Check out the new articles we’ve uploaded on the Big Dead Fish in Fish Creek, skinny-dip adventures on Murray’s Beach in Jervis Bay, the best hangover cure ever found in the Artesian Baths at Lightning Ridge and the tranquility found in Lake Copeton in Inverell.
Another past-event post I’ll back-date accordingly at some point.
Day 37/38 - 29th/30th November
Arrived late in Gundagai the night before, rocked up to a motel partially because we had work to do, partially because the wild oats that seem to grow everywhere nearby particularly sets off my hayfever, and last time I was around the stuff my head puffed up like I’d just come out of a savage boxing match.
For a friday evening the town was pretty quiet – we rocked up to the awesome Niagara Cafe near closing time, the interior of which doesn’t seemed to have changed one bit since the 1950’s (old photos on the wall really do attest to this). One of their claims to fame is that the Australian Prime Minister visited Gundagai 66 years ago during wartime, and spent an afternoon there eating in the cafe conducting war strategy talks with his staff.
While we were there the lights went out, and we spent a romantic time holding hands in the dark as the family working there located candles, much to the dismay of their youngest member: a toddler who fearfully asked if it was going to be dark tomorrow night too.
On saturday after exploring an abandoned stretch of railway line in a stone gully and a pair of rotting but picturesque (and extremely long) bridges, we headed out of town. Checked out the statue to the “Dog on the Tuckerbox” on the way – definitely not one of Australia’s fabled ‘Big Things’ but still a very nice monument and story itself. Drove out to Batlow to photograph the Big Apple – and found an orchard with an honesty box selling apple juice and Batlow Apples – both delicious and refreshing, you can see why people pay more for apples from Batlow. Wished we’d bought more to last us a few more breakfasts, we’ll never get them so cheaply again.
That night, back in Gundagai, the town was deserted again as the Rodeo was in town, so we put on our best cowboy gear and drove out past the crumbling abandoned railway bridge to an impromptu car park where every car in town was parked. Making our way past girls and women warming up their horses and under electric fences to the main arena, we worked our way through the crowd and up the slope to the beer hut. Looking down on the crowd and the arena with riders lassoing the necks and legs of cows, we realised we stood out in one important respect. Every man, woman and child from the smallest baby to the oldest drunken brawler was wearing blue denim jeans. Even teenage girls showing their long legs off in short shorts were wearing blue denim shorts, even the occasional goth wore at least black denim trousers. Practical though denim is, we simply don’t have room for it in our tiny plastic tubs that pass for a wardrobe.
Nevertheless, anyone with an MB can in their hand sitting on the edge of the fence to get mud blasted over them as horses and bulls thunder by and kick the fence never really looks out of place, and that’s exactly what we did – sitting next to a pair lads, their white cowboy hats stained brown with old blood from cutting of the testicles of bulls earlier that week. Down there we watched men throw themselves off their horses to wrestle – yes wrestle – young cows to the ground, ride bulls and bucking broncos – truly spectacular though often short lived – and women driving their horses at top speed around a barrel course, horses spiraling in the dust, turning so fast it looked as if their legs would buckle to the ground.
We’ve been to quite a few places since ou lost blog post to Uralla – we’ll update you with a quick overview shortly, but first I’d like to share the view I got when I opened my eyes this morning (click for bigger):
We’re on the coast south of Sydney in NSW at the moment, and drove from Merimbula last night where we watched Baz Lurman’s “Australia” – very good film I thought, and Nicole Kidman managed to give a decent performance for the first time in a long time. It was dark by the time the film was over, but we pressed on for Eden anyway. Trying to find a nice spot by the beach in the dark can be a bit hit-and-miss affair as the sea and beaches are obviously completely unlit. Last night we got a corker: we parked the panel van up between the beach and Eden cemetery (an obviously quiet spot), and as you can see in the photo it was a pretty good sight to start the day with.
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.