bigtrip.com.au

So, as you can see we’ve just this very minute launched the new design Big Trip website – told you it’d be live before the end of November!

New features include RSS feeds for this blog and our photos, plus properly-written-up articles on our favourite places to go and things to see, as well as scans and transcripts of every postcard I send to my nephew in the UK.

We hope you like the new look – naturally there’s much more content to come as we explore Australia (as well as an interactive map that we’ll add to the nav at some point), and this blog will see more frequent updates too now we’ve finally got the site properly up.

Kiama blow hole

Woke up in Kiama, in a car park RIGHT by the blowhole – we’d gone to sleep to the regular bass WHOOMPing noise of the water blasting upwards, and the rain-like sound as the water splattered onto the craggy rocks.

I got up as dawn was breaking to photograph the still-flashing lighthouse from various volcanic rocky outcrops, and naughtily hopped the fence to blowhole to clear out a few coke bottles to get some purer snaps of the blowhole doing it’s stuff.

Robertson big potato

We headed south along the coastline again, stopping in Robertson to snap the Big Potato (frankly, it looks like a gigantic poo – and the non-farming locals rather look down their noses at it), went out of the way to Yerrinbol to snap a Big Apple, and ditto to Marulan for the Big Pavlova (very derelict – the site is for sale though, so maybe in a year it’ll be either awesome or gone).

Marulan 150th parallel marker

Marulan however has an interesting sculpture quite near the Big Pavlova – it’s a piece of modern art that looks from a distance like something to do with atomic structure and crescent moons, but once you get up close you’ll find there is a certain spot the sculpture is best viewed from, and the disparate elements interlock in front of your eyes. At that exact moment, you are standing precisely on the 150th parallel.

After these numerous distractions we went with more purpose to Carrington Falls – we had hoped to stop by at a tree walk and various other places along Morton National Park, but they were all rather expensive – Carrington Falls is free.

Carrington Falls

It’s also a hell of a sight – you drive up the lusciously green, densely wooded road to the distant car park, and head out on foot along the walking tracks. These tracks skirt the very edge of the gorge the waterfall plunges into, and often take the form of metal walkways to prevent the path from eroding off the sheer drop. The paths jut out into lookout spots at various points, giving you excellent views of the incredibly tall and dramatic water fall, and the lush green valley the river has carved into the distance.

Shallow water

Unusually, the pathways take you to the very top of the waterfall, back aways onto the river that eventually drops off the side. You can easily step  off the path and paddle in the water: surprisingly the river doesn’t run very fast at all – I’d always imagined the top of a waterfall to be an insane rush of water, much like Niagara Falls is said to be, a lethal trap ready to drag the foolish wader off the side. However that makes no sense as a rule – waterfalls don’t suck water over the side, a river merely finds itself at a drop.

Emma on the edge

We happily crossed and re-crossed the only ankle-deep water, sliding along the slimy solid-rock riverbed, or rock-hopping along the dry boulders around the edge. Even forgetting the lack of speed, it still amazed me that so shallow water – so little quantity – could result in such a spectacular spray. In actual fact it was a very soothing place to be, the bubble of water passing over little falls and round curves in the solid rock that formed this part of the river – no dirt at all, just polished smooth stone.

Over the edge!

The water was placid enough that we walked right to the very tip of the waterfall, and looked over the edge to see the water crashing off rocks below as it thundered down. Emma was certainly the bolder of the two of us – the sight of very large sections of rock (much like what we were standing on) long-ago fragmented off on a shelf below to the right of the falls made me wonder how suddenly and unexpectedly they may have broken off from the same slab we were on. I could feel faint hollow vibrations through my bare feet, different to how it’d felt just 15 meters back upstream. It was probably just the vibration of the water hitting the base of the waterfall traveling back up to the top, but I was keen not to hang around on the lip of the waterfall for too long.

The water... falls

Still, it was exhilarating stuff, and much recommended – but be warned, it’s probably only exhilarating and exciting because you are knowingly taking your life into your own hands.

After Lightning Ridge we had to go back to Tamworth for business reasons – which should have taken a few days but ended up being 3 weeks. While we were waiting we took a trip back down to Newcastle for a bit, stopping off at Lake St. Clair – which is nice to spend the day at if you’ve got a oat or want to walk over the dam, but – unlike us – don’t bother staying at the tiny over-crowded caravan park. Next morning we headed into town and took some snaps of the newish metal Ozzi the Mozzie at Hexham bowlo – one of the first Big Things we’ve snapped on the trip, along with the Big Blue Heeler in Muswellbrook and the Big Sundial in Singleton.

Not wanting to break the vibe of the trip, we slept in the van outside friend’s houses, swam in the bogie hole and washed at Newcastle Ocean Baths – which have undergone renovation recently: the changing areas are pretty good and the facade has been carefully restored, they’ve done a really good job. Amongst all sorts of things, we went to Susanna’s “Rock, Paper, Scissors” gallery opening, saw England get thrashed by New Zealand at the Newcastle stadium for the Rugby League world cup, slept and got stranded under Stockton Bridge when the panel van’s coil died (a hairy affair as there were doubts the tow-truck could get to us), slept underneath the Newcastle’s lone Windmill, went to the Remembrance Day parade in civic park and took snaps of the old Post Office while it was covered in poppy-graffiti.

Heading back up to Tamworth again we attempted to go along the Old New England Highway – all along it’s in use by various companies mining and processing coal, the road pretty badly damaged by the constant run of trucks hooning up and down the otherwise deserted road. As a result there’s all sorts of interesting industrial constructions and machinery to photograph. After a fair few kms of winding road dips and low bridges, the road suddenly comes to a halt as it transforms into the driveway of a particularly large mining company property to which there is no public access. Possibly the Old New England Highway is accessible again further North along the New New England Highway. Had a hiccup on the way – the inverter that converts power from our solar-charged battery to our electrical equipment had a minor explosion out on the road, probably due to a build up of condensation – luckily it had only blown a few fuses that, once we’d worked out how to open the bugger – were easy to replace, and just standard car fuses too.

Once we were free of business obligations again, we left Tamworth, snapping the Big Golden Guitar on the way out (which they’re building a KFC next to!), and headed for the coast south of Sydney, brand new territory for me. We drove for Windsor down the windy Putty Road into the night – a few hairy moments as despite being narrow, windy, hilly and full of blind corners, truckies cane it up and down Putty Road, presumably to avoid the traffic of roads anywhere near Sydney. Half way along there’s a truck stop that serves pretty good food, but make sure you get there before 6pm or deep-fried food is all thats left – the poor dear who works there seemingly alone is burning the candle at both ends for the breakfast shift as well, so starts to clean and close parts of the kitchen as early as she can or be faced with no time to sleep once the cleaning is done.

Once we hit Windsor we just kept on for Bulli, so we could wake up and have a swim. We followed the back roads in the dark around the coastline, exploring a few likely spots before parking down a dead-end street between the beach and the rich folk’s houses – but no trees: nothing above car-height to spoil their views. The Big Trip was on again, and we’d be waking up to the ocean.