My Mt Tamborine mob have a macabre game called Killing Nanny Meg. Each time we get together, there's an attempt to wipe me out. So far they've tried heat exhaustion, drowning and losing me off the mountain at night. On Sunday they decided to try a very steep walk down to the waterfalls and rock pools at Killarney Glen, which is surrounded by an army firing range.
The wind was wild and the air was cold, but as we descended the rocky steps through the bush we reached shelter and it soon became too warm for two thermals, a fleecy and a scarf. I'm not used to such walking without my spotted gum walking stick, so I exercised extreme caution, placing each foot carefully. My grandchildren raced ahead, but my barefoot son suited his pace to mine, and offered an arm at steep bits.
The track zigzagged down between big trees and rocky outcrops, splattered sometimes with Davidson plums fallen from their clusters on the trunk of their tree, sometimes with small glossy brown nuts, and always with leaves. Ferns grew on the rocky verges. We slalomed our way down until we heard the sound of water, passed a bit of dilapidated but kempt sheddage, and reached the river stepping-stoned with round rocks, just above the waterfall. Smooth circular caverns were carved in under the rock and the water emerged at the bottom a kind of dulled aquamarine. My legs had turned to jelly from all the control I'd exercised on the way down, and I needed my son's arm to hold me steady on the edge of the cauldrons.
We enjoyed this place of grottoes and cavities and chambers, and then negotiated the mossy rocks back to the track leading down to the rock pool. T had already dived in, as proved by a photo and freezing hands. S and A bent intently over pools in the rocks as my water scientist son pulled out tiny creatures and the fascinating facts of their existence: a snail-shaped caddis fly larva, shell made out of grains of sand; another larva of the same species who'd fashioned his protection out of minute sticks so he looked like a stick insect. Both obliged by poking their tiny heads out to investigate the invaders. The creature that most fascinated A was a diving beetle that shot to the surface to catch an air bubble in his bum, and then retreated to the bottom of the puddle to breathe the air he'd collected using the bubble as a kind of snorkel.
We lazed in the sun on the rocks for a while, and then began the climb back. T & I set off first, her adapting her adolescent frisk graciously to my 70 year old tempo. We discussed plans for Tuesday, even watching the trailer of the movie she wants us to see. Then she stopped short and peered into the bush off the track. I joined her and saw the figure of a man, arms waving around manically. We continued on, me somewhat apprehensive about this stranger in the bush.
Then my son appeared from the undergrowth with blood pouring from a head wound and pooling round his eye. Panic from me. An eager attempt to photograph the blood from T. Calm from him: “It's all right mum. Head wounds always bleed heaps.” When he cleared the blood away there was a small puncture-wound in his head where the thorn of the attacking vine had penetrated. The stranger in the bush was him, trying to untangle himself from his assailant, as he and A shortcutted from zag to zig.
I continued my plodding way up the track, resting on a rock, a tree stump, and a mossy fallen tree. We drove back up the mountain, satisfying our hunger with bananas, and then the after-walk-feast of chips and tomato sauce on white bread, followed by a hot cuppa.
Yet again the attempt to kill Nanny Meg, this time by steepness, had failed. In fact I emerged from the attempt smug with a sense of achievement and with that delightful feeling of fatigue resting smoothly behind my face.
With some hesitation I link this post to Jo's Monday Walks, which seem to be predominantly urban. I hope readers can enjoy a bit of bushwalking as well as street-or-garden-or-coastline walking.
Madhu said:
Oh my! I would never have made my way back up that slope! I have no doubt everyone of Jo’s readers will appreciate your exciting adventure way more than any of our tamer urban explorations. Your photos are all evocative of your adventure. Especially love the one of S (or A?) peering into the pool. Not sure about you, but I await your mob’s next move with anticipation! 🙂
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VioletSky said:
I love how your ‘mob’ keep trying to – unsuccessfully – wipe you out, and yet, you keep going back for more!! You are obviously a much hardier soul than you think!
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morselsandscraps said:
I like to challenge their inventiveness!
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Heyjude said:
Well I am glad you didn’t take me on any walks like this one! I’d still be down there in amongst those smooth circular caverns with the water rushing through. Although going up is far easier than going down I have recently found out. Trying to stop myself from sliding down a steep slope in Cornwall I discovered jelly legs for the first time in years, in fact I must have been so tense because my thighs ached for days! I am full of admiration for your adventurousness and I adore the title 🙂
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morselsandscraps said:
I’d never take anyone on a walk like this, only be taken. My heart stopped when I thought I might have to be boss of the walk when I saw my son’s bloody head. I slide down steep slopes on my backside – and feel no shame. Jelly legs used to be my companion bike riding and more recently when I experienced the terror of scenic railway descent.
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pommepal said:
You are a trooper Meg even without your spotted gum walking stick. I applaud you. and what a reward when you arrived at that trickling stream pulsing and forcing its way downstream. Lovely photos. Your son is a true bush man, striding along bare footed, earthing out, as a very dear WWOOFing friend would say.
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morselsandscraps said:
“Earthing out” is an excellent phrase. Probably expresses what the mob want from the bush block. It was indeed a reward – one I could only get with my feet, although there was a 4WD track down.
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pommepal said:
We learnt it form an 83 yo back in 1986 when we WWOOFed and house sat her property in the Tweed Valley. My first visit to Australia.
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Rosemary Barnard said:
I would have taken the 4WD track if I had had the benefit of hindsight. I have very clear memories of a scrambling walk down the cliff to the Blue Mountains’ Blue Gum Forest (which we didn’t complete) and back to the top of the plateau. The aftermath in any kind movement requiring stairs was painful to say the least.
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Pingback: Jo’s Monday walk : Lealholm to Glaisdale | restlessjo
Rosemary Barnard said:
Lawyer vine or wait-a-while is the culprit in your son’s bleeding head, I think. See https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Smilax_australis for a little more information. Apart from that, I loved your account of this expedition, and like restlessjo my favourite photos were of the running and still water in the clefts and hollows of the rock, especially the one with the reflection of your grandson’s hands. He would have done very well on that rock platform field trip we enjoyed so much all those years ago. Maybe a budding biologist there. I hope that your jelly legs aren’t too sore today given your commitment to another walk. It is very hard to kill Nanny Meg.
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morselsandscraps said:
A lovely sense of triumph this time, because it was a bit challenging, and I was a bit fearful that I mightn’t make it. But I can do most things, as along as I don’t have to hurry or climb up a sheer cliff face. I’m taking great pleasure at the moment in writing a piece called “Walking: a memoir”. I’ve walked a lot more, and more diversely, than I thought when I began.
It could have been a lawyer vine, my frequent nemesis in similar terrain, but S seemed to think not, although it obviously had the same horrid habits. K removed the thorn with tweezers.
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restlessjo said:
Good heavens! This makes my ups and downs look positively tame 🙂 I love the photos of the water in the crevices, Meg, and that reflective puddle in the rock. Thank goodness we didn’t get to witness the blood! From the post’s title, it could have been yours 🙂 🙂
Many thanks for joining me. It’s a country walk this week but nowhere near as wild as yours.
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morselsandscraps said:
Just back from a slightly tamer walk (rainforest, boulders, moss, buttresses, waterfall and fascinating fantasy chatter from a 7 year old who has started to save for a trip to Antarctica) with my niece and her much younger children (7 & 5). I can feel yesterday in my calves: a long time since that happened.
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restlessjo said:
That will be next Monday’s walk then, Meg? 🙂 I look forward to the fantasy chatter.
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morselsandscraps said:
Too busy listening to the chatter, and photographing the chatterer (who loves the camera), to pay much attention to the walk, so no!
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