The silent river - Wollemi National Park, NSW

It is the strangest sensation, to stand by a fast flowing river and hear nothing of its movement - no sound of water over rocks or gravel or bank. The Colo River makes not a whisper of noise as we set up camp on a wide sand beach. A lyrebird, foraging beneath the river oaks, gives an occasional squark but the river moves swiftly and silently by. 

Cutting its way through Sydney’s sandstone basin the Colo River does have stretches where boulder and rock choke its narrow gorge and it becomes the same as any river - noisy and tumbling as water drops and weaves and crashes over small ledges. But these rapids are interspersed with long, flat sections of sandy riverbed and deep pools that smother and silence its voice. 

Much of the Colo River, in its upper, upper reaches, is quite inaccessible. The 361,000 hectare Wollemi Wilderness is, in fact, the largest wilderness in New South Wales, as well as the largest in eastern Australia between Cape York Peninsula and Tasmania. Within this wilderness zone, the Colo River, as it travels eastwards, enters an incredible 69km long gorge of towering sandstone cliffs and high valley walls. Within this gorge, there are a few unlikely access points that can be joined together to form anything from a 2-day walk to more than triple that.

Exploring the western fall of Cathedral Rock National Park, NSW

The pleasure of waking amongst tall messmate and mountain gums, creates a resonate hum of joy, deep, deep inside. It has been too long between camping trips and the absolute stillness of the morning, coupled with the anticipation of our plan for the days ahead, feels like that exhilarating moment when the orchestra has finished its warm-up, the conductor raises his hand and we wait for the symphony to begin.

We are at Barokee Campground in Cathedral Rock National Park, located approximately 70 kilometres east of Armidale. Our backpacks sit by the car, ready for an off-track adventure. It is mid-winter and the air is fresh, birds are subdued, as is the light. Our plan is not to walk the usual route that attracts visitors here. Most come for the scramble to the summit of Cathedral Rocks – a powerfully visual collection of granite boulders that tower above the surrounding forest by upwards of 200 metres and extending, in length, for nearly one kilometre. From the summit of Cathedral Rocks the view immediately west, across the closest gully, is of Round Mountain and the Snowy Range. That is there we plan on heading. 

Round Mountain reaches 1,584m above sea level and is the highest point on the New England Tablelands. Many of the plants are alpine and sub-alpine species more commonly found in the Snowy Mountains and Tasmania. Our aim is to walk up Round Mountain road then veer off-track on a compass bearing, weaving our way 1.5km through the scrub in search of a collection of rocky slopes and towering granite slabs. For many years, driving east from Armidale towards Dorrigo, these bare slopes have caught our eye amongst the heights of the park's forested peaks. The rocks are not obviously marked on a topographic map but from the road they look enticing.

The range also has one other remarkable feature. As we walk along its spine, the gullies that slope away to our left feed the Macleay River catchment, which emerges at Kempsey. The creeks and gullies sloping to our right, feed the mighty Clarence River, which opens to the ocean at Yamba. We are walking one of the most significant watersheds in New South Wales. This national park protects that watershed but it is also an important corridor linking larger parks to the north (Guy Fawkes River NP) and south (New England and Oxley Wild Rivers NP). It is small in comparison; a handkerchief of undisturbed land on the eastern edge of the New England High Country. Yet, it is crowded with mysterious and impressive wonders – it draws people in – us included.

From Barokee Campground it is an easy walk following Round Mountain Road to a locked gate, which although marked as ‘no vehicle access’ is open access for walkers. We climb over the fence and head up the bitumen road, with a feeling that one of the mountain’s annual snow falls is not far away. It is really cold and the southern side of the mountain is shady, moist and facing the incoming weather. A tall forest of Manna Gums is layered with an understory of tree ferns and scattered with crimson rosellas. 

On a hairpin bend we find the unmarked, but obvious, Snowy Range Trail. The trail cuts through open snow grass and vine thickets where satin bowerbirds squabble. It is not long and we are veering off-track on a compass bearing, following it diligently through thick forest. Despite poor granite soils, the park's flora is remarkably diverse – peppermint gums, mountain gum, snow gums. The understory can be quite densely crowded - pea flowers and mountain holly thrive here. Conesticks, geebungs and crinkle bush grow alongside tantoon tea tree, lemon bottlebrush, and prickly Moses. We feel these tough heath plants against our skin as we weave our way westwards. 

Beneath the treetops lie clusters of granite rock, hidden like lost and ruined cities. There are towering domes and blocks, stone alleyways covered in moss and lichen, shrubs and saplings sprouting from fissures and gutters. As we continue route finding through this maze we notice the clouds getting lower. We are not quite out to the edge of the range when we decide to make camp, finding a nice sheltered patch on a high point with views to the east and the west. We have just a precious hour to admire the view. The low, grey clouds soon become a winter whiteout. Visibility drops to just 50m in any direction. At 4:30pm, steady rain begins to fall.

One of the restrictions of walking along the spine of the Snowy Range is access to water - it lies well below us in the swamps and gullies. We carry enough to get us out and back for one night only but we have enough food for two. Our hope is to find a secret, high mountain water source, or pools of rainwater in the weathered hollows of the granite tors. But as the rain steadily falls our solution is even easier than that. I place our cups on a couple of good drip points off the tent fly. Within an hour, we have another two litres. 

The next day, we use pools of water caught in the granite rocks to supplement our tent water and this guarantees that we can stay another day and night and spend more time walking and exploring this mighty watershed. And, when we finally reach the western edge of the range, and the long admired rocks we have been searching for, we are not disappointed.

The view south reveals the sharply defined edge of the New England Gorge country around Wollomombi and Long Point. And the western fall of our Snowy Range is a playground of granite. We find magical pockets of fairytale forest dripping with lichen and moss.  Many of the trees amongst the boulders impress me with their tenacity and age - their trunks grown in an embrace with the rock.  

But winter darkness falls early and despite the extra time we have had to explore, and the day still to come, it feels like not enough. I want more. Always more. I tuck into my down sleeping bag for our lucky second night in this remarkable park, as the sound of rain on the tent returns. Another familiar and joyous kind of symphony beginning.

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Gunnemooroo - Warrumbungle National Park

This blog post is about a hidden pocket in famous country. A place rarely visited and a little neglected but wickedly scenic. To convince you of its beauty here are our notes and photos: there are off-track walks and explorations, anecdotes collected along the way, wild encounters had. This blog is also aimed at disproving an opinion - as we handed over a security deposit for the key that opens the gate to this treasure trove - we were told in surprised tones: 'you know there's nothing to do out there.'

Ah, Gunnemooroo, where there's nothing to do. We chanted this for 6 days as we bagged amazing peaks, slept under the stars, soaked up the solitude of a remote bush camp and woke each morning to sweet light and the spectacular countryside. 

Campsite of the Year - Guy Fawkes River National Park, NSW

I have a strategy for climbs like this – from a distance our ascent ridge appears to have 5 distinct steps and so each becomes its own stage. Stage 1 takes us 45 minutes; rising 200m in elevation off the river, my backpack loaded with food for the next 3 days and enough water to camp high somewhere up there, ahead. Stage 2 takes 25 minutes; where possible, walking on the lee side of the ridge to shelter from the roaring, icy south-westerly wind while watching wedgetail eagles use it to take long, fast diagonal dives into the river valley below.  Stage 3 takes half an hour and suddenly the day's walk is over. 

Camel's Hump - Mt Kaputar National Park

Caz and I cross through open forest behind Mount Coryah and steal silently south. It is 10:30am and only 5 degrees celcius. The sky is blue. A north-westerly wind feels icy. We walk for a long time without speaking. This is usual. Many words would spoil the growing pleasure of getting out into a Wilderness Area*; there are few that do it justice. 

The silence gives time for my mind to cast lines of thought and memory as we emerge at a cliff edge and stop to check the view. East is Euglah Rock, north is Mount Kaputar, the Governor and all around are as many cliff lines as you could hope for. I remember how years ago, when my father, a civil engineer, read one of our first blogposts he commented that it 'needed more geology'. In this national park, there is no getting away from it. 

Every interpretive sign in Mt Kaputar National Park mentions vast geological timescales and talks of resistant trachyte, shields and dykes and sills, lava, basalt and rhyolite, organ piping or columnar jointing. So this blogpost I dedicate to my dear old Dad. There shall be geology. And one of the best little off-track bushwalks in Mt Kaputar National Park. 

Viewfinders - Ben Nevis and Hewitts Peak, NSW

I carry my cup of tea and binoculars out to the cliff edge. Sunrise, the far horizon strung with orange cloud. Winter lyrebird song drifts up from the sea of mist in the steep valley below, bright and clear. It is yet quite dark but a treecreeper is also up, busy searching the loose bark of the grey gums clinging to the edge.

I find a flat boulder that offers the best views. The rock is cold to sit on so I choose a thick piece of sloughed bark to lay over it. When settled, I raise my binoculars to the new horizon. Is that Dandhara Crags I can see to the north-east?  This is a new mountain, a new view. It is difficult to place familiar, known landmarks from this entirely different angle. There is a map that would tell me what lies so far away, but I left it in the car. It is not the usual 1:25,000 topo that we rely on for routes and details. It is instead a huge, colourful square of paper, first published in 1971 and again in 1985. It is the Glenn Innes State Forests map - a 1:125,000 gem that stretches from Armidale in the south, north to Washpool National Park, east to Dalmorton and west to the headwaters of the McIntyre River. It is Map 3 in a series of 18 State Forest maps covering the entirety of NSW. The back of each map features a list of Points of Interest and a brief summary of what each area offers.

For this one: "While access is often difficult, there are several safe, negotiable roads to where breathtaking views of mountains and gorges and high quality forests can be experienced."

Mt Donaldson, Sundown National Park, Queensland

Hidden amongst the information on Sundown (in print and online) is brief mention of a three day, wilderness loop walk - tantalizingly remote and untramelled. The walk starts at the main southern campground in the park, called The Broadwater. A picture of The Broadwater, in the same print and online info, shows a deep, wide pool on the Severn River. It looks peaceful and refreshing, a long stretch of still water disappearing upstream and out of view. The 3-day loop walk circumvents the Broadwater. It begins across the other side, following a tributary of the Severn (McAllisters Creek) upstream for many kilometres and past two waterfalls. The route then veers up a ridge onto the summit of Mt Donaldson before dropping back down to the Severn River valley.

It has taken us many years to make it to Sundown National Park to try out this off-track, wilderness walk. And, when we finally arrive – like so many advertised holiday destinations – it looks nothing like the brochure.