R2-ing the Snowy River, Victoria

There is a saying that you should start each New Year the way you intend to continue it. This year, we woke on New Year's Day on the banks of the Snowy River, watching a platypus fish as dawn light cast a pink glow on the surface of the water and mist rose from the river in thin, swirling wisps.  We had slept in the open, no roof or tent. Dew covered our bivvy bags and beside us, moored to the bank, was our raft and our home for the next four days. Ahead lay a day of rapids and gorges and deep cool swimming holes. I could only hope that the following 364 days of this year would turn out so well.

On the cirque - Mt Murchison, Tasmania

This is when it pays to sleep high – sitting in the sun on a mountaintop, above a thick layer of morning fog. It feels a bit like take off - when a jet planes carries you up into a different world, rising above an overcast city into a bright day where the horizon is a long way off and you know the invisible towns below are colder and greyer and lonelier.

View along the cirque to Mt Murchison summit (left)

These are my thoughts at dawn, waking on top of Mt Murchison in Tasmania's western region, sitting at 1275m and seeing the cloud curling and lapping below our feet.

The scenic route - cycle touring Coffs Harbour to Newcastle

The temperature each day is creeping higher and higher. It is hotter than November should be although the type of heat changes as our cycle touring adventure progresses – there is a dense humidity on the coast on day one through to the scorching heat of the bone dry tablelands. Each morning we start cycling earlier and earlier. We wake in the dark and wait for enough light to safely hit the road. Still, on day four and day seven we are caught out by hot winds, lack of water, tougher than expected hills and the many other, inevitable, ups and downs of cycle touring as we make our way from Coffs Harbour to Newcastle via the scenic route – Dorrigo Moutain, across to Ebor and Armidale, south to Walcha, then down to Gloucester and Dungog then back to the coast at Newcastle. 

Walls of Jerusalem National Park, Tasmania

Tucked away amongst an ancient pencil pine forest beside Lake Ball in Tasmania's wild Central Plateau, is a small wooden slab-and-shingle hut which houses a reflective story. 

Known simply as Lake Ball Hut, it was built in 1968 as a secret retreat by Ray 'Boy' Miles. This respected local bushman increasingly sought solace and healing in the high country of his childhood after returning from World War 2 and three harrowing years as a prisoner of war on the Burma railway.  A plaque in the hut explains the importance of the place and its wild surrounds: "Here he left behind the cares of the lowlands and found a relationship with the land that he was unable to replicate in the human world."

Sugarloaf Peak - Cathedral Range State Park

Sugarloaf Peak from North Jawbone

Howling wind whips the wild rosemary shrubs into a blur as the open ridge we are climbing is exposed to the roar and rattle of a gusting southerly. We are aiming for the top of Sugarloaf Peak, after a spontaneous, late decision to race up the mountain with lightweight overnight packs hoping to catch a sunset. We left the carpark at 7.29pm when already the mountain was casting a long shadow across the valley. Although listed as a 30-minute walk we are on summit by 7:47pm – surely that is some sort of personal best. But it isn't about records; it is about being in the mountains and savouring the last light across a new landscape.

Gloucester Falls - Barrington Tops National Park

One of the Gloucester Falls

So we jumped the fence at the lookout, and followed a rough pad between rocks and stunted trees. It led downhill to a small saddle, where we turned left and began a steep descent to the river. It is not the sort of behaviour we should probably mention here, or promote by making public on the blog; this breaking of rules and jumping of fences in a national park. But there's a lot of fences in the world these days, and from past experience we knew that beyond this one was a hidden gem of a waterfall.  

Mt Jaithmathang - Alpine National Park

Forty-seven crows are perched amongst the dead limbs of burnt snowgums. They call back and forth, discussing something more than murder or thievery and from their complex conversation I am sure we are not the only animals with language. It feels like my loss that I cannot understand them but, I never tire of listening to things in nature that I do not understand.