The last
few days have past so quickly, even as we have been only marking time until we
leave. Saturday which had been so very hot and sticky did not offer too much
respite through the night. It was still about 30 degrees Celsius when I went to
bed. Overnight the wind changed and while there was scattered rain
about, the day that followed was altogether more pleasant. We did little on the
Sunday other than grocery shopping and Chris washing the rig, all wrapped
around the third day of the cricket test.
The
following day was supposed to have been fine with the odd shower. We woke to
rain which hung on for most of the day. Chris was keen to visit the exhibition
at the Gallery of NSW, “Francis Bacon –
Five Decades” so we set off, catching connecting trains to a station as close
to the gallery as possible. We emerged from the underground to be met by more
rain and walked the relatively short distance across the Botanic Gardens, now
rather damp. While the gallery is free to all, special exhibitions such as this
attract an entry fee, which we duly paid and were yet again pleased to be in
possession of a Senior Card.
Francis
Bacon, not to be confused with he of the same name who made his mark in the very early 17th
century as Attorney General and Lord Chancellor of England, was an Irish born British figurative painter,
self-taught, and productive through the years 1940s to the 1980s. His works are
tortuous, pensive, shocking; clearly
products of his struggle with both asthma and homosexuality. Can one saw you “enjoyed” such work? We
certainly appreciated it and were glad we had made the effort.
After
lunching under the shelter of the narrow porch, from where we watched the rain
mist engulf the skyscrapers across the park, we returned to the interior and
spent time viewing the entries to the 2012 Dobell Prize for Drawing. The winning
entry was not at all to our taste or, in our opinion, worthy at all of any
place near the top. We would have awarded first to any one of a dozen others,
but then art academics are so much more discerning than us.
Our
return to the rail station was as wet as the our arrival had been. We caught a
series of trains in an attempt to find a McDonalds without venturing back out
into the rain. We were unsuccessful however we did do plenty of walking.
Eventually we caught the train back to Miranda and settled for soft serves at
our local. The rain had stopped at last so we were able to enjoy our leisurely
walk back to camp, before checking out the death throes of the Australian
cricket team in Perth.
Today we
were greeted by the very best weather Sydney could possibly offer. We packed
our lunch in the eski and headed out first to track down a plumbing supplies
outlet. Last night the fancy stainless steel plug insert in our very fancy
round bowl hand basin gave up the ghost, the tiny spring too exhausted from all
the travel. The search turned out much easier than expected, the second
supplier visited could provide the part however we did have to buy the complete
fitting.
From
Kirawee, it was only a short distance to the northern entrance to the Royal
National Park, one of the places we had originally planned to visit from
Wollongong, but gave up due to the inclement weather. Matters had worked out
well in the end, as they so often do. I used to believe that was God’s reward
for patience but now simply put it down to my ability to look on the bright
side of life; the Eternal Optimist, that’s me.
The
Royal National Park covers over 15,000 hectares and was the first National Park
declared in the world. Yellowstone Park in the United States was established in
1872 but was not officially designated a “national park” until 1883. This was four
years after the Royal National Park here in the Sutherland Shire of Sydney was
legislated.
The
northern section of the Grand Pacific Drive passes through this park and so we were
keen to complete this which we had missed from Wollongong. After paying the
daily vehicle fee of $11 at the entry gate, we made a point of stopping at the
Visitor Centre at Audley to pick up a map and tips and information about walks
and areas to explore. Alas this new revamped Centre which shares space with the
café, is in the fashion of the two Information Centres we had visited in and about
Wollongong; minimilistic and how you imagine such centres will be in 2030, all
interactive and no paper. I like to get my hands on great piles of paper,
brochures, maps and anything else on offer. I do appreciate that this is not doing
the planet much good however this is how our generation are, and we intend to
be around for a little while yet. We did manage to leave with a printed off map
which had one of those maze thingies in the corner which you are supposed to
point your iPod or iPad at, if you have one, or more the point, if you have
access to endless and omnipresent internet.
The
Hocking River flows over a causeway at Audley which these days is simply the
Visitors Centre, a historic boat shed and wonderful picnic areas. Perhaps it was
once a more substantial settlement. There is a paucity of information about the
park altogether. The boat shed has hundreds of small rowing bats and kayaks,
presumably available for hire. I imagine that if these were all out on hire on
the river up from the causeway as they would have to be, the pond-like section
of the river here would be like a public swimming pool on a Saturday afternoon.
Without this chaos, it really is a very attractive area.
We drove
on south up out of the river valley and across the moor covered in the kind of
heath vegetation we have wandered through over the last month every time we have
ascended the escarpment. Further south we came on down toward the upper reaches
of the Hocking River, through taller forest and narrow winding roads. Soon we
arrived at Bald Hill where we had hoped to see wind surfers leaping from the
cliffs several days ago. Today was no more exciting although there were plenty
of travellers who had paused to catch possible action, and instead had settled
for an icecream from the Mr Whippy van. For us it was too close to lunch for
such an indulgence, so we turned north again and pulled up in a small park by
the river, dining al fresco with our picnic blanket spread across an ancient concrete
pew.
From
here we returned to the route and then pulled off again, this time heading east
to the coast, to Wattamolla, one of the most delightful beaches I have ever
ever seen. An amazing number of youths were leaping from the top of the almost
dry waterfall into the lagoon below. Signs on the rock wall warned against
climbing, jumping and diving. In fact several kilometres back on the road we
had seen a sign that stated “No jumping or diving in this Park”; the strangest
directive you ever saw.
Wattamolla Beach |
Further
on we looked for the start of a small walk to the Crystal Pools at Flat Rock
Crossing. I was set on swimming in these pools if they turned out to be as
clear and precious as their name suggested, however we had trouble finding a
place to park and any signage, and so gave up in disgust and disappointment.
We detoured
out to Bundeena, a charming little seaside settlement, directly opposite Cronulla,
accessible by ferry and also this rather round about route we had taken today.
We parked near the wharf and watched the day trippers swarm on to the ferry,
most likely to catch the train once on the other side, dispersing to their
homes all about the city.
Back on
Bertram Steven Drive, we returned to Audley and just across the Hocking River,
we parked and took an hour long walk down river. We both agreed that the Royal National
Park was indeed very beautiful, even more than Lane Cove National Park in the
centre of Sydney. We lamented the fact that we had not seen any wildlife, remembering
particularly the many water dragons we had seen at Lane Cove. No sooner had we
discussed this than we encountered one eyeing us up from the top of a rock
right beside the track. He was still there when we walked back past him and
only moved when Chris approached him too closely.
We
returned to the cruiser and moved on; I did not give the starting problem
another thought, then. At the top of the hill toward the exit, we pulled off
the road yet again, to visit the Bungoona Lookout. A short easy path takes one
to a platform high above the river and the Visitor Centre, with expansive views
across the park.
Back at
the car, ready to head home we were met by an unresponsive engine. After ten
minutes of trying and study of the manual, we rang the RACQ for assistance.
Someone would be with us in one hour, we were told. Fortunately we still had drinking
water and the day’s unread newspaper. Within three quarters of an hour, the Man
in the NRMA rescue van arrived. We explained the problem, he asked us to try
the engine while he stood poised to diagnose the problem. And guess what? It
started straight off. Oh, embarrassment! We should have tried again and
cancelled the cry for help! He suggested we turn the engine off and try again.
And as luck would have it, it would not start. This process went on for some
time, the mechanic trying various tricks, sometimes with success and sometimes
not. After about half an hour, while the engine was running but the problem
still a mystery, we left under his watchful eye, and came on home without
further ado. Tomorrow we will have to find out what really is wrong with the
Landcruiser, this mean machine that is supposed to be invincible and forever
reliable, just not today.
Dinner
was rather late tonight.
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