The 24 hour hike
Sydney weather forecasting is very much an arcane art. Where
in Texas, hot and sunny is often a good bet and the meteorologists can
prognosticate with a fair amount of accuracy the extended Sydney climate
projections often delve into pure fantasy. Even a day out, the predictions are
suspect. Many times I’ve seen the little weekend weather icon on my desktop
that so stolidly declares sun all week long suddenly shift to partly cloudy to
overcast to thunderstorms over the course of a few hours on a Friday afternoon
just before the rain begins to fall.
The weekend before our Mungo excursion most weather sources
were calling for sun. It had been a mixed week and we weren’t overly confident.
Not keen to waste a sunny Saturday though we loaded our day packs Friday night.
At dawn on Saturday I padded out into the living room to take a look. The
blanket of clouds that had been with us the day before had vanished over night
and it was all clear sky as far as I could see. I woke up Jean and then made a
picnic lunch. After breakfast, we hoofed it up the hill to the train station
and bought a couple of return tickets to Springwood station in the Blue
Mountains.
* * *
Soon after arriving in Sydney Jean discovered the Wild Walks
website. The site contains an exhaustive lists of walks and hikes in the Sydney
area that range from half hour strolls to multiple day, 40+ kilometer treks
complete with downloadable maps and trail notes for each hike. Back in January
I was looking for hikes in the Blue Mountains and found a track that went from
Springwood Station to Blaxland Station. The trail covered 13.6 kilometers and
took an estimated 6 hours to complete. It looked perfect for a full day out.
Jean and I took the train to Central where we transferred on
to the Blue Mountains line. After chugging west for over an hour we passed
Blaxland station. Three stops later we arrived in Springwood. It was half past
ten and the town was busy with activity. Booths offering artisan crafts and
sumptuous victuals lined the main street of town. A guitarist performed on a
little platform set up in front of a church and a number of people were out
this morning. Families, couples and roving bands of teenagers meandered along
the street taking advantage of the cool, crisp morning.
Jean and I made our way through the crowds, turned off the
main street and soon found the trail head. The trail wound down into a small
valley. Descending into the well-shaded basin the air became cool and thick
with moisture. The trail leveled off as it passed through a clearing occupied
by a rotting, wooden picnic table and then continued steeply down. The leaves
and fronds of the plants lining the track glistened with dew and my
shirtsleeves were soon damp.
Before long, the trail met a small creek and began following
its meandering path. Our trail notes listed several possible variations early
on. Not noticing the “Optional side trip” text over a set of directions I
mistakenly led us a short distance off the main trail and up a hill to a sunlit
grassy picnic area. We ventured back into the shady basin and soon after came
to another side trail that went up to a look out. It was a short, steep climb
to a largely obscured vantage point that left us less than impressed.
 |
| Not happy about leeches |
Returning to the main trail Jean noticed that the back of my
ankle was bleeding. Thinking I had rubbed a blister, I asked her if she could
get a bandage from her pack and then I inspected my ankle. Crouching down I saw
a black, writhing, worm-like creature clinging to the back of my shoe. I
brushed the leech off and found several other leeches climbing up my shoe in
inchworm fashion. I dispersed them as well and told Jean she’d best make a
check. She also discovered a couple on her boots. As Jean had worn trousers she
was able to tuck her trouser legs into her socks. Not the most glamorous look
but an effective ward against thirsty interlopers.
Reasonably confident that we were leech free, Jean and I
continued following the trail along the creek. A woman with a large purse slung
over her shoulder and walking very quickly, soon overtook us. As she
disappeared around a bend I commented to Jean that the white loafers she was
wearing didn’t seem quite suited for the muddy, leech-infested track.
Slogging along through the muck, Jean and I also talked
about how unenthused we both were with this hike thus far. We stopped a couple
of times to check our footwear for parasitic hitchhikers. During one break I
heard someone on the trail ahead of us. The woman with the purse reappeared
moving at the same rapid pace. We stepped aside, said “hello” again and watched
her disappear back in direction she had come from originally.
Several kilometers later the creek had widened to a few
meters in span and the canopy had opened up allowing in some sun. I spied a
clear area in the crook of the stream that looked like a good place to take a
lunch break. Checking my watch to confirm my stomach was correct in its
lunchtime estimation, I recoiled upon seeing the tail of a long, black leach
flailing out from beneath the watchband. I frantically swiped at it sending the
writhing creature sailing into the water. Blood instantly began to well up from
a small puncture wound in my wrist.
We stopped for some bandaging and lunch. At half past twelve
we moved on again. The stream continued to grow in girth. We heard the roar of
a waterfall but couldn’t find a good vantage point. Checking the track notes I
found the description for a waterfall. The notes read:
“Magdala Falls is a
disappointing set of falls. The view from the steep hillside doesn’t show any
of the falls, but instead lets your hear the water cascade in the pools below.”
At least we were on the right track. By two o’clock Jean and
I had covered about 6 ½ kilometers (not including our two side trips) or about
half our total hike. From a junction, our path sloped precipitously downward
petering out on a rocky bank. The creek had now swollen into a wide, quickly
moving flow. We spent several minutes investigating crossings and eventually
maneuvered over via some slippery boulders. Crashing around in the thick scrub
on the other side I soon found a cairn (rock stack).
 |
| A cairn |
Several cairns later we were on a well established trail.
The track led up to the base of the hill and ascended in a long series of
switchbacks. The black mud of the flood plain turned to sandy loam and the air
became warm and dry. My shirt was soon soaked through with sweat.
On the uphill climb we passed a group of teenagers loping
down the trail. Nearing the top I stopped off under a rocky outcropping to wait
for Jean. Studying the trail notes I noticed that the estimated travel time
from the junction on the other side of the creek to the lookout somewhere above
was 35 minutes. Checking my watch, I saw that it had been about an hour since
we’d left the junction. And here I thought Jean and I were reasonably fit and
seasoned hikers. Fortunately, we still had four hours of daylight to cover some
six kilometers.
Jean caught up and after several more switchbacks we made it
up to the first lookout. Walking along the ridge we came across a couple of
other sweeping vantage points. After a water break on a rocky outcrop
overlooking the valley we decided it was time to make tracks for the exit.
We continued following the ridge line. The leaf-strewn trail
was flat but crowded with thick brush. I held my walking stick up in front of
me to knock away the occasional spider web spanning the trail. Lulled into
complacency of following straight, flat unremarkable trail a movement in the
leaves in front of my toe caught me off guard. I made an undignified yelp and
jumped awkwardly backward as a snake slithered off the path and into the
undergrowth.
After a while the path widened relieving me of plowing
through cobwebs. A black flash of movement in my peripheral vision drew my eyes
up in time to see an elusive and elaborately plumed lyrebird jetting across the
trail. I clumsily grabbed for my camera and failed utterly to get a picture or
the rare bird.
The trail joined a fire management trail, which made me
suspicious. It was suspicious as the fire trail wasn’t on our map nor was it
mentioned in the trail notes. The latter of which was often quite verbose in
its description and surely would commented on an encounter with a wide gravel
fire trail. I had a sinking feeling that I had made a wrong turn. The feeling
was reinforced after rereading the notes a couple of time and in particular
after studying the part about the intersection at the small cairn (highlighted
below). I had misinterpreted the phrase “this walk heads south east” as “this walk
continues south east” and hadn’t checked my compass to confirm the direction
Int.
Bunyan Lookout Trk and Lost Worlds Trk to Int. Bunyan Lookout Trk and St Helena
Trk 0.6km 10 mins
(From
7.91 km) From the intersection, the walk heads in a southerly direction away
from the red stump, keeping it behind on the right of the track. The walk winds
through the bush, crossing a few sandy areas that lead to a small cairn marking the
intersection, on the left of the track.
Int.
Bunyan Lookout Trk and St Helena Trk to St Helena Ridge Lookout 2.8km
45 mins
(From 8.49 km) From the intersection, this walk heads
south east along track soon leading downhill. The walk meanders through the
heath for quite some time. The walk nears a cliff line on the left, which it
continues near for a short time before opening out onto a rocky outcrop with a
view across to houses on the opposite hill (just before the steep downhill
section).
 |
| This was the nicer trail |
I remembered a path leading off from the main trail but it
looked to be overgrown and I didn’t think much of it until reaching this fire
trail. We had been at that turn off some 45 minutes ago. Jean and I turned
around and moving into high gear, reached the intersection in just over half an
hour. Sure enough, nestled in the grass at the edge of the trail was a flat,
plate-sized rock, on top of which were five golf-ball sized rocks. The small
cairn.
The soft glow of late afternoon now bathed the forest as
Jean and I took off down the narrow trail with a growing sense of urgency. The
brush was thick, much thicker then the trail we had turned off from. Brambles
grabbed at my arms and legs as I pushed through ahead of Jean trying to clear
something of a path. More than once I longed for the machete I’d used while
working in South Texas. The trail was fraught with myriad spider webs as well.
My arms and face were soon sticky with their gauzy remnants. The abundance of
webs suggested that no one had been this way for at least several hours and
more likely a couple of days.
The trail ran up to the ridge’s rocky spine and disappeared.
We were happy to have some respite from the dense growth but grew disconcerted
about the absence of a trail. Continuing along the spine we soon found where
the trail picked up ducking back into the scrub. Nearly an hour after the small
cairn the trail began to grow indistinct as it approached a cliff. The valley
came into view through the thick trees and we heard the rushing creek again.
Reading from the trail notes, the next leg of the hike was to follow a very
faint, steep track down to the creek. Considering the swiftly fading daylight,
instructions to find a faint track was not the most encouraging direction.
Searching the area Jean and I found several steep, indistinct trails but I
couldn’t really determine whether they were man made or the results of erosion.
I looked at the notes again:
“…follows a very faint track initially very steeply down off
the rock platform following the ridge. After about 100 meter the faint track
bends right at another rocky outcrop. Here the walk leads off the side of the
ridge to then wind down through the rocky outcrops and continue down through
the scrub for about 180 meters until just before Glenbrook Creek where this
walk comes to an un-signposted intersection.”
A faint track, some rocky outcrops and an un-signposted
intersection are pretty poor landmarks. We decided on a trail that appeared to
be leaving from the rock platform. Footing on the leaves and loose soil was
tenuous and we slid part of the way to an exposed rock face. With the ridge and
trees blocking out light from the setting sun I wasn’t able to determine where
track continued. I also had severe doubts as to whether it was a trail at all.
The climb back up to the platform would be tricky and I didn’t fancy coming
down in the dark. Our path eventually led over the creek so rather then hunting
for the trail I planned to make for the creek and follow it to find the
crossing.
Jean and I began a sliding scramble down the hill.
Descending a ravine, my foot dislodged a football-sized rock that proceeded to
tumble down the hill and crash into a tree fifty meters below. I suggested to
Jean that she allow me to get clear before coming down further. We continued
the descent in alternating stages finally reaching the creek basin.
The basin was choked with undergrowth. Ducking under limbs
and pushing through thick foliage we made it to the creek. The top of the
valley wall on the opposite side glowed with the sheen of the setting sun. We
scanned the opposite shoreline looking for the pink flagging that marked the
crossing point. The creek was ten meters wide and fast moving and I saw neither
markers nor a way to get across. We’ve moved downstream. The basin floor was
uneven, piled with a jumble of mossy rocks and thick with plants and vines.
Our progress slow and soon the way was blocked by a wall of
impenetrable flora. Jean and I weaved back towards the edge of the basin and
followed the hillside before cutting back towards the creek. The sky was
rapidly darkening as the sun retreated and a gloomy twilight settled on the
forest. I recovered my flashlight from my rucksack and flipped it on. After
some more maneuvering over logs and boulders and pushing through the brush we
broke into a clearing that led to the water’s edge. The creek side was relatively
clear and we followed it easily for a few minutes to an open sandy area. The
stream, now placid, split around a sandy delta covered with thick vegetation.
We considered wading through to the other side. The water was murky and in the
fading light it was difficult to determine its depth. Further, there were no
discernible tracks or markings on the other side. We followed the creek down
stream.
The way soon became difficult again. We forged ahead,
crashing through the underbrush shimmying over fallen logs and crawling across
the rough terrain. It was soon fully dark. A full moon rose in the northern
sky. My shirt was soaked with sweat and my legs stung with scrapes and
lacerations from the caresses of countless vines. An exit wasn’t look
forthcoming. I turned around and told Jean the thought that had gnawing away at
me for a while now.
“I think we’re going to have to spend the night out
here.”
The same thought had been on Jean’s mind. She agreed that we
weren’t going to get much accomplished stumbling around in the dark besides
perhaps twisting an ankle. We turned around and began back tracking. The
clearing we had passed through earlier struck me as a good place to wait out
the morning. With one flashlight the going was slow but eventually we made it back
to the sandy beach unscathed. From there it was a short walk to the clearing.
Comments