GOLDEN DAYS

 Words and pics by Ian Smith                  

My joy at being back in the motorhome and having a cup of tea knew no bounds; I salivated over every warm mouthful and relaxed, thinking of the morrow and a walk with Terry.

The third day dawned and it was the day I was going to Gleniffer Falls, somewhere beyond my campsite on Never Never Creek.  I hoped he wouldn’t turn up on time (7 a.m.) as the winter chill penetrated my clothing but, lo, there he was and with two passengers.  My hope of stalling him with a cup of tea dissipated and I hastily started packing.

               

                

                                                        Never Never Creek

He had Ben, a P.E. teacher at Dorrigo who is his next door neighbour and his grandson Charlie aboard.  So we clambered into the 2WD and, soon after, wished we were in a 4WD when we drove up the track to Cliff’s place, a strange assortment of edifices in various states of disrepair strewn across a bare patch of land and accompanied by abandoned motor vehicles.

Cliff, a man in his eighties, was there to greet us and was decidedly uninterested in my handshake and introduction as he sought to find out why Terry was a day early.  That hurdle over, he later wondered why Terry was locking his car as he figured that if we didn’t return in a couple of days he could look forward to adding to his car collection.

        

Cliff's Collection

We set off downhill to the creek and then turned left and started clambering over rocks, an act that didn’t cease for the next 7 hours.

            

                     Ben and Charlie taking a break

There are no trails here, no tracks to follow, just a seriously stony river not anxious to give up its secrets.  After a time I started asking Terry, he of the GPS, how far we’d gone and how long had it taken.  It must have sounded like the “are we there yet Mum?” that children are wont to cry but Terry was kind to me.  I was a bit shattered when I discovered that, after an hour, we hadn’t even gone a kilometre up the creek.

As each succeeding hour passed, and we digressed up a side creek, my legs started to tire as I scanned the horizon for the famous gorge that everyone else swims through but Terry said we could circumvent.  Finally it was visible and the nimble among us scouted ahead to see how bad it was.  Turns out it was a little too tricky to navigate so we took Terry’s diversion up the side of the seriously steep bank and scrambled our way skyward.

               

                      Charlie and Terry looking for a route around the canyon

At times the virgin route seemed almost impassable but, encouraged by Terry’s assurance, we soldiered on and pushed upstream before descending again to what I thought was Gleniffer Falls; but, no, it was a point from which you can view Gleniffer Falls.

                    

                                  The impressive Gleniffer Falls

I had been warned I may not be impressed but the opposite was the case.  After scrambling up a side chute of what I thought had been Gleniffer Falls, I gazed in awe at the distant spectacle of multiple falls in succession cascading off the distant mountain range. There, indeed, were the hallowed cascades.  I’d never realised just how high they were.  Ben proffered they were the highest in Australia but I ventured that someone had done the exercise and, accordingly, Wallaman was listed as the longest single drop in Australia though Wollomombi is claimed to be by other sources.  That still didn’t make Gleniffer any less impressive; for me, they are one of the best falls I’ve ever seen.

Sadly, to get up close to them really requires an overnight journey by the truly fit or an abseil off the cliff, neither idea holding any attraction for me.  All too soon it was time to head back, Terry of the time piece a little concerned that it had taken us 4 ½ hours so far and we’d only travelled a shade over 3 kms, which was a reflection on (a) how many photos I’d taken but, more seriously, (b) how rugged it was.

            

                                                            Golden waters in a side stream

As we trekked back, finding an easier route around the canyon, the pace was much quicker; after all, I’d already seen the gold I sought.  It had been in the side stream and, later, in Never Never as well.  The afterglow of the sun on high dashed itself on the gentle waters and there had been the enchanting gold, below the corrugation of ripples that fanned out from the base of a cascade.

               

                        The view was always special

With the increased pace came fatigue and I was the first to stumble, something I did three times and Terry five; trouble was my first and third stumbles were worse than any of Terry’s and my shin and back suffered accordingly, the rocks having re-affirmed their lack of give.  After not quite 2 ½ hours we were back, always with the feeling that Ben and Charlie could well have been home and showered in front of the telly if it hadn’t been for the old farts.

Still, it had been another memorable day, one I won’t repeat, but that didn’t make it any the less unforgettable, and I had found gold.