A Royal Affair – Mt Royal National Park

Fireflies flicker through the darkening forest and thunder drums inside the roiling clouds moving in from the west. Frontal winds whip through the treetops. A storm is approaching.  Raindrops arrive, but they pass over quickly. Then after all the noise, silence moves in. Until an hour later, another frontal wind, lightning and thunder, more rain, followed again by silence. A second storm moves on up the ranges. I drift off to sleep but five times the routine repeats itself. Wind, lightning (counting it closer), thunder and rain, then silence. It's a long, fitful night. 

Glennifer Falls - Dorrigo National Park

Never Never River

Seeing Glennifer Falls for the first time was one of those 'wow' moments. I vividly recall being amazed at how this magnificent waterfall had been hidden in my backyard for so many of my bushwalking years without me having seen it.

Nymboi-Binderay National Park - packrafting

The valley is charged with heat. Only cicadas persist. There is no bird sound. Even the march flies disappear by noon. It feels as if the very air around us is ready to explode into flames. 

Exmouth and Echo - two journeys - Warrumbungle National Park

From the top of Mt Exmouth, the highest peak in Warrumbungle National Park, I can see east across the open valley below. On the horizon, amongst the jumble of spires and peaks, is a point called Echo Mountain. On top of that mountain, looking back across the same valley, is Caz. We are each alone - immersed in solo, overnight adventures on top of different peaks, each sitting quietly amongst the rocky mountains of this spectacular park.

Kings Plain National Park - a revelation

We drove out to Kings Plain National Park on a Friday night and arrived in the dark, pitching camp on a grassy site by Kings Plain Creek. It seemed a good omen that in the branches of a nearby tree a squirrel glider was happily going about its business. But apart from that, the car headlights gave little hint of the surrounding landscape. By arriving late we were arriving unseen and unseeing. But the beauty of this, was the revelation of a new landscape when we opened our eyes first thing the next morning. 

Rosewood River deep - Dorrigo National Park

It's pitch dark and raining steadily. The river is invisible even though we are camped right beside it, lying on a gravel bank in just our bivvy bags. As rain drifts across my face, the misted beam of my torch dances around in the dark. I fumble to give Caz enough light so he can rig up some sort of system that will lift the bivvies off our faces and allow us to sleep without our heads completely buried in their claustrophobic, suffocating confines. We use his tripod and some string and the result is nearly useless. There is also a growing pool of water at my feet. The bags are proving to be completely waterproof which is lucky because they are all we have to keep us dry since it was me, that morning, who casually looked at the blue sky and reassured Caz the tarp was unnecessary and we could leave it behind. I said, this is a light-weight summer adventure, who needs a tarp? Turns out, we did.

Peta and Ebor Falls - Guy Fawkes River National Park

Meet Peta, the pretty face wallaby. She is the epitome of cuteness but she is also an orphan as a result of a road accident that changed the direction of our most recent weekend adventure.

As we drove west on a recent Saturday afternoon, you could tell spring was in the air; flowering wattle filled the forest with vibrant splashes of colour as we weaved through farmland and state forest towards Chaelundi Campground in Guy Fawkes River National Park. An afternoon storm had passed through the edge of the national park leaving puddles and a spattering of hail amongst the leaf litter. Beautiful light was emerging to the west as the thick band of deep indigo storm clouds, laced with lightning, drifted north.