Kemps Pinnacle - Willi Willi National Park

Why walk when you can drive?

We could all give a dozen good answers to that question but, in the case of our walk to Kemps Pinnacle, it was simply because we didn't know better. Using our topographical map to navigate, in an area little explored by us before, we started walking along Hastings Forest Way before veering onto a closed, old forest road out to Spokes Lookout. From there, map in hand, we continued further along the escarpment past Spokes Mountain where suddenly our forest road disappeared into an overgrown mess of grass and shrubbery.

Our topo showed that the road continued towards Kemps Pinnacle, about two kilometres away, and so we pushed on, waist deep in weeds, scratched to buggery by wild raspberry and rainforest vines following the faint, overgrown impression of the old road. When we burst from the undergrowth onto what we later learned was called Coachwood Road, a white 4WD zipped past our astonished eyes. So, we could have driven.

Dandahra Gorge - Gibraltar Range National Park

The full moon threw a sheet of silver light along the steep sided valley, illuminating the smooth bark of brush box trees lining the boulder strewn creek. We lay on a huge flat rock: no tent, water flowed around us, small bats flitted across the moonlit sky. This fantastic bivvy site was smack bang in the middle of the creek, about 3 metres above the water, with enough room to sleep four or five people. A neatly jammed piece of driftwood provided the only way up or down off the rock. It was a miracle of sorts, being the largest clear, flat area we could find at the end of a long, tricky day of walking. Then the full moon added its magic touch, lighting up the shimmering treetops and creeping its way along the creek bed towards us.

Wild Cattle Creek - Dorrigo National Park

An erratic frontal wind hit us hard, stripping loose leaves from the forest canopy and throwing them about like confetti. The weak light in the rainforest dimmed to almost darkness – it was only 3.30pm. I walked in circles at a manic pace thinking we might have time to pitch the tent before the storm hit. But, it was far too late. The noise in the treetops left no doubt that we were going to get caught out. Around us we could make out the black sillohuettes of gnarled beech trees: a fine grey mist drifted through first and then thunderous white streaks of rain began hammering down. Within 3 minutes every single thing was totally saturated. We huddled together, rain jackets on, packs at our feet, and a one metre square piece of tarp over our heads, water pouring off it so fast we could have filled our drink bottles in a second. The forest canopy swayed wildly above our heads and leaf litter washed away in rafts on the slope around us, exposing the rainforest topsoil and tree roots at our feet. It was a rude interruption to what had otherwise proven to be an idyllic weekend adventure. 

Kwiambal National Park

Searching the grooves and hollows of the sculpted rocky river bank, big dumps of flood debris yielded shapely logs tumbled and worn smooth from the motion of water. Unfortunately, we needed something smaller than logs. One pile yielded a few possible choices but, we were after spoon sized pieces of clean, smooth timber. We were hungry and  I'd left the cutlery at home, 400 km away.

Smoky Cape Lighthouse - Hat Head National Park

I initially wanted to write this blog like a "track notes" with detailed directions for a day walk around the forest and coast near Smoky Cape Lighthouse, but the notes I had were years old. So, back we went, two weekends ago; spending a day roaming around the tracks and coastline north of the lighthouse. Just as well. My old track notes were nearly useless. It's amazing how nature keeps on being nature: growing, changing, moving, evolving.

Rosewood River in Dorrigo National Park cures cabin fever

A rainy weekend to end January 2013 seemed like a good time to share a trip from a couple of years ago that involved going out in the rain and the wind in the name of wilderness and avoiding cabin fever. As I write this (last weekend), a cyclone from up north is rattling the windows and whistling around the verandah ends and it’s bucketing down outside. It is reminiscent of 2010 when we had an exceptionally wet spring and summer and autumn on the North Coast of NSW. Most overused phrase of the season was ‘east coast low’ and after weeks of intermittent showers and one extended stretch of 10 days of solid rain there was nothing for it but to drag out the Gortex jackets and waterproof overpants and go for it. Forecasts at the time showed no sign of the rain letting up and Caz had come down with a murderous case of cabin fever. And when it's raining, what better place to go than the rainforest. 

South Bald Rock - Girraween National Park

Dark grey rocks emerged in vague detail, one angular boulder jutting centre stage between the rounded curves of enormous granite slabs. Glimpsed through a distorting veil of thick fog, the rocks were streaked with wet and the scenery felt like a mystery to be solved. Some trips are all about mood.