Leaving the Warrumbungles led me through a really interesting landscape, shaped by agriculture. On both sides of the road were seeming landscaped paddocks, where a mad topiarist had shaped hundreds of Kurrajong trees.
They were often lopped to feed to stock in times of drought, I knew, but I had never seen so many, so blatantly shaped, dotted through otherwise bare wheat or sheep paddocks.
I was glad to be in country foreign to me, heading to Nangar National Park. It’s near Eugowra, which turned out to be a charming small town.
This national park is an ex-sheep station, and its once-cleared valley follows a small creek which still flows, through steep rocky treed hills. Apart from Mt Nangar, it is famed for its Dripping Rock.
It reminded me of ‘The Drip’ north of Mudgee; vastly different, as huge and overhanging, and under constant threat from longwall mining.
It was barely dripping when I was there, but audibly and visibly. The Chinese had a market garden on the creek flats near here; the water of this creek must have been so precious.
But it is also precious for animals; there were many kangaroos grazing, but flocks of feral goats were too, as well as along the treed slopes. It was indeed perfect goat country!
Black, white and every combination in between, the goats munched their way and the kids bleated. I decided this felt more like a goat farm than a bush retreat.
I found their numbers depressing, seeing evidence of well-pruned small cypress trees on the low slopes.
This place depended on regeneration, but the goats could only hinder that.
On the way out, I was cheered to see one swamp wallaby dash across the track, and a stand of gums with plentiful red-flowering mistletoes… well beyond goat reach.