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Beauty Of Southern Queensland
Lamginton National Park
by Dorothy Hasluck (The Sydney Bush Walkers)
THE beauties of Lamington National Park are
so many and so varied that one scarce knows where to begin in describing
them. Marvellous panoramic views vie with the exquisite beauty of
waterfalls and the towering magnificence of stately trees. I have always
thought New Zealand had wonderful trees, but, though a good New Zealander,
I must give the palm to those of Queensland. The Antarctic Beeches are
from 2,000 to 3,000 years old, a feature of them being that they have a
mass of roots about five feet above the ground, the land having at some
time receded that depth. Some of the figs we measured were 52 feet round
the base of the trunk, while enormous Elkhorn, staghorn and bird's-nest
ferns found a resting place on the branches in great profusion.
I think one of the most interesting trips I
did from Binna Burra was the Lower Coomera Gorge, said to be the most
beautiful waterfall trip in Australia. Accompanied by Tarzan, the
guide—so-called because of his propensity for swinging from tree to tree
(of course, one need not follow him in these little escapades)—I set off
about 9.30. Tarzan, by the way, seemed to have a bad opinion of "Sydney
Hikers," as he called them, as, when asked to take me this trip, he said
he would take me down but he did not know about taking me up the 800ft.
cliff on the return journey. After a four-mile walk on tracks, we climbed
down into the gorge and proceeded up the river, jumping from rock to rock,
developing goat-like propensities, as the rocks were very slippery. Some
of Tarzan's leaps were nearly my undoing, but, with the prestige of the
S.B.W. to maintain, I managed to remain upright. The Raining Falls soon
came into view. It is ^most impossible to describe tb° beauty of these
with full sunlight upon them—falling 50 yards wide in a soft, gauze-like
curtain, hundreds of feet from an overhanging cliff displaying many
beautiful colours on its face.
Down a Deep Gorge
Wending our way onward toward the Main
Coomera Falls, the last miles passed through a gorge between cliffs 50
yards apart, which rise 800 feet, terminating at the foot of the lower
falls. The upper part falls down a crevice 340 feet and is hidden, the sun
shining on them for ten minutes of the day only. To see these one has to
climb down by the aid of a rope, roots and branches, the weather having to
be fine, as it is dangerously slippery.
Tearing ourselves away from the fascination
of the ever-changing lights on the falling waters, we started off for our
luncheon place. By this time Tarzan had apparently revised his opinion of
Sydney walkers, as he pointed to the cliffs and said, "That is where we go
up." It certainly looked rather formidable, but was not as bad as it
looked. When we were about half-way up and in a rather awkward position,
Tarzan on a narrow ledge and just about to climb round a nasty corner, put
his hand almost on an outsize in black snakes. He sprang back and, to my
alarmed gaze, appeared to be going right over the edge, which here had a
sheer drop of hundreds of feet. However, he managed to retain his balance,
the snake having meanwhile disappeared into the growth over which we had
to climb —not a very cheerful prospect. Still, when we glanced below,
retreat looked less inviting; so, in true bush-walker style, on we went
without, I am glad to say, any further attentions from the snake. Near the
top, after some rock climbing which took a little careful maneuvering, we
climbed on to a point from which we commanded a magnificent view right
down the gorge 800 f eel below ancl away over miles of country. From there
we traversed the edge of the gorge—very rough, but beautiful—to the
crevice and then home, having spent a most interesting day.
Walking with Bernard O'Reilly
After staying a week at Binna Burra, I walked
across to O'Reilly's, a distance of 14 miles, via the Main Border Track,
which passes through rain forest of great beauty. Lunching at one of the
lookouts on Mt. Merrino at a height; of 3,760 feet, we had a most
wonderful panoramic view of the whole of the northern rivers of NSW. There
were numbers of lyrebirds, their rich, full notes echoing from point to
point. They are known as the Albert lyre-bird and have not the lyre-shaped
tail such as those of NSW. have.
We arrived at O'Reilly's about 3.45. A
glorious view, taking in Mts. Barney and Lindsay, stretching out to the
west, met our gaze. The next morning I saw one of the most exquisite
sunrises over this vista I have ever seen. The most interesting trip I did
from here was to Lamington Plateau. Bernard O'Reilly, two boys and I
started off at 2.30 one afternoon. Following ridges for eight miles down
to the valley, we arrived at the Stevens' bull house in which we were to
camp, I devoutly hoping there would not be a dispute between us and the
bull in regard to possession. On proceeding to get tea, we discovered we
had forgotten to bring the mugs and milk, but an obliging farmer,
happening along, said he would supply us with both. Much joy on my part,
as I hate tea without milk. Alas! my joy was short-lived, as on his return
with the milk, in the course of conversation, he said he was not feeling
very well and hoped he was not getting the measles, as the baby had them.
Our varying expressions can well be imagined, and my interest in milk
evaporated.
Climb to Point Lookout
 The
next day we rose bright and early (on inspection, there were no spots to
be seen), as we were to leave our packs and do the 28 miles to the plateau
and back in the day. After we reached Xmas Creek, down which Westray went
on his fated journey, Bernard O'Reilly decided to take us up the bed of
the creek instead of the track, as he had not been up since the crash.
Jumping from rock to rock and climbing round and over waterfalls, we went
almost to the head; the wild loveliness of the creek, with its numbers of
cascading waterfalls, absolutely enthralling me, so that distance was as
nothing. Near the top we started to climb up towards Point Lookout—a
pretty steep climb of about 1,000 feet, with lawyer and every other
clutching vine liberally matted through the bush. Being in shorts, my legs
were very much the worse for wear at the finish, but the view which met
our sight on arrival more than rewarded us for our efforts. Two thousand
feet below us was the Tweed Valley, numerous peaks in the changing light
and shade making a picture which Gruner has captured so wonderfully in his
painting, "The Valley of the Tweed."
As it was now getting late, we reluctantly
turned campward, wending our way down a very rough track and passing the
remains of the Stinson—very little of which remains—and Westray's grave,
all embedded with orchids planted by Rose O'Reilly. When one sees the
roughness of the country and the denseness of the scrub, one must pay
tribute to all those who were engaged in the rescue of the survivors of
the crash.
In the morning we started on the return
journey, climbing all the way, and on arriving at the top met a farmer
who, on seeing me open my pack for something, said: "Just the sort of
thing a woman would do—take her whole blasted wardrobe with her." What he
would have said of some of the packs belonging to members of the Sydney
Bush Walkers I could mention, I don't know. Methinks his remarks would
have been very potent.
To me, Lamington Park is one of the loveliest
places I have seen, and although I walked 250 miles, it is so extensive
and there are so many places to explore, that I don't suppose 1 saw more
than a quarter of it. However, who knows what the future may bring forth?
There may be another time. |
