Walking The Roof Of Queensland: Carnarvon Gorge Great! Walk

In 2009, the Queensland Government unveiled a series of long distance bushwalks they called “Great! Walks”. These walks are scattered up and down the coast and as far inland as Carnarvon Gorge and travel through some of Queensland's best protected natural areas. We had done sections of several Great! Walks earlier on our trip (Lamington, Fraser, Sunshine Coast), but Carnarvon Great! Walk was our first complete Great! Walk.

One of the nice things about the Carnarvon Great! Walk is that it is a circle route that starts and ends at the spectacular Carnarvon Gorge. The driving isn't too onerous, only 16 km of dirt in the 45 km that you travel from the main Carnarvon Developmental Road, and, a circle route obviates the need for any tedious car shuttles.

The walk is designed to take six days, although experienced walkers will find most of the days a little too short, and one day much too short. Combining days, however, would make most of the days a little too long. We toyed with combining the last two days, but, in the end decided to take the full six days as it worked out better for our overall schedule.

For some reason, I'm not sure why (maybe because the big descent is at the end of the trip instead of a big climb at the beginning), the standard recommendation is to walk in a clockwise direction. This means your first day is along the “tourist trail” to Big Bend camp site in Carnarvon Gorge. On your second day, you climb out of the Gorge via the stunning Boowinda Gorge up onto the basalt table lands. The next four days are spent walking on the basalt tablelands (the roof of Queensland) in a roughly circular route around the Carnarvon River, before descending on the last day back to Carnarvon Gorge via Wagooroo Creek.

The route is impeccably signed (we calculated that there could be as many as 900 trail markers along the route), all the camp sites have water (most from buried water tanks) and most have toilets. Carnarvon Gorge is, of course, stunning, featuring white sandstone cliffs, sparkling clear water, amazing bird-life, aboriginal art sites, and unusual vegetation, while the forests of the upper tablelands are also quite beautiful with open forests of cycads, spotted gums and iron barks amid flowering grasses.

Carnarvon Gorge to Big Bend Camp Site

By the time we drove from Nuga Nuga National Park to Carnarvon National Park, bought our camping permits and map, talked with the ranger and cooked up a last breakfast of bacon and eggs, it was noon before we started walking. The trail to Big Bend camp site gains only 100 metres over 10 km so it is very easy walking, even the dozen or so river crossings are easily negotiated on rocks. The forest, river and gorge are all extraordinarily beautiful and walking up the river under cabbage palms and cycads with dozens of birds warbling and chattering overhead is delightful. There are five short side trips off the main trail along the way to the camp site, all well worth the five or so extra kilometres these entail.

The first side trip travels up Violet Gorge to a small waterfall that drops into a clear pool ringed with ferns and tree ferns. The really interesting feature here, however, is the water that drips out of the rock. Rainfall seeps down through the soil then down through the sandstone before eventually hitting an impermeable layer of shale where it seeps right out of the cliff face.

Next up is the Amphitheatre which should really be called the Atrium. The trail climbs up another side creek to an elevated slot canyon. A metal staircase/ladder takes you up to the floor of the slot canyon (perhaps a metre wide and 40 metres high) where you walk through the canyon for twenty metres to emerge into a natural atrium of smooth steep sandstone. A little grassy meadow lies in the atrium where the sun penetrates and 40 metre high overhanging sandstone walls circle the entire enclosure.

Wards Canyon is the next side trip to a cave, canyon and stream where the Ward brothers stored kangaroo and possum skins in the early part of the century. I thought these guys would be real “Deliverance” type characters but there is a picture of them in the Information Centre and they actually look as straight laced as an early Methodist preacher. King Ferns – giant sized ferns with ultra-green fronds – live in this canyon, a relic of some earlier age.

The next two side trips are to Aboriginal art sites, the first called “The Art Gallery” and the second “Cathedral Cave.” The walls are covered with stencilled hands, arms, boomerangs, tomahawks, and also line drawings of nets, vulvas (yes vulvas) and emu eggs. I always find these sites strangely evocative with all the hands stencilled on the walls as if the hunters have only just left a moment ago and will return at any time to tell stories of the dreaming.

Soon after Cathedral Cave, the trail crosses the mouth of Boowinda Gorge, crosses the river to the north, then back to the south again, and, the Big Bend camp site is reached. The camp site is relatively small, at least to anti-social types like ourselves hoping to camp a long way away from anyone else, but in a beautiful location under big curving white cliffs over a clear pool on the Carnarvon River

It was close to 5.00 pm when we arrived so we wasted no time in setting up camp and brewing up some tea, quickly followed by dinner. Darkness falls quickly at this time of year and the nights are long (5.30 pm to 6.30 am). It was damp and cold sitting outside so we retired to the tent at about 7.00 pm for the long night ahead. I had brought only an overbag while Doug had brought his full sleeping bag, but, at only 500 metres I was – mostly – warm enough.

Big Bend Camp Site to Gadds Camp Site

There seemed no point waiting for the sun to arrive at our campsite before getting out of the tent. Not only was it cloudy, but given the depth of the gorge, the sun would be a long time coming. In any case, after 12 hours lying on hard ground on a too thin thermarest in a too thin overbag, I didn't really feel like lying in.

We had a paleo-breakfast of flaxseed (paleo porridge) and cheese with a huge mug of coffee and then packed our gear up and left camp around 8.30 am. We had to walk back down the trail for 500 metres to Boowinda Gorge. The trail travels up Boowinda Gorge for about a kilometre before climbing out via a steep side drainage. The gorge is quite amazing – a true slot canyon with steep walls on either side and snaking sinuously southwest. It was disappointing to see graffiti on the canyon walls – something I confess to not expecting so far from the trail-head. Distance usually weans out the butt-heads, but in this case had not.

Where the cliff walls of the gorge begin to recede in height, a rough trail climbs up a side drainage to gain Battleship Ridge. Battleship Ridge leads to Battleship Spur atop the basalt plateau. At one point, a ladder provides access to the basalt cap. Big cycads and eucalpyts grow in an open forest. At about 1050 metres (ASL) a side trail leads out to a look-out on the northeast end of Battleship Spur. We had light misty rain on the way up and were thinking that our view would be obscured, but the cloud lifted by the time we reached the look-out and we had a great view to the east over Carnarvon Gorge. The white cliffs of the gorge can be clearly seen winding out to the east. The look-out was a good spot for an early lunch and we even got some splashes of sunshine.

The rest of the days walk was downhill following a tributary drainage of the Maranoa River. There must be a spring as here and there clear pools of water appeared. Mount Percy is visible easily from the trail, and the open forest and green grassland provides pleasant walking. At Gadds Camp we found a deluxe outhouse with high quality toilet paper, a big shelter with a sloping roof that collects rainwater for the underground tanks, but, sadly, a side trip to the Maranoa River for a swim was a dead loss as the river was as dry as an AA meeting.

We lounged around camp for the afternoon, drank tea, and, crawled into the tent at around 7.00 pm for the long dark night. I managed again to stay, relatively warm overnight, although we had a heavy dew.

Gadds Camp Site to West Branch Camp Site

From Gadds Camp, the trail heads north and crosses the Maranoa River then climbs gradually back up to the Great Divide following Angelina Creek. I found a leech infested pool of clear water where the trail crosses Angelina Creek and cautiously dunked myself in for a wash. Doug found the leeches repellent enough that, despite feeling grimy and sweaty, he forwent the dip.

On the Divide, you get a distant view down Carnarvon Gorge to the east, the white sinuous cliffs still visible below the timbered Divide, and Battleship Spur is visible on the horizon. It is pleasant walking west along the Divide through open eucalpyt forest until a descent down a north facing spur ridge leads to Boot Creek (dry) and into the West Branch camp site.

The walkers camp is immediately across the large swinging suspension bridge over the west branch of the Maranoa River. I wondered how often the large and high bridge was needed as the river was, once again, completely dry. Beyond the walkers camp is the drive in camp as you are now in the Mount Moffat section of Carnarvon Gorge National Park. There were four groups of campers, all engaged in the usual Australian pass-time of sitting around a smoky fire. Occasionally, one or two of them would break from the herd and walk up to the suspension bridge, staring curiously at the “walkers” on the way by as if we were some unusual species. Come to think of it, walkers in Australia are an unusual species. We were running a little low on food at this point and hoped that they might think we were cute like wallabies and offer us some goodies, but we must have been too smelly and dirty.

Wandering around camp, I found a small muddy puddle upstream from the suspension bridge, but even I had no desire to dunk myself in to wash off the days dirt and sweat. It was a bit of a chilly night. We retired to the tent at about 7.00 pm as usual as sitting about on the damp ground in the increasingly cold air does nothing for my 50 year old body. I was huddled in my overbag in all my clothes by morning and wondering how I would fare at the next two camps which are at over 1,000 metres (ASL).

West Branch Camp Site to Conseulo Camp Site

It was down right cold when I crawled out of the tent at 6.30 am, and, after feeling slightly chilled all night, I had no desire to shiver through breakfast so I crawled back into the tent and we read our Kobos until the sun to eased it's way up over the horizon and into camp. Almost immediately the air began to warm, although it was pretty gradual at first.

This fourth day on the trail is the longest, but the distance is still easily covered in a half a day (I've already forgotten how long we walked each day). There is another gradual climb, this one feels even more gradual than the day before, and then you are up on the Conseulo Tablelands. The forest up here (called the Mahogany Forest) is beautiful. Yellow and green grasses under a canopy of cycads and silver leaved iron barks. The soil is apparently much richer, and the area must get a bit more rainfall as it is very green. There are even trailing vines growing all over the trees and delicate purple flowers trace over the bushes.

About six kilometres from the camp site, a 4WD road leads out to the edge of Peawaddy Gorge. This side trip adds four kilometres, but they are easy kilometres. We both walked out, but, the view was actually a little disappointing as the gorge is not very steep or deep and hard to see through the trees. The last six kilometres through the Mahogany Forest to Conseulo Camp is easy and we arrived in the early afternoon. There is no outhouse at Conseulo camp site but there is the standard water collection system with underground tanks and hand pumps.

Conseulo Camp Site to Cabbage Tree Camp Site

The night was not as cold as I thought it would be although I was pretty well head down in my bag by morning. We waited for the sun again. I'm not sure which is more painful, staying in the tent even longer, or getting out and feeling cold all through breakfast. In any case, we opted for option B, which also gave us time to dry the dew and condensation off the tent.

The walk to Cabbage Tree camp site is very easy and actually way too short. We arrived about 1.00 pm, even though I dawdled most of the way. We considered combining the last two days into one day and continuing on to Carnarvon Gorge, but decided that would get us out to the Gorge too late and we'd be struggling to find somewhere to camp and something to eat that night.

Someone had left two very low, but relatively comfortable (compared to sitting on the ground) chairs at camp - I do wonder who carries such things in - so we had seats for the afternoon. I also did my usual quasi-WOD to try and maintain some core and upper body strength. Sadly, we had found no suitable trees for pull-ups on the whole walk. We stayed out of the tent until 8.00 pm as it was relatively warm and the chairs kept us off the ground. I found the night even longer than normal as I was not tired enough to sleep and lay awake until 2.30 am.

Cabbage Tree Camp Site to Carnarvon Gorge

We got up as soon as we woke up, which was a little bleary for me at 6.45 am, and had breakfast and packed up. It was comfortably warm and had been a warm night – I didn't even need to put all my spare clothes on in my overbag.

The last day has some interesting walking as you follow a ridge east down to Jimmy's shelf. There are views north to Black Alley Peak and south to the white cliffs that span north and south Archer Creek. You also pass a basalt rock formation on the ridge called the Ogre's Thumb and further along a free-standing sandstone tooth called the Devil's Signpost. The forest is full of big widely spaced spotted gums. Descending into North Archer Creek I found Doug stripped off after he had bathed in the clear cold waters of the creek. I soon joined him lowering myself gingerly into the cool water. Although we had another couple of climbs ahead and would soon be sweaty again, the dunking felt good.

Near the end of the walk, a 750 metre side trip leads out to Boolimba Bluff where there is a good look-out over Carnarvon Gorge, the Arcadia Valley and the Expedition Range. The sound of chattering birds floats up from the Gorge and you realise how silent it has been for the last few days. A woman was sitting on a bench eating an apple and Doug and I both had visions of cuffing her about the head and stealing the apple as we had been going just a little hungry the last few days. Instead, we split the last of our cheese and Doug made the ultimate sacrifice by sharing his last four squares of chocolate with me.

It seemed fitting that the last section of the trail down to the Gorge is down Wagooroo Creek, a small cliff lined and verdant gorge. Soon enough, we were walking back across the big stepping stones over the Carnarvon River and the walk was over.

Goal Setting

It is ironic that I've been thinking about how to set goals, work towards goals, achieve goals lately, when, for the first time in years and years, I haven't really had any goals. Perhaps the lack of defined goals has freed my mind up enough to mull over the strategies and tactics of goal attainment whilst I am free from endlessly obsessing about my most recent goal.

There is a plethora of literature on goal attainment, some of which is contradictory. One oft-quoted strategy used in many personal change programs is the idea that we should talk about our goals with other people, but, recent research has shown that the more people talk about a goal, the less likely they are to actually achieve that goal. It all comes down to something called “social reality.” If we blather about something endlessly, we actually come to believe we've already accomplished whatever it is we've been blathering about and we figure we can now sit back in complacency and comfort. This likely explains all the blatherers you've met in your life-time.

I read one blog post recently where the author thought that setting goals was counter-productive as it limited the experiences one had, and, in this particular bloggers experience, negative consequences ensued whether or not the goal was attained. Reaching a goal was anti-climatic, while failure led to depression. That whole philosophy seems cock-eyed to me. Of course, setting goals requires limiting your experiences. You can't achieve anything meaningful if you are dashing off in all directions trying to have as many experiences as possible. None of us have the time, energy, intelligence, or motivation for that. Reaching goals requires ruthless paring down of our activities so that our available time and energy is focused on those things that move us towards our goal. If your goal is to climb better, spending days mountain-biking (which might be fun) won't help.

Goal attainment requires not only being clear about what goal you are trying to reach but also choosing a goal that is all your own. It's no use deciding you want to be a “better climber” - a goal so vague that there is no hope of it's being reached - if you really don't like climbing that much, or only climb because your spouse or the people in your social circle climb, or because it seems cool and trendy in the media right now. We all end up doing whatever it is we really want to do, and if that isn't climbing, you won't find yourself out climbing much. Instead, you'll be lured out mountain-biking, or hiking, kayaking or skiing. None of which will contribute to an improvement in your climbing skills. It requires a great deal of self-knowledge to recognise which goals are all our own and which are influenced by other people or the media. We all want to believe that we are individualists who make our own decisions, but, sadly, most of us are not.

Vagueness also does not help. General goals like “I want to be better at x,y or z” are way too fuzzy to enable you to nail down where you now and where you need to be to reach your goal. If you want to be a “better climber” you need to identify exactly what that means – solid on 5.10 gear routes, grade 5 ice routes, 5.11 sport routes, or whatever. Only when you've explicitly worked out your goal can you assess your current skill level, identify gaps in your skill/knowledge and ability, and plan out activities to ramp up those skills.

We all know that working hard to reach our goals requires sacrifices, but we are rarely truly prepared to make those sacrifices. Sure, we might get up early in the morning, or stop eating junk food, but when it comes to the really difficult sacrifices we have to make, like cutting loose our current group of friends who do not sufficiently challenge us to meet our goals, we falter. These are the really tough sacrifices to make, and few of us have the courage to make them.

Choose your goals wisely, make sure they are both clearly defined and all your own. Pare your life down ruthlessly. Get rid of all the things you do that don't move you towards your goals, and focus on those that do. Be prepared to sacrifice everything including your relationships and your security, and, if you keep at it for 10 years or more, you might reach your goal.

Torso Rotation

Doug and I have been at Nuga Nuga National Park on the shores of Lake Nuga Nuga for seven days now. This is unprecedented for us, but, nonetheless enjoyable. The paddling on Lake Nuga Nuga is endlessly enjoyable due to the plethora of bird-life, and, the few “peaks” around the lake, the lake shore and the surrounding grasslands have provided plenty of opportunity for walking, all without needing to drive (we hate driving) anywhere. We have about one more day of food left with us and will stay until that is done before moving on to the Great Walk in Carnarvon National Park.

Yesterday, I did a couple of long walks – one around the lake shore for a distance, and the other up Moolayember Creek – and didn't get in my kayak at all. Today, it is quite windy, there are even many white-caps and almost surfable waves on little Nuga Nuga Lake, but I decided to do some kayak skills practice in the sheltered bay near our caravan.

A while ago I read about a drill to teach torso rotation on the forward stroke. The basic idea was to lay a broom handle along your shoulders under the shoulder straps of your life jacket and then, if you were not rotating enough on each forward stroke, your paddle would bang against the broom handle.

Before getting back into sea kayaking after a reasonably long hiatus, I had never heard of “torso rotation” but now all the kayak books mention torso rotation (wind-up) as the most important feature of the forward stroke. Given that 90% of sea kayaking (maybe more) consists of paddling forwards, having an efficient forward stroke is clearly advantageous.

Ever since I read about torso rotation I have tried to incorporate it into my forward stroke, and, I guess I am reasonably successful. But, the annoying thing about torso rotation, at least for my body type, is that as I rotate my torso with each stroke, my head rotates along with it. After a while (not a very long while) I start to feel a bit dizzy and have a bit of a headache as my brain seems to rock around in my skull cavity with each forward stroke (think contra-coup). Hence, I do tend to reduce my torso rotation over time (not that much time). When the paddling is difficult, say beating into a headwind, I find myself concentrating much more carefully on getting good torso rotation as it is much less tiring than using your upper body to pull the kayak along. But, at other times, having your head swinging about like Tarzan in the jungle is actually fairly irritating. I've noticed that none of the books that talk about torso rotation mention anything about this head swinging problem. Theoretically, you could keep your head aligned to the front, but, for me, that seems to take more coordination than I have available.

In any case, I tried the broomstick under the life-jacket this morning. My first foray was unsuccessful as my life-jacket stays squarely front and centre even when I've rotated my torso so far to the back that I can reach my own rudder. So, I came back to shore and had Doug bungee the broomstick to my shoulders. He was quite concerned lest I tip and end up skewered into the bottom of the lake in some weird side-ways crucifixion.

My second attempt was much better but full torso rotation still seemed to engender considerable head rotation and I had to paddle slowly to avoid either getting dizzy or getting a headache as my head swung from side to side like a demented ACDC fan. Correction strokes were awkward, not because my paddle hit the broomstick, as according to all the books (!) I have my paddle low to the water on correction strokes. But, trying to rotate my torso, lean the boat into the paddle side and do a sweep stroke again overwhelmed my coordination skills. I did the lazy thing and dropped my rudder down so that I wouldn't need to make any corrective strokes.

Later, I went back on the lake again for my routine (if a breathtakingly multi-coloured sunset can be called routine) sunset paddle and found that I was able to torso rotate while keeping my head looking (mostly) towards the front. So, in all, the whole broom handle episode seemed quite worth while.

Nuga Nuga Lake

I'm sitting in the library using the free internet (a scarce thing in Australia) in the small central Queensland town of Injune on a gorgeous sunny day.  You might ask, and should ask, why I am indoors on such a day, well, it's a short-long story.

We left Biloela and drove out to Nuga Nuga Lake National Park expecting to stay one day and ended up staying three, and, wishing we could stay more.  But, we had already eaten all our food and drunk all our water, as, per my previous, we were only expecting to stay one night.  When our cupboards were completely bare, we sadly began to leave, and then thought - why don't we drive into Injune, stock up and stay three or four more days. So here we are.

Nuga Nuga Lake formed in the last 160 years from silt deposition due to floods.  The lake is relatively shallow and full of dead gum trees that grew prior to the lake flooding.  The other thing you need to know about Nuga Nuga Lake is it is stuffed with birds - brolgas, cormorants, shags, kingfishers, swans, pelicans, egrets, spoonbills, herons, ducks (and more and more and more that I don't know the names of).  There are also kangaroos, turtles, and water rats.

If you get the chance go there, with lots of food, water and a kayak or canoe. 

We have spent the last three days paddling about in our kayaks enjoying the amazing birdlife.  Sunset paddles have been a big thing, and, I hope to get back in time today for another sunset.  This is one place where I have been where the daylight hours are not long enough for all the time I want to spend outside.  When night falls (and the bugs come out) it is with extreme reluctance that I come indoors. 

Life On The Road

Doug and I have been on the road eight weeks now. Traditional wisdom implies that habits are formed in 12 weeks (something I've never believed myself), so we should be well on the way to falling into a comfortable well-grooved rut. But, life on the road, at least as we approach it, seems to defy habit formation.

Although our days have a certain pattern – most days, for example we eat (though some days I do not), take a dump, do some kind of activity, be it climbing, hiking or kayaking, but, other than those commonalities our days seem infinitely variable.

In some ways, being endlessly on the road is easy – there is no snow to shovel, no trees to clear off the driveway or the trails, no garden to tend, and a very minimal house to clean. In other ways, it is a challenge – keeping up with friends, with banking, taxes, and watching the inevitable (and rapid) decline of your car and caravan (both costly investments) is tough.

I find the most difficult part of being on the road is maintaining healthy habits. I miss, passionately, being able to lift heavy weights, train on my climbing wall, and do yoga for an hour on the expansive floor of our old home in Nelson. I'm pretty sure I feel older and more decrepit for the lack of these activities.

Some days, I get energetic and, after the days hike, kayak or climb is done, I go outside into the early darkness and swing the gas tank around doing some semblance of a reasonable work-out. Other days, I'll do a sprint training session on the beach, or squeeze into the back of our caravan at night and do some yoga. Some days, I even think I'll make more effort keeping this blog up to date. No doubt, you can see where this is leading. Mostly, none of these worthwhile activities are accomplished, at least on a regular basis. That doesn't stop me, however, from continually thinking, “tomorrow I'll have more time to work-out, do yoga, plan the next trip, update my blog...”

June Already, You're Joking

Not only is it already June, it is mid-June already and, we are still on the Sunshine Coast of Queensland enjoying what must truly be a real dearth of sunshine.  The weather hasn't been all bad, but we have definitely entered that zone where the locals keep telling you how "it's not normally this wet" and "this is the wettest year since 1905".  

Without access to our trip database - I'm sitting at the Gympie library - I find I can't really remember everything we have done since I last posted, but, I know we definitely spent two days paddling Pumicestone Passage between Bribie Island and the mainland.  The first day we paddled north to the very tip of the island near Caloundra.  On the east side, we found a deserted patch of beach to go skinny dipping, and found the water much warmer than further south.  The second day, we paddled south to the very southern tip of the island and walked around to the east side.  As this area is near roads, we had to swim in our cossies (the Australian word for swimsuits), and the water felt decidedly colder.

We took another trip to Brisbane to climb at the iconic Kangaroo Point crag.  Although I've seen this crag disparaged by "elite" or perhaps just "snobby" climbers, this is a really great place to climb.  We didn't do any absolutely stunning routes, but the location is awesome.  Right on the south side of the Brisbane River with easy transit service, sunny exposure, swimming at the nearby pool - complete with sand beach - 350 routes, all close together, all (or at least enough) well protected with glue-ins and ring bolts to rappel off, lit up by the council at night - really it just doesn't get any better.  

The hinterland behind the coast has a few rainforest parks - apparently, prior to white settlement (the British - and later Australians sure devastated the environment of Australia in a short period of time) the whole area was stuffed with rainforest, huge trees, crazy birds and wildlife, but now, a scant 300 years of colonization has denuded most of the rainforest and what remains is now fragmented into tiny pockets.  Still, these pockets are amazing, home to rare birds, mammals, bats and butterflies.  Mary Cairncross Park, near Montville has a great rainforest walk and interpretive centre and is well worth a visit.  

As are the local fruit stands where I had my first, but hopefully not my last, custard apples.  These lumpy, bumpy, ugly green fruits look nothing like apples and taste like sweet British custard and drip with juice.  Slurp.  The local pineapples aren't half bad either.  

From the hinterland, we hopped back to the coast and did a couple of walks around the local national parks, one to an old volcano with great views of the coast (Mount Coolah, I think), the other along the Noosa National Park coastline - great point breaks for surfing.  We also had a day climbing at Mount Tinbeerwah, but, the climbs were not that appealing, in true Australian fashion.  Protected with carrot bolts only, the bottom third of the cliff was actually pretty slimy with green moss (undoubtedly all the rain didn't help), the crux is always the bottom and the first manky carrot is 4 metres off the deck.  Given the current well posted bolting ban, it's unlikely these climbs will get any better/safer.  Few people want to climb the crux of the route with ground fall potential from a fair height on wet slimy rock.  

A much better experience is to paddle north up Lake Coothabara (I'm uncertain of the correct spelling) to the Noosa River which can be explored by kayak for about 40 km.  I can't fault a country where the tax dollars pay for the establishment of such a wonderful canoe trail with single private campsites scattered along the river banks.  We paddled from Boreen Point, across Fig Tree Lake (a small section of Lake Coothabara  sheltered by nearby islands and covered with water lillies) up through the Noosa Everglades (yep, they are pretty amazing) to camp at a wonderful and spacious camp with two jetties, three picnic benches and an outhouse, all available to book for one group (that's us) only.  Fabulous.  Despite the bull shark warnings, we did swim in the clear, but tannin stained (black) water off the dock.  From our camp, we paddled as far as you can on the river before it becomes to narrow, shallow and choked with trees.  The reflections in the black water are amazing, particularly where the river is very narrow and winding, and paperbarks and palms hang out over the water.  

That brings us to Gympie, where it is currently raining and we are catching up on a few chores.  Our next stop is a portion (the section that is open) of the Fraser Island Great Walk.  It looks, well, amazing, and no doubt, will be. 

No photographs again as I am posting this up at the Gympie Library.

Where Does Time Go

When we left the Cave at the end of April for our around/across/over Australia trip, I thought there would be lots of time in the evening after the days activities were done to edit our trip database, process photos, write my blog, plan the next days/weeks trip, do yoga, bust out a few pull-ups, all before dinner. Wrong again. We seem to barely have time to scratch ourselves before our next adventure starts.

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.