STRICTLY STRICKLAND

“There may not be water at the falls”.  So rang the warning in my ears, even though I’d only read it.

En route to the Blue Mountains I wanted to tick a Central Coast box; somewhere I’d not ventured to before.  This fit the box perfectly, so it seemed.

I headed out from Lake Macquarie after lunch, intent on reaching somewhere close to the Grand Cliff Top Walk for the night.  Miss Direction was put into play and I turned off on Dog Trap Road, as indicated.  What it didn’t warn you was that this road has more twists and turns than any you’ve ever been on.  It does grand U-turns in both directions, crosses the F3 not once but twice and has a longest straight section of about 100 metres.  That, in a large motorhome, is somewhat disconcerting!

Eventually I reached the turnoff and the entry into the state forest, for that is the body that controls it.  Problem was, when researching, it said it closed at 7 p.m., which it does – during daylight saving!  Today’s close time was 5 p.m. and it was 3.30 p.m. when I pulled up after heading a couple of hundred metres on Mangrove Road and then forestry gravel for just over a km.

The walk has been put in by local volunteers from the Central Coast Bushwalking groups, full credit to them I say.

There’s signage and notice boards for a few walks but I only had eyes for one and headed out with enthusiasm.  Only a 1.8 kms loop, no trouble with over an hour to spare.

Right from the start it was a lovely walk and then it got better.  Lots of ferns, attractive natural growth such as fan palms; man-made and natural steps; I revelled in it.  There’s also occasional Gymea Lilies and boulders mottled with lichen.  At one point a couple of towering stringybarks encroach on the trail, adding majesty to the scene.

Then, the highlight; no, not the falls but, a truly massive sandstone overhang with honeycomb interior in one area that is dazzling.  I couldn’t take my eyes off it for the next five minutes as I kept rubbernecking it from all angles just before reaching the “falls”, so-called.

They’re basically a trickle that can sometimes dry up.  A mysterious ferny root system hangs from one section, seemingly never giving up on its search for an anchor point.  The overall area could be special after a storm but you’d want to wear your waders because the track is also susceptible to carrying amounts of water at times.  Leeches can also be a problem in such conditions.

It’s a real scramble at the base of the falls as trees have fallen in inconvenient places and you have to climb over them to get to some of the best vantage points.  I also thought I was doing the loop track anti-clockwise, but it took me five minutes to work out that, in fact, I should be heading clockwise.

The second part was really an anti-climax, not much to see or photograph of any note, just a stroll back up to the carpark, which was probably just as well because I only had 15 minutes left to exit the carpark and head to the Blue Mountains.  It had been a lovely warmup for the big event though.

                                                                       

                

 

Story of Mossy Cave

 

Mossy Cave is the least notable of hikes around Bryce Canyon but it’s suddenly become popular because every other trail is closed.  It’s pleasant enough but the named goal is unworthy so to speak.  There’s also a watercourse with a waterfall that falls short of the requirements to make a good picture, but I go anyway, remembering there was something here worth shooting.

I see it, high up on a ridge.  To go or not to go?  Bugger it, I’m off, the light looks terrific as I ascend yet another steep, crumbly rise towards the pillars that have shed the rubble.  Because it’s so fragile it’s like two steps forward, one step back, but it’s looking more promising by the minute.

The early morning rays have highlighted the two arches I’m after and the colours are at their brightest.  Then, winding across the ridge in and out of formations I reach a large curvy pillar that towers over most everything else and the view from there is an expansive 180 degrees over hoodoos, snow and forest.

                                       

It’s surreal, being in a place devoid of humanity with such bizarre shapes within touching distance.  At one such hole in the rock I actually walk through.

Way below there’s a canal, hand hewn around 1890, that still delivers water to the semi-arid regions nearby, only drying up once in 2002 during a severe drought.  Ice clings in shady nooks down there, making strange geometric patterns in the muddy base.

Though my legs still complain on the way down I reflect that the rest of the day might be mostly driving.  It’s going to be one of those days that have been labelled “Type two fun” – god awful when it’s happening, sublime when it’s over.

Not too far down the road was a village called Henrieville.  Just as I arrived from the west, it was hard not to notice a standout butte, though its name is a mystery.  Try as I may all searches came up short but I couldn’t help but notice that on top it had a flagpole with the American flag flying.  Someone has gone to a lot of trouble to achieve that aim.

When later I research trying to find the name I stumble over a fellow photographer named Lyn Sessions who has posted pictures from just about everywhere in Utah and writes interesting prose.  Tragically, the last couple of years of her posts deal with her battle with colon cancer as well.  There are no more posts after 2021.