Bourke and back

It was hardly an auspicious start to a meander through inland New South Wales: a cloak of incessant rainfall that so often forms across the coast, penetrating into the inland hills and tablelands, and turning the state into one soggy mattress. Loading up the Subaru in Sydney would have been a challenge without the addition of squally downpours, but swags were packed along with other necessary and probably actually not that really necessary in the end bits and pieces, and the car was pointed west and accelerator floored; briefly, before braking and creeping and braking and gradually leaving Sydney and its traffic behind in a fuzz of drizzle.

The first stop was hardly auspicious either, but a Big Mac and Honeycomb milkshake was welcoming and comforting and ideal to see us through the laborious grind across the Blue Mountains and, eventually, onto Dubbo. Where the rain had mostly abated but a night in a cabin was sensible and comfortable and essential to break us in gently.

The next day promised more, seemingly escaping the moisture with each mile further inland, the farmland and wheat fields diminishing as red earth and scrub takes over. At Cobar an opportune stop for some lunch and a view over the flat expanse, pitted only with low shrubs and deep mines. Then, finally, a foray into outback proper...Back O’Bourke, and the road into Gundabooka National Park.

 

This was a fit and proper place to break out the swags and pitch them in their natural habitat, down on the red earth, avoiding the traps of ants, and other potential night life. A time to enjoy chilli tacos and the swaying breeze on the trees; a wind that gathers pace overnight and scatters a peppering of rain. It turns out even here we are not protected. But the swags hold up and pass their first test with very little discomfort.

It also turns out that Sunday is not the liveliest of days to pass through outback towns. The major centre, the town of any note – Bourke – was shuttered and forlorn, a long way from the bustling metropolis I was naively expecting. Still, at least the local IGA was open and provided a chance to make some home-sizzled bacon sandwiches. This was a highlight as we clocked up the miles heading back east, where the weather was improving but towns remained shut. The landscape softened too, through river plains and wheat fields and, upon approaching the relative bustle of Narrabri, lush green grass and verdant trees sitting in the waters of recent rains.

Narrabri was base camp for a change of mood and scene the next day heading into Mount Kaputar National Park. We probably wouldn’t have come to this place if the Warrumbungles had not been devastated by a large bushfire this summer. And that would have been a shame, for Mount Kaputar possesses plenty of volcanic mountainous terrain and pristine bushland. It has lookouts and walks, both of which I like very much. There was warm sunshine, which I also like. And the bonus came from national park campgrounds with shower facilities, flush toilets and barbeques all for $5 each a night.

 

And I can confirm the barbeques worked a treat, the flush toilets flushed, and the showers stayed hot. One minor downside was large ants milling around here and there, one of whom decided to hang around my sandals as I put them on and cause me a fleeting minute of pain and a tirade of profanities. Alas, the socks and sandals look might have to become a necessary feature as I approach middle age.

After another night where the wind sounds stronger from the inside of a swag than it probably actually is, it was time to head back down the mountain and south through the sunny green world of New England.  It was a pleasant if unspectacular day through agreeable towns such as Gunnedah and Tamworth and Nundle, taking in stops for coffee, pub lunch, ice cream and giant golden guitars.

At day’s end we had made it down to the Upper Hunter valley and a stop for the night at Murrurundi, where the less glamorous on-the-road chore of laundry was available to entertain us. At least the washing machine was quick and there was plenty of line to hang clothes in the beautiful late afternoon sun. And the campground was pleasant too, set in the valley with cows for company and the New England Highway companionship during the night.

The next morning the town of Scone provided good coffee but very little in the way of scone eating opportunities, making me think there is a clear gap in the market here; construction of a giant fibre glass scone perched atop a cafe that serves world famous scones, with local jam and special clotted cream from Tasmania. You heard it here first.

Scone provides a jumping off point from the drag of the highway up into Barrington Tops National Park. This offers a quite incredible drive and climb to a plateau of 1400 metres, with changes in vegetation accompanied with every climbing metre. Up here is a land of boggy button grass and snow gums, Antarctic Beech forests, mosses and fungi. And more of those very nice lookouts again.

 

And while the campground is not quite of Mount Kaputar standard, it’s grassy and spacious, nestled among towering white gum trees with the requisite wallabies and kangaroos for company. The onsite shelter with wood fire and electric barbeque provided a perfect base from which to conjure up a big curry cook up, while the mesmerising flame and hot coals of the fire are infinitely more entertaining than many programs that we could be watching on TV right now.

Twenty four hours later many a grey nomad was found to be watching mindless piffle on their TVs hooked up to their solar panels and satellite dishes dotted around their $80,000 coaches in the middle of Mudgee. There’s a definite preference for national park campgrounds emerging, but the showers in Mudgee were especially noteworthy and necessary. The day had been another of clear blue skies and meandering around Goulburn River National Park. Here, on the edge of the Greater Blue Mountains, a more familiar landscape of sandstone gorges and bush, creeks and cliffs. Tucked away, hidden, a walk through a gorge at The Drip, so innovatively named because water drips off the cliffs into the creek below.

 

Mudgee itself was rather charming and had a relaxed, well-to-do air about its Victorian streetscape and verandas. It’s a gourmet centre and has plenty of wineries to keep Sydney Weekenders more than happy. We opted for beer and steak; sampling some fine ales at the Mudgee Brewing Company and feasting on meat at The Woolpack. A blip in the budget, but well worth it.

Coming towards the end of this little trip and a milestone was reached in Lithgow. I imagine not many things of note happen in Lithgow, but for the Subaru it signified a loop had been joined, as its wheels revisited the Great Western Highway. Thankfully they were not on there for too long, veering off before the rise of the Blue Mountains and heading to Jenolan Caves. Jenolan is in such a lovely setting that even if you didn’t visit any caves you would be content with the bush and valley and little blue lake. The cave system is massive and complex and the showier caves are perfect tourist fodder. Being tourists, we went into the Orient Cave, full of chasms and crystals, curtains and cathedrals.

The recent rain that blighted the start of the trip had now provided some return, as a small pool at the bottom of the Orient Cave was replenished for only the third time in thirteen years. Outside, the small dam at the end of the Blue Lake was overflowing, water streaming down among the ferns and rocks and trees. The area was very clearly alive.

 

More life was around on our last night, bouncing around and being curious at Boyds Camp, another fine national park camping experience in Kanangra-Boyd National Park. It was fitting that the final night should be in such a place, with gum trees and wood fires, leftover curry and hot chocolate. The car loving a coating of sandy dust and mud, the smell of smoke permeating pretty much everything, and all three of us looking like true hardcore adventurous explorers. It was the best state to return back to Canberra, to affront the residents of Forrest and to truly benefit from showers, proper beds and carwashes. Recuperation, restitution and reflection, the final home comforts for a while in which to cherish and celebrate my beloved home city.