BACK INTO THE BREECH

Funny how things keep surfacing in one’s brain.  Won’t let go, refuse to be ignored.  So it was with “The Canyon”, so listed but often called the grotto by locals.  When I was there with Mr. C we hadn’t pushed right in; Mr. C had never gone past a certain point and, frankly, I couldn’t blame him or anyone.  It’s a tad dangerous and decidedly claustrophobic where the roof of the cave is so low you have to double over and shuffle half a shoe length at a time.  Still, there was frustration at not having had an attempt and the previous time I’d been, over a decade ago, the photos I’d taken weren’t that good.

Outside on high the wind was raging, gusts of over 70 k.p.h. bent the limbs and scattered loose leaves asunder.  It was no day to walk across a ridge as I’d originally intended.  Time to head for the canyon once more.

Heath banksia

It was decidedly unpleasant riding the bike to the trailhead, a firm grip on the bars was de rigueur while being buffeted.  For once I was glad to get off and start walking, this time from Centennial Glen carpark.  Though a little exposed there was enough vegetation and the banksias were prolific.  Fern leaved, Heath leaved and Hairpin were three that I recognised but, the gum trees have over 100 varieties up here, so only experts need apply for that identification. 

The steps start, though that sentence seems redundant as they always seem to be nearby somewhere in the Blue Mountains.  It’s not far down when you come to an exposed lookout and the sheer cliffs and vast horizons are apparent but it’s only momentary as you plunge further and the forest surrounds once more. 

Strange rock shapes and cliffs with colourful lichens now become a feature and the bent and twisted white gums at the top become wondrous tall and straight ribbon gums where the winds are absent.

It’s a serious descent now, the last 100 or so steps have hand rails in places, so steep and potentially unsafe would the trail be without them.  I’m heading right at the intersection at the bottom.  It leads to The Canyon (sometimes referred to as the grotto), a small cavern with waterfall that attracts visitors, especially in summer when the locals sometimes come down for a dip.

A foreign couple who have caught up also want to see it but they don’t really know where to go so they’re looking to me for instructions.  At the overhang it’s quite precarious but I’m determined, though you can barely make any progress, so cramped is the space.  As described earlier it’s barely a shuffle and so tight my water bottle in my right pocket catches on the rough wall, is dislodged and, shock, horror, gasp, it quickly rolls and falls over the edge into the stream.

Immediately I know it has to be retrieved.  Leaving a plastic container in the wilderness is simply not the done thing.  I shuffle further along and reach a spot where I think a descent might be possible and carefully survey it.  It’s a scary short drop but I make it safely and it has a bonus inasmuch as it gives me a different angle on the waterfall and its vertical log that has been entrenched for a few years now.

Getting back up is more problematic and it takes several minutes to ascend, ever frightened that my shoe might slip on the decidedly moist surface and, with good reason.  Luckily I make it without further incident because the other two departed without offering help.  Relief is palpable.

Now it’s back up the steep stairs, pausing here and there before I reach the intersection that will take me to Centennial Glen.  Heading left takes you to a utopian canyon with towering walls much favoured by rock climbers (there are fixed pitons everywhere).  In the middle is a glorious forest of pencil straight ribbon gums and, in a couple of places, water cascades from unseen streams at the cliff top. All the way to the curved, overhanging sandstone ledges that shelter prolific fern growth.  As a place to bushwalk, it is without peer.

Above, the rock climbers and abseilers have taken over.  Places to clip in are everywhere.  People hanging one mistake from death have a taste for adventure that exceeds mine.  I tarry awhile watching a pair as one supports at the base while the other chooses climbing routes.  It must be exhilarating, though they never stop to take in the view; it’s all about chalk on the hands and finding the next hold.

I move around to the noisiest fall and rejoice in walking behind the cascade and listening to the huge drops flash in the sunlight and splash on the resistant sandstone right beside me.  As a pause-for-refreshment stop it’s hard to beat.  It’s not often there’s so much noise in one spot in the bush.

It’s turnaround time, foregoing the pleasures of the panoramic views from Fort Rock further up the trail and heading back home, having got what I came for.