I Heart Queensland

My good friend Peri and I went hiking in the Gold Coast Hinterland for six days.  When arriving in Brisbane and picking up the hire car, I was playing 'Queensland' by Evil Eddie in my head, which is hilarious.  Before long we were in stunning subtropical forest, getting lost, being eaten by ticks and finding out a bit more about ourselves.  

We devoured day hikes in Lamington and Springbrook National Parks, and then started the 3-day Gold Coast Hinterland Great Walk.  À la the famous Queensland advert, the weather was beautiful one day, perfect the next.  While it’s nice to be dry when camping, one likes to see a forest in its many moods, especially a rainforest.  Maybe it will rain the next visit.  The multi-dayer comprises 21km on Day one followed by 23km on Day two.  Too much for my liking with the weighty rucksack, but the Government insisted that you cannot camp to break up the sections.  Hmmm.

 

Fungi!

We were mostly based at the Binna Burra Mountain Lodge and Campground, where Pearce at the bar looked after us with glasses of red while we played cards. Travel weary, I made faces out of the stone pillars in the dining room.  Here was a lodge established in 1933, reminiscent of dreamy California mountain history with that solid wood and stone feel.

On our first day of hiking, Coomera Falls exceeded my vague expectations and delivered the wow factor.  We quickly got a feel for the forest and Antarctic Beech trees, some of them 1500 years old — an ancient species from Gondwanan days.  The park’s ridges are the remains of the Tweed volcano, leaving rhyolite rock today.  There was rhyolite in the Lakes District, as if this posse of rock has been following me around.  Coomera Falls centres in a deeply carved gorge, 160 metres from the viewing platform at the top.  Such a long way down to where the Coomera River tips over the edge.  On the opposite wall there was a sodden verdant hanging garden, where photos don’t do justice.  Then you can peer to the right to see and imagine the gorge’s rugged downstream journey.  Highly recommended.

 Coomera Falls

This trip was a learning experience because Peri and I know how to have deep and meaningful yarns, and also because stuff didn’t go to plan. Here is what I learned: 

Buddies can lose each other even on marked tracks — have a contingency plan 

Better still perhaps, have a map each.  

Day one of the Hinterland Great Walk went well, climbing to Bithongabel (1198m), bringing Middle Earth furry moss environs, and forest gap views south towards Mount Warning.  We crossed the New South Wales border more than once, oblivious to the fact at the time.  The track quality was excellent.  I liked the epiphytes hanging onto the tall trees, and the various red leaves of new growth, lush creek lines and spring wildflowers.  Lunch was at Chakoonya lookout where you can make out the distant high rises of the Gold Coast.  I said ‘Heh heh’ to that, there was a pause, and then we burst out laughing.  Sweeping mountain solitude was ours and I figured many people must just love the busyness of Surfers Paradise.  Whatever floats your boat hey?  

As the afternoon got old we heard the Green catbird calls. They sound like a crying child or a cat fight, which is unlikely and amazing.  Back in camp, a Brisbane chap relayed to me that he read of the species being so ancient, that perhaps this was how prehistoric birds used to sound before birdsongs evolved.

 Lush waterways

 Looking south towards Mt Warning

Alas 21km was a few too many, and for the last hour or so my back was caning from the big rucksack.  I had a short lie down when there was 2km to go.  The straps were adjusted OK, but I continued to have these problems that bothered me on the Overland Track a couple of years earlier.  Regular short breaks are important and healthy.

On Day two Peri and I lost each other, and so the Great Walk came to an abrupt halt.  It seemed reasonable and going by past experience, to spread out and allow space and alone time when hiking, then meet up soon when one waits for the other.  Peri and I read the map together at the start of the day, then after some quarreling and making peace of our arguments, walked separately for a while.  At 3.7km I was ahead, and there I sat waiting for 40 minutes at the lower Bellbird Circuit Junction, with no sign of her unfortunately.  My texts didn’t bring replies yet, so I decided to hike back to where we’d set out from.  I kept calling out to Peri because with the precipitous drop-aways, I actually feared the worst.  There was no sign of her, and fellow hikers along the way hadn’t seen her either.  I thought, this could be the first couple of hours of a horrible accident experience, and how sorrowful that would be, and tried to stay calm.

Eventually I arrived back at the Lodge and on the phone to the police, when Peri texted me.  She hiked 16km onward to the café and main road that is Nunimbah.  It turned out there were other tracks on the Lodge property that weren’t on the topo map, which brought Peri another way out to the track to Nunimbah.  The same track I would have reached by going the main route via Lower Bellbird Circuit.  Two different turnoffs had ‘Bellbird’ in the name.  Here we were, getting a wake-up call despite the hiking experience under our belts.

By the time Peri and I were on the phone, there wasn’t enough daylight for me to hike to Nunimbah and the further 7km to camp.  We shared our thank-goodnesses that we were both OK.  It was best to bring the car transfer forward (and pay double the price), although the driver couldn’t arrive until 6:30.  At 10:00pm my utterly exhausted friend lobbed into Binna Burra campground with the hire car she’d collected from the start point at Green Mountain/O’Reilly’s.  There was a crapload of mountain driving in between!   

The next morning there was no rush so we lingered over breakfast, argued, and I insisted we kept talking this mishap through.  Later Peri thanked me for leading us out of our disagreements.  We were able to enjoy some sightseeing and day hiking and continued friendship.

Peri & me at Canyon Lookout, Springbrook National Park

Ticks are a drama: bring sturdy tweezers because the mini pocket knife ones don’t quite tweeze it.

My swotting up on tick first aid provided the theory, to get the whole beast out and don’t leave a bit behind.  In practice they’re quite shocking little mongrels.  I’d never experienced ticks before.  I had acne on my chest around the time and thought to myself, ‘Gee that acne scab is stubbornly not coming away from my skin’.  The next morning I took pain killers for my random headache, and then looked into the campsite bathroom mirror at the very sore scab…  T I C K ! 

After several attempts with the loop of thread and then my little pocket knife tweezers, it wasn’t budging, as though it was stitched into my skin.  I almost burst into tears upon discovering the Lodge first aiders’ policy of not assisting, rather giving you the sturdy tweezers and Medi-Swab.  Peri called the cleaning ladies over and they went to work.  While I held onto one of the ladies, they cooed ‘Ooh he’s buried deep this one!’  Thank God it was out at their fourth attempt.  I could move on and the toxin aches would go away.  Peri then had a tick visit and we did a fabulous job with quality tweezing equipment.

Four weeks on and my bite site was raised and red like a mozzie bite.  My doctor biopsied the tissue and I have stitches now!  The tissue is off to the lab to be studied… 

Caves Circuit and Twin Falls Circuit: more reasons why I heart Queensland 

The subtropical forest of the Hinterland comes with an understory of leaf litter, ferns and fungi, giving way to liana vines and herbaceous things, and then mega trees like the red cedar and the beech.  The volcanic rock formed hillside caves that are fascinating.  You contemplate what life would have been like for the Yugambeh ancestors living off the land and enjoying shelter here, big enough for a few families, and with beautiful natural light.  The views looking across the Coomera Valley were quite something, backlit by the afternoon sun, with the dense treetops looking really wild from my high point.

Cave! Twin Falls Circuit, Springbrook National Park

Twin Falls circuit at Springbrook had another awesome cave.  There was a lovely social feel here —people gathering and being playful between canyon walls, near the water’s edge and under the falls.  I stood there and looked up to see glistening water drops, moving sun diamonds against the bluest sky.  

Reflection is good — I reflected I’ll choose a rollicking good time 

Peri is a truly good conversationalist and she witnessed me get anxious about incidental things, so we talked about that.  I also get anxious about what people will think if I’m not a good enough rock climber, or other aspects of my life in public.  Am I OK enough?  We talked about the fact that if people are judging harshly, then maybe they’re the one with the problem.  This thought has crossed my mind before, but to have Peri assert this is priceless and I’m very grateful to her for this conversation and the many others we had on the trip, sharing stories in such a glorious natural setting.

I reflected I’d have a rollicking good time doing the things I like, to allay anxiety.  Yet it’s such a busy life and the work and chores need to be done!  Sure, but here’s the rub. Who knows what sorrow or urgency might be around the corner.  This notion was brought home when I was trying to keep level-headed while hiking up that hill towards Binna Burra, shouting Peri’s name and looking down at the drop-aways.

Special mentions go out to visitors and staff were friendly and helpful, and made us feel welcome.  The bar staff and the hardware store dude who chattered with us.  The lady who offloaded tasty scroggin and recommended Coomera Falls to us.  The couple who shared their campfire with me that night while I waited for Peri, and the National Park staff who graciously took my feedback about the signage.  This is what outdoorsy holidays, along with spectacular Mother Nature, should be made of.  Good onya Queensland.

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The UK Trip

I ran down from the summit of Lochnagar, somehow avoiding catastrophe on the slippery and jagged terrain. Hurrying in those conditions is not like me at all!  Changing at Edinburgh Haymarket station, somehow I managed to find the right platform, and seeing a train zooming in that was not my train, just before the correct one southbound. I’d been a bee’s whisker from having to backpack to Glasgow again!   

I’m back home, settling into what Mum likes to call ‘ordinarium.’  But the UK trip is taking some getting over because the mountains made such an impression on me.  It was a buzz to spend time with dear family and friends half way around the world, and now I’m especially pleased to share my hillwalking shenanigans of the trip.

I met up with my good friend Les in Aberdeen, and my favourite Champ and fellow Aussie Chris joined us just before starting his new job in Inverness.  On our big Cairngorms day we hiked up the Munro called Lochnagar, a granite massif with an elevation of 1155 metres.  Munro is the term for a Scottish mountain over 3,000 feet and the local peaks are Les’s stomping ground! 

A scenic drive brought us to the trailhead. I thought the wind coming off the loch was a bit nippy, but I had no idea what was coming.  We emerged from a little forest and started climbing a wide path.  There were folks with dogs throughout the day – to say they were hardy walking dogs is an understatement!  As the track narrowed, Les regaled us with the story of his friend’s encounter with an outdoorsy ghost in a nearby bothy (hut). The apparition arrived and unpacked his gear in the middle of the night - fabulous!  We put on raincoats for the low-lying cloud up the slope.  It was definitely under 10°C and soon we arrived at the pass with a smaller mountain 'Meikle Pap' to our right.  Chris played in snow for the first time since school camp, delighting in the way his boots gripped into it.  Life was good.  Jacob’s Ladder was a steep rocky staircase but nothing too hard.  It took us to the plateau where the weather promptly began to poop itself!

Starting up towards Lochnagar 

There were cairns on the plateau but with the poor visibility I didn’t always see them. It was a relief to have Les striding out in front.  The wind whipped the rain sideways onto us causing my windward left eye to ache.  We were getting spanked by at least 60 km/h winds!  The rain came in earlier than forecast and there were a number of fellow walkers and long-suffering dogs caught out near the summit. 

With Chris on the edge of the corrie
 

The distinctive rim of the corrie (cirque) was interesting to see from different angles. The drop away faded to a white nothing.  Les pointed out that extreme skiers have headed down the terrifying slope (search Jacob’s Ladder head cam on YouTube!)  Just as I was swearing and thinking it’s not possible for the wind to get any wilder, the summit boulder mound loomed. Les had a big crazy smile. ‘Your first Munro!’ he laughed as I touched the cairn, swore some more and then clambered to shelter for our sandwiches.  Hello weather!

Lochnagar summit with a lot of weather!

My first Munro! With Les

Shivering is not good.  The Icebreaker was the deal maker keeping my torso warm.  My gloves were soaked through and the wind chilled my fingers sore.  I can’t recall my gloves ever being inadequate, but Les kindly lent me his thicker ones to go over the top.  What a sweetie.  Running down the summit helped to warm us up, but then of course you have to watch your footing.  Eventually the stream of rain running down my new trekking trousers got into my boots and it was squelch time for the remaining hours.  But the big waterfall coming off the mountain was worth getting my camera wet.  I took in the rugged sight of the multi-tiered waterfall and the patchwork of purples, greens, greys and yellows of the heath poking through the weather.  I still can’t believe there were two workers improving the trail at that place and time.  Hardcore.

The waterfall

Eventually we gained the wide trail that follows Loch Muich, a path that has seen royalty because Balmoral Castle is close by.  Walking three abreast, we chattered away and finally the wind eased.  The seven-hour wild weather adventure finished back at the car at 5:30pm. 

Lochnagar now takes its place among my top three craziest hiking weather experiences alongside a Falls Creek cross-country skiing blizzard a long time ago, and the Vulkathunha Gammon Ranges wind and dust storms of ’09.  Congratulations Lochnagar!  Chris and I were grateful to Les for his navigational smarts in the white-out.  Tired but happy, we returned to the cosy warm Invercauld Arms for celebratory eating and drinking then pub-crawled to the Fife Arms for whisky nightcaps.  The day was a reminder of how resilient our bodies can be (right down to my bloated fingers) when tested towards the limits of what we think we can handle.

The Lake District, aka Blighty with mountains

The little train from Carlisle took me to Seascale where I caught a taxi inland to Wasdale Head.  I treated myself to an orientation hike for a couple of hours, up hill and down dale.  I sat on the stones at the shore of the massive Wast Water, England’s deepest lake, with The Screes on one side and Yewbarrow on the other.  It was a moment of perfection feeling the mild breeze on my face, taking in the scent of spring grasses where the lambs frolic.  Mountain weather is changeable and I was soon hoofing it back to the Wasdale Head Inn with rolling black clouds chasing after me.  The Inn was my home for the next three days.  I became infatuated with the old worldy pub atmosphere, friendly staff and fellow punters, and the hundred-year-old climbing pictures on the walls.

The Wasdale Head Inn

The weather gods were kind the next morning when I hiked up Scafell Pike.  At 978 metres it’s the highest mountain in England, popular as part of the National 3 Peaks Challenge along with Ben Nevis and Snowdon in as many days.  Keen people.  

I plodded up towards Hollow Stones, doing leave calculations in my head for future trips and getting views of Wast Water from a high point.  This pile of stones and boulders gave way to zigzagging and cairns.  Threatening clouds appeared towards the coast but blew off in another direction so it was cloudy but fine and not cold.  It didn’t take as long as Lochnagar to summit Scafell Pike and be making the most of the 360 degree views. The Lakeland is undoubtedly big and dramatic and I was pretty chuffed with what I saw.

Lingmell Gill (creek), Looking back towards Wast Water

On the summit of Scafell Pike, England's highest mountain

I checked out Lingmell Col where among the grassy green I found grey boulders to wrap my hands around and feel the grippy rhyolite stone. It is part of the Borrowdale Volcanic Group in geology-speak.  I clambered over the easy ones and imagined climbers debating whether to go on or retreat in a downpour mid-route, but at least the rock is rough and frictiony.  On the way down the mountain it was bliss to put on my sunhat and sunscreen and to sit and stare awhile with my sandwich, making faces out of the rocks.  Climber Craig works at the Inn and kindly lent me one of his guidebooks.  I checked out the topos but must confess I gave the long scramble to the cliffs a miss.  Soon I was luxuriating in a hot bath, then to the bar for a quenching Boondoggle blonde ale.

Looking down towards Lingmell Col

Over the evening meal Yvonne and Phil from Suffolk showed me a volume of the much-loved Wainwright guidebooks with meticulous illustrations by hand.  Mr Wainwright described the scree slope of Great Gable on the Wasdale Side as something very unpleasant.  But then Craig said you could slide down the scree quite cruisey although you’d want to avoid going up it. I was about to find out who was correct!

Great Gable was covered in cloud on the Wednesday morning, but surely it would clear.  There were moments of eye contact with Lakeland sheep and cute lambs as I clomped uphill on an excellent track leading to Sty Head.  On the ‘Tubular Fells’ map à la London Tube, Sty Head is quite the mountain junction, complete with stretcher box.  There, the best path up Great Gable became apparent.  After another 15 minutes of uphill I had an awesome view of several tracks dotted with fellow walkers and the beautiful Styhead tarn.  I sat cross-legged on a perfect rock and bit into a historic Quiggins Kendal Mint Cake.  Yes, a local traditional energy bar of pure rectangular minty sugar and not cake-like at all.  Flippin’ heck!

The excellent track leading to Sty Head

The way became steeper but there were reassuring cairns.  Eventually I was at the top of Great Gable (899 metres) reading the Fell & Rock Climbing Club memorial plaque of World War I.  The cool of the Kendal mintiness matched the cold hilltop air.  Oh well, couldn’t see anything with our heads in the clouds.  No, wait - in seconds the cloud moved away like a curtain to reveal the blues and greens of Wast Water and its companion valleys to the northwest.  Another WOW moment!  The cloud moved so quickly I’d never experienced anything like it other than from a plane window.  And then the view closed down once more.

The wonderful view of the valleys below Great Gable

Geez!  Before me were a good four-or-so lines of cairns in different directions.  White-out wasn’t an issue because the air was clear a little down the slope, and I wanted to complete the more challenging loop.  Honestly, how hard could the scree be?  So I took the cairns closest to Wast Water and made a start. 

Scree!

It was do-able, and it was encouraging to see a couple of chaps some distance ahead of me on the same slope.  Whoops, then they were out of view.  Thoughts of several descent gullies at Moonarie and Arapiles were in my mind as I nudged towards a gap between two crag tops.  I had a sickening feeling because I could easily mis-steer close to the cliff edge in all the moving scree.  Later I discovered this descent is called ‘Little Hell Gate.’  I backtracked up the slope and spotted the chaps at the end of their scree time on the other side of White Napes.  It was really steep.  From Wasdale Head it looked like 45 degrees, but it was bloody scree and it provided an epic adventure for perhaps 90 minutes and 300 metres.  There was no Bear Grylls running action, just me getting a little scared of the angle and momentum or doing the splits and landing on my bum when my boots got stuck.  Then I got a sideways rhythm thing happening - digging one boot in, sliding to a stop and repeating with the other boot.  With rapidly tiring quads, eventually persistence won out. Just as I was imagining scree tumbling down into my plush room at the Inn, I gained the path between Great Gable and Kirk Fell.  The sky was blue and when I hit the grassy footpads I had a little run, going ‘now I’m a fell runner!’ I looked back to see the crags and just made out Napes Needle, the spire that saw the first recorded climb for the sake of rockclimbing, as distinct from summiting a mountain, by Walter Parry Haskett Smith in 1886 (Fell & Rock Climbing Club Archive).

 The real path :)

The beer and wine tasted all the better for my exertions while Yvonne, Phil and I exchanged larger-than-life stories of the day and had a few laughs.  I handed the climbing guidebook back to Craig and chatted with him over the bar about his climbing, both in the local area and in Spain.  He also spoke of how the busy summer season goes in this corner of Lakeland.  The slow veil of twilight was descending so I stood out the front to breathe it in.  Bulging treeless mountains and purple hues, no phone coverage or car noise – really very still and with the gentle sound of baas.

Dreaming of gorgeous Craig and the fells would later be a side-perk of my psychedelic jet lag in KL (ooh, the Cumbrian accent!)  Singing in my hotel room, I wondered if big jet lag would open up new areas of consciousness like a new drug.  I guess all this travel, nature and fresh air is something of a drug, a remedy.  Bring it.

 


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