The rainforest reappeared, and eventually I could hear the sound of rushing water. It is Whangarei Falls – not a particularly large waterfall, but a rather picturesque one.
There was a picnic area close by, so I was able to sit quietly for awhile and get my breath back, before heading all the way back.
I’ve never had a dog. As a kid, whenever I asked my parents for one, the answer I inevitably got was, “Are you going to feed it, walk it, wash it, play with it, pick up its poo every single day?”
“Why? Aren’t you going to help?” I asked.
“No, since it’ll be your dog.”
Being an extremely pragmatic child, I wasn’t going to all the trouble of doing everything, even if it was the cutest dog in the world. So my childhood passed without a dog; in fact, without any pets at all, and this state of petlessness was sustained into adulthood.
But things change. I’ve now discovered the joys of dog walking on the beach. The dog is a ‘borrowed’ – very naughty beagle, who rejoices in digging holes and marking territory whenever and wherever she can – but her joy is infectious, even on a dreary, overcast day.
We found a lot of flowers blooming around the track mid-January:
Grevilleas, mini waratahs, the last blooms of the Christmas bush…
A few unnameable blooms, but most spectacularly, different types of banksias.
We passed some great scribbly gums on the walk. The different coloured bark is great on the eye, however the insects here look as if they have been having a party.
What a difference six months makes. Where as Karloo Pool was full to overflow back in June, and one needed to get one’s boots wet to cross Kangaroo Creek, by midsummer the water level had significantly gone down, and the creek was reduced to a rambling trickle again.
We made our pilgrimage on a 30C day (most of my visits in the summer tend to be on days like these). The cool water of the pool was perfect, and this time there wasn’t half of the Shire down there. We stayed in for a long time, had lunch, and afterward was around to watch the pool return to its original stillness.
A perfect summer’s day.
I’ve heard a lot about Bouddi National Park, especially about the camping spots, but have never been until recently. It turns out that the park is very accessible, and the first place I visited was Tallow Beach. It’s a 30 minute walk down a fire trail, and even though it was New Year’s Day, fairly deserted.
Despite being overcast, it was warm and rather muggy, so a swim was very welcome. There were also lots of interesting shells to be found, and the beach is good fishing spot when the tide is right.
We rock-hop across the Snowy River, crystal clear as it flows from the plateau we descended during the day. The day is bright, warm (for once), and full of flies. There is only Heartbreak Hill to ascend, and the journey is complete. Back to a nice room, bed, and hot shower, but the memories of this walk will still linger on.
That’s all from the Snowy Mountains, and from my road trip. Next time I will post about more local places to Sydney.
Snowgums are remarkable trees. They can endure the cold and are strengthened by the wind. I like them for their beautiful trunks – all twisted and gnarled, their bark made up of gorgeous colours. Here are some wonderful specimens near Charlottes Pass.
The most well-known lake is the aptly named Blue Lake, about an hour’s walk from Charlottes Pass. It’s a rugged lake, with snow drifts, secret caves and waterfalls.
It’s a very deep and very cold lake. You can swim in here, but I wasn’t doing such a thing on that windy, cool day.
By midday, we’ve come a long way since the morning, walking over the ridge from the ‘peaks’ on the horizon. That’s what makes the area so very unassuming – you can hardly tell Mt Kozzie from any other peak, and it’s often mistaken with Mt Townsend, a few kilometres away.
You can see there were still plenty of snow drifts in mid-December, and we had to navigate through perhaps half a dozen of them through the course of the morning. Having hardly been in snow before, it certainly was a novel experience for me.
Static and Silence 