It's getting harder to find bushwalks in my immediate vicinity that have not yet been graced with my clumpy unco-ordinated tread. For this most recent walk I had to catch a bus, a train and a ferry just so that I could walk a kilometre to my starting point. My walk started in Bundeena which according to wikipedia is both a suburb and a village on the outskirts of southern Sydney. I'm not sure what you need to do to gain both suburb and village status but Bundeena wears it's dual title with a modest grace that more boxing champions would do well to emulate. Bundeena is just across the way from Cronulla (which bears the lonely title of "suburb") however the "way" in question is largely water and thus requires the assistance of a ferry to cross effectively. You can take a bus if you want to stay on the solid part of the scenery but why would you take a bus when you can catch a cute little ferry that putters gently across Port Hacking and deposits you at the more water adjacent portions of Bundeena. From there its only a kilometre or two uphill until you arrive panting at your destination; the start of the walk.
Having dipped a toe into the Royal National Park a couple of months ago with a trip to Grays Point I felt sufficiently encouraged to go in up to my ankles. I panted through Bundeena sustained by thoughts of Greenland sharks (seriously, I may have a problem) until I bumped into the National Park. My path stretched out before me, depressing in its width. "Here we go," I muttered to myself, "another unexciting firetrail." I muttered to myself as I've noticed that muttering to strangers tends to have unfortunate consequences.
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| The not particularly impressive start to my walk |
I was less than excited by this start but having committed myself I set out along the, well "path" isn't exactly the right term, road would be more accurate. Things improved swiftly however and it wasn't long before my route took me off to the left making a beeline for the Tasman Sea. Fortunately it turned again before I reached it. I was following the Coast Track with the Tasman on my left heading towards Marley Beach. Well actually I was heading toward Marley Beaches as there are two of them. On the way I would pass Wedding Cake Rock which is apparently impressive enough to rate its own marking on the map. Unfortunately it turns out that the wedding wasn't terribly successful and the rock is on the point of hurling itself into the sea. I think we've all been to weddings like that.
It has to be said that the walk was in no way scrambling through the bush. Possibly in deference to the large number of people for whom a suicidal rock and a beach named Marley are irresistible attractions the parks authority has produced a well made track with boardwalks to take you over the more environmentally delicate bits. The scenery was largely coastal heath with low but close packed greenery. Well I say "greenery" a lot of it was brownery, some of it was distinctly charred blackery.
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| Some greenery and some blackery |
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| The path takes an abrupt right turn ahead which is the only reason this blog entry wasn't fished from my waterlogged corpse |
The sun beat down on me as I strode towards Marley beach, still several kilometres away. The coastline capered in front of me flaunting cliffs and the usual chaotic mess that results when large amounts of water inadvertently collide with equally impressive collections of land. I took photos because, well it seemed a little needy frankly.
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| There were plenty more but I don't want to bore you |
Of course as everybody knows its all about the wildlife however here things were a little disappointing. The path I was following was obviously very popular. I know it was popular because it was overrun with people. All of the wildlife had therefore very sensibly decided to make themselves scarce. They hadn't gone far, they lurked in the nearby scrub teasing walkers with their cries but absolutely defying any attempts to actually see them. By the time I encountered a small lizard sunning itself on a rock I was so desperate for material that I lavished photographs on this tiny reptile most people could find in a suburban garden.
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| A lizard, try and pretend you've never seen one before |
And birdlife, my god was there birdlife? Well I assume there was. Certainly something was making a hell of a lot of birdlife like noises. However they lurked buried in the scrub invisible to the human eye (well my human eye anyway) no matter how desperately I peered. From time to time in a fit of sheer sadism one would erupt from cover in front of me and then dive into some more protection just before I got my camera ready. Not many birds were seen on this journey and those that were seen weren't seen for very long. I have to admit I got a little frustrated. Other walkers were slightly aghast to see me collapse weeping on the path hysterically cursing invisible birds. They skirted my twitching carcass and hurried on leaving me to my own somewhat dubious devices.
I'm not saying that I did offer my soul to various dark powers if they could persuade just one bird to sit still long enough to be photographed. I am certainly not saying I made certain reckless promises to ghastly monsters from the netherworld but if anybody does have a goat and a sacrificial knife they're not using you know where to find me. Anyway by a wild coincidence one particular bird did pause in a reasonably accessible piece of scrub and I photographed the crap out of it. I was so eager that most of the photos were actually lousy. The best of a bad bunch is presented below as evidence of why I joined a Satanic cult in my declining years. The bird in question is a New Holland honeyeater. I found this out all by myself by a little research after I got home. They were all over the place but this is the only one I managed to photograph.
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| For this I sacrificed my immortal soul? |
With that out of the way let's get on with the walk. As previously noted my path led through thick scrub with the sea always hovering to my left just out of reach. With the shrubbery crowded in on the path it was quite quiet despite the constant birdsong, gossiping of other walkers, panting of those idiots who were actually running... okay, it was actually quite noisy but it gave the impression of silence even when it wasn't.
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| Perhaps you can see why the birds found it so easy to hide |
Signs announced that the region was home to echidnas and humpbacked whales which is a species crossover I would pay money to see. It will come as no surprise that I saw neither of these (given I was on a path the absence of whales wasn't astonishing). Of course it couldn't all be wandering along clifftops admiring the lack of birds and taking occasional photos of photogenic rocks (see below). I was walking along a clifftop heading for a beach. That meant there would be a certain amount of descent. Followed of course, as night follows day, by ascent unless I wanted to stay on the beach forever.
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| Rocks; photogenic |
As it turned out I didn't want to stay on a beach forever (too much sand in the crevices) and thus I was committed to panting down not one but two steep descents and subsequently gasping back up them again all in a desperate attempt to return to a geographical position I could have achieved by going nowhere. Some of the most enjoyable moments in life are basically well organised futility.
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| At least there were steps going down. Sadly there would also be steps going up |
Eventually my painful descents were rewarded with a glimpse of my target. Marley Beach in all its glory.
Strangely despite the number of people I had encountered along the path the beach was surprisingly empty. Indeed it could be said that Marley was dead (thank you, I'm here all week). On the way back I took another photo of a bird and I didn't have to sacrifice my immortal anything. Also I came across the Clare McIntyre memorial fungus lurking modestly behind a rock.
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| I couldn't manage to identify this one |
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| The Clare McIntyre memorial fungus |
I strode back light in heart and heavy of foot. Ahead of me Bundeena was already closed meaning that my desperate need for coffee would have to wait until I reached something a little closer to civilisation such as my kitchen. This is possibly the first time that my kitchen has been described as "close to civilisation."
