Carnarvon Gorge Part 2

Happy bushwalkers (yes, only a kilometre into the gorge)

Sunday was walk day and whilst we wanted to get started at 7.30am, allowing for the Fiela Factor plus the child handicap, we started at 8.30am. We had planned to do a (3.5km one way) walk up to Moss Garden (where water trickles from a spring down the walls of a cliff into the creek below, allowing moss to live and grow in a little gorge) with the children, and then I would walk a bit further on (1.8km one way) to the Ampitheatre (a large rock formation). Marguerite was a bit painful, but by the time we went over a creek or two and met some hikers already coming back, she was pumped. One of the hikers told us not to bother with the Moss Garden as it was ‘too steep’, though by the colour of her face, I’m sure she was rethinking the Carnarvon Gorge experience in total. Anyway, we pressed on, and when we turned off the main path to the Moss Garden we were all pretty pumped. It was steep, but totally worth it if only for the cool temperature of the viewing area. It was a lovely waterfall, and with all the water dripping down the sides of the walls it really was spectacular. We let the kids (all three of them) have a cool off in a stream a bit further down, then I headed off to the Ampitheatre while Fiela took the kids back to the car park.

Looking up to the gorge

Looking up into the Moss Garden

The Moss Garden

'Secret Garden' steps up to the Garden...
according to Marguerite.

The Moss Garden.

Swimming in the creek

Entrance to the Ampitheatre

Wow. I had hoofed it up to this next site, knowing I had to get back as Fiela was trudging along with Caesar in the carrier and no doubt carrying Marguerite part of the way as well. There are a number of ladders leading up to the opening of what looked like a cave, but as a cool blast of air hit me I could see  through the narrow rock corridor to a large area opening up to the sky, 10 storeys above. I was the only person there, and whilst my plan was to have a look, take some photos and scoot, I just couldn’t. Instead I sat down, took off my hat and had a little think and wonder at the natural beauty in front of me. It’s not often we are given true opportunities to contemplate the ancientness of this land we live in, but here looking up the worn sides of the cliff and seeing the sedimentary layers exposed from thousands of years of dripping water, watching individual leaves flutter down from the trees high above to the floor of the Ampitheatre for minutes at a time… It felt quite spiritual, peaceful and overwhelming large- isn’t that what all buildings of religion aim to be? Anyway, getting 10 unexpected minutes of absolute peace and quiet in such a beautiful place would turn any time-poor mum religious.

Looking out.

Walkway to the Ampitheatre

Inside the Ampitheatre

Inside the Ampitheatre- so peaceful

Wards Canyon

I bounced out of there with a new lease on life (lucky as it was bloody hot) and headed even further up the gorge to Ward’s Canyon. We’d been told it was definitely worth a look and only another 1.2km up from the Ampitheatre. It really was a heart-starter in the steep steps category, but again totally worth it. This is the only King Fern colony in Central Queensland and it is beautiful (and again really cool in temperature). Took a few photos then very quickly walked back to the carpark. All of a sudden it was hot, and the last 2kms started to feel very long. Made it back to see the rest of the Uys Huis lounging about on the grass. Fiela looked spry even, saying that he really only carried Miss Marguerite for maybe 400mtrs (what a little champion- and all in some $5 Big W gumboots- yes yes, we’re buying her proper shoes at the next town!)

King Ferns.

The Canyon.

Looking out of Wards Canyon.

 When we left camp at 8.30am, it was 21 degrees celsius. Now, at almost 1pm, it was 35 degrees.  We got home, and collapsed in the shade, then the creek.

More bushwalking fun...

That night two storms rolled through the camp, the first inciting much banging in of guide ropes, and the second sighs of relief with a decent shower of rain and a drop in temperature.

We left the next day, after a look at Balloon Cave with some Aboriginal rock art work and a surprisingly good lunch at the Oasis Lodge Café just down the road- I had a haloumi and pumpkin salad, Fiela a steak burger and the kids shared a chicken quesadilla which were all lovely. Here was this café in the middle of nowhere, 300kms from the nearest Woolies and they were still turning out nice food, and yet we’ve all been to well serviced and populated areas where cafes can spectacularly botch a vegemite sandwich. It boggles my mind.

On the way to Balloon Cave.

Rock art at Balloon Cave, apparently advertising axes.

It's only a very small example of rockart, you can see the orange colour above Marguerite's head- that's it.

While I would definitely come back to Carnarvon Gorge, we certainly won’t until the kids are able to do most of the hikes by themselves and there’s a bit more water in the creeks… On to Emerald and the gemfields! 

Carnarvon Gorge Part 1

Well happy readers, the reign of the grandparent (adopted or otherwise) has come to an end: the United States of Mum and Dad have arrived and the war has begun! Like all good conflicts, there was quite a lengthy period of unrest and cold war like activities (1 day in the car + 1 day camping after “Glengarry”) until the actual battles began to materialise (both sides sustained heavy casualities of  the psychological and physical kind). And it is not over yet!

We left “Glengarry” knowing the Nana and Poppy Hangover would ensue fairly quickly and like absolute rookies we did nothing at all to prevent this. Instead we drove for around three hours through fairly monotonous countryside interspersed by the odd town clearly spruced up on mining money. Miles was the most obvious example: lots of temporary accommodation and new motels in fairly sparsely populated areas reeks of mining money. Even in Roma, the place we stopped at for lunch had a 90% immigrant employee ratio, every second, third and fourth person is in high-vis gear and again the words ‘boom’ and ‘industry’ spring to mind. Great big billboards in the middle of nowhere either promote the rights of the farmer or the philanthropy of the mining companies. Either way, business is booming for someone out here in Central Queensland.

After lunch, the kids had a simultaneous meltdown of the ‘let’s just get some bread and get out of here’ kind in Woolies when we tried to get some groceries. Then we attempted to put them in the car for a leisurely drive ‘only two hours up to Carnarvon’ which surprise, surprise turned out to be much longer. We arrived at the Takarakka Campground at 5:20pm in time for more meltdowns from every member of the Uys Huis. The kids ate some potato salad. Fiela and I shared a packet of chips and a few beers. We all fell into bed.

Platypus hunting at 6.30am.

The next morning, still shell shocked after the previous day’s horrors, was spent doing very little. We did a walk up to a look out in the campground and had a wander through the crystal clear creek, put the kids in the naughty corner every five minutes, sorted some stuff out in the van, more naughty corner… Nothing much.

The campground itself has nice big plots though shade is a little hit and miss (we missed more than hit in this respect), and a great camp kitchen and amenities block. There are a billion kangaroos and wallabies bouncing around which entertained Caesar no end; Marguerite grew tired of them pretty quickly.

Saturday and Marguerite and I woke up early and went platypus hunting. Whilst she took this very seriously, I really just wanted to get her out of the van so Fiela and Caesar could have a little sleep-in. She was great as we headed down to the creek where platypus are usually spotted, even turning to me and stage whispering: “Mama- I can hear the sounds of nay-cha!” We saw one: it was playing with a little fruit that had fallen out of a tree, but it scooted as soon as someone sneezed, then coughed then said “Ooooh hello little platty-pus”. Platypus adventure over.

Rock hopping over Carnarvon Ck- obviously the best part of today's walk.

We finally made it into Carnarvon Gorge at 9.30am, (saw an echidna at the entrance- both monotremes 

 in one day!) just in time to realise it was really too late to do any walks of consequence. Instead we did a quick 1.5 km around the national park office itself so Marguerite could whinge a bit, then took the kids to the Rock Pool for a swim which should really have been titled ‘Cess Pool’. Whilst the creek is running, there isn’t a lot of water so everything here was green and sludgy. With a bit of rain to flush it out I’m sure it would be lovely but needless to say we took the kids straight back to the car, affording Marguerite some more whinging time. Tomorrow the real Carnarvon experience begins!

Looking back at Carnarvon Gorge.

.

Echidna a few hours later.

Bath time.

The Bunya Mountains

We drove through Dalby (and an extra half hour of roadworks, annoying!) and climbed up to where it was 8 degrees cooler and much greener in the Bunya Mountains. We walked the scenic track, 4kms, and on the way saw lots of big trees (no surprise) some beautiful little creeks and waterfalls (a nice surprise), a red bellied black snake right by the track (I hate surprises) and lots and lots of wallabies and lorikeets. Marguerite walked the entire circuit by herself, though I did have to lure her on with "any kind of dessert I want at Nana's, I mean, Andrea's house". You can stay right next to the national park, do plenty of nice cool walks and enjoy the log fire at night (or so every place seems to advertise)

View from the top of the mountains out over the Darling and Western Downs.

Tree hugging

A big strangler fig.

Marguerite in the strangler fig

Peaceful Tim O'Shea Falls

Not so peaceful anymore...

Wallaby with joey.

On the way home we stopped off at tiny Quinalow at the meat processing plant for delicious pork chops, and Fiela got an added bonus at just a bit bigger Jondaryan, when we stopped for some beer, where it was Lingerie Wednesday (a close second to Tits Out Monday). Apparently the three old blokes in there were really enjoying it. Unfortunately I was in the car so there are no photos of that part of the trip.

The Western Downs- "Glengarry"

 Well, no faithful followers, we haven’t actually started camping yet but continue to mooch off parents- not even our own but the future in-laws of my brother. The best kind really as there’s none of the pressure of making a good impression but all the great times of having someone in common to gossip about and make fun of the only way family can. Anyway, we left Newrybar after the looooooongest breaking of camp ever- my husband is quite the pedantic packer-uper-er which negates my just-chuck-it-iner-er tendencies quite nicely. Anyhoo, we both had butterflies as we drove over the Great Dividing Range, through Toowoomba and onto “Glengarry”, a cattle property between Bowenville and Dalby (a two and a half hour drive west of Brisbane).

Ready for cows.

Steve and Andrea run a property for the Department of Primary Industries, raising cattle which are used to generate tick vaccines for tick prone areas around Australia. To say their work is invaluable is a bit of an understatement, which is exactly the way to describe these lovely, welcoming people. It was quite obvious that they had taken our stay at their property as a pseudo-holiday and I must admit I felt quite guilty knowing they had tonnes of work to do but instead were happy to play tourist guides to us coasties/townies.

Dogs, 4WD bikes, chickens, cows... does it get any better?

Caesar almost had a fit when he saw their airconditioned tractor, even more fitting when he found the horn button and – paradise found - they also had a 4WD bike to be driven around on. Marguerite ‘fed’ the cows, talked to the dogs and harassed the chickens, perplexed at their inability to produce eggs on demand. The poor things, I’m sure they’ll be too stressed to give eggs anytime soon.

Andrea, Marguerite and some egg collecting fun.
Unfortunately out of the 8 or so eggs she
managed to coax out of the chickens, only 3 made
it back to the house intact.                            

 The drought out here is distressing though; there are cracks in the earth, the 2000+ trees just planted are on the brink of dying and whilst the cows are the picture of health, this is clearly due to the feed they are given on a daily basis. Even more heartbreaking are the stories of people further west who have made peace with the drought and are preparing to sell up their family farms for a more secure, if less personally rewarding  life closer to the coast and regular water. I feel like I’m simply making light of the situation when I suggest the mythology of the Queensland Outback, those vast Cattle Stations and the ubiquitous farmer icon of our Australian Identity are under threat like never before. I’ve watched the news clips, seen politicians talk and heard the numbers of new districts added to the tally of those in drought in Central QLD… but witnessed first hand (and really even in a fairly mild form), the idea that adding $1 to every meat purchase as a way of raising funds for these courageous and most humble of people seems the very least this coastal chick can do.

Awful tiger pear.

 But to more pressing concerns ( ;) ) the tiger pear!? What the..? Apparently this (ob)noxious cactus ‘jumps’ out at you, especially if you are a metre tall and answer to the name of ‘Caesar’. I could hear the boy crying from the house, thinking he had fallen over and was therefore in a little ‘I’m just too annoyed to get up unassisted’ moment, I didn’t rush over, until I could see Marguerite hovering over him, pointing and clearly also a little distressed. This awful plant is cactus like to look at, full of barbs and was full of Caesar by the time I got there. Then I was full of it (and still am at time of print) as I tried to work his shoes, pants and nappy off. Luckily these three items copped the worst of the prickles, but we had to use pliers to get the rest out of his hands and feet (and mine later on). I always wondered why country people coated their children in denim. Now I know.

We are off to the Bunya Mountains tomorrow for a respite from the dusty wind and then it’s more unchartered territory. I’m still feeling the comfort of parental arms and have done nothing more in the van than boiled some water, but I’m almost ready to embark on a full time camping experience without any safety nets. Almost.

Tractors and cows. Exciting.

These two working dogs are eyeing off some cattle around 20 metres away.
Steven communicates with them mostly via whistles and participates in lots of competitions.

Steve in action with his one of his working dogs, mustering some cattle.
His favourite dog, Annie, is the Australian champion.

Clay pigeon shooting at "Glengarry".
All in an evening's entertainment.

.. And there goes the clay pigeon ;) He did hit a couple!

Steve and some tiger pear he 'picked up' retrieving a plastic bag. 

A beautiful Western Downs sunset.

Minyon Falls

Most of my posts have been, shall we say, reader-centric. So as a nod to all those out there who groan everytime they see these posts are longer than two sentences, this one's for you...

We drove out to Minyon Falls which on Whereis.com was only a 26min drive from Newrybar, but when it felt like we were about to come around a corner and find ourselves in Nimbin, I hung my 'local' head in shame and deferred to the Navigon on Fiela's phone. We'd missed the turnoff because the sign was missing and congratulated ourselves on negotiating this little navigational hurdle fight free.

The drive up to Minyon Falls in the Nightcap National Park.
Beautiful rainforest and just enough dirt to feel like you're kilometres from anywhere.

"What the?? Where's Nana?"

"Walking? Come on Marguerite - you can do this!!" She actually said that. Hilarious and kind of scary as I could almost hear the Dora the Explorer anthem. 

Father of the year carrying Caesar in our new Osprey baby carrier. Super comfortable and with some clever little storage spaces. 

Minyon Falls- see that damp skid mark? That's it. 

Rocks and water at the bottom of the 'falls'.

I love a bushwalk starting with a boarded path- lulls you into a false sense of security that it will be easy, requiring no effort and certainly no steps or hills.

Happy days! Fast forward two hours and it's a very different story... "My legs just have no energy left in them..."

The Bush Tucker man and his willing assistants.

A scribbly bark tree hollowed out by termites. 

And the apples do not fall far from the tree. This 'little' stop  took about 20 minutes as Fiela and Marguerite harassed the termites. I looked on with bemusement.

So we did about four kilometres of the Minyon Falls track, halfway to the bottom and back. Marguerite walked pretty much the entire way- the last 500 metres was a bit harrowing for everyone but we think she did brilliantly for her first walk. Apart from the backpack for Caesar, we were totally unprepared- I wore Crocs thinking it would be fine but the pain in my calves for the next three days said otherwise.  Mosquitoes attacked us. Sunburn was rife. And not one sweet chocolately treat between us to ease the sweaty work of bushwalking. Unattractive hiking boots I will find you in the bottom of the van...