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THE SYDNEY.. BUSHWALKER Established June 1931
A monthly bUlletin of matters of interest to The Sydney Bush Walkers, Box 4476 G.P.O. Sydney, 2001. Club meetings are held every Wednesday evening from 7.30 pm at the Cahill Community Centre (Upper Hall), 34 Falcon Street, Crow's Nest
Editor: Evelyn Walker, 158 Evans Street, Rozelle, 2039. Telephone 827-3695.
Business Manager: Bill Burke, 3 Coral Tree Drive, Carlingford, 2118.Telephone 871-1207.
Production Manager: Helen Gray.
Typist: Kath Brown.
Duplicator Operator: Phil Butt.
January 1984
Wallowing at Wyanbene by Roger Browne and Michelle de Vries Robbe
Poem - Reproduced by permission from “The Quiet Land” by Peter Dombrovskis and Ellen Miller 4
Tigers Not Extinct by Alex Colley 5
It Turned Out Fine Again Tom Wenman 6
Yalwal Instructional Diedre Schofield 8
The Coolana Pyramid A Nonny Mouse 9
Eastwood Camping Centre Advertisement 10
Meeting Notes - November General Meeting Barry Wallace 11
Head Due South - Reprint from August 1960 Carl Doherty 12
“Of Ships and Shoes and Sealing Wax….” Jim Brown 15
Walking's a Pleasure - It's New - It's 0fficial 16
Social Notes for February Jo Van Somers 16
WALLOWING AT WYANBENE.
By Roger Browne and Michelle de Vries Robbe.
Friday 16th December saw 16 people discovering the Deua National Park. Heavy rain had fallen recently, and we squelched along the track from the car park to our campsite on the Upper Shoalhaven River. “Camping within walking distance of the cars” may mean many things (since by definition it applies to every walk), but in this case it involved nothing more than a two-minute walk. The campsite was flat and grassy, marred only by some marauding bull-ants.
The Trip Info Sheet had asked everyone to bring some Christmas decorations, but most of those who read it though that the request was only a joke. So we selected a very small gum tree that was quietly minding its own business, and decorated it with the tinsel, baubles and inflatable Santa-with-backpack brought by those who knew the leaders well enough to take their strange requests seriously.
After a bludge breakfast on Saturday we donned old clothes, torches and helmets and set off for Wyanbene Cave. The sixteen of us climbed down the entrance slope and crawled on our knees through 20 cm of water under an 80cm high ceiling. The passage then opened out and led past the organ pipe formation to the wind tunnel, a tiny hole in the top corner of the cavern. Another group of cavers had caught up with us, so we let them wriggle through the wind tunnel while we explored the old tourist section.
Tourists were guided through this cave around the turn of the century, but they were certainly a hardier breed than the type who walk the electrically lit cement paths of caves like Jenolan today. The old tourists had to carry candles for light, and endure much mud, water and squeezing. Some iron ladders were installed for them on the unclimbable sections, and most of these are still there. We climbed up them into a cavern where tree roots grow through the roof, and bats were flying around and hanging from the ceiling.
We returned to the wind tunnel, and those who had done enough caving were taken outside. Eight remained, and we climbed the difficult slope to the wind tunnel and pushed ourselves through. Cavers describe the wriggling motion required to accomplish this as “reptating”, which means behaving like a worm. We returned to the river level below by climbing down a wire ladder that we had carried into the cave. We belayed each person on a safety-rope as they climbed the seven metre slope, but we passed a party on the way out using only a hand- line on this very slippery climb.
Wyanbene is basically a river cave, and we followed the underground river upstream past chamber after chamber of flowstone, rimstone pools, shawls, columns, helictites, stalactites, stalagmites and one formation which could only be described as a “phallictite”. Two unusual obstacles were the “jail bars”, a row of stalactites which we climbed through, and the “triangle squeeze”, a 3-metre long wedge-shaped crevice which we wriggled along. After the triangle squeeze, we stopped for a snack before retracing our steps to reach the cave mouth after five hours in the cave.
Returning to the outside world after caving is a beautiful experience. The air becomes warm and welcoming, the smell of dust gives way to the aromas of plants, animals and moist earth, and the light appears filtered and bright to eyes accustomed to feeble yellow torchlight reflected off muddy rocks.
As only one car was left at the cave (the other drivers having opted out at the wind tunnel), we crammed eight people plus lots of caving gear into a small Chrysler Sigma. Only one person had to ride in the boot.
Time was running out for our 11 km afternoon walk, so we had a quick lunch and wash and left the campsite at ten to five (!). The first stop was the Big Hole - 100m deep, 40m across and a very neat cylindrical hole. It is truly impressive. Then we joined a fire trail and headed to Marble Arch, a small cave and canyon with interesting blue and red marbling patterns in grey and white rock.
On the way back we left the fire trail and walked on the National Park boundary between farmland and the bush. We passed a kangaroo with a cute and very curious joey in its pouch, and arrived back at camp just as night fell.
On Sunday morning, eight people opted for the long walk to the Deua, while the rest selected the “soft option” of liloing, swimming, and basking in the sun.
The park has been scarred by the construction of a large network of fire trails since the map was compiled (1975). The old foot and horse trails appear to have fallen into disuse and we were not able to locate them, even though we crossed their positions on the map-many times. However, one of the fire trails followed our general route for much of the way. The fire trail is 4 km shorter (at 18 km) than the old horse trail, but involved 100 m more climbing (for a total vertical of 900 m). Parts of the fire trail are extremely steep. The last 3 km follows Curmurlee Creek, a delightful mountain stream which feeds the Deua River. At the Deua we found an excellent swimming hole and stopped for a swim and a short (but not hurried) lunch.
The downward trip had taken 3 hours, but the return trip took from 3 to 5 hours, depending on the walker. Fortunately, the weather was with us - the glorious sun during our swim changed to an overcast sky and the temperature dropped rapidly as we started our walk back. The general opinion was that it was a lovely spot, but with a price to pay in the climb out.
We regrouped at the campsite. Roger's car had been giving trouble and had been pushed for much of the way down on Friday night. It needed considerable attention from the bush mechanics in our group before it agreed to coughe challenge.
On Sunday morning Bob decided to curtail the walk somewhat by leading up the first likely creek downstream. On the assurance of Snow and another authority that “once above the cliff line the plateau beyond is as flat as a table”, Lyndsey was encouraged to continue. The creek turned into a chimney and the view from the top was spectacular both dawn the valley and over the “plateau”. In fact the plateau was not quite as flat as had been described - as far as the eye could see it was dissected by deep ravines and canyons which seemed to follow no set drainage pattern. We walked along a dry and uninteresting ridge until we reached a swamp at an opportune time for lunch. Heather, Snow, George and myself took the rearguard that afternoon and soon dropped well behind owing to Snow and George insisting an leading off down side spurs, and their peculiar habit of stopping every now and again to eat waratah seeds. The Mount Cameron track was located after much meandering along the ridge and we overhauled the main party at dusk.
The campsite was in a shallow saddle well sheltered and with no chance of anyone drowning as there was no water within a mile. Rona and Dot devoured their leg of mutton - I do not say devoured without justification. Their method, which is rather unique, consists of ramming a stake through a pre-cooked leg and throwing it in the fire until it gets hot or you get impatient. Having removed it from the fire it is held by the stake and the thin end of the leg and revolved until a section appears which looks hot enough, smells all right or can be torn apart without the nose obstructing the work of devouring it. It is passed from one to the other and heated as frequently as required. Another innovation was a Mellah-making competition which for coagulation was won by Gwen Seach and for flavour by Heather. In order to get a flying start the following morning we rolled in rather early.
The flying start wasn't even a flutter as it was seven before anyone stirred. According to Duncan's ten miles to the inch, 250' contoured, “Guess where you are” map it was a good fifteen miles walk and with no improvement in Lyndsey it showed promise of being quite a day. Lyndsey decided to leave early and asked Bob for directions. Bob looked at the map, looked to the heavens, looked at Lyndsey and said - “Follow the track till you reach the pine forest and then head due South”. Away went Lyndsey and ten minutes later Helen received the same instructions and followed. She was soon pursued by Gwen and Lola, twenty minutes later Bob and the Butlers set off, and another twenty saw the rearguard under way. Along the track a few miles we came upon a recently vacated campsite which we assumed to be that of several stockmen we had net the previous day. We reached a road junction at the edge of the pine forest as Duncan's group were disappearing over a crest in a southerly direction. On the road was scratched the message “Party 3” and an arrow indicating the south road. There was some doubt as to whether this meant Bob's party or the third party, Gwen and Lola, but as all recent footprints had gone that way Snow was quick to take the opportunity to make an original move so he immediately led off at right angles. Fifteen minutes later we reached the old railway*. The lack of footprints was evidence that the rearguard was now the vanguard and this fact afforded Snow considerable amusement. Just then, limping around the railway loop, came Lyndsey, Gwen and Lola. A quick check indicated that Helen had strayed. (Note from J.B. - After a good deal of backing and filling, the party came up with the stockmen again, and it was realised that Helen was away ahead - “still traveling south at a fair turn of speed towards the Lithgow slag heap”.)
One of the stockmen and a couple of dogs took off to round up Helen, while the others were given correct directions to find Newnes. More barking from the dogs in the timber, more yelling from us and round the hill came Duncan and the Butlers so we waited a little longer. Helen came trotting around the hill. She stumbled up to the group and looking Duncan straight in the face said, “It just goes to prove that you cannot estimate a person's intelligence”. Everyone laughed but upon inquiry I discovered that no one was quite sure whether she was referring to Duncan or herself. To the indignant questions as to why he had ordered a south route instead of a westerly one he replied: “With you girls wanting to go running off before bird chirp you can't expect a man to have full command of his faculties. At that hour a slight error was permissible”.
The order of march was now reversed - the idea being to reach Newnes, bring the cars up and so save Lyndsey the last four miles' walk. On Dot's request a member of the Catholic Bushwalkers, who had his car at the tunnel, drove back and brought Lyndsey down to inspect the tunnel after which he drove her out to Bell. We lunched on the valley side of the tunnel and then walked down the railway line until we reached the road leading to the farm. Dot demonstrated her maternal responsibility in an unusual way. From the time we left the pine forest she clearly marked our way with large arrows, muttering as she drew them, “You can't trust Duncan, he'd go astray anywhere”. Curiosity gaining the upper hand we asked why her interest in Bob. “Well,” answered Dot, constructing a great timber arrow pointing towards the valley, “Rona is with him and I don't want her to miss school tomorrow”.
A lift to the pub spared us the last four miles roadbash also and speeded up our move out. With the exception of my car taking a rest on the steepest part of the road out and holding up half a dozen cars, the run to Katoomba was uneventful.
*(Note: The “old railway” mentioned is the line built about 1907 to carry shale oil products from Newnes to the western line at Newnes Junction about 10 miles east of Lithgow. The railway ceased operating in the 1930s, but the formation, including the famous “Glow Worm Tunnel” still exists. J.B.)
“OF SHIPS AND SHOES AND SEALING WAX “
by Jim Brown.
I don't know why I pay so much heed to what Don Matthews says, unless it's because he so often says the same thing I an thinking. Indeed, perhaps, he's the best argument I know for astrology, that notoriously unscientific cult. You see, he was born under the sign of Cancer (20 June - 20 July approx) which is designated by the sign of the Crab, and is presumably a lot better than being a Capricorn (sign of the Goat) or an Aries (the Ram). I mean, where else except in a Crab would you find a gentle, retiring and normally rather shy person who will still get up at a Reunion campfire and cheerfully play the Goat (though NOT a Capricorn)? I don't know the answer to that, because I, too, was born under the sign of the Crab.
At any rate Don recently told me he had been on Roy Braithwaite's day walk of 8th January. This occurred at a time when the State Rail Authority had shut down the South Coast Line between Waterfall and Thirroul to press ahead with the Port Kembla electrification, including digging out the floors of a couple of tunnels to make the roofs higher, so that double-deck carriages could go through, with still enough room for the overhead wiring. Don confirmed that they had to transfer at Waterfall to buses which than went through Helensburgh township - a good two to three kilometres from the station of that name. “It was,” he said, “one of the most interesting parts of the trip. I'd never been through Helensburgh town before.”
(This, in turn, reminds me of a story dating back to the War years. A blacked-out train pulls into a blacked-out station. “Say,” says an American serviceman, “What burg is this?” To which Bob Younger replies, “Oh, I guess it's Helen's.”)
Actually, I had a fair idea what was afoot at Helensburgh. I had been down there a few days earlier, passing through the shopping centre on a rail bus: had seen Otford Station as two platforms with a great trench (and no rails) in between; had walked back to Lilyvale along the tracks, chatting to some of the surveyors, shovelmen and drivers of bulldozers and other exotic machinery. I had observed the shortened “Up” platform at Lilyvale reduced to a facade of brickwork, just about wide enough for skinny people like Don Matthews and myself to stand on without being wiped off by a passing train, and then walked on through Lilyvale tunnel before getting tired of having my toes stubbed by the ballast, and turning down on a side track to the Hacking River.
As a result I had phoned Roy and told him that, in the absence of any road trafficable to buses, he was unlikely to be able to start from Lilyvale Station, but could get to Otford by devious ways and railway buses. Evidently, this is what he did, with a party of 14 people. One of them, Joe Marton, drove his car along the road from the Upper Causeway to the Karingal Picnic Ground, just across the Hacking River from Lilyvale Station site, and waited there for trains that never came in. Finally he walked to Burning Palms and met up with the party.
Well, you may say, what's all this scribbling in aid of? I have to admit, nothing in particular. After all, I did call it, quoting the Alice in Wonderland nonsense “of ships and shoes and sealing wax…..and cabbages and kings. But when Don Matthews said, “The buses went through Helensburgh town” I almost interrupted him to add,”And I bet you found that one of the most interesting parts of the day”. Then he said just that.
WALKING'S A PLEASURE - IT'S NEW - IT'S OFFICIAL.
News release from the Premier's Department, December 1983.
Supplied by Alex Colley.
A new activity called “Walking for Pleasure” will be launched state-side during Senior Citizens' week 1984. “Walking for Pleasure” is a joint promotion for the Departments of Health and Leisure, Sport and Tourism. Mr. Wran said that in New South Wales - where one in seven people was now 60 years of age or over - the promotion aimed to encourage walking as an. enjoyable, no-cost exercise which contributed to a healthy lifestyle.
SOCIAL NOTES FOR FEBRUARY 1984. by Jo Van Sommers.
February 1 - Committee Meeting.
8 - General Meeting.
15 - Members Slide Night. “Christmas Trips”. All members
are invited to bring their slides and prints.
22 - Magazine Wrapping Night. An experiment in doing the
magazine at the Club night - join the hitherto secret
rites - get stuck into the wrapping and labelling.
29 - Double Header Slide Night:- Keith Docherty's bushwalking
scenes, insects and flowers. Colin Barnes calls his
similar subject “Walking With Your Eyes”.
LETTER TO THE CLUB FROM THE LANE COVE CUB & SCOUT TROOP.
I am writing as a concerned parent on behalf of the 1st Lane Cove Cub & Scout Troop to ask whether any of your members would be interested in becoming a Warranted Cub Leader. 1st Lane Cove, the oldest troop in Lane Cove, desperately needs more leaders (we have one but need three) and faces dissolution if none is forthcoming. What the Cubs are missing most at the moment are opportunities for bushwalking and camping.
If any of your membership is interested, he/she can contact Club President, Joe Berry, 38 Cope Street, Lane Cove, 428-4820 for further information.
Thank you. ANN P. NIXON.
TRIP DATE CHANGE. Morong Deep trip programmed for 10,11,12 February has been changed to 17,18,19 February. LEADER: DAVID ROSTRON, 451-7943.