Fast forward a month, the way life
always seems to, and we are on the “Sunshine Coast” (an hour
north of Brisbane) where it seems to, perversely, rain a lot, even
though this is the dry season, and, I have the time and internet
connection to update my blog with, what will necessarily be a brief
description of the last months adventures.
Our first stop, somewhat ambitiously
(or mistakenly?) was the Blue Mountains as it seemed like we should
get back into climbing shape – or at least some semblance thereof –
after four months off the rock. We had four days climbing at the
Bluey's, but the weather, at least for a couple of Canadians wanting
to escape the cold, was not conducive to long (or fun) climbing days.
Morning temperatures of 5 degrees Celsius, strong winds, and cloudy
skies just seem too similar to Canadian climbing days to hold much
appeal when you know that further north, the temperature is in the
mid-20's (or 30's) and the sun is shining.
I did a fantastic hike while we were
there, down the ledges, ladders and cliff lines of Govetts Leap with
the amazing green wall of vegetation above, and under numerous small
waterfalls, to the base of the big waterfall that tumbles down the
escarpment. From there, meandering down Govetts Leap Brook past
small waterholes and along rock ledges to Govett Gorge where the
river had raked the banks clean in the January floods, then back up
via an old horse track to overlook the wild Grose Valley with its big
red sandstone walls from a rock perch on the escarpment, and finally,
I ambled back along the escarpment edge past more waterfalls and
overlooks to the car park.
You could easily spend a month at the
Blue Mountains climbing and hiking each day and camped at Mount York
where the sun sets in a red ball of fire every night through a screen
of eucalypts and the green verdant Hartley Valley below slips into
darkness, and, earlier in the year, I probably would, but not in May.
So, we moved, at, for us, a rapid pace north. We stopped each day
in the early afternoon, camping at various National Parks, and just
having time for a walk around the area before the early winter sun
set. Mill Creek by the Hawksebury River was empty with fog rolling
in off the river in the morning. Indian Head was crowded until we
moved to the second, strangely much less popular campsite, and
completely empty campsite. Big kangaroos rested on the lawns and the
waves crashed onto the headland further eroding the unusual sea
arches that have formed.
When we reached the Queensland-NSW
border, we slowed right down. In Sundown National Park, where it
feels as if you are in the far flung west of Queensland, but are
merely a couple of hours from the coast, we backpacked up Ooline
Gorge along the timber covered plains above and descended Blue Gorge
to the Severn River. This is traprock country, hard rock, worn flat
by water. Ooline Gorge has a couple of steep traprock cliffs that
are easily scrambled either directly or on the (climbers) left, and
much of the walking is easy and scenic along river worn smooth
traprock between canyon walls. Blue Gorge is steep, descending 1000
metres in a few kilometres down a steep sided gorge that requires
some scrambling and route-finding skill to descend. We did the last
couple of kilometres in darkness and scarcely had time to appreciate
the big canyon walls and smooth traprock waterfalls. We scrambled
down steep cliff lines sometimes to the left, sometimes to the right,
twice traversing out into side canyons and then back down the main
canyon. In the dark at the Severn River, we scratched out a tent
site on the sandy bank, made a quick dinner and slept soundly
overnight. The next day, the walk down the Severn River on
continually rolling river rock was weary on the legs at feet while
scenic.
In nearby Girraween National Park, we
walked through to Bald Rock National Park on trails that padded over
long flat granite slabs, through massive granite boulders and down
steep granite ramps among grass trees. At the end of the day, I
scrambled up the easy slabs of Bald Rock to the summit and followed
the white dotted tourist trail down slabs on the opposite side back
to the parking lot.
We paddled on Glenyon Lake where huge
cactus trees sprout round red fruits before driving over the Main
Ranges to Frog Buttress. Along the way we hiked from Cunninghams Gap
down to Gap Creek Falls descending from dense rainforest with huge
bunya pines and strangler figs to open grassy country overlooking the
Fassifern Valley.
At Frog Buttress, we got “schooled”
on the steep, smooth crack climbs. I took a whipper off a grade 10
route and, a couple of weeks later, still feel the ache in my hip
where I crashed into the wall. The climbing is different to any I've
done elsewhere. All the routes we climbed felt like a series of big
moves strung together on steep, almost overhanging smooth rock,
moving from one awkward, out of balance hold to the next.
From Boonyah, we drove a winding
mountain road to Lamington National Park perched up on the dividing
range with waterfalls and creeks running through the dense green
rainforest. Many trails were still closed from the massive rainfall
associated with ex-tropical cyclone Oswald which came through in
January, but we walked a loop that ran up Tooloona Creek past a
series of waterfalls and along the rim of the rainforest escarpment
overlooking the impossibly green coastal plains. Huge bunya pines
and strangler figs draped with lianas and vines block most of the
sunlight, while below the canopy, large and glossy leaved vegetation
rustles with the sound of disappearing pademelons. Near O'Reilly's
Hotel, a boardwalk runs through the rainforest and you can climb a
series of ladders and suspended ramps up into the rain forest canopy,
where you can look down into the dense rainforest below or out to the
ocean and the coastal plains.
Out on the coast, we packed our kayaks
with a weeks worth of provisions and set off from Redland Bay to
paddle north up Moreton Bay. We weaved our way through the
Russel-Macleay Islands, dodging frequent, bullish passenger ferries
to the quieter shores of North Stradbroke Island, and, as the water
gradually cleared from brown to clear green we worked our way up the
coastline. At Peel Island, we floated over coral gardens, paddled
past shallow mangrove lined bays where sharks, turtles, rays and
assorted fish flashed past the boats and watched the sunset in a red
ball of fire over Platypus Bay. At the north end of North Stradbroke
Island, we breakfasted on a big sandbar where thousands of crabs
raced over the exposed sands, pelicans cruised by, and sharks and
rays swam under the boats, before we crossed to Moreton Island,
weaving through sandbars over the clear turquoise water.
On the west side of Moreton Island,
with calm clear water we paddled north past sandy beaches watching
turtles slide past our bows to the Tangalooma Wrecks, a series of
eight disused government barges which were sunk on off shore sandbars
in the 1960's. These wrecks are now colonised by hard and soft
corals, wobegong sharks, turtles and thousands of tropical fish. We
spent long hours gliding over the wrecks in our boats or snorkelling
gear watching the parade of marine life swimming by.
Our last full day on Moreton Island the
weather changed and the familiar winds increased to 20 knots blowing
strongly from the west. I walked to the north end of the island,
lured into a 24 km round trip by firm sand as the tide fell and the
desire to see around the next headland, but returned with blisters on
the soles of my feet from walking on sand that was cement hard. We
watched the dolphin feeding at nearby Tangalooma Resort but found
ourselves more interested in watching the “handlers” -
inexperienced twenty-somethings - trying to manage the metre high
waves that were buffeting the tourists and keeping the dolphins at a
distance than the flashing bodies of the streamlined dolphins. After
paddling with dolphins in the wild, such a staged performance seems
corny, and the “eco-talk” given by the handlers was ridiculous
given the preponderance of fossil fuel burning activities offered by
the resort. Recycling a few plastic water bottles does not offset
ripping up and down the beach on a quad or flying a parasail behind a
jet boat.
Which, brings us to the Sunshine Coast
north of Brisbane, where we have climbed and hiked the Glasshouse
Mountains, travelled by train to Brisbane and, now await the end of
the rain to paddle Pumicestone Passage along Bribie Island.
