Landscapes

Outback NSW

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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…

Spring wade

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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.

Tourist rainforest

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Just up the road from me is Sea Acres Rainforest Centre, which has a boardwalk through it, and is a big tourist attraction, with a semi-outdoor café and a rather good souvenir shop.

To my shame I haven’t been in there for years, except for the café.

Yet despite the tourists, and the briskly walking lappers, the walk is a coastal rainforest delight.

The Reserve has masses of Australia’s most common palm, the Cabbage Tree Palm (Livistonia australis), which survives all but the worst fires. Growing up to 30m, they are mostly tall here, but these young ones show the fanned spiny leaves. Those leaves were woven into the once-popular Cabbage Tree hats, and the palm hearts were eaten; the cream flowers are said to resemble cabbages. 

The other palm here is the Bangalow Palm (Archontophoenix cunninghamiana), tall and slender, growing to about 20m. You’d notice them more when the bright red bunches of fruits are hanging up there; birds love these.

Amongst the palms, there were some species new to me, like the Giant Water Gums (Szygium francisii), their distinctive trunks usually buttressed.

As you saw in the first photo, there are plenty of trees being enveloped by Strangling Figs, at all stages. The Reserve has four species of figs that can be stranglers; they are hemi-epiphytes, and although they do eventually kill, ‘strangle’, the host tree as they use it to climb to the light, they are not parasites. This one seemed to be clasping the host to help it get higher, not strangling it.

On the same host tree is a Bird’s Nest Fern (Asplenium australasicum), an epiphyte, which is just the botanical name for a plant that grows on another plant.

Epiphytes too are these Elkhorns (Platycerium bifurcatum), with Ribbon Ferns (Ophioglossum pendulum) growing from it, hanging below.

This unusual ‘collar’ held several baby epiphytes. Cute, eh?

No rainforest post would be complete without some vines, from mammoth and muscular (and a bit scary) to dainty and looping.

While there is more than one post’s worth to show and tell in Sea Acres, I was entranced by this perfectly posed vine, just starting to make its way up.

So entranced that I bought an annual pass to be able to wander through at leisure, in different seasons.

Gumboot wade

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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.

Swampy stars

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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.

Even if they were carnivorous…

Water features

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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!

Paperbark surprises

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I have been too unwell to go for bushwalks for about a month, which is why the only post you’ve had is that passionate post-election piece from Inklings, written pre-illness and attendant brain fog.

But after my now-usual eleven hours sleep (!) on Saturday night, I felt it was time to try an easy, flat walk — along the Christmas Bells fire trail.

It led through a paperbark and banksia forest edging a swamp.

The first surprise was that the side track I took ended in this tranquil tea-brown lagoon.

Was it the end of the trail or was it the trail interrupted, submerged due to all the recent rains? Whatever its status, birds loved it, diving and dipping, causing concentric ripple rings, while a pair of ducks serenely sailed from one water-footed tree clump to another.

Retracing my steps, I took the other turning.

The paperbarks beside the track were beautiful; some old and spreading, bearing the marks of the bushfires of a few years ago, some young and unscarred.

I was beguiled by the sensuous turns and gestures of these young trees.

The many ways in which paperbarks choose to strip always takes my eye; I could photograph their patterns and subtle colours forever.

Older ones seem to burst out of their tattered skins, while younger others just demurely lift last year’s skirt aside to reveal the new and almost smooth skin beneath.

The highlight of the walk was meeting this tree for the first time. Its shiny pointy leaves struck me first, as so different; I could see that their undersides were pale and silvery. Then I saw it carried small round green berries.

I had enough to ask the NSW Native Plant boffins for an I.D. They promptly said it was a Red Ash or Soap Tree (Alphitonia excelsa). While here the few trees of the species were small, it can grow up to eight metres.

I looked it up, learning that those green berries would turn black, and that the uses of this tree were vast. Apart from being the favoured home for caterpillars of several butterflies, humans must have found them invaluable: 

‘Young leaf tips were chewed for an upset stomach. A decoction of bark and roots rubbed on the body as liniment for muscular pains or used as a gargle to relieve toothache.  High saponin content, meant it was also used as a soap. Leaves were used as an application for sore eyes and for headache.  The crushed leaves, and sometimes the crushed berries, were also used to poison fish. Leaves or underground roots used to apply to bites and stings of snakes, stingrays and insects.’

What a treat to come across such a distinctive tree; I will know it if I see it again.

Given it is June, I hadn’t expected to see any Christmas Bells, but I actually didn’t  see the plain or swamp in which they’d likely be hibernating. Through the trailside trees I glimpsed a wide area of lower growing shrubs which might be it, but I could see no access.

As the trail rose a little, the vegetation changed, with large and graceful gums now dominating.

But I was flagging, needing to walk no further, but to go home and lie down.

I’d had my overdue injection of Nature, with many small birds darting about, claiming the place as their world, with not a person in sight.

I could see that the plentiful acacias were getting ready to burst into blossom.

But who needs flowers when the many colours of the leaves are so pretty?

Old Bottlebutt

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For over a year I have been intending to see this famous Old Bottlebutt tree… and not succeeding. This day I set out to remedy the lack.

It’s in Burrawan State Forest, about 3.2kms of dirt road off Bago Rd, about 10kms from Wauchope.

The short (600m ) loop walk through the forest is lovely, but I am here to see this phenomenon and up ahead I can see the timber platform and rail surrounding the special tree.

It’s a Red Bloodwood (Corymbia gummifera), the largest in the Southern Hemisphere, and thought to be over 200 years old.

Just above the flared and semi-mossed butt, its girth is about 16 metres.

I assume the puckered and non-mossed part of the butt is worn smooth by rain.

Looking up along its impressive 52 metre height is not easy, but the tree’s foliage up there seems very healthy.

While the walk is through remnant rainforest and palm forests, there are other big trees to spot.

After the recent rain, the palm forests sit in pools.

There are footbridges over small creeks, many of which probably often don’t run.

It is also a forest of vines and moss and epiphytes. And leeches…

Some of the vines dangle in loops across the track; others have forced their host tree to grow around them.

The many-toed feet of the palm trees are mossy, while their trunks are decoratively striped.

And to make my day, there is a cascade of tiny delicate pink fungi occupying this tree hollow.

Old Bottlebutt is spectacular, and its short walk is full of rewards. I am glad I finally made the effort to pay my respects.

Wild coast

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With big seas forecast and several people drowned on the east coast over Easter, swept away by sudden high waves, I knew I’d better head to the sea for my first blog post at home. I could hear the roaring well before I could see its source.

The sea was heaving, its rolling waves evident for a long way offshore.

The Port Macquarie shoreline rocks are dark and jagged; I always think of the unlikelihood of surviving a shipwreck here when I see them.

But today the surf that pounds these rocks is not like the surf we usually see, a refreshing topping on the waves, but thick and soapy, whipped into white suds.

Wary of those hungry high waves, I walk down to the grassy headland to get a closer look.

It is actually a little scary being so close to this constant lashing and roaring; I know the tide is coming in, and when I start to feel the sea spray on my face, I turn back.

There are waves breaking out to sea off the Tacking Point Lighthouse; not just rolling, but cresting.

Even the little bay before it is wild, white water constantly breaking over its rocks, making waterfalls every few seconds.

Close to shore, in front of the seafoam, the water is a kind of jade green colour. It catches my eye amidst all that white.

Not the bright turquoise of Tasmania’s east coast, but in fact today this coast reminds me of the fierce Southern Ocean of Tasmania’s west coast. It sounds like it too.

No wonder there were so many families at calm Lake Cathie yesterday; no beach would have been safe for swimming.

Victorian interlude

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On my way back north from Tassie I caught up with my Victorian sister Colleen at James Reserve, a free camp near Swanpool. It’s a pleasant grassy area beside this small burbling creek, and it has a short walk up the ridge behind it.

In the Strathbogie Ranges, its most notable feature are the huge granite boulders that have tumbled to stack, often incredibly balanced, sometimes nerve-wrackingly close to the path as you climb.

My sister took this shot of me, showing just how very big these boulders are.

Mossed and lichened, they are all eye-catching.

But when not goggling at them or watching where I put my feet, the sporadic glimpses of the range are constantly eclipsed by the trees of this forest.

The main trees are apparently Mountain Grey Gums and Peppermints, but as always it is the bark that draws my eye. Here it is the extremely vivid green of the lichen that decorates this shaggy trunk.

Or the twisted contortions that this big tree has undergone in its life.

The pick has to be the strange head that this tree has spawned, ears alert and gaping maw ready to frighten small children, as it lurches out from the main trunk.

The walk winds back down to the creek and the bush becomes more gentle, with trees taking over from the boulders.

An easy and rewarding walk, and so different from my Tassie walks that It helped me re-orient myself…

After Tasmania

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I am now back home, and I find that Tasmania has unsettled me in various ways.

It is small, but at the same time vast and varied, and full of contradictions.

Yes, it has much natural beauty, and that is what I concentrated on seeing, experiencing.

I deliberately did not return to places I had briefly seen before on work trips, like the spectacular Tasman Peninsula, or the historic towns.

The tree fern forests, the mossy walks, the myrtle confetti, the mountains and lakes, the crystalline turquoise east coast waters, the stunning rocks, the sheer amount of trees … all memorable.

Unfortunately so is the sheer amount of roadkill and the seemingly complacent attitude of drivers, judging from the multitude of squashed small furry native creatures. And perhaps of the government who does not lower the road speeds for everywhere from dusk to dawn, to try to protect them. 

The history of Tasmania’s occupation and the relentless pursuit of its indigenous people rings loudly for me. The cleared lands full of sheep or apples or hops or tree plantations or tourist attractions are as loud as the wilderness appeal. 

And there are far too many tourists like me everywhere. A friend suggested that, like Lord Howe Island, Tasmania ought to place a limit on the number of visitors at any one time. 

Tasmania must not be allowed to become a theme park, a parody of itself. To protect all that is special about it, its nature must be valued more highly, not paraded for a fee.

If I had to name the highlights of my time there I would say one was the sighting of an Eastern Quoll.

And the other has to be the Michael McWilliams exhibition in Launceston, which sums up most of what I feel about Tasmania: Be sure to visit the exhibition website here.

The trip taught me two things: a) I am not a traveller, but a camper for longer times than overnight, and b) I could not live there because of the roadkill attitude. 

I may visit again, because I missed a few critical places, such as Hartz Mountain National Park, and Corinna, with the road closed due to bushfires.

In all, Tasmania is overwhelming; I am glad I went – although it was foolish to think a month would be enough – and I will be processing the experience for a long, long time.

Thanks to all who bore with me and followed my travels and thoughts on this blog.

Maria Island

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Another ferry ride to an island, but this time as a passenger only. I am heading to Maria Island for the day so I can get an idea of why people talk about it so much. I was unsure if I would, as it is basically the ruins of a convict probation station (1842).

I was convinced by learning that there is no shop at all there … for anything, food, drink, souvenirs… and no vehicles allowed for visitors except bikes.

This young wombat was right by the road, setting my day off to a good start.

The road passes through an avenue of enormous and relatively ancient (almost 200 years) fir trees … the kind of settler legacy I have to be impressed by, as they are so very big.

A mature wombat ambles up the bank and across the road, ignoring me.

The windswept nature of the island was symbolised by this lone and humble little cottage, once Ruby Hunt’s, and its attendant struggling trees.

Not being a cyclist, I am only doing the shorter walks, like along Hopground Beach to the Painted Cliffs, where I learn that access is restricted due to geological issues.

We have been warned to leave any middens alone. The Puthikwilayti people of the Oyster Bay tribe visited this island over 40,000 years, until the whalers and sealers came in the 1800s. 

The British set up their penal probation colony in 1825. It wasn’t very successful, as prisoners could escape, and kept doing it… unlike from Sarah Island.

The scooped and scalloped layers are beautiful, although I cannot see the reason for ‘painted’. But likely they are further around, currently inaccessible; photos show quite stunning colours and patterns.

My walk takes me past the Oasthouse, where the remains of two round hop drying kilns demonstrate the bricklaying skills of the past. I am most interested in the patterns of the bricklaying.

As always, the higher and less fertile parts were less cleared, and the eucalypt forests, regrowth or not, are encouraging and calming.

I am struck by these teeny plants on the side of the track, looking like pale starfish, or daisy chain crochet stitches.

Buildings that were for grander purposes than Ruby’s home are still in fair or good condition. Many are used as basic accommodation; you can book to stay.

But for me the ones that attract are more for the patterns their ruins make than for the  elegance that the ruling classes enjoyed.

I want to walk to the Fossil Cliffs, but a gander from the island’s large population of Cape Barren Geese had other ideas, hissing and honking at me. Once the second rarest goose in the world, they were introduced to Maria in the 1970s and thrive here, helping the marsupials keep the native grass mown and fertilised.

I grew up with domestic geese, so I know to be wary…

After a picnic lunch in front of the convict barn, geese gone, I visit the desolate cemetery. Only one convict, a Maori, was buried here; the rest only got timber crosses elsewhere.

A small group of Forester Kangaroos, also introduced here in the ‘70s, are resting as I pass. I learn they are actually Eastern Greys, which I do know.

The Fossil Cliffs are wild and spectacular, and the part I can access was once a quarry.

It is hard to believe that such rich geological treasure was treated as a mere source of rocks. You cannot see a section that is not almost totally made of shellfish fossils. I know little about fossils, but as links to our distant pasts they have to be respected.

As our ferry leaves Maria Island, I am glad I came, so that I now have a concept of its mountains and cliffs, its bays and rolling slopes, but also feel the sadness that always follows such evidence of displacement, of colonisation and invasion, of clearing, of failed undertakings…

But I am glad it’s been a national park since 1972, and that it’s not been ‘developed’ as a tourism attraction in the way that Bruny Island has. Its natural beauty and its past seem enough to attract visitors.