The Grand Canyon - Blue Mountains N.S.W.

I’d viewed a photograph once, a lovely panorama of the Nepalese foothills, and in the caption it cautioned to always look back when you have a camera because you see things differently, which goes to explain I guess why I always like to walk a scenic trail both ways.  That, and the fact that I’d lost my previous set of pictures of the Grand Canyon in a computer glitch, led me to the Neates Glen carpark once again.

                                     

Low cloud and fog had delayed my departure and I didn’t set out till 2.30 on the trail.  I was only 15 minutes down when I realised I’d left my tripod trackside while taking my first batch of shots and had to spend another quarter of an hour retrieving it.

     

Off the escarpment and into the slot canyon, suddenly surrounded by ferns and hearing the sound of water instead of the rustle of open woodland.  It never ceases to surprise me just how quick the vegetation changes; in the space of 50 metres it’s a whole new world.

Trundling down through Neates Glen, passing waterfalls and gazing down the ever deepening slot canyon my pleasure levels rose.  I reached the spot where the canyoners abseil out of sight, suspended only by a rope affixed to three bolts embedded in the rock, and then, just a few minutes later, sixteen of them came walking back from their excursion, understandably a little wet still.  I didn’t envy them but would love to get into some of the places just to take some pictures.

                                     

On I strode, up and down stairs and beside streamlets, dreaming of a place I call the shower.  I’d tried to photograph it every time I’d been here and managed to not get it right; hopefully today would be my day.

                           

It’s a curtain of water that seeps from an overhang in the section where you have to criss-cross the river several times; often losing the trail momentarily because, when the river is running as it was today, there are no markers to guide you, just a worn track on the other side and it’s not always visible. 

                       

I was also constantly shocked by the damage the recent weather had wrought; trees falling as the moist soil no longer supported their shallow roots and they’d crashed down in numerous places, taking other smaller ones with them and smashing track railing in one spot.  In others they’d formed log jams in the river and altered its course.

                                                 

And there it was, just up ahead, that mystic beam of watery light dancing off the shelf past drooping ferns and into the swollen stream.  The overcast sky was just perfect for pictures and I snapped off half a dozen before moving on to the turn where you can either descend into Grose Valley or head back up to the plateau. 

It pays to wear waterproof shoes because the crossings involve splashing in shallow water on numerous occasions; it’s no place to be if you’re unsteady on your feet. 

                                       

Climbing out I wondered why I had bothered to bring all my macro gear until I spotted a cluster of fungi in a narrow gap in a tree and spent the next ten minutes just trying to set up the tripod and get a focus before I even took the first couple of shots that were totally useless though eventually I managed a couple after another five minutes.  At times photography can test your patience!

                                           

By the time I reached Evans Lookout I had taken two hours over the 2 ½  the walk is supposed to take but emerged smiling, knowing that at last I’d had a good day with the camera.