The Christmas break beckoned to me as the perfect opportunity to take long, wide ranging walks through Sydney's bushland, becoming one with nature and preparing myself physically and mentally for further challenges to come. But then it rained or I was tired or there was something good on television or there was something bad on television or I simply couldn't be bothered. The upshot was that I barely left my home for the entire Christmas break and when I did it was in the context of "takeaway coffee and cake" rather than "roaming the wild magnificence of nature". I did make one exception. At some point during my voluntary coma I opened one eye and thought, "I really should make an effort." That thought was rapidly replaced with "perhaps I could pretend to make an effort." Finally I settled on trying to look as though I was pretending to make an effort and in that spirit I made my way to Greenwich.
Greenwich sits on the northern shore of the harbour between the Lane Cove River and Berry Creek both of which had been inflicted with my presence on previous walks. This seemed like a good chance to fill a missing spot. I would take the ferry to Greenwich Point and walk around an apparently bush strewn foreshore until I reached Gore Creek Reserve. I would then follow the eponymous creek upstream until I started bumping into people's houses.
The appointed day for my walk dawned and to my irritation it turned out bright and sunny and I really had no excuse not to go. Muttering imprecations against the rain gods that had failed me I dragged myself ferryward and psychologically steeled myself for a little walking. The ferry deposited me at Greenwich Point from where I could choose to turn left and walk along the foreshore through such bush as hasn't been poisoned by home owners and property developers or I could turn right and wind up at the Gore Bay fuel terminal. I decided on option one since that dovetailed pretty much with my original intentions. Also I had no need for a container ship full of fuel.
I made my way along what was somewhat optimistically signposted as a "bush track". There was indeed a certain amount of slightly disheveled looking bush preventing me from toppling into the harbour and for that I thank it. Given that the good citizens of Greenwich had their houses approximately fifty metres from the path I suppose I should be impressed that there was as much bush left as there was. Revelling in the slightly tatty nature presented for my inspection and resolutely refusing to look at the houses on my right I made my way along the bush track heading inexorably towards the park that housed Gore Creek.
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| OK, I suppose it doesn't look too bad really |
Along the way the bush track stopped and I found myself blundering through what was obviously somebody's back garden. I encountered a brush turkey, we gazed each other up and down and mutually agreed not to mention the others trespassing. I did take a couple of photos in case I needed to rat it out to the police later.
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| This is someone's backyard. I think you can understand my confusion |
Hastily checking the map on my phone (I don't know why I do this, I have abundant proof that I can't read a map to save my life) I realised that the bush path had come to an end, as had the bush, and if I wanted to go further I would have to return to suburban streets. Not wanting to end my days as a brush turkey's bitch I hit the streets and wandered reluctantly past rows of houses that I couldn't possibly afford. Fortunately my sojourn in suburbia was brief as I made my way to the Bob Campbell Oval which is where Gore Creek stumbles into the harbour. Google maps describes Bob Campbell Oval as a sports complex but since its basically a patch of mowed grass I think the term "sports simple" would be a more accurate term. Towards the rear of the simple the trees closed in around the creek and suddenly I was walking through bush again. What's more I was walking through lush, abundant bush rather than scrubby, clinging desperately to the cliffside trying not to fall into the harbour style bush.
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| Now this is more like it |
Gore Creek trickled picturesquely on my right. At least I assumed it trickled, in my mind every creek sounds like an incontinent three year old at the top of a flight of stairs. What with bird song, and aircraft noise, and motor boats on the harbour and vehicles on roads which although out of sight were certainly not out of earshot the creek could have been singing Ave Maria. In my defence it looked like it was trickling.
I followed Gore Creek along mainly because alternatives were few and as I went I became increasingly annoyed at the behaviour of the lizards. Normally lizards hang around posing for photographs and I frequently have to kick them off the path so that I can proceed. Not here, a few brief flickers of movement and the sound of panic stricken reptiles crashing through the bush was as close as I came to lizards for most of my walk. I felt personally offended. Am I not a friend to lizards? Haven't I immortalised them in my blog? Don't I manage to avoid treading on them most of the time? Now the little reptilian bastards are treating me like a distant relative who wants to borrow money.
Muttering and fulminating over the fickle nature of lizards generally I pushed on through the bush. Sometimes the path meandered close enough to the creek for a photo opportunity and I was able to take some photos of shallow water moving slowly towards Sydney Harbour. For some reason I did so. I was also able to sneak up behind a lizard and grab a photo before it fled through the undergrowth.
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| Gore Creek |
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| A lizard I managed to take by surprise |
With my lizard fetish temporarily sated I pushed on until I came to Lillypilly Waterfall, a small but charming waterfall that enabled Gore Creek to drop more altitude in two seconds than it had achieved in the previous couple of kilometres. A helpful sign pointed out that the waterfall had once been much more spectacular and the pool at the bottom had been a popular swimming spot but then, well, development. Now the waterfall is somewhat more modest and the pool at the bottom is fit for wading at most.
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| The waterfall is lovely but I'm pretty sure I don't want to go swimming in that pool |
Leaving the waterfall behind me I also left Greenwich behind me passing briefly into Northwood before plumping for Lane Cove as the principal location for my walk. I crossed a road and came to an area where the stream branched. Actually since I was walking upstream I came to an area where two streams flowed into each other. The stream to the left maintained the name of Gore Creek, I've no idea what the other one was called possibly Septic Tank Overflow. Gore Creek flowed through a golf course so I followed the other one which flowed through the Lane Cove Bush Park (not to be confused with the Lane Cove River National Park a far grander affair). Still the bush park had its compensations, bush, an apparently nameless creek flowing over sandstone (yes I did check for platypus, no I didn't find any) and the possibility of critically endangered fungi.
Yes, a small part of the bushland had been fenced off and a sign announced that said fencing was to protect critically endangered fungi which grew in the area. I stared, I peered and finally saw something that might be fungi or might not and might be critically endangered or not or could have been anything at all really. I took a photo which completely failed to clear things up.
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| I'm not sure if the fungi in this photo is critically endangered. I'm not even sure its fungi |
After almost pulling a muscle attempting to photograph something that may or may not have been fungi I headed on my path heralded by the sound of lizards fleeing my approach. I could easily get a complex about this. To make myself feel better I took another creek photo.
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| For no particular reason another creek photo |
On I soldiered lizards fleeing left and right until finally I stepped out onto a suburban street. My bushwalk had come to an end and now there was just the awkward job of finding out where I was and how I was going to get home. This turned out to be slightly easier than I expected as I had come out reasonably close to the Pacific Highway and headed in the general direction of St Leonards. Along the way I came across mushrooms and photographed them as a semi acceptable substitute for fungi.
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| Not really a Clare McIntyre award contender but possessed of their own subtle charm |
I had a destination in mind, St Leonards railway station from which I could begin my journey home but before I did that I wandered through Gore Hill Cemetery. Not deliberately it just turned up and I found my way in. I like old cemeteries, all crumbling graves and overgrown paths. I mused on the fleeting nature of existence as I passed by forgotten memorials to forgotten people. Well no I didn't, what I did muse on was the human habit of fetishising the dead. For some reason doing things to dead people seems to be taboo in virtually every culture (except for Haiti where dying is basically a work for the dole program). I've never quite understood why after all if you have to rob, mistreat or abuse somebody the dead are those least likely to complain or suffer any real harm as result of your actions. I'd much prefer you did horrible stuff to the dead than the living. Most people don't seem to see it like that.
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| Gore Hill Cemetery, mowing optional |
Leaving the cemetery I almost walked into Royal North Shore Hospital. Having a hospital so close to a cemetery is either a sign of administrative efficiency or a serious vote of no confidence in the medical staff. I hastened away before some wannabe Frankenstein decided to test his latest techniques on my hapless carcass. As I passed through the carpark the lizard population redeemed itself with a solid looking blue tongue more than happy to preen for the cameras.
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| Worth the wait |
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| And a second photo to prove the first wasn't a fluke |
I skipped delightedly towards the train station and spent the rest of the day in a lizard induced high. Sometimes it is convenient to be so easily pleased.
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