Travelling Pathetically - Lane Cove River Edition Part 2

 Another weekend arrived and in a thoroughly uncharacteristic display of perseverance I returned to the scene of my departure from Lane Cove National Park when a few spots of rain had chased me away from my goal.  Once again Cheltenham was graced very briefly with my presence as I hopped off the train and retraced my steps through suburban streets (well street) towards the bush.  Soon the tarmac faded away and the tell tale signs of the Australian bush appeared.  Those signs were ones announcing that fox poison had been laid in the area and others informing the more olfactorily sensitive of  a "possible" sewer overflow.  One sniff was enough to delete the word possible from that sentence.  It was either that or the government had been conducting chemical warfare experiments.  I paused to wrap a urine soaked cloth around my face (not that this had anything to do with sewer overflows or chemical warfare) and plunged into the somewhat odiferous bush.

The day was warm (whiny climate activists would say hot) and the sun was shining which was a distinct contrast to my previous journey.  Perhaps in deference to this fact birdlife, suspiciously absent from my first walk presented itself in all its noisy glory.  Cockatoos, swarmed, screeched, swooped and shat.  I paused for a photo and in response the cockatoo in question crapped all over my backpack.  My walk wasn't five minutes old and an avian sewer had overflowed onto me.  Cleaning myself up as best I could I stumbled onward the warm positive feelings I had toward cockatoos just a few minutes earlier a distant memory.

This handsome fellow would crap on my backpack about thirty seconds after I took this photo

 

The first part of my journey involved retracing my steps to the place I left the path last time.  I presume I did this as I wound up further down the Lane Cove River at the end of my walk than I was at the beginning.  Before I got to the river I had to follow the creek that I had walked beside to exit last time.  As is my wont I examined the water closely for platypus.  I didn't see any for which I was rather grateful.  Given the smell I suspect any platypus sightings would involve seeing them floating belly up on the surface.

This creek will eventually meet the Lane Cove River and so will I

With my starting point achieved and the worst of the cockatoo crap wiped off my equipment I set out on my walk proper.  Despite previous experiences I had visions of strolling down a bush path with a river gurgling and bubbling a safe but still photogenic distance away.  Of course I was wrong.  The first thing the path did was strike away from the river and for the first three quarters of my walk river sightings were rare and treasured things.  Instead I struggled up the side of the river valley and then back down again, there would be a teasing glimpse of water and then the climbing would begin anew.  Somewhere just out of reach were the suburbs which encompassed this narrow strip of bushland but here among the trees it was easy to imagine civilisation was a long way away.

This is more like most of the scenery, not a river in sight

Despite the absence of cool tranquil waters the bush was as appealing as bush usually is and the presence of a decent tree cover took the sting out of the sun which was getting quite enthusiastic about its job.  I was happy tramping along, I knew the river would reappear eventually.  The park authorities are doing their best to talk up the park as a location teeming with wildlife (from all the signs it would appear it is teeming with foxes at least).  On the rare occasions that signs took a break from warning about fox poison and sewer overflows they would spruik the magnificent local flora and fauna.  Top billing was given to the powerful owl.  A photo was helpfully provided in deference to the fact that if you had enough daylight to read the sign you were not going to see an actual powerful owl.  The powerful owl is apparently endangered.  It makes you wonder about the condition of the weaker owls but the sign was silent on this point.

I wasn't worried about not seeing powerful owls as I can not see them at home.  However in a belated attempt to make up for the entire aerial crapping incident the daylight birds decided to put on quite the display for me.  Sulphur Crested Cockatoos, big, white and apparently loose of bowel had already made their presence known in numerous ways (some of them more intrusive than others) but now a rustling in a nearby tree alerted me to something else.  I saw a dark shadow, squinted, peered and realised I was actually looking at the bird itself.  A huge black cockatoo was hanging out in a tree with a bunch of its mates at a distance just too far for adequate photography.  They didn't get any closer but they obligingly hung around while I tried to take as many photos as possible.  These birds were immense, jet black with yellow banding on their tail feathers.

The best of some blurry black cockatoo photos

I was stunned at their size.  White cockatoos are hefty birds but these were in a different league.  One could imagine them swooping down and carrying off small children.  At least one could if you have my sort of imagination.  Glutted on black cockatoos I continued down the path and came face to face with a brush turkey.  In contrast to the more discreet cockatoos this one stopped three feet in front of me and posed for photos.

Upset at the attention the cockatoos were getting this brush turkey demanded equal exposure

And after the brush turkey which I had to practically elbow to one side in order to get by I took a couple more blurry cockatoo photos because well you do don't you?

I was cockahoop after my dual avian triumph and set out with a new spring in my step which was almost disastrous as a sudden flash of movement and crackle of undergrowth informed me that a lizard had removed itself from under my boot at the last possible moment.  Then to show there were no hard feelings it also paused for a photo.

This lizard departed my path in the nick of time

Somewhat shaken at how close I had come to depleting the world's lizard population I made a resolution to pay closer attention to where I was walking, part way through that resolution I came even closer to stepping on another lizard which fled into the bush just before it got my footprints on its back.  I paused, took a deep breath and really promised to look where I was going.

I continued along the path, from time to time I got a glimpse of the river now somewhat largely than the slender trickle I had witnessed up until this point.  I wasn't too worried as I was looking at hollow logs.  When I was a child one of the first nature programs I watched was In the Wild with Harry Butler.  Harry Butler was a bearded, camouflage wearing individual who would roam the countryside and upon finding a hollow log would ram his hand inside it and drag some long suffering animal specimen into the light of day for the entertainment of his viewers.  I was far too young to suspect that these might be pre-prepared hollow logs or at least that the program discreetly chose not to run the thousands of times he came up empty.  I was not mad enough to ram my hand into a hollow log.  Harry Butler might find a bandicoot but I would probably find a death adder or at least that the hollow was only a few inches deep and I had just broken all of my fingers.  Nevertheless as a hat tip to my impressionable youth below is the Harry Butler Memorial Hollow Log.

Harry Butler would find half a zoo in that thing

Sated on birds and hollow logs (I am disturbingly easy to please) I continued on.  Glancing to the side I noticed a snake.  At first I thought it was a bicycle tire then I thought it might be dead.  At this point the snake decided that I was very much alive and made itself scarce at a speed that indicated it might be motorised.  Not for the first time that day I made a resolution to pay more attention to where I put my feet.

Fortunately this chap was too intelligent to actually sun himself on the path

I have to admit that by this time my cup was running over.  Logs, birds, lizards, snake.  It made the absence of river quite bearable.  Now, however after a few hours walking the river was preparing for its big entrance.  It started quite modestly with yet another sign.  This one announced that I could take the shorter route to Lane Cove River weir or the longer route which was graced with the title of "Lane Cove Riverside Walk".  I decided to take the title at face value and signed up for the longer walk, what's another five kilometres between friends.

Technically I saw the river almost immediately.  This is because I had to get to the other side of it by crossing over the M2 motorway.  I took a photo from the bridge.

Beside the M2

Under the M2

And finally on the M2 with some genuine river

To be fair to the people who named the walk it did indeed make its way down to the Lane Cove River and I finally managed to enjoy my riverside stroll that I had envisaged from the get go.  It was getting late in the afternoon now and shadows were starting to lengthen.  This is apparently the time that every lizard in creation decides to race across the path on its journey from one place to another.  Forget watching where I put my feet, I consider myself lucky that I wasn't trampled in the rush.

Just one of the thousands of lizards that rampaged across my path

And finally a close up photo of Lane Cove River

With a definite sense of accomplishment I walked along the river taking the occasional photo but largely just glad that I hadn't succumbed to a heart attack before I reached the water.  This sense of accomplishment took a severe knock when I checked how long I had walked for and discovered that I had only covered twelve kilometres in about five hours of walking.  Admittedly I had spent a bit of time fangirling over the black cockatoos (there is a joke to be made about my being partial to a black cockatoo but I'm far too well brought up to make it).  I was certain I had covered more distance than that and was more than a little disappointed.  I hadn't made a formal decision on when to end the bushwalk but with my morale at a temporary low ebb my arrival at a picnic area with road access seemed like a good point to call a halt.  To cheer me up a family posed for me with their young children.

Well what the hell did you think I meant?

So on a modestly upbeat note I ended my walk.  I still have a chunk of the river to go so prepared to be bored again before too long.