Travelling Pathetically - Fungus Frenzy

With apparently nothing else to do I took the train to Thornleigh in Sydney's leafy northern suburbs to hop on to the section of the Great North Walk that takes one from Thornleigh to Hornsby another suburb in Sydney's leafy northern suburbs. Generally speaking "leafy" means "wealthy" as the average income of a suburb's population can usually be derived from the number of trees that the developers permitted to remain standing.  In this case additional leafiness is gained by the fact that a lot of the land on either side turned out to be rather difficult to build on and therefore was classified as a national park in a traditional case of making a virtue out of a necessity.

As usual I needed to wander through the leafy streets of Thornleigh before I plunged behind someone's house and entered an area where leaves (and their associated trees) predominated.  I had looked up this walk on my trail app and had been encouraged by the enthusiastic reports of greenery, birds and wildlife.  A closer glance indicated that the wildlife was mainly leeches but I was encouraged nonetheless.  It has been a long time since I saw a leech.

 

Entry to the walk. No leeches yet but a brown parrot looking bird hiding behind the leaves

 

A creek almost immediately presented itself and I clumped along being as leech aware as possible.  For those of you who can't bear the suspense I have to say I didn't see a leech the entire journey.  Perhaps somewhat more encouragingly apparently they didn't see me.

A little creek

Soon leech disappointment would be driven from my mind.  As if to compensate for the absence of blood sucking invertebrates the bushland threw an absolute frenzy of fungus at me.  These had the advantage of being more photogenic and less likely to deprive me of vital fluids.  Things started modestly with a single glossy black mushroom (or toadstool or whatever) sitting in proud isolation beckoning me onwards.

 

Quite a handsome little chap

But this was a mere introduction to what turned out to be a riot of fungal profusion (there's a cream for that) which greeted me as I pushed further into the bush.  The next section of this entry is simply an orgy of fungus photos.  I didn't even bother giving the Clare McIntyre award; there were simply too many candidates.

 

 

 

Ok, I have to admit that I might have been getting a little obsessed by this point but the sheer number and variety of fungus and fungus related entities on offer was a little overwhelming.  At this stage you would be forgiven for thinking that I just went to a mushroom farm but no these presented themselves along my walk.

As for the walk itself the first half was little more than a fungus point to point.  On the occasions that I looked up from fungus photos the bush was its appropriate, appealing self.  The creek (or possibly another one) bubbled picturesquely and it was easy to forget it was largely stormwater and sewage overflow.  The term "stormwater" incidentally goes some way to explaining the profusion of fungi.  There had been a fair bit of rain recently and the fungi had taken full advantage.

The creek doing creeky things

 

Still the bush bushed around me as bush does inviting the occasional photograph as I attempted to overcome my fungus monomania.

Bush

As I carried on I noted the general downward nature of my progression and the dire warnings from the trail app reviews that the walk ended in a nasty set of steps to regain an altitude deemed suitable for the building of suburbs.  

Going down

 

I also noticed water dripping down my back.  I looked up but rain was nowhere in evidence.  Fishing in my backpack I discovered that I hadn't properly capped my water bottle and that half the precious fluid it contained (for the sake of a family friendly blog let's call it water) was now sloshing about in my pack.  Here's the strange thing about losing water.  I take a water bottle with me on these hikes but I don't generally drink all that much of it.  Now that water was scarce I found myself gripped with a frenzied desire for more of it.  My eyes were glazed, my tongue black and hanging out, no wait; that's the syphillis but you get the general idea.  From that point on fungus and water occupied my thoughts to the exception of everything else.  What made it worse was that as I descended further into the valley water was in abundance all around me.

Trickle

 

A more staid and sedentary body of water

It was while I was examining this water (and wondering if I dared drink any) that I saw it; red, round and glistening waiting for my approach.  I went into full leech defence mode running in tiny circles and trying (and failing) to scale a nearby tree until I realised it was a flower petal that was curled up and floating in the water.  One of the reasons why I walk by myself is so that there are fewer witnesses when I make an absolute idiot of myself.  I paused next to a nearby log to compose myself before carrying on.

A nearby log. The presence of fungus on it is a pure coincidence

 I was still heading down, the sound of gurgling water just out of reach tormenting me.  The scenery got more rainforesty and less Australian bushy (although to be fair the rainforest was also Australian bush) as I progressed.

I'd like to say I was using the contrast of light and shade to make an atmospheric photo but that's just what the light was like

 The gurgling of water was getting louder and I gurgled back in response.  Peering through the trees I could make out water thrashing itself into a frenzy as it poured over obdurate rocks on its way to the sea.  At least I assume that's where it was going, it seemed like a safe bet at the time.

Water through the trees

I stumbled towards the sound of cool sweet water (I still had some in my water bottle but by now I was in the grips of obsession) pausing only to take a photo of a small compliant lizard along the way.  Lizard photos had been notable by their absence so far, that was about to change.

 

A small lizard

I needed to cross the stream, fortunately there were conveniently placed rocks.  Unfortunately they were somewhat slippery due to the water flowing over them something I discovered as I crossed, fortunately not fatally.  Once safely across I laved my arms in the water (honestly I don't know why I'm not riddled in parasites) but wasn't quite stupid enough to drink any of it.

 

Warning, rocks may be slipperier than they appear

I was on the last stage of my journey now.  Hornsby beckoned and I set forth with renewed confidence, a spring in my stride.  Naturally I managed to wander off the path and get a little lost.  A lizard sunning itself on a rock looked with bemusement as I blundered past swearing and staring at my trail app.

 

If you're wondering why I took so many photos of this particular lizard its because I blundered past him several times as I walked in circles attempting to find my way back to the trail I was supposed to be following.  I'm surprised he didn't report me for curb crawling.

Eventually a helpful arrow appeared on a rock and pointed me in the right direction.  I made my way along and emerged in a park in Hornsby. I rested and refilled my water bottle but I wasn't done yet. With eleven or so kilometres under my belt I now faced the Hornsby Heritage Steps.  These were carved during the depression in the 1930s as part of that era's work for the dole scheme they connected the park with Hornsby proper inconveniently located someway above.  I didn't set any land speed records, indeed at some points I am pretty sure I was going backwards.  Still I gasped, panted, retched and planted one trembling foot in front of another until I reached the top to discover that I had several hundred metres of street to traverse before I encountered anything as useful as a railway station.  Somehow I made it and collapsed gasping onto the platform.  Concerned onlookers completely failed to gather around me so I eventually got up and caught the train home.