Somewhere Between Mook Mook and Goon Goon

Blackdown Tableland - Queensland

         SOMEWHERE BETWEEN MOOK MOOK AND GOON GOON

                                              Story and pics by Ian Smith

My youngest son had seen it from afar while driving past en route to a mining job, thought there might be possibilities, so I looked it up.  Blackdown Tablelands was the name and research indicated that there was one spot that maybe was worth photographing.  Another plus was that you could get a 2WD in there, though 4WD would be better, so I pencilled it in.

I’d planned to be up there late one afternoon but Duaringa and its free showers, toilets and parking area got in the way.  How glorious are the small things in life, standing beneath temperate flowing water in the middle of the outback, is there another pleasure so sweet?

I spoke to another couple and they said they’d pulled up here at 10 a.m. and thought they’d have a cuppa and think about staying here the night.  Relaxing in their chairs at 4 p.m. they were getting close to a decision they felt.  Life’s a bit like that when you’re a grey nomad.

Next morning I headed out at 6.30 a.m. and turned off to Blackdown less than an hour later.  I’d heard it was a steep climb, I’d heard right.  Not only was it steep, in most places it was also narrow and there was nothing to stop you cascading over the edge should you stray.  The plus was that it was a sealed road and only became dirt at the top, 8 kms from the camp site.

It wasn’t bad until you turned off into the camp site, where there were two severe erosion humps that tested my driving skill trying to avoid bottoming the rear end out.

Then it was time to walk and I chose Mimosa Creek, adjacent to the camp site.  Just before you get there a sign indicates that you can either turn right to Mook Mook or left to Goon Goon Dina.  I had absolutely no idea what either of those were but lucked out soon after when a national parks indigenous employee helped me out and gave me a colour brochure, the kind that the Queensland government don’t print any more.  (You’re expected to get it on line yourself, bet that’s saved them money for horse racing, which just happens to be in the same ministry!  Go figure, glad I got that off my chest.)

The water flow was minimal, fed by permanent springs, but it had been dry up here for a while and a fire had scorched some areas in recent times.  Still, the sandstones had some lovely colour, mostly various shades of rufous or grey (less than 50 though).  Insects played across the surface, zipping here and there in such a frantic fashion it was like watching a ping pong match.

The lighting was benign as I stretched the tripod out and started clicking; here a dragonfly, there a cascade, everywhere the dazzling contrast of polarized sky, eucalypts and sandstone.  The water was so clear and a couple of deep pools so tempting but I resisted; I was, after all, on my way to Mook Mook, nee Officer’s Pocket, a nearby lookout.

Then there were a couple of amazing pools where the water dropped about 2 metres and had gouged out these deep, perfectly round holes; one of which appeared almost bottomless.  I imagined these would have had cultural significance for the aborigines.

I moved further downstream, stopping here and there until I had to route around a big drop that I would have liked to secure a photograph of but it was all in shade, though nonetheless impressive for that.  Then I came upon some fellow tourists who had a 4WD and we had a chat.  They’d spent three days here already and they said nothing came close to Rainbow Falls, which echoed what everyone who’d ever been here said.  They’d also done the 4WD loop that features two lookouts so I crossed that off my list.

Since I’d ignored the trail so far I just kept on downstream until it gradually dawned on me that there was no way ahead as South Mimosa plunged into an inaccessible chasm from which the Blackdown fan palms pushed skywards.  I diverted to the left in search of the trail and spent the next ten minutes hacking my way through the scrub until finally I found it again.  Much easier walking on a made path!

At Mook Mook (owl) it’s very reminiscent of the Blue Mountains.  A long line of sandstone buttress stretches towards the horizon and it’s a long way from the Officer’s Pocket Lookout to the bottom.  Though probably worth a look, the stream had offered more to me.  As a first outing it had been good, but a thought was running through my head.  Everyone was saying that dawn was the time to be at Rainbow Falls, but I had an inkling that maybe the sun would be totally absent late in the afternoon and the light might be better, so I decided to go both late and early and headed there after a late lunch and an afternoon nap.

It’s another eight kilometres further down the dirt road from the camp and then a 2 km hike to get there.  At first it’s just a simple bushwalk, with the occasional wildflower to divert your attention.

Then, suddenly, everything changes.  From there being little of note your eyes are diverted every which way as you descend the 240 steps.  About halfway down there’s a much photographed site where the rock weeps, ferns grow and the ochres leech out and stain the surface.

As you venture into this world of Moonda Gudda, the creator of life, it’s easy to understand a place like this having cultural significance.  The cathedral-like atmosphere that pervades the site has you gazing in awe and reverence at the wonders that nature can come up with.  The constant distraction of colour makes it easy to understand how the place got its name. 

There’s a quote by a native Australian called Patricia on an interpretive sign just as you start to descend into this world; I found it very moving.  “One time as I was walking to Rainbow Waters, I found Moonda Gudda floating beside me.  What I saw was a water stream with flecks of colours and I told Moonda Gudda that I was on my way to the falls.  In Ghungalu culture, we pay respect to our spiritual ancestors by acknowledging their presence on country and by telling them who we are, where we come from and why we are here.  We invite you to pay your respect to our ancestors by acknowledging their presence.  In your own time, take a minute to speak through your mind to Moonda Gudda to show your respect.”

                                  

On the rock face, beside the weeping, there were several hands painted on, though they had been done by painting on the hand and then pressing it onto the surface, not blowing ochre around the outline as used to be done.  At first I thought it an act of vandals but I later learned that local school children had done it to keep up the tradition.

After that, you can clearly hear the falls, that delightful splash that only seems to occur where sandstone is present.  Then you’re there at last, totally enveloped in the majestic spectacle that is Gudda Gumoo.  This place has the “wow” factor in spades; every promise is delivered and then some.  The word “magnificent” springs to mind over and over, you’re unsure just where to cast your gaze, so fulfilling is the site. 

I scramble around here and there and eventually head downstream.  Here the might of the chasm is manifest as the water disappears into an abyss of grand proportions, inaccessible to mere mortals like myself.  In fact, I wonder how many, if any, have gone over the edge into this other world.  Its power is manifest from where I stand at the edge; frankly, it’s even scary.

I spend nearly an hour at the site, taking time to immerse myself quickly in the large splash pool beneath the falls.  As for the temperature, let’s just say that I know how those people pouring buckets of ice water over themselves in aid of MS feel.  I knew the walk back up the steps would soon have me warmed up again though.

Climbing the stairs I felt the shots I’d taken had justified my decision to come late.  The place was deserted, the golden hour light was perfect and the only problem had been the brisk wind that caroused its way spasmodically around the cascades, flicking the ferns when I was taking long exposures.  I knew then I wouldn’t return in the morning.

After 4 ½ hours sleep I awoke at 3.30, couldn’t get back to sleep; stories were going around in my head so I expunged them from my mind and my soul.  By then it was almost dawn and I was so tired I even tried to crash once more but again my mind wouldn’t let go.  “Call yourself a photographer and you’re not getting out before dawn when the light is right!”

When I was prepared and on my way the cold started to bite and I was too lazy to go back and get comfortable.  I counted on the walking to warm me up but it had little effect and there would be no direct sun for another hour.  At the waterholes I wanted to shoot, the light was as expected and I clipped fat boy (my 10-20mm lens) on and got up close and personal with the surreal shapes carved into the sandstone over millennia.  The meander of the water particularly had etched abstracts worthy of a gallery and I hoped to be able to share some with the rest of the world who hadn’t been here before.

It was a mad race against time and the light and I moved downstream on South Mimosa to a dramatic drop I’d avoided the day before because the light was too contrasting.  Now, in the pre-dawn, its softness was my friend and I clambered down, sliding over rocks the size of motorcars that rested in a ramshackle array in the gorge.  It was a weird world down there, you felt overpowered by the immensity of what nature had done and yet, here and there, tiny plants co-existed, sinking roots where there seemed to be hardly any soil at all.  Perhaps most of them would temporarily disappear in times of flood, something that certainly hadn’t happened here for a while.  No indeed, the last big event was a fire the year before and, even now, many rangers were fighting another on the extreme eastern boundary of the park.

In time I climbed out and returned to my starting point then headed out on the Goon Goon Dina Circuit, a cultural walk that ends up at a huge rock formation that has native art, all bar one piece being ochre blown around someone’s hand.  I still haven’t worked out what the other piece was.

On my return I crossed Mimosa again and there were all manner of birds in the vicinity.  

Thornbills, reddies, robins and wrens were all flitting around and the thornbills came and bathed right near me in front of the rosette sundews.  It was all a bit special but, within two hours I was packed up and on my way to Carnarvon Gorge.

BREAK OUT BOX:

For the minimal camping fee (around $6) you can either book on the internet or use the phone supplied where the tar ends on your entry to the park.  Remember to have your credit card handy! http://www.nprsr.qld.gov.au/parks/blackdown-tableland/camping.html

BREAK OUT BOX:

If it’s wet, conditions can deteriorate rapidly and you would be well advised to check on conditions before you attempt the climb.  Caravans are not recommended even in the dry.

BREAK OUT BOX: Getting there

Blackdown Tablelands is 180 kms west of Rockhampton or 110 kms east of Emerald.  Getting there is weather dependent, bushfires and flooding rains have closed it during recent years so plan your trip carefully.

A MORNING TO REMEMBER - Blue Mountains N.S.W., near Blackheath

It’s magic.  No matter how many times you view it, there’s an inescapable beauty to the sight of a draped morning mist escaping the valley floor and climbing the surrounding cliffs in fingers of white; like they’re clutching the high edges in an effort to scramble out of their imprisonment, dragging the main bleached body behind them.  ‘Tis a place of wonder, these Blue Mountains.

Stirred by a gentle zephyr that soon becomes a breeze the white shroud echoes the path of the wind by spilling skywards as it chases the air above that has been warmed by the sun; turning and tumbling until it has been shredded into nothingness and the trees, dipped in dew, glisten as the first rays kiss the droplets and sparkle like a jewellers cabinet.

We step out on the trail that is dressed with wildflowers and an overcoat of eucalypts, splashing our way along the route that bore the brunt of last night’s storm that pounded relentlessly on the roof of the motorhome, keeping us awake at times.  The pools on the trail are many and they reflect the forest and the clearing sky overhead, adding another dimension to what is a delightful scenic walk to begin with.

The sounds of the escarpment are clearly audible in the crisp morning air.  The tell-tale splashing of waterfalls resound around the canyon walls interspersed with the peeping of wrens nearby and squawking of cockatoos as they rise on the uplifting currents, flashes of white above the blue gum forests whirling this way and that.

As we dip into Hayward’s Gully, named after probably the first white man to descend into Grose Valley, there’s a change in vegetation and a proliferation of the wildflowers.  The various shapes and sizes catch our attention, the rain droplets that are still clinging sparkle in the backlight of the sun’s rays.  You can feel the cleansing effect of atmosphere on your lungs as you breathe deeply while ascending from the gully floor.

Soon we come to what we had hoped for, a gap in the cliff top vegetation that allows us an uninterrupted vista across Grose Valley.  Time to sit down and let our breakfast settle a little while we snap off a few shots to remember the moment by.

The cliffs, cleansed by the overnight downpour, looked so fresh in the early light and here and there ephemeral waterfalls flashed, adding life to an otherwise dormant surface.  Cheeky grey fantails and wrens flitted around, their presence often announced by moving undergrowth as they actively bounced around in search of a morsel.  A lone blooming waratah looked simply beautiful with the background of the forest to enhance its stunning red.

The return walk was just as enjoyable, the crispness of the fresh morning airs something that we’d been unaccustomed to for some time, especially after 9 weeks of no rain.

We’d left ourselves ample time to have a cuppa and then move on to the Blackheath Rhododendron Gardens, situated in an unlikely back street west of the main shopping area.  I love them because they’ve tried to meld the colourful flowers with Australian native bush and it’s all done by volunteers.  Where once there was handful of plants, there now can be found eight kilometres of trails meandering through the flora and fauna (particularly birds).

The colours vie with one another for favourable glances.  From stark white it continues through the spectrum.  Yellows, reds, apricot oranges, delicate pinks and mauves are randomly scattered through mature Blue Mountains Ash.  Splashed here and there you may well note azaleas and camellias, not to mention some native flowers like bush peas.

You could zig-zag for a couple of hours through this mish-mash of vegetation, lose yourself behind thick bushes and take in the sharp fragrance of the yellow rhododendron, whose perfume-like odour gives great pleasure to the olfactory senses.  Whatever time you take it will be time well spent and you can later repair to the volunteer-staffed café atop the rise and take in the special panorama over the gardens while you enjoy your repast.

PUT SOME “SPARKS” IN YOUR LIFE! - Oregon, Sparks Lake

                         

                                                                            Words and pics by Ian Smith

Eventually we choose the Pine Tavern at Bend (Oregon) for food and what a choice.  Right in the middle of the restaurant are two mature pine trees growing out of the floor and straight through the roof.  While I ponder how the roof might be sealed, Lorraine checks out the wine list until my gaze is taken by the lovely garden that tilts toward the Deschutes River.

The birds are loving it; a robin hops around the plants in a vigilant search for insects while a flock of waxwings are having a wonderful time at the bird bath as mallards paddle back and forth in the river.  It feels like you’re part of nature without even leaving your table.  The tasty food gets us thinking about what else to do and we decide to have a crack at Sparks Lake.

Sparks is renowned among photographers as being a place to get a good shot but, as is always the case, you have to get the weather right......that’s where Lorraine, the weather goddess, comes in.

It’s not that far from Bend up the Cascade Lakes National Scenic Highway and, as we pass Mount Bachelor, the local ski field, it’s so hard to imagine people skiing over a rugged lava flow; just doesn’t seem right. 

We’ve a bit of time on board so we slip into Todd Lake first.  It’s a 4 km stroll around a placid lake and, while it’s nice and there’s some interesting bird life, we’re hoping for better at Sparks.

To get into Sparks it’s a twisting road with, at times, corrugations and bumps, the like of which we’ve never seen in America where just about everything is sealed road it seems. In fact, you have a less than 1% chance of driving on one, according to statistics.  Still, our hopes of a reward at the end aren’t dashed though the weather goddess has let me down a little because of a breeze coming across the lake.

Its potential is easy to discern however, South Sister and Broken Top stand stark in the background, ready to cast their images on a millpond should it transpire and, since it’s a while before the earth spins around and delivers darkness, we first amuse ourselves watching a chipmunk letting some birds know just who’s in charge of discarded apple.  The frenetic energy they forever display never ceases to warm us to their ways; oh that we should be able to scurry as fast.

We then look in other directions and start to wander down past the lava fields.  Where once the flow from Mount Bachelor cooled it formed a barrier to the heated rock still flowing beneath and, in places, it rose up to 70 feet like a giant loaf of leavened bread.

The level of the lake is low, the snow season wasn’t great and, it hasn’t rained much since, so you can walk some places where you’d normally get your feet wet and thus we follow a narrow band of sand beside the lava wall.

You can see how good this place could be but the ripple, however small, frustrates us so we have to be content with the leg exercise and the occasional snap.  Still, it’s a pleasant afternoon beneath a virtually cloudless sky and we reach a point where the realization dawns that it’s pointless to walk any farther around this strange body of water with no known exit.  Somehow, somewhere, it just drains slowly. 

We’d returned nary 50 metres before we were rounded up by a young couple, she of boundless energy demonstrated by practising rock climbing techniques up and down the lava flow with mind blowing dexterity.  In leaps and bounds reminiscent of a mountain goat did she ascend with a confidence borne of youth.  As we waited expectantly for a slip she continued to confound us with her suppleness.

The entertainment over, as quickly as it eventuated, we idled back to the carpark and stepped back to our original viewpoint.  The breeze was faltering and two other photographers were waiting in anticipation so we deigned to join them and everyone’s optimism turned out to be justified.

Though we didn’t get an atmospheric ruddy glow we got a crystal clear sky with classic mirror reflection.  South Sister and Broken Top were haze free and it’s easy to see why there are so many shots on the internet of this spot.  In the stillness we were mesmerized by the natural beauty of the setting.  Oregon just keeps on delivering.

We drove home satisfied, we’d seen and digested much without travelling too far today.