landscapes

‘Tis the season

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Not to be jolly, as we are supposed to be, but a whole mix of emotions, and mostly not even on the up scale to jolly.

Why? Because Copenhagen came so close to Christmas, and delivered such a sad affirmation of the power of the corporate and capitalist world to ignore the urgent needs of the earth and its most vulnerable nations. The gift of the rich to the poor was a callous and hypocritical thumbs-down.

It is even more despairing because leaders like Rudd and even Obama have coupled the words ‘meaningful’ and ‘agreement’ into one senseless compound word; they did not reach anything meaningful if they meant to stop global warming. It is still tokenism.

A pity the U.S. isn’t closer to sea level, or that a tsunami of reality hasn’t hit Rudd yet.

So yes, I am filled with a wide and pervasive sadness for the world, and an anger at those who are the most guilty yet the most unrepentant because they will not do what is needed to make amends; have they even said ‘Sorry’?
I chose this photo for my Christmas post because it holds that mix of light and dark layers which I think many are feeling at present.
For I do have hope. Perhaps it was foolishly optimistic to think that world leaders would have shaken off the yoke of their corporate masters just because the planet is in mortal danger – or not in one go.

After all, they did at least agree that they lived on the same planet.

The tragedy is that it would be so easy to cut emissions and turn our economies around to non-fossil fuels if our leaders and our politics were not so trammelled by the machinations of Big Business.

Yet we have seen some changes — some for the worst, looking at the the Abbott dinosaur party — so 2010 may move minds and generate ‘green’ as the only way to go for smart countries.

Nature always soothes me with its beauty and regenerative powers, so I offer this sky pic to my readers as my seasonal greeting.

I’d better offer it to my friends and family too, as I didn’t get round to sending even one Christmas card this year; somehow all those Santas and presents seemed a little obscene as I thought of the children of Africa, hearing from their leaders that the world said NO.

Peace and hope to you all,
Sharyn

Cloud visit

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cloud-visit-2The days veer between hot and dry with winds that would push a fire to an inferno, and cool and cloudy.

This particular day the clouds came so low they met the earth, and my mountain was transformed once again. These days of mystery and dripping moisture are probably my favourite weather here.

I love both the disappearance of distant views and the diamond delineations of the closer views. 

Everything is given the most gentle soaking that does no damage, yet still refreshes and fosters growth. The plants benefit and so do I.

Mining madness

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Our governments appear to be blind, mad or bad when it comes to coal. This is just one instance.

Firstly there is the madness of having approved, in 2007, a mega coal mine that in Stage One will produce 127 million tonnes of coal over 15 yrs for the world to burn to make more CO2 — just what we need; now they are contemplating approving Stage Two, to produce 17 million tonnes of new coal per year for 24 years — even better if we don’t want the global warming to slow down.

This Moolarben mega-mine, owned by  Felix Resources, will comprise three opencut mines and a longwall underground mine.

The second evidence of madness ( or whatever) is where the mine is to be located:  in close proximity to the Goulburn River & The Drip Gorge area that abuts the Goulburn River National Park.

The three opencut mines will trash the picturesque Moolarben valley, rich in bird life and biodiversity, will displace many farming families in this area and come within 2 kilometres of the village of Ulan and local primary school. I’m sure they will welcome the health benefits from all the heavy metal laden fine dust particulates and the 24-hour noise, lights and stress.
drip-1‘The Drip’  in Goulburn River National Park under threat from mining; get the scale of its grandeur from the two figures at its base.

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Sun streaks

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streaks-1It’s a late winter dawn, too cold and too early to get up really, but, since I’m awake and I have a million things to do — I toss back the covers and start the day.

By the time the kettle has boiled, the first stripes of sunlight are fingering the tops of my gum tree surrounds. This is natural, as they are the tallest, but what I love is the way the sunlight finds narrow reconnaissance paths through the north-eastern forest and shines long streaks of gold on surprising levels.
streaks-2Against the still dark mid-forest, the tops of wattle trees are spotlit as becomes their role as winter garden stage stars.

It’s a brief solo act, as soon the sun ‘rises’ above the treeline and sunlight becomes general, changing greys and blacks to full colour, and hitting my solar panels to start the day’s generation of the magic power by which I am writing this post!

A walk on the wild side

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Having shown you the civilised side of The Old Brush reserve, we now walk just beyond the mown edges and into the forest, where owner Robert maintains and marks kilometres of narrow paths.

wildside-1They tempt you to walk into the wild side, but with safety, and to experience the greatly varied vegetation of the surrounding bush.

wildside-3Robert has chosen the paths to take you through hillside forests and gully jungles, past luminous blue gums and thriving cabbage tree palms, the oldest, wartiest paperbark tree I have ever seen…

wildside-2…and battle-scarred eucalypts so tall I can hardly see their tops.

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They show the mighty but they also pass near such richness of detail that I keep stopping to marvel — like this tree trunk parcel, its bark so trussed in its vine that it can’t escape.

Or the coachwood (I think) whose roots resemble the claws of a strange bird, feathered at the ankle with moss and protectively clutching its green egg.
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 When the narrow tracks reach the valley again, give way to the broader mown and mossy expanses, and the statuary begins to reappear, I know I am leaving the wild behind.

It’s been an easy walk, even for my knees, and my rustic cabin by the billabong is just across the creek.

A glass of red awaits me, to aid my reflections on what a wonderful juxtaposition of worlds this place offers.

Culture and kangaroos

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Recently I stayed in a rustic cabin by a billabong where Nefertiti rose serene from the water and Dusky Moorhens kept a respectful distance, trailing ripples as they trawled for food, and creating delightful reflections.

At The Old Brush reserve near Cessnock, NSW, acres of mown native grass surround eight billabongs and countless picnic spots and fireplaces with wood stacked ready. In secret and mossy spots in the forest or in sundrenched clearings, you come across statues or civilised garden seats.

culture-2Kangaroos laze in security by Grecian columns; semi-naked ladies swoon by equally ‘palely loitering’ Blue Gums; a multitude of birds other than waterbirds are attracted to the water – such as a flock of White-headed Pigeons.

Metres away from the bottom accommodation cabin, I saw a Bower Bird’s display bower, with its collection of blue objects, including plastic pegs!

The reserve is owned by Robert and Gail Bignell, and they share its beauty with the public.  Robert is a professional photographer and has his Rainforest Studio there.

Visitors are welcome to picnic, camp, or rent a cabin, and Robert keeps kilometres of paths mown or clear for easy bushwalking through the stunning bushland beyond the valley floor ‘garden’ of his 40 hectares — with access to the adjoining Conservation Area. City and overseas visitors love it!

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Juxtaposition of the civilised and the wild creates an unusual extended garden where people can access natural bushland of varying types in safe and signposted walks.

I was there to soak up some more of its peaceful pleasures than I’d had the chance to do before — because I’m going to nominate this wonderful place for an environmental and community award.

Visit The Old Brush website.

Wattle takeover

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Winter gold flourishes in the Wollombi Valley as I drive through on a dull day. Wattle, acacia, mimosa — our national flowering tree has many names and many species.

Not all have blooms as richly yellow as these soft powderpuff clusters, but most are hardy and quick-growing, if short-lived.

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Where land has been disturbed they colonise thickly. I pass what seems to be a plantation of wattles on a flat creekside paddock, fenced and tidily contained in rows.

Then I see it is actually a takeover of what was once some city hobby farmer’s dream vineyard. It is small, not commercial — would have produced just a few dozen bottles to share with friends, to show off his own label.

The grapevines are still there, but the wattles have shot way past them and have claimed it for their own, re-labelled it Wattle Flat.

I am a little sad, wondering what happened to the dream.

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Wet Warrumbungles

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bungles-1aMy first day camping in the Warrumbungle National Park ended with showers and a stunning misty sunset, complete with rainbow.

I hadn’t lowered and zipped shut  the front ‘verandah’ flap of my tent, so a little water had entered.

My cousins erected a separate ‘fly’ tarpaulin over their whole tent in case of further rain.

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It grew cold and damp; a young male Eastern Grey kangaroo insisted on sharing our fire’s warmth. No feeding of animals is allowed here, but they are unafraid of humans.

Next morning was persistently wet; water had seeped into my tent at the bottom edges, My bedding was dry, but It felt like an island, so I pegged out the ‘blinds’ to stretch the tent sides more.

This worked. However, I intend to buy a tarpaulin to make my own fly over the top for next time.

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We donned wet weather gear and went for a gentle valley walk, where this shaggy group of ancient grass trees caught my eye.

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As we packed up wet gear under dripping trees, a group of emus wandered into camp — different shaggy creatures, but equally weird.

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The rain had caused these fungi to erupt though the leaf litter like small daisies. They are ‘Earth stars’ I think (Geastrum triplex) and I’d only ever seen them in books before.

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As I drove out, the mist was rising and the wet lichened rockfaces mimicked snow. I’ll come back in fine weather for more walks in the Warrumbungles — but with a tent fly ready in case!

The Woman in the Warrumbungles

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warrumbungles-1I was able to sneak a few days after recent book talk commitments out west to meet two cousins who were going camping in the Warrumbungle National Park near Coonabarabran, New South Wales,

It was the perfect time to try out my new tent, a Hamersley Tourer, which is intended to go with me on various future forays into other ‘wild edge’ places than my own Mountain.

It passed the first test in that I erected it on my own. That, and being able to stand upright in it, were two of my main criteria.

My cousins didn’t arrive until dark, by which time I had a fire going. Their tent was a much bigger dome tent with several layers: definitely not a one-person job to put up!
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Next morning was fine and we walked one of the many trails in the park, heading up to a ridge and around the base of a higher spire that mad rockclimbers undertake.

The Warrumbungles are dotted with strangely shaped, spectacular volcanic remnant plugs and crater walls.
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The symmetrical native cypress pines, looking like garden escapees, share the rocky ridges with blackened ironbarks, ethereal White Gums and decorative large Kurrajongs.

This was the first time I have seen Kurrajongs in their natural shape, unlopped over their lives as fodder for stock, their shining, almost heart-shaped leaves dangling from widely spread branches.

Such hardy trees seem to be able to take root in any crack and tiny ledge on the rugged cliffs.
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Caves abound, both large and small, and all clearly put to good use as shelter by the local critters.

Lichens and mosses paint the rocks with ice blues and sage greens, between dark weepings and a range of surface weatherings.

Coastwatching

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On the coast north of Coffs Harbour are many small beaches. Friends took me to one for a walk through sheltered tunnels in windswept bush, where pandanus and banksia trees lined the immediate rocky sea edge.
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Reaching the bare grassy headland, we sat to watch dolphins leaping and sea birds whirling and nosediving in splashy accuracy, and to wonder at the small islands off the coast, with apt names like Split Solitary.
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A small bird ran busily over and through the grass in front of us, barely stopping, so that I had trouble following it with the camera. I have no experience with seaside birds, or much with grassland ones, so is this an Australian Pipit? Or?
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The wild storms and high seas of May have cut away the long beaches, scoured the sand from the rock shelves and deposited long tangled tide-rows of driftwood, including very large logs, like this one, sandblasted to an intricate weaving of smooth strands and crevices.

The magical New England National Park

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On the way in to the New England National Park I began passing snow gums and trees so hoary with mosses and lichens that I couldn’t say what they were underneath.

At over 1500m above sea level, this park has spectacular views looking out but also looking in.
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Gondwanaland plants like Antarctic Beech and tree ferns make some of the walks here as eerie and green as a trip into the land of Lord of the Rings.
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Treading gingerly over damp tracks and beween giant mossy rocks on the side of the escarpment brought me to the Weeping Rock – whose tears were frozen mid-fall.
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And thence to Point Lookout itself, where I wasn’t game – yet again– to venture on to the cantilevered viewing platform.

By the time I got to the Wollomombi Falls, the highest in Australia, the sun had sunk too low to get a good photo of these rugged and quite scary falls. You’ll have to go there yourself!
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But I walked a little and heard so many bird calls, one after the other, that I knew a lyrebird was about. And then I saw him! In a small copse of shrubs, singing through his wide repertoire of mimickings, and displaying his beautiful tail. What a treat!
Aren’t national parks great?

Up among the mountains

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My travels have recently taken me up from the NSW north coast to a truly wild world of mountains. After my book talk at the new Bellingen Library I drove up a very winding road to the Dorrigo Plateau.

Concentrating on the bends, I couldn’t see much apart from tree ferns and tall tres and red mud road slips being mended.
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But right at the top was my motel, the Lookout Motor Inn. And look out it certainly did, all the way back to the sea.
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A nearby lookout further along the side road that the motel was on (Maynard Plains Road) gave stupendous views to the west, where mountains crumpled forever into the distance. My heart warmed at seeing such a vast wilderness area.
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Next morning I headed off towards Armidale, but the Dorrigo Plateau continued to offer car-stopping views.

Famous for dairying and potato growing as well as rainforest, the combination of the rich green man-made paddock foregrounds and the wild country just over the edge made beautiful compositions and contrasts.