and planned coal seam gas extraction near Narrabri ruin the Dark Sky status.

Sunrise show

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I hurried to the beach, seeing from afar that there were large clouds – always a sign of a good show to come – and that the morning’s spectacle had already started, even though it was only 6am. Pale gold predominated.

The sky above the horizon was soon gold and hectic orange below the still-dark serries of the cloud bank, and the errant small clouds above that were almost red. 

But as I watched, the vivid reds faded and the bright gold began to take over. And all this colour change glory before the sun had even made its appearance.

But then it did, peeping brightly white at the edge of the sea world, lipping the high clouds with pink light.

It burst free of the sea’s rim, ascending towards those defining clouds, curdling the sky, red into yellow. The rocks below were still dark.

Runners and dog walkers passed me, chatting to each other, seemingly oblivious of the stunning free show that Nature was putting on.

Maybe they see it every day, but it’s always different, and so brief, it really wouldn’t take many minutes to stop and watch.

I do wonder about peoples’ priorities and values.  Fancy getting complacent, dismissive, about such ephemeral spectacles as sunrises!

Living history

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The oldest timber house in the Hastings survives today, totally thanks to the volunteers in the Douglas Vale Conservation Group. In fact, it thrives today, as Douglas Vale Historic Homestead and Vineyard.

I finally got around to visiting it, and found many resonances and memories … and good wine. Founder George Francis would be proud of it.

The entry via a vast and ancient bamboo ‘forest’ is atmospheric for a start.

This vineyard has been producing wine since 1859 and I was charmed that its first plantings were of Black Isabella grapes, as I’d had those vines at my 1895 Minmi house.

Of course I bought a bottle of Black Isabella Ruby Port (Portobella) from the wine tasting and sales centre housed in the old oyster factory, showing ties with the Dick family, who had started the oyster industry on the Hastings River.

A vine of that grape grows along the front verandah of this little house. The house is modest in scale, even with its added-on rooms, and it was fortunate to have been rescued from the vandalism that occurred after the last occupant, family member Patsy Dick, died in 1993.

Although made waterproof with tin roofing, the original she-oak shingles can be seen under the verandah roof.

The whole house is unapologetically a working museum cum vineyard, not a reproduction/re-imagined historical monument. 

It’s free to look around the house, the outbuildings and gardens, with knowledgeable and enthusiastic guides to explain what you are seeing and what has gone before.

Apart from the unvarnished broad floorboards and wall and ceiling boards, I loved the displays of the historical layers of wallpapers and linoleums.

There were detailed family trees and much background information.  A Heritage site, it’s a dream for local history buffs.

I was intrigued to learn that George Francis had likely learnt the craft of winemaking when he worked on a Hunter property where German vineyard workers were employed. My German ancestors, the Nebauers, came here for that exact purpose…

As was the safety custom, the kitchen was in a separate building, and its Beacon fuel stove was the same as my Nanna’s, the kerosene fridge the same as I’d once had. History seems very close here.

The windows are small, the doors low, the decorations minimal, the chimneys few, the fireplace not real marble, but timber painted to look like it; this was not a rich man’s home. Maybe that’s why it is so relatable.

And by sheer coincidence, in Patsy Dick’s room, to show his trade as a grave digger, the timber grave marker used was of a Munro couple. I am a Munro.

And my father’s name was Francis…

Douglas Vale welcomes volunteers but do at least pay it a visit. You won’t be sorry!

Sunrise 26th — a meditation

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A sliver of a moon was still hanging high in the sky over Oxley Beach at Port Macquarie as people drifted to the grassy sward above the motionless Aboriginal flag.  They’d risen early to be here at 5.45 on 26th January 2025, and after the Voice disappointment, there were hundreds here to show support for our Indigenous Australians.

There were old people like me, young families, the in-betweens, of all colours – and lots of dogs!

With a very inadequately amplified microphone, the Birpai’s Aunty Rhonda spoke of community and connection, with no hint of anger or frustration, no harangue – as would have been warranted. Impressive, an example to us all.

We knew we were there to honour and pay respect to the First Peoples of this country, so intimately connected to its land, sky and waterways.

She invited us all to consider where we are as a nation and how we build a society free from violence, racism and discrimination.  And for a long time the gathered people did seem to do this, as they sat in silence, an unusual stillness for an Australian ‘audience’, when even the children were quiet. 

The solemnity, the significance of this day as evinced here, was palpable.

While we sat, the sun peeped over the horizon, with the clouds lifting just a little to assure us that this amazing daily event was about to occur. We had been encouraged to share in this wonder of Nature, in this beautiful place.

The silence, the stillness, the calm focus, the eternal waves rolling on to the beach, the sunrise — it felt like a meditation. And it felt like hope.

My favourite part of this annual ‘ceremony’ is when Aunty Rhonda invites everyone to come and connect with the water, when she speaks of the water as linking peoples all over the world.

First the children run down to dip their toes in the sea’s edge, then slowly most people do, forming a physical and symbolic line of solidarity, of humans and nature, of First Peoples and latecomers.

I thank the Birpai for sharing with us such a peaceful way to get past the heat and anger, the pomp and misplaced ’nationalism’ often associated with 26th January.

Miners’ mini walk

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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!

But well worth walking to nevertheless…

Carabeen walk

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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!

But the walk was worth it.

Seeking the shy platypus

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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!

Mooraback Spring

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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!

Gentle Boorganna

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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.

Boorganna offers the lot.

Where rocks rule

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Cathedral Rocks National Park is of course a mecca for rock lovers.

But rocks ain’t just rocks, impressive though they be; they are also habitat, as here, for mosses and lichen and orchids.

Individual rocks – or should I call such big ones ‘boulders’? — exhibit very particular features, like this one, which sports a kind of centurion helmet.

The majority of them sit calmly in credible piles, moss-capped and comfortably non-threatening.

Other clumps are incredible in their composition; now how or why does that rock balance as it does?

My hesitancy in climbing higher towards the summit of Cathedral Rocks is not helped by having to pass so close to huge boulders so precariously perched above me. The balance has to give at some point… erosion may be slow, but it’d be just my luck to be there when it reaches that tipping point.

I can see the Woolpack Rocks in the distance, and I know I managed to get to the top of those on another trip, from a different campground.

But here I give up at this point, while my more intrepid friend continues. I am not a rock-climber — a crevasse bridger, a knee scraper, a leg stretcher — and this is enough of a view for me.

It is more the closeup subtleties of the rocks and their accompanying plants that I am most interested in. I just wish I could read the distinct hieroglyphs that the moss and lichen form. Can’t be random…

Occasionally, I can; I mean this is clearly a heart, right?

And even if the plants don’t speak to me, the boulders give me an ephemeral treat in providing a canvas for shadow play — which would not have been evident amongst the undergrowth otherwise.

Thanks, for so many reasons, for rocks!

Spring colour

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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!

Cool camp flora

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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.