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, Crows Nest.

by Jim Brown

I fancy this title comes from the horrendous sport (!) of bullfighting, when the matador stands face to face with a killer bull. For myself, I couldn't care less for that sort of moment of truth. I would rather think of it as that instant in time when one makes a major discovery about oneself, about one's fellows, about the way one wants to spend a lot of one's life. I dare say many of us can't identify the exact moment, but I feel I can define the very place and time it happened to me.

It was about 10.00 am on Easter Saturday; March 23rd, 1940 and at the southern rim of Kanangra Walls, where the track begins to dip down towards the Coal Seam Cave and the Gingra Range. Not a very startling place you may say, unless you harbour some strange notion of becoming a bushwalker, but you are an only child, probably something of a mother's boy, and you are out there alone in the mist and unsure of what lies ahead.

Of course, I had been to the bush quite a few times before. There had been a progression of day walks, gradually growing more ambitious, until about two years earlier there had been an introduction to overnight walking. On that occasion two of us set out on an Australia Day weekend to do the conventional walk from Wentworth Falls via Kedumba Creek, Cox's River, Burragorang Valley and the Nattai River to Picton. OUr trip had not been exactly a resounding success - we became ill on the water of Kedumba Creek flowing from the Leura Sewage Farm; one of my knees packed up; an We finally limped into Central Burragorang and caught a bus out to Camden on the Monday afternoon.

After that I almost “Quit for Life” and probably would have done so, except that Life and the Bush seemed to have become inextricably interwoven. Instead I tried several other overnight trips, all of which ended in disaster of one kind or another, but when I voiced an intention of going to Kanangra and beyond at Easter 1940, my companion of the Kedumba trip opted out. Of course he was the smart one or was he? No, I really think he was plain scared, and maybe with some cause considering the calibre of my navigation at that stage.

At all events at Easter, at the end of Sydney's driest-ever summer, I set off alone for Kanangra, Gingra Range, Hughes Ridge, the Kowmung and Coxs Rivers and back to Wentworth Falls via the known Kedumba route. I caught an all-night tram into town and joined the 2.55 am Orange train - the “paper” train with a mixture of passenger and freight cars, on Good Friday.

There were a few other odd-ball types aboard, and I remember some of them dancing bare-foot on the recently hosed-down platform at Penrith about 4.30 am, and singing a pop song of the times which included the words -

As the train slugged up the hill to Springwood the first vague light of a March dawn illuminated the paler rocks of the cuttings so that they looked like waste paper, and the pungent engine smoke mingled with the smell of cattle in the trucks ahead (I've said it was a mixed train). By the time we were at Mount Victoria about 7.00 am, it was gloriously sunny and warm. I had to wait about four hours to catch a tourist coach to Jeholan Caves, and filled in the time eating biscuits, chocolate and oranges.

The bus brought me to Jenolan about 12.30 pm, and I walked up the steep hill to the Kanangra Road Junction. Nearby I found water for a late lunch, then went on to Budthingeroo (Cunninghame's Clearing) for an evening meal, followed by a night walk to the Boyd River Crossing. There the new road formation ended, and I passed a rather wretched night in one of the tents vacated over Easter by the road gangs. About 4.30 am, the chill and my inadequate sleeping bag made further rest impossible, so I started out over the loose earth of the newly turned road surface towards Kanangra.

Mist hung in the hollows and a gigantic Easter moon went down like a yellow dollar coin, and about 5.45 am I first saw Kanangra, with the valleys full of blue cloud, and the rising sun throwing a blood-red finger over the hummocky tops of the mist. Only once since have I seen the same miracle of sunrise over cloud-filled ravines at Kanangra and found again that the effect was wholly awesome.

I breakfasted out of a tin of cocktail frankfurts and vegetables, looked at the bodies cossetted in their sleeping bags in the Dance Floor Cave, where there was still quite a lot of the wooden platform, and went on up the ladders which then gave access to the Tops. Took a few black and white photographs, mostly of headlands silhouetted against the rising mist, and then veered south past Kanangra trig towards the Gingra Range. Half an hour later I was brought to an abrupt halt at a swampy patch, where the trail disintegrated into half a dozen threads. Very circumspectly I groped my way through this maze of tracks until I came again to a clear path, which showed signs of dropping downwards.

But my confidence had been shattered into little fragments like the track. I looked south towards Mount Colong's table top, which stood up above the mist, but the gorges of Christy's Creeks of the trees.

Next day more swimming. In fact, the first seven miles of the gorge involve as much swimming as walking. For this reason it would be wise for anyone else planning this trip to find out about local rainfall during the previous week as it would be extremely hazardous, if not impossible, to swim the canyons in flood. Huge logs and other flood debris was piled 20 and 30 ft up the sides of the gorge.

This was a glorious day. With most of the food eaten the pack was light and easy to carry. Going quietly, barefoot, over the rocks, the wild creatures were not frightened into hiding. The lizards hardly bothered to plop into the water, As I swam quietly behind my pack the ducks accepted me as part of the scenery and stayed floating above their reflections as I swam among them. A vivid cerulean blue kingfisher darted out of the bank and skimmed across the water. Flocks of swallows filled the air overhead and I floated on my back to watch their darting flight. Up the rocky hillsides rock wallabies grazed, the warm orange-coloured fur on the front of their bodies making a splash of colour on the grey-green hillside. Some black gang-gang parrots were tearing away at a tree with their powerful beaks. I was thinking, “I'll come back here when I'm old and spend the rest of my days floating in this beautiful river.” Suddenly there was a great beating of wings above my head and a huge eagle flew by, his wings marked with dark feathers like all eagles, but his underbody a sparkling creamy white. I have never seen a more perfect bird in a more perfect setting. He circled round and finally came to rest on a branch - king of all he surveyed.

In the afternoon the country began to flatten out. The stark rocky canyons had given way to thickly wooded mountains, which now gave way to lower hills. Clawing his way up a tree a 6 ft goanna looked like some ageless antedeluvian monster in the never-ending sunshine. Bright little butterflies flitted about, some with black and orange markings and some as yellow as a buttercup. Dragonflies skimmed by water on gauzy wings. Huge spiders hung their webs busy with the day's butchery - trussing up 2-inch long green grasshoppers in silken cocoons.

We had now finished with swimming. Grassy river flats made walking a pleasure. In place of the rock wallabies we now saw pale grey aristocratic kangaroos feeding on the fine native grasses.

Camp for the night was a complete contrast to our previous ones - right in the middle of an acre of grassy river-flat. We made a big camp fire and when Ross arrived we found that he had another close shave - this time with an exotic female who chased him into the river when he appeared to be threatening her baby. After the evening meal we initiated Donnie into the mysterious practices of the masseur's profession - kneading, stroking, hacking, clapping, pounding, wringing, toe-rolling, etc. Donnie took to it with sadistic delight and everybody became his victim in turn. Joan was worried “I think Donnie has become a compulsive masseur. Just think what will happen next time he goes to a beach and sees all those recumbent bodies - he won't be able to control himself.”

Next day we had only a couple of miles walk along the river flats before the long pull up a steep ridge to the farmlands above and so back to the cars and home. The Apsley Gorge has such high potential for a Natural Reserve that we hope it will be dedicated as such in the near future.

by Bill Gamble

On Sunday, 17th June 1984, Jim Laing led a party of twelve members and prospectives in a loop walk from Golden Stairs. The sections of the walk may be summarised thus:-

• Golden Stairs car-park to Narrow Neck fire tower
• Fire tower to Cedar Head via Walls Pass
• Cedar Head to creek (for lunch) and up to Ruined Castle
• Ruined Castle to car-park via Golden Stairs.

The party went at 8.45 am and was back at the cars by 4.15 pm.

A doubtful weather forecast and fog in Sydney did not augur well for the walk; but at the car-park it was fine and clear with billowy clouds of fog filling the Megalong and Jamison Valleys.

A cracking pace was set for the walk along Narrow Neck to the fire tower (at times I think that there ought to be a law against this sort of thing early on a Sunday morning). Jim allowed us about five minutes at the fire tower for a mouthful or two of morning snacks before setting an arc-like course around Cedar Head swamp to reach Walls Pass without delay.

The descent by chains slowed the pace as one by one we clambered down the almost cliff-like pass. Barry Wallace's rope was needed by some as was the steadying hand of Bill Capon stationed on a ledge half way down. And Brian Bolton was anchorman at the bottom, holding the lower chain taut and directing footholds on the awkward last couple of metres. Most of an hour was spent getting the party safely down the pass and everyone had plenty of time to enjoy the warm sun and the views.

But once we were down Jim forged ahead again, around the cliff line to Cedar Head by a tricky route, finally slipping off on to the steep ridge for the descent to Cedar Creek and a well-earned lunch break of twenty-five minutes.

Within forty-five minutes of lunch break we had clambered the east ridge out of the creek and up to Ruined Castle and were sitting atop the highest rock parapet in somewhat chilly conditions. By this time the party was so taken by J1m's pace that they declined a bonus break until 3.15 pm and were soon plunging downhill to join the Mt. Solitary/Golden Stairs track. BY 3.55 pm the tail end had left the bottom of Golden - Stairs and it was all over at the car-park by 4.15 pm, save for the hot, chocolate etc. at Aroneys.

It would be easy to write off the walk as just another S.B.W. race in which kilometres covered in the least possible time is the purpose and end. Not so. The route which Jim took has a lot of merit. It mixes the familiar with the not so familiar. Easy walking becomes more demanding and in the end resolves into a relaxed conclusion. Any descent of a pass requiring chains and goad footholds is a personal challenge - for some to overcome fear of heights and for others not to be too cavalier in their approach as rock faces can be unforgiving places. The sidling around the cliff line and out onto Cedar Heed was a delight where more time could be well spent in future trips. The soaks were dripping profusely and an overnight bivvy on Cedar Head for a small party is possible. Ceder Creek was flowing well and the banks on both sides were heavily timbered and oozed moisture. The rocks in the creek were slippery with moss. In a few words it was rain forest. And the ridges, down from Cedar Head and up to Ruined Castle-were subtle and demanded some attention to route finding.

In all, there is good news for bushwalkers seeking to traverse the country between Walls Pass and Ruined Castle.

by Roger Browne

1. Roger Browne has now returned to Sydney, has withdrawn his resignation and will now continue as Social Secretary.
2. Barbara Evans has been elected as 4th. Federation delegate.
3. Mike Reynolds has been appointed as Assistant to the New Members Secretary.
4. The motion was CARRIED “That this meeting recommend to the Annual General Meeting that the category of Married Couple Membership Subscription be replaced by a Household Membership Subscription”.
5. Coolana has been chosen as the site for the 1985 Annual Reunion and Spiro Hajinakitas has been appointed as Convenor.

Congratulations! To Marsha Durham and Tony Marshall who were married on 15th September.