Casting about with a slight sense of desperation for unconcreted parts of Sydney to walk on my mind suddenly hit upon the Lane Cove River. Overshadowed by the Parramatta with which it shares a harbour the Lane Cove River flows down through some of the northern suburbs of Sydney until it bumps into the Parramatta River at Greenwich and promptly loses all sense of individual identity. This is how it goes when you're the number two river in a basin. At best you're an afterthought at worst you get labelled with the demeaning tag "tributary" as if the Lane Cove River didn't have a vibrant existence of its own quite independent from its morbidly obese undeservedly famous cousin.
At least I assume it has a vibrant existence of its own. It has to be admitted that I rarely think of the Lane Cove River. Even my decision to go walking along it was prompted solely by the proximity of its mouth to Woolwich the target of my previous walk. Sadly the Lane Cove River's relative obscurity is uneasily close to the truth. It doesn't help that for a lot of its course it flows through bush and parkland rather than the appealing concrete and steel that graces the banks of the Parramatta. There are two reasons for this, first the terrain the Lane Cove flows through is somewhat more rugged and therefore more difficult to build on, the second is that the people who live around it tend to be of a somewhat higher net wealth than those along the banks of the Parramatta and therefore tend to be a little more successful in demanding leafy surrounds for their dwellings than the average factory worker. Remember when we had factory workers? Me neither.
This is not to say that the Lane Cove River area is untamed wilderness, as I've mentioned before nothing around Sydney is. There has been logging and farming and industry but it is fair to say that the taming was perhaps not quite as psychotic as it has been in other parts of the city and once the taming stopped nature was able to return. Now a good deal of the course of the river is framed by national parks, nature reserves and occasionally just the odd chunk of land that has been unaccountably undeveloped. In a fit of what I freely admit was utterly unjustifiable confidence I stared at the map and wondered if I could walk the length of the river in a day (spoiler alert, no). I traced the thinning blue line on the map until it disappeared, that I decided was the source of the river or at least as close as I would get. I would travel to this spot and walk along the river until, well to be honest until I got tired or it rained or I thought of something better to do.
In keeping with my journeys to the north side of the river (and by river I mean the Parramatta because who ever considers the Lane Cove?) the weather was grey and threatened rain. I kept an eye on the sky until such times as it became rather important to watch where I was going. The simple truth is that I put more preparatory effort into the preceding three paragraphs than I did into the actual bushwalk. My point of departure was Thornleigh in Sydney's leafy northern suburbs. Back in colonial times Thornleigh was the site of orchards for the fruit salad hungry population of Sydney. Now it is a suburb and the best thing that can be said about it is that it makes an excellent departure point.
I walked past a dog park and stepped off the road into a rather scrubby and nondescript piece of bush. I followed what fortunately turned out to be a track and suddenly I was in a river valley. Or, more accurately I was in a depression with a slightly damp bottom (not the first time I've experienced that). If not the actual start of the river this was as close as I was likely to get. The suburban houses had fallen away and I was surrounded by trees, true the roar of traffic informed me that this fringe of nature was indeed little more than a fringe but it was remarkably easy to ignore.
 |
| A modest entry |
Having found what for want of a better word I shall call the river I turned right and set off along its bank. If nothing stopped me I should eventually turn up at Sydney Harbour. I didn't of course but such thoughts were for the future. The trees crowded around me, charred bark showing the scars of the most recent bushfire and the damp patch rewarded my attention by eventually turning into a small but genuine steam. The Lane Cover River was up and running. I didn't realise it at the time but as I walked I was also slowly dropping in elevation. This wasn't an issue at the time but I noticed it when the time came to leave the river.
 |
| On my way to the river. There is a major road somewhere nearby but I couldn't see it |
The grey skies and the closeness of the trees made the day cool which pleased me as I had unaccountably neglected to bring any water with me. Searing heat was not my friend. For a little while boulders and trees surrounded me while the brown waters of the creek lay slightly out of eyesight to left. It wasn't a huge creek, indeed it was more a series of interconnected puddles but the water flowed, albeit sluggishly so I'm pretty sure it counted.
 |
| Somewhere down there is the creek/river |
Eventually the creek got a little more enthusiastic about its job and, perhaps somewhat emboldened, deigned to show itself to the casual walker. Now I was really walking alongside the river (or creek). As is my habit I stared closely at the water just in case a platypus should reveal itself for its adoring public. This never happens but I keep looking just in case.
 |
| Vindication, from this modest beginning the mighty Lane Cove River shall grow |
Having (very temporarily) satisfied my craving for platypus searching I headed onwards eyes wide for the next objective that absolutely must be satisfied whenever I wander through anything more overgrown than a backyard lawn. That is, of course, the Clare McIntyre Memorial Fungus and I'm pleased to say there were a number of worthy aspirants to that hallowed title. Our first contender came out of the blocks fast artfully draping itself in designer moss and encouraging attention by its very reticence.
 |
| First fungus option |
I took its number, subscribed to its instagram page and moved on. Other contenders would emerge later. Meanwhile the creek headed on towards its fateful intersection with the Parramatta River and so by extension did I. The path I was following was seemed a little indecisive and wandered from one side of the gradually broadening creek to the other. The water was still sufficiently shallow that strategically placed rocks allowed one to cross without getting ones feet wet.
Now down on the valley floor I was able to observe a distinct variation in the vegetation. Down here there were ferns, rich lushly green trees lower in height but wealthier in leaves than their compatriots at higher elevations (for context "higher elevations" means perhaps twenty metres). Every available space was occupied by something growing enthusiastically. As seen above even the fungus had moss growing on it.
 |
| Down at the creek |
The sheer profusion of green made the second fungus contender all the more stark. It had obviously decided not to compete with the first for sheer flamboyance and instead had gone for gritty minimalism.
 |
| Fungus contender #2 stark and simple |
I would have liked to linger and perhaps interview the fungus and get an idea of its hopes and dreams but while I was doing my fungal paparazzi expedition the grey skies got even greyer and the moisture in the air promised rain. Reluctantly I left the fungus to its monochromatic existence and hastened along the muddy path. Did I mention the path was muddy? Obviously this close to the creek the border between land and water got a little blurred. The first spots of rain presented themselves for my inspection and suddenly finding a way out of here became a matter of some importance. A narrow river valley is not where you particularly want to be if serious rain starts falling.
It is at this point that I have to admit that I hadn't really come up with a destination for this walk. I hadn't seriously expected to get all the way to Greenwich but I figured I would walk until I was tired and then investigate exit options. Now exit options seemed to be a matter of immediate importance. By sheer coincidence there was one nearby. Another track snaked down from the more developed parts of Sydney to meet up with the one shadowing the creek and I headed up it towards the high ground and civilisation. Upwards I ploughed pausing only to leap to the side as a psychotic mountain biker hurtled past me without warning. As I climbed the vegetation changed from lush water impregnated foliage to austere gums climbing for the skies with needle leaved bushes and grass in between. The change was abrupt and striking.
Having chased me away from the creek the rain then perfidiously turned itself off and it didn't rain a drop for the rest of the day. But now I was committed to the exit and made my way out promising to return when the weather was in a slightly less "let's fuck with Neil" mood. Along the way the third fungus contender presented itself. This one was a monument to traditional fungal values proudly decked out in conservative orange.
 |
| Fungus contender #3 Old school and conservative |
I emerged from the wilderness at the suburb of Cheltenham which shares a name and almost nothing else with a famous spa town in the Cotswolds in Britain. I had walked a grand total of seven kilometres which didn't seem impressive at the time and hasn't improved with age. For anyone who wishes to vote for their choice of Clare McIntyre Memorial Fungus please organise the competition yourself. I couldn't be bothered.
No comments:
Post a Comment