Travelling Pathetically - Now With Extra Canine

If there are two things that my colleagues at work can count on it is that firstly I will bore them to tears with stories of my supposed heroics on the bush walking track and secondly if any of them still possess some faint trace of a will to live then the Persian Princess will regale them with stories about how gorgeous, loveable and generally desirable to have her little dog is.  She normally does this just before enquiring with more than a hint of desperation whether anyone would like to dog sit for a while.  The end result of the pair of us sharing a workplace is that our fellow employees have mental lacerations beyond the capacity of HR to document.  It was only a matter of time before the two of us would combine to produce a perfect storm that will tear at the increasingly frayed fabric of our workmates sanity. 

We decided to combine obsessions by taking her dog for a walk.  I suggested the Bay Run, a seven kilometre running/biking/strolling/dog walking track which circled around a couple of coves lurking to one side of the Parramatta River.  The princess hesitated, apparently seven kilometres might be a bit much for her darling's small paws to handle.  The she realised that if we started at Haberfield Rowers Club then a walk of a few kilometres would see us arrive at Birkenhead Point Outlet Centre.  With visions of shopping dancing before her eyes she announced that her dog could certainly make it that far.  I suspected it would make it that far if she had to drag its exhausted corpse the last few hundred metres.

I checked out Haberfield Rowers Club and found to my delight that it was only a few minutes walk from Hawthorne light rail station.  Truly the light rail is a gift that keeps on giving.  Hawthorne light rail station is named for the Hawthorne Canal which flows or at least oozes towards the river at this point.  I doubt if the river is particularly pleased at the meeting.  

The day was cool and grey, perfect for a gentle stroll around some of the more water adjacent parts of my home city.  I hopped off the light rail, walked past the off leash dog park which fringes the canal (for some reason the significance of this place didn't register at the time) and ducked under a low flying motorway to reach the Bay Run and more specifically Haberfield Rowers Club.

Where Hawthorn Canal hits the bay

The Bay Run is a popular exercise route.  I know this because about half the population of Sydney appeared to be pounding along it at speeds varying from "trample you under foot" to "I will trample you under foot".  I seemed to be moving against the flow of humanity as I headed towards the rowing club which kindly provided me with coffee while I waited for the appearance of the princess and an accompanying canine who henceforth shall be known as Ruby mainly because that's her name.  I was a little early and right on time the princess arrived accompanied by her dog, husband and six year old daughter.  The princess and Ruby alighted from their conveyance at which point her husband burned rubber in an attempt to flee the scene as quickly as possible.

Ok, honesty compels me to admit that Ruby is terribly cute, she's an adolescent cavoodle who greeted me with every mark of affection and delight.  The princess spoiled it a little by pointing out that Ruby greets absolutely everybody the same way and is, in fact, a bit of a tart.  With my ego thus reduced to manageable levels we commenced our walk.  Pretty much the first thing we walked past was the path to Hawthorne station and I mentioned there was an off leash dog park there.  It was only then that I realised my companion might have been able to make use of that information a little earlier.  As it was she was committed to Birkenhead Point and indeed had already made arrangements for her husband to pick her up from there.  So on we went leaving the delights of the dog park behind.  Since one of the dog parks delights was an unfenced canal and Ruby wasn't known for her common sense I'm not entirely sure avoiding it was a bad idea.

The scene on our left.  The scene on the right was far less impressive

The princess strode ahead while Ruby and I weaved from side to side.  I weaved to avoid tripping over a dog every thirty seconds and Ruby weaved because, well that's what she does.  Unlike my other walks I couldn't even pretend that I was was walking through unspoiled nature.  Any unspoiled nature was sealed beneath layers of concrete and tarmacadam.  The other strange thing was the number of people.  Normally if you see this many people on the move in the same direction its an indication that a war is happening just to their rear but in this case it was apparently exercise.  I reflected on the folly of mankind (war is bad too) and pretended to concentrate on what the princess was saying while actually concentrating on not inadvertently tripping over her dog

Pretty much the closest we came to wilderness.  Check out the small dog.

Since I've mentioned Ruby and given her top billing in the title of the blog it is only right that I include a couple of photos which don't really do her justice because I took them close to the beginning of the walk when she was still so eager that standing still for any appreciable period of time (like three seconds) wasn't an option.

Ruby plus feet

 

A brief second when she acknowledged that the princess was speaking to her before ignoring her

Yes ok Ruby is as cute AF

With some less than impressive dog photos under my belt we headed off again skirting Leichhardt Aquatic Centre (for some reason they chose to build an aquatic centre right next to a large amount of naturally occurring water).  Out on the water the surface was marred by the appearance of a small island with even smaller buildings on it.  This was Rodd Island and despite the buildings is apparently uninhabited.  I know this because I looked it up when the princess pointed out the buildings.

Ignore the buildings and the moored boat.  Rodd Island is definitely uninhabited, apparently

We climbed a small hill and then descended always skirting the waterfront until Iron Cove bridge loomed in front of us in all its magnificence.  By now Ruby wasn't frisky but was doggedly (get it; doggedly, thank you, I'm here all week) putting one paw in front of another as she (and by extension we) neared our goal.  Across the bridge and we abandoned the Bay Run and made our way along the waterfront to Birkenhead Point.  Here the princess rather foolishly left Ruby in my care while she popped into a store.  Fortunately her husband arrived before anything terrible happened.

Now that we were at Birkenhead Point the princess indicated her intention of going shopping.  Out of what I can only assume was an excess of good manners she invited me to join them.  I politely indicated that I would sooner scoop my eyeballs out with a teaspoon.  We parted ways there with the princess helpfully pointing the way to the exit since I had managed to get lost inside the shopping centre.  Now alone I decided to complete the Bay Run since I had come halfway and the light rail station that would take me home was at my starting point.

The second part of the walk took me along the other side of the cove me had walked along and was a slight improvement on the first part.  This was due to the fact that whether by accident or design some tiny shreds of mangrove had survived and provided something vaguely green to look at (as long as you looked in the right direction).

About as close to nature as I would get

You couldn't actually walk through the mangroves, for starters if they had put in a path there would have been no room left for the mangroves but you could at least gaze on them from a distance.

Baby mangroves, not as cute as Ruby but possessed of a certain charm

The local council seems terribly proud of their mangroves and has erected signs every few feet pointing out that these are indeed mangroves and how important they are to the natural environment.  Given the scarcity of mangroves its probably a good thing we destroyed the natural environment because otherwise it would be in trouble.  In between the placards of mangrove praise there was the occasional outraged sign announcing that mangroves had been vandalised.  I mean the natural environment is all well and good but if you pay top dollar for water views you're going to be a little pissed off if some scrubby tree is in the way aren't you.

Still the presence of the mangroves even in an apparently vandalised state allowed me to take a few bird photos.

Humans are also allowed to use the amenities

One of the few occasions I've seen two gulls and they're not fighting over a chip

And here are ibis doing what ibis did before the invention of rubbish bins

Eventually the mangroves gave up and I crossed Iron Cove Creek about which I will only say that it makes Hawthorne Canal look clean and healthy by comparison and wound up back at the Rowers Club.  Since I was there and so was it I had another cup of coffee and headed back to Hawthorne light rail station.

And once I got there I had a fit of absolute insanity and walked most of the way back home.  Most of it was tedious slogging through suburbs and absolutely not worth mentioning but I did get to walk along the greenway they're creating alongside the Hawthorne Canal.  When it's finished it will apparently go all the way from Dulwich Hill to Hawthorne.  At present its dimensions are much more modest but still a pleasant bit to walk along.

By comparison with the Bay Run this is untamed wilderness

Travelling Pathetically - Half Arsed Preparation Edition

 Tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition and yawn and stretch and try to come to life.  Seized by the spirit of Dolly Parton I gazed at my bush walking accomplishments to date and found them lacking.  In a fit of what I can only describe as a fit of delusional insanity I agreed to do a 22km walk/race in the Blue Mountains with a couple of friends of mine.  Shortly after agreements had been made and event fees paid reality kicked in and I reflected on the possibility of my completing such an event without dying.

"Time to get fit," I announced to a group of plush toys lounging on couches.

"Do you mean us or you?" asked the platypus.

"Me."

"OK, carry on."

Thus encouraged by those who fit at least half the definition of "nearest and dearest" I started making plans.  As I left the room the puffin removed its head from a plastic bag impregnated with air freshener long enough to mutter,

"This time he is definitely going to die."

The Blue Mountains walk involved a certain amount of climbing and descending so I sought out an appropriate bushwalk on the new trail app my Tasmanian correspondent put me on to (check out the professionalism).  I selected a modest 14km stroll between Cowan and Brooklyn in Sydney's so far north its almost Newcastle which went through the Kuringgai Chase National Park thus promising a scenic locale for my desperate exertions.  The trail app noted that it was marked as "hard" although having nothing to compare that to I was taking the difficulty on trust.

Normally I just head half baked into the bush but given my new level of seriousness I packed plenty of water, a charger for my phone, things to eat and (very important) advil.  Then, just to emphasise the seriousness I called my father and informed him of my intentions so that he could call a rescue team should my decaying body fail me.  My father had few questions and most of them were centred around how I managed to keep on getting their phone number but eventually I extracted a reluctant promise that if he hadn't heard from me for a week or so he would definitely consider calling the authorities.  I was all set.

Then it rained so I put my heroics off for a weekend.  The next weekend it rained again.  The third weekend wasn't promising too much better but my Tasmanian correspondent had been assured by a random group of Norwegians that the day of my walk would be precipitation free.  Placing my trust in some Nordic weather diviners on the other side of the planet I struck out towards Cowan despite the grey clouds and a moisture content in the air that made actual rain pretty much superfluous.

The ground was wet underfoot when I alighted at Cowan's modest railway station but to turn back now would be to insult the entire nation of Norway so I crossed the tracks made my way through the mud and gravel beside the railway line until I encountered a modest sign announcing that if I didn't turn back now I would be commencing a bushwalk.

The somewhat less than auspicious start of my walk.  Cowan railway station is just behind me on the left

Screwing up my courage I stepped forward and began my walk.  A tree lined trail struck off at ninety degrees to the railway line and since my trail app said proceed I obeyed.  The ground was muddy and the trees which crowded the trail were heavy with water.  Embracing the rather soggy wilderness I proceeded, images of rugged trail walking filling my head.  The rugged trail walking lasted about two minutes before it gave way to crossing a bridge over a particularly large motorway.  There were an astonishing number of vehicles on it.  I pointblank refuse to believe that that many people want to go to Newcastle.

The sign says "abandon all hope ye who enter here"

 

Once past the motorway the bush reasserted itself and now properly inserted into the wilderness I squelched forward with renewed purpose.  Water laden branches reached out for me and frogs croaked from hidden places nearby.  At least I assumed they were frogs, I didn't actually see one although I did spend a considerable amount of time looking.  Eventually I had to abandon staring at tiny patches of leaf mould from which loud croaking was emanating as I realised that time was getting away from me and I was covering virtually no ground at all.

This is a damp walking track not a shallow stream

If I had done even a shred of initial research I would have realised that the presence of Jerusalem Creek was one of the selling points of this particular bushwalk.  As it was it featured in my consciousness as a wavy blue line on the map that I needed to cross.  To be fair my first introduction to it was a rather modest, low key affair.  If there had been concrete in the vicinity the first definition that would leap to anyone's mind is "gutter".  No concrete being present we have to settle for creek.

Jerusalem Gutter, I mean Creek

To be fair it was pretty picturesque as gutters go.  As gutters go it was going down.  I was descending as well but the gutter and I took different paths to the bottom.  When next we met I would have to swallow these condescending words.

Going down; the creek has made its own arrangements

Pausing only for protracted periods of frog hunting (which involved staring fixedly at whatever piece of bush the sound appeared to be coming from and hoping a frog would present itself) I made my way slowly downwards.  My ultimate destination was on the banks of the Hawkesbury River so obviously the general trend of my walk would be down but there were a couple of modest ridges (low hills if you're not actually walking across them) between myself and Brooklyn so I was uneasily aware that descending at this stage in my journey implied a fair amount of climbing at a later point.  As I was descending I managed to snap the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus.  Given the number of creeks in the area and the generally moisture laden atmosphere I expected to be overrun with eager candidates for the Memorial Fungus award but this is the only one I saw.  As the attached photo proves the most important part of a victory is turning up.

The Clare McIntyre memorial fungus

Down, ever down I plunged (total descent a couple of hundred metres tops) passing forest, picturesque mossy logs and the usual "beauties of nature" stuff one encounters when one steps away from buildings and paved roads for a while.

They're logs and they're mossy

And no walk would be complete without a rocky outcrop photo

Then the path flattened out and became more horizontal.  I didn't realise it at the time but I had arrived at Jerusalem Creek, again.  In blithe ignorance I reveled in the sudden flatness of the ground and walked along taking photos of random trees simply because I could.

A random tree

Then I glanced to the right and realised why the path was suddenly flat.  If I had descended much further I would have drowned.  Jerusalem Creek was back and apparently had spent all of its absence working out.  A vast expanse of water greeted my somewhat astonished eyes.  What had actually happened was the creek had dialled in reinforcements and rebadged itself as Cowan Creek leading into Jerusalem Bay which was what I was actually looking at.

A little more impressive than our first meeting

My path skirted this unexpectedly impressive body of water but I did make my way to the waters edge so that I could get a better view of the oyster shells which covered pretty much every exposed surface.  I have it on good authority that they cover the non-exposed surfaces as well so wading barefoot is not a good idea.

Jerusalem Bay, now with added oyster shells

The bay was attractive enough but it had one serious downside, people.  There were people on a boat being noisy and disruptive and generally enjoying themselves.  Other quieter people were wading through the bay doing god knows what.  I decided that the population density was reaching saturation levels and decided to remove myself from it.  I had a creek to cross and then, according to my contour laden map a rather steep hill to climb.

Crossing the creek, a very modest affair dwarfed by the liquid magnificence of Jerusalem Bay, turned out to be slightly harder than I expected because the rocks were very slick and for a couple of moments I did wonder if I was actually going to have to rely on my father to remember my existence and send out a rescue team.  Fortunately hiking boots with decent ankle support (check out my preparations) prevented a couple of potentially nasty injuries and I slithered onto somewhat more solid ground.  Going forward the ground solidity was not going to my most pressing concern.

A last picturesque rock photo before the climb.

So far the walk had been enjoyable but not particularly taxing.  That was all going to change.  Jerusalem Bay is at roughly the same level as my destination but there was a lot of high ground between the two which I would now have to cover if I didn't want to stay in Jerusalem Bay for the rest of my life or slink back to Cowan in shame.

Neither of these two options being desirable I pressed on or rather, up.  There was one good thing, the earlier dampness had burnt away and any threat of rain had faded into the distance.  I breathed a silent prayer of thanks to some anonymous Norwegians and struggled upwards.  And a struggle it was, I am in no way fit.  I can walk fair distances due to a combination of habit and muscle memory but this ascent was a strain.  My lungs burnt and my legs trembled, it was a measure of the difficulty that I didn't stop for a cigarette until I was at the top.

Gasping and lathered in what I hope was sweat I dragged my aching body up a series of semi virtiginous steps.  On the way I encountered others going up or down.  I stepped aside from the path to politely let them pass.  At least that was the excuse I gave myself, in actual fact it was a rather transparent attempt to get my heart rate down to a level where I could actually measure it.  Two of the people I passed were a couple of girls who seemed to be engaged in putting their clothes back on, I'm not sure what they had been doing but I suspect I would have liked to join them.

Now I'm roughly back at the elevation I started from

With triumph singing in my ears (or possibly an incipient heart attack) I allowed a feeling of pride and achievement to flow through my body.  A feeling which was abruptly banished when I checked the map and realised I had only gone halfway.  With rubbery legs and a sinking heart I pushed on.  Fortunately now that the ground had leveled out I found that I could push along a little more easily.

"level" is of course a relative term

No sooner than I had recovered from the climb and decided that I could certainly handle the new flat walking path said path treacherously began to dip again.  I knew this would happen because I had a map with contours and everything but I had driven it from my mind after that first ascent.  Fortunately this one was distinctly more modest.  I ambled gently down to another creek (can't they put the creeks at the top of hills?) which posed for photos and then had a, by comparison, gentle climb back up to something approximating the previous altitude.

Hey ho, another creek

I think I tried something a little artistic with this shot.  It didn't really come off

Gentle this latter climb may have been but my much put upon knees were now submitting formal objections to the abuse they had suffered and I was very grateful to return to level ground once again. To give myself an excuse for a pause I took a photo of what looked like a sea anemone but probably wasn't given its position at the top of a hill.

Not a sea anemone

Of course being at the top of a hill had advantages beyond the obvious of there being no more steps to climb.  The gathering of trees politely stepped aside briefly and allowed me to take the following photo which if nothing else proves that I was at the top of something.

Definitely at the top of something

Photo opportunities very temporarily exhausted I headed on.  It was early afternoon and I still had a disturbing number of kilometres to cover.  Fortunately the trail became easier although somewhat less interesting as it had connected up with a firetrail.  Walking along the firetrail was relatively easy but it did cut back on the tree cover just as the sun to make up for its earlier tardiness threw itself into its job with renewed vigour.  I wish I could say the same.  Instead I lurched forward with rapidly diminishing vigour and increasingly desperate looks at the map to see how far I still had to travel.  Quite a way as it happened.

With the sun beating down I stumbled along the firetrail muttering curses at the arrogant, over optimistic fool who had got me into this situation.  It's a good thing I'm not capable of time travel, I suspect I would spend a good deal of my time going back and beating myself up for various acts of stupidity.  Then I wandered over to the other side of the firetrail from the previous view.

My destination is somewhere near the bridge

The pleasure I took in the magnificent view I was accorded was tempered somewhat by the fact that it was a visual representation of exactly how much further I had to walk.  I winced and carried on encouraged by the fact that I was once again heading gently downward and as far as I was aware there were no more grueling hills between myself and my destination (wrong).

One thing that had been missing from this walk so far was wildlife.  Normally my bushwalks are good for some decent bird and lizard photos at least but so far there had been nothing except oysters and its fair to say that the ones I was able to photograph were probably dead.  Finally a bird landed in a branch at an inconvenient distance from me but I photographed the crap out of it.  The results were less than stellar but I assure you there is a bird in the following picture, somewhere.

There's a bird in there

My descent had a destination of course.  I was heading towards Brooklyn Dam camping site.  I took what comfort I could from the fact that the landmarks were now bearing the name of my final destination.  Surely this must mean that I was getting close.  Indeed I was but there was one final surprise waiting for me.  But first, Brooklyn Dam.

As promised

And now with added lilypads

The trail circumnavigated pretty much the entire dam/lake thing which I thought was a little excessive and then of course started to climb.  I wasn't particularly concerned, I was very near the end now and I knew this climb wasn't particularly difficult.  Unfortunately nobody had told my knees.  Having been roundly abused earlier in the day they decided that there was a level of shit up with which they would not put.  Whimpering I dragged myself slowly upward pausing supposedly to admire the scenery but actually so that I could recuperate a little before hobbling slowly onward.  Finally I reached the top and now I knew I was really near the end.  I assured my knees that the worst was over and in my defence I really believed it.  I had forgotten that Brooklyn being on the water meant that there was another descent to do.  That descent was a nightmare.  It was a vehicle accessible road sealed in what appeared to be concrete ripple and extremely steep.  For someone whose knees were already in active revolt it was excruciating.  I literally descended by taking a dozen steps, waiting for my knees to stop screaming, taking another dozen steps and so on.  Said descent took an uncomfortably long time.  At one point I considered lying down and rolling down the hill, the presence of hairpin bends stopped me.

Finally as can be evidenced by this blog entry I got to the bottom without losing life or limb (although it was touch and go on the limb) and hobbled through the streets of Brooklyn in search of the railway station that was my final destination.  Strangely as soon as we hit level ground my knees stopped complaining and I was able to reach the station without weeping in pain.  On arriving at the station I was confronted with a set of stairs to take me up over the line and down to the station.  There was also a lift.  For reasons I can't begin to explain I decided that the lift would be cheating.  I hobbled painfully up the stairs and even more painfully down to the platform and raided my pack for advil which almost immediately made my knees feel better.  That's something else, I had the advil all along but deliberately refrained from taking it until I had finished the walk.  The only explanation I can give is that I am an idiot.  

Now with the walk behind me and in better time than I expected a feeling of triumph flooded through me washing away all of the aches (although that was probably the advil).  I called my father to let him know I had finished.

"Finished what?" he asked.

To celebrate the end of my walk I took a photo of the Hawkesbury River from the station and waited for the train home.  Fortunately the advil was still working when I had to climb the stairs to my flat.

Journey's end

Travelling Pathetically - Recycling Pyrmont

 I had big plans.  I had prepared for one of my more ambitious walks to date.  There would be ups and downs and making my way through a national park in one of the more scenic Sydney adjacent areas.  Then it rained.  I muttered and put off my plans for a week.  The next Saturday it also rained but this time I had a contingency plan in place.  For reasons I can't really explain I had been glancing at a map of Pyrmont.  I have of course been to Pyrmont before, several times.  In my thrilling series of blog entries centred around light rail stations (I really do need to find a more interesting hobby) I had wandered around bits of Pyrmont as that suburb is practically overrun with light rail stations.  There are five such stations within Pyrmont's official boundaries, not bad for a suburb which is only one square kilometre in area.

Being small and quite densely populated Pyrmont is obviously covered in buildings which made me wonder if there were in fact any parks or open spaces at all.  There are of course a couple of significant parks at the waterside but what about within the suburb itself.  I applied myself to the map and by zooming in as far as I could go managed to identify quite a few tiny little green splashes amongst the grey.  That was sufficient excuse for me.

"I shall go to Pyrmont," I announced to a collection of disinterested plush toys, "and I shall attempt to walk around the suburb through as many parks, parkettes, reserves and random pot plants as possible."

"You really need a hobby," said Humpy the camel.

"This is a hobby."

"I mean a much better one."

"I could always take up camel racing."

"Enjoy your walk."

Of course having wandered around bits of Pyrmont in the past I would perforce be going over some old ground.  That means while I might struggle to have something new to say I could shamelessly crib bits from the earlier blog entries, toss in a few photos and claim its all new.  Pleased with the concept of achievement for little effort I set out on a Sunday which after a rainy Saturday rapidly developed into the sort of day it would be nice to go on a proper bushwalk but I was committed to Pyrmont and I wasn't intending to let the suburb down.

Like many inner city suburbs Pyrmont has gone through its ups and downs over the years.  At first it was a working class suburb with warehouses, factories, docks, a power station and quarries.  In fact much of the sandstone used to build Sydney's handsome public buildings was quarried here.  This has led to a fair amount of up and down in Pyrmont.  Your next door neighbour can sometimes live thirty metres higher than you do.  There are quite a few sets of steps to assist pedestrians in getting about.  

Over the years the industry moved away or shut down and Pyrmont went into significant decline.  Then in the 1980s inner city living became popular and a spectacular renaissance took place as the population jumped from a few hundred to about twelve thousand.  Now there are pubs, cafes and all of the usual accoutrements of inner city living.  Despite the vast influx of population Pyrmont manages to give the impression of being slightly apart from the rest of the city.  The main reason for this is motorways.  A series of motorways taking people from somewhere that isn't Pyrmont to somewhere else that isn't Pyrmont encircle and virtually transform the suburb into an island.  The council signs announcing "Sydney, a City of Villages" sounds slightly less like fatuous garbage when you read them in Pyrmont although only slightly.

I hopped on the fabled light rail, subject of many an excellent blog entry (and a few crappy ones) and rode the rails to Wentworth Park the first of many light rail stations that serve Pyrmont.  Wentworth Park clings to the south west corner of Pyrmont wedged between some new apartment buildings and a large vacant lot.  In a pitiful attempt to make it look like a country railway station a small fringe of bushland approximately two trees wide flanks both sides of the station.  The attempt is more successful than you might think.

A charming country lane next to Wentworth Park light rail station

In contrast to my usual half arsed attempts at organisation I had made detailed plans for this walk.  I would hop out at Wentworth Park, walk along Wattle St and then turn left up Fig Street to take me into the belly of the beast or, rather, Pyrmont.  This plan came to an abrupt halt two minutes later when Fig Street disappeared under a bridge that would eventually spit it out onto the Western Distributor.  What I actually wanted to be on was Upper Fig Street which was on top of said bridge.  I retraced my steps and headed further up Wattle Street until I reached Quarry Street.  It had taken me precisely five minutes to leave Pyrmont and instead venture into the gritty urban landscape of Ultimo.

I hurried up Quarry Street before roaming cannibal gangs took advantage of my soft sweet flesh.  Reaching Jones Street in a lather of sweat (that wasn't the cannibal gangs, I'm just not used to going uphill) I took a sharp left and headed back towards the safe haven of Fig Street (Upper).  I paused just long enough to take a photo of Quarry Green a little park attempting to bring a spot of nature to Ultimo.

This is Quarry Green but its in Ultimo so it doesn't count

Fig Lane Park occupies a narrow block between Fig Lane and Fig Street but I didn't take any photos of it because it was occupied by a large number of children in bathing costumes disporting themselves and I can do without another visit from the police.  More importantly by stepping onto Fig Street I was back in Pyrmont.  I promised not to leave again before I was done.

Having found Fig Street I promptly abandoned it again instead taking shelter under the Western Distributor which made its way overhead supported by quite low lying concrete.  I almost had to duck my head to avoid hitting my forehead on a motorway which is something that doesn't happen every day.  Once past the just overpass I found myself in the rear of a handsome block of flats and my next destination the Ada Place Streetscape.  Ada Place used to be (and a little further on still is) a narrow lane between two blocks of flats.  The "streetscape" is a name given when you've removed the cars and tossed in a few pot plants but the result still can't legitimately be called a park.  It was essentially a walkway with plants on one side and balconies of flats on the other.  Beyond the plants there were more balconies belonging to a different set flats.

Not exactly untamed wilderness but the best Ada Place Streetscape can do

Making my way through the tangled wilderness of the streetscape took about two minutes before I was thrust out onto a leafless street.  I turned left and scurried down Bulwara Road in search of my next patch of green.  In fact the green was immediately to my left.  It wasn't dignified with a park name and was fenced off so that you couldn't enter it.  The reason is that nestling at the bottom of once again a narrow fringe of trees was the light rail line I had abandoned earlier and which had now come crawling back.  It was nice to have trees by my side again after an agonised two and a half minutes walking down a suburban street but I had bigger fish to fry.  Ahead of me lay Paradise Reserve.  You may have heard of Paradise Reserve but unless you live in Pyrmont probably not.  It usefully fills a gap between the Western Distributor and Bulwara Road and incidentally gives the passengers of the light rail something green as they journey through Pyrmont.

Paradise Reserve announced itself with a truly enormous tree and for a moment I thought that was the reserve but no, the reserve went on with well sculpted greenery for whole minutes until it spat me out near Fish Market light rail station.

A tree so big it didn't all fit in the view finder

 

Gazing from Paradise Reserve over the light rail

The earlier greyness of the day had already starting swinging around to "don't you wish you'd brought sunblock and water" which is ridiculous when you're five minutes from a shopping centre.  A light rail vehicle pulled up and disgorged no doubt fish crazed individuals eager to spend their hard earned on the least polluted thing that can be dragged from the nearby waters.  I hope the damage to their DNA is limited to the bare minimum.

Fish Market station complete with tram

Above is Fish Market station.  If you hop off here, turn left, go under the overpass and keep on walking you will fall into the harbour.  If you stop just before that point you will find the fish market your focal point for all things piscine as long as they're dead.  If you want living sea creatures don't stop walking when you hit the fish market.

I had no interest in fish of either a living or dead persuasion so instead I made my way across what was probably a normal intersection before somebody decided to shoehorn a motorway off ramp onto it and fled down Jones Street.  Jones Street once upon a time stretched from Broadway all the way to Pyrmont.  Technically it still does but various developments and motorways mean that the street tends to vanish and then reappear when you least expect it.  At the end of Jones Street is Jones Street Pocket Park.  A pocket park is another cute name for "there isn't enough room here for another apartment block so lets stick some trees around and pretend it's deliberate".

I've been to the pocket park before (when I did the Fish Market station blog entry) but saw no reason why I shouldn't grace it with my presence again.  Remember I mentioned that Pyrmont was a quarry?  It was actually three quarries and I had been walking around the bottom of one.  The pocket park is where the you run out of flat land before having to climb to the top of the quarry.  Since people don't necessarily like living next to a cliff that can drop rocks on their homes there was scope for a pocket park although not much more because these people can afford insurance.

Jones Street Pocket Park with the quarry wall.

The pocket park stretched left and right, my journey took me left but to show willing I went right first and traveled the length of the park although it would be more accurate to say I traveled the shortth of the park.  The last time I was there a fence was protecting passers by in case bits of the quarry wall leapt out at them.  Now four years later the fence is still there, apparently feral quarry walls are an ongoing problem.  I came to the end of the park shortly after I started.  There was a flight of steps that would lead stout hearted pedestrians up to the top of the quarry where Pyrmont continued at a slightly higher altitude but I hadn't finished with the lowlands yet.

The fence is there for my own protection apparently

I headed back to my pocket park starting point and went left as I had always intended to do.  A bridge took me across the light rail and into what I assume was a public walkway through an apartment block.  Once out on the street I headed for Carmichael Park fifteen seconds up the road.

There was a dead fish in Carmichael Park for reasons I can't imagine.  There were also lots of rainbow lorikeets and the back yard of an apartment block (I think the one I just walked through).  A few seconds of walking and a fence prevented my from tumbling onto the light rail line.  To my right another fence prevented me from tumbling into the apartment block.  I took a couple of photos of the lorikeets because they hung around badgering me until I relented.  Then I walked to the other end of Carmichael Park which took all of a minute and climbed up the side of the quarry.  I was going up in the world but not far and not for long.

Rainbow lorikeets

A much better photo of rainbow lorikeets although the people in the apartment probably weren't pleased

Now I was up on high and after a few minutes to acclimatise to the altitude I set off across The Knoll a neatly shaved park perched on the top of Pyrmont.  I was heading towards the water (to be fair in Pyrmont its difficult not to, its a headland) and the more decorative, well sculptured parks of the foreshore.  I did pause for a couple of photos from my new elevated vantage point.

A photo to the left

And a photo to the right

Then I was off again skirting the western part of The Knoll until I found a flight of steps to take me down to sea level.  Said steps dutifully presented themselves and I trotted back down to the level I just left and made my way through what was either a very well sculpted miniature park of the front yard of the apartment block just to my right.  It was getting increasingly difficult to tell.  On the one hand nobody chased me off on the other I didn't feel quite comfortable about taking photos and there weren't any lorikeets around to justify my invasion of privacy.

All that came to an end when I crossed the road and wound up in the unimaginatively named Waterfront Park.  I knew that I had stepped into something a little more impressive than a pocket park or a street scape when I saw the art.  I know it was art because there was a sign announcing that it was art.  If the sign hadn't been there I would have assumed that I was looking at bits of abandoned industrial machinery.

Waterfront Park, the art is on the right

Along with a sudden outbreak of art I also encountered people.  It may seem strange but I hadn't run into too many people so far on my walk because I had essentially been walking through the back parts of Pyrmont but now I had emerged into an area where the denizens disported themselves in the afternoon sun.  I decided it was time to move on.  Other parks awaited my attention.  Lest I seem ungrateful I did take a couple of photos of the less people intensive parts of the park which I present for your delectation.

Waterfront Park without people

The water that the park is fronting

Once past the park there was a bit of dockside with a sign warning you about a crane.  There was no crane in sight, I can only presume that it was hiding somewhere waiting to jump out at unsuspecting passers by.  I kept alert and put my best crane threatening face on.  Not only did this stop the crane from making an appearance but it also kept the other pedestrians at a safe distance.  Although from the expression on some of their faces not safe enough.

There was no crane in sight

Although I was largely ambling along the waterfront I took a detour to go up a flight of stairs.  Stairs aren't something you can really avoid in Pyrmont although I could have avoided these ones.  At the top of the stairs was another park.  All neatly trimmed lawn with the occasional tree.  I suppose it was nice enough but it was a little too manicured for me.  I like my parks the way I like my men, a little rough around the edges.

A little too well trimmed for my taste

Having graced the over presented park with my presence I returned to the waterfront and another park.  This was the big one, Pirrama Park.  Pirrama Park is the largest park in Pyrmont with lots of space for families and children to frolic.  All of this frolic territory was walled off with temporary fencing and signs noting that due to an unfortunate asbestos situation the frolic parts of the park were out of commission.  I walked along the path gazing at the gaoled greenery.  This was only the most extreme example of something that I had encountered all the way along.  At least half the greenery I had admired had been separated from me by similar warning signs.  It would appear that asbestos was the material of choice for park bedding in Pyrmont.  The entire "asbestos in parks" issue has developed into a low level scandal as it turns out that a lot of the government's attempt to promote green spaces include the insides of people's lungs.

I made my way through the small part of the park that was walkable and headed south.  There were other parks to see but I figured I'd inhaled enough asbestos fibres for one day so I turned right, climbed another flight of stairs and made my way to Johns Square Light Rail Station to cough my way home.