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!
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?
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’!
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…
Whilst I am a wuss regarding heights, I decided I would gather up my courage and do the Tahune Airwalk, in an ‘eco-tourist’ complex which is a slow 60kmh 30 minute drive through plantations from Geeveston.
But it promised a rare mix of rainforest, giant eucalypts and Huon pines.
I was about to start when the rain came in; by the time lunch was over, it had stopped.
The bridge over the Huon leads to the two walks I would do.
A trio of horse riders surprised me by appearing from a side track; and no, they were not here for the Airwalk.
Despite what their brochures say, the Airwalk does mainly pass over forests that were burnt in the huge 2019 fires, as most of this area was. It is still an interesting walk – and not really scary. I am giving the swinging bridge a miss…
Even enormous and ancient Eucalypts (obligua especially) were killed in those fires.
From the Airwalk, beyond the Huon River, you can see forests that were not burnt.
There is plenty of information provided here regarding the post-fire regeneration of different species.
From the Huon Walk, you can gauge the power of this river at times from the large logs piled up along its banks.
The first actual Huon Pine we are pointed to is small, old and damaged. We know that Huon Pines were cut wholesale in the early settler days, floated down the rivers and used for all sorts of unworthy purposes.
We now acknowledge that Huon Pine is an ancient, very slow-growing tree, endemic to Tasmania, and it is now never cut down. Only the stockpiled remnants are allowed to be used, valued for the fine grained durable wood.
Huons need water, so favour river sides like this.
But we do see plenty of other sorts of trees that are old and grand… and still alive.
Trees like these put our puny lives in perspective.
However, the best thing about the Tahune was that outside the Visitors Centre I saw this young Eastern Quoll gambolling about, just as I’d always imagined them in the wild.
They are a cousin of the Spotted-tailed Quolls I had at my Mountain, but so much daintier.
I thought my day was made.
Then, coming back into Geeveston, I saw this fantastic owner builder creation-in-progress: Castle Phoenix.
Wild creatures and weird creations: what more could I wish from a day?
Mount Field is the oldest Tasmanian national park, close to Hobart, and very popular. I was there very early to beat the crowds.
Being so old, it was unusual in that the tree ferns were bigger, as were the gum trees higher up.
The easily reached Russell Falls is deemed the state’s favourite waterfall.
I liked the suspense of the creek at the top, just before it plunged over as a fall.
Horseshoe Falls were higher up, and I did think twice about taking on more steps, as I’d forgotten to bring my stick. I found a branch that did the job of keeping me safely stable.
The towering eucalypts were worth it, with large amounts of bark strips hanging from their levels.
On the way back this little pademelon was out late… but I was early.
In some areas the moss was different: a paler green, and in thicker clumps.
Any fungi was in papery leaves, on fallen timber.
I regret that I was here too early in Autumn for much of the fungi for which Tasmania is famous, and that I didn’t get to the eastern part of Mt Field, as the Tarn Lakes would be a sight in later Autumn.
Leaving there, I lucked on a raspberry farm with tempting products from all sorts of berries, and delicious fresh ones like boysenberries.
I passed lots of Hydro Tasmania pipes and power stations; a huge and rather overwhelming enterprise over hill and dale.
And then I was in farm country, with vast hop fields and signs warning of hop harvesting vehicles.
Negotiating Hobart’s outskirts was the next challenge, but signage is plentiful here, amd I made it.
At around 170 metres deep, Lake St Clair is the deepest freshwater lake in Australia. The local indigenous people call it Leeawuleena, or ‘Sleeping Water’.
Formed by ice over glaciations two million years ago, it is the head of the Derwent River.
It is also the end of the Overland Track from Cradle Mountain, as I could see at the glitzy Visitors Centre, which was more like a ski lodge. There were many young people there doffing enormous packs and relievedly taking off walking shoes and wriggling freed toes.
The campground is expensive (even hot showers were extra), having more cabins than camping spots, and only a tiny section was allotted to non-powered sites like mine.
There are several short walks here, and it is often through eucalypt forest for a change.
The new red leaves of these plentiful blue-green gum leaves were eye-catching.
So too were the Pink Mountain Berry shrubs, which here get an information marker of their own; this says it is Cyathodes parvifolium.
This is called Watersmeet, for obvious reasons.
Right beside the bridge there was a white-flowering small tree; I have seen several of these and keep wanting it to be Leatherwood, but I am told that shouldn’t be in bloom now.
So if anyone can tell me what these shrubs/trees are, I’d be grateful.
For me the beauties on this walk were close at hand, like this spectacular coral fungus, which I think is Ramaria anziana. I had bought a FungiFlip, a stunning pictorial guide to Tassie fungi, by the University of Tasmania, so that may be right.
I assume these wonderful pale blue/green balls are lichens… new to me… and wow!
The embracing habit of these lichens was so decorative that I saw them as braceleting the tree trunk, as jewellery.
For pattern and colour this little grove won the day; I don’t know what the trees are, but it made me feel as if I was definitely in another land. Or another world.
The Tarkine Drive didn’t take me through any country that matched my image of the Tarkine Wilderrness. Turns out the Tarkine is a big and varied area and I was ignorant. It was taking me back towards Burnie…!
But near the end of it I did do some pleasant short walks, where tree ferns were so plentiful and well-spaced that they formed a sort of tree fern park, like at Julius River and Trowutta Arch.
And I kept being fascinated by the mossed tentative toe roots of big old myrtle trees.
Easy walking, gorgeous tree ferns – my kind of bushwalking.
Not to mention trees dotted with substantial fungi.
I think I am getting the hang of these cool temperate rainforests. Unlike the warm temperate ones I am used to, there are no vines, and there is always lots of moss.
But then I climbed up to the lookout at Milkshake Hills (don’t know why the great name), thanking my stars it wasn’t summer, as it was a hot, exposed and quite steep walk.
Totally different country, with totally different plants, all low. Mainly she-oaks and tea-trees, I think.
Across the button grass slopes below, the eucalypt forest showed how badly it had been burnt.
I saw button grass stretches, mainly on plains, everywhere; apparently they had been kept from returning to forest by indigenous fire management over centuries. And I’d say it is called button grass because its flowers/seed heads are like small buttons on the end of the long stalks.
Too tired of driving to care, I camped that night at Waratah; not recommended!
The shuttle bus lets us all off at the Dove Lake Visitor Centre, as modern and spacious as the main one. This is our first view of the lake around which we will walk for the next few hours.
There are many, many strangely shaped and often tall shrubs of what I am told is a Leptospermum, a tea-tree.
The sunlight is fitful, lighting patches on the opposite shore’s rocky mountain faces. I try to imagine them under snow cover.
The clear — and surprisingly not so cold — water laps at several sandy/gritty ‘beaches’.
On this side of the lake the path is easy, of boards overlaid with netting. It is narrow, skirting cliffs at times. I wonder why some people are ignoring the suggested clockwise direction for the walk; there is little space to pass.
I keep an eye on the clouds as they lift their skirts to show peaks, and then hide them again. Just as well I have a walking stick, since I am not always watching where I put my feet…
I suspect Dr Seuss designed quite a few of the trees here. The Pandani (Richea pandanifolius) are sort of ridiculous, with their tussocky heads and shaggy trunks covered in persistent dead leaves. They grow quite tall, and I can spot their stout pale trunks, like asparagus stalks, on the near mountain. There were quite a few at Waldheim.
Walking along the opposite shore, I pass several pebbly beaches below the steep slopes, where the tea-brown water is clear.
The vegetation is different on this second leg of the walk, not counting this pine which couldn’t decide which way to grow, so chose both.
I think these spectacularly coloured trunks belong to the Alpine Yellow Gum (Eucalyptus subcrenulata).
It’s a welcome distraction, as this side of the walk has too many steep and rocky step sections… uphill.
Looking back over the Boatshed (for kayaks) as I near the end of the circuit, I am so glad I did it, and that the weather stayed clear and the sky became blue. In fact, folk were stripping off to shirts as they walked.
Tomorrow I plan to get up early and do the Crater Lake Walk. Weather permitting, as I have been warned to keep in mind for here.
This is the view that Gustav and Kate Weindorfer would have had when they chose to build a chalet here at Waldheim (Forest home) near Cradle Mountain.
They are credited with inspiring the formation of this world famous national park. Gustav used to say he wanted ‘a national park for all people for all time’.
The original Austrian-style chalet burnt down and a reproduction now exists, with interactive information. Kate facilitated his spending a lot of time up here building it… and there were no roads then. I found the relics of their efforts quite saddening.
Gustav liked to use the King Billy Pines common in the area, due to the straight grain of the timber. Shingles and boards for walls and floors were all from this timber.
On the Weindorfer Forest walk just behind their home there are some very large and old King Billy Pines.
Overall, it was a fantasy forest of twisted shapes and moss creations.
It looked like the moss had engulfed everything that had halted or lain down; I’m not sure I would call the inhabitants of this forest ‘trees’.
In fact, I think I disturbed some of its creatures in mid- action. Tolkein kept coming to my mind.
Sometimes the moss made a less fantastical shape, yet this perfect ball didn’t seem natural either…
The local wombats, appropriately furrier than our NSW ones, seem to have adopted the visitors’ amenities block as their home.
I was told that the local echidnas, smaller than ours, are also furrier… and with less spines.
Whinge alert:
My stay at Waldheim was less than idyllic, not the atmosphere for which I was hoping, as roadworks on the guest cabins’ carparks happened to have been postponed until the very two days I was there. Weather is paramount here.
So not only could I not partk next to my cabin but the roadworking machines outside the window and the smell of tar made it hard to rest after the next day’s walk around Dove Lake.
That walk was stunning, as you’ll see next post, but I needed that rest!
