Travel, rrhoea

14 February 202314 February 2023

Tasmania

Looks like this dickhead ate a big bag of Cheetos and wiped his hands all over the rocks

Nearly three years ago as I was eagerly anticipating my return to Australia amidst the worst of the pandemic, I reflected on my many incredible road trips around Canada and America and reached the conclusion that it was something I should do more of in my home country when I returned. I didn’t waste any time – following my release from hotel quarantine in Perth, I embarked on a road trip up the coast of Western Australia and my soul came alive. The sense of freedom, of independence, the comfort of home, was overwhelming. Especially after being trapped for so long and experiencing the immense stress of getting back at all.

I’ve seen a fair chunk of Australia, but three regions of this country were gaps in my experience which sat at the top of my list – Far North Queensland (still keen to go), the Kimberley (requires too much planning and time), and Tasmania. So, given the landscape of 2021 when international travel was still not an option, I made plans to do a ten-day road trip of Tasmania in February 2022. Unfortunately, Omicron happened, and since infection isolation was still a legal requirement then, I pulled the plug and postponed it a year (which itself is extra peculiar in retrospect given I still haven’t had covid).

So the trip began a few weeks ago with an element of “why am I doing this again?”, and I set off down the coast keen for a change of scenery at the very least. Perhaps the excitement would arrive once I got there? It did, but this time something was missing.

The Sights and The Hikes

Let’s start with the highlights. The scenery proved to be incredible. The National Parks in particular, and the walks I embarked on within them. The food was great, MONA was terrific. The local beer, wine, cider and whiskey which I sampled were amazing.

The beaches had the clearest waters and whitest, softest sand (and the water wasn’t even that cold). I had only two days of rain (one a driving day, and the other the day I did MONA – no great loss). The wildlife was exciting, although not as easily found as I’d hoped. I couldn’t get enough of all the wrens (the blue ones especially). I just wish they weren’t so shy.

The ferry was an experience in itself. I’m not sure I would do it again, but it was a nice novelty to drive my car on board, head upstairs to bed, then drive on out in another state and not have to kill time across Bass Strait, nor waste a day doing nothing.

So I arrived bright and early on a Saturday morning, and after a quick journey to Stanley (and its incredibly shallow beaches) I made my way to the first stop, Cradle Mountain.

Cradle Mountain

Cradle Mountain really was a sight to behold. The park had elements which took me back to Canada – big mountains, lakes, even the visitor centre felt a little more “Canadian”. It’s admirable how well they look after this place. All of the main paths are elevated above the ground to preserve flora and fauna, and it works. I got excited to spot my first Wombat, only to walk another five minutes and see about twenty of them. Wombats are the zero-fucks legends of the animal world. They’ll look up at you with a blank face which would make Mike Ehrmantraut look overjoyed by comparison, then continue about their day at the same pace.

I did not arrive with a plan to climb to the summit of Cradle Mountain but somehow found myself there on the first day. About halfway up the mountain is Marion’s Lookout. It’s probably the most popular walk after the lake circuit, and the view is impressive. But I got there pretty quickly and easily, and I was not satisfied. Plus, I was curious to see how everything looked from a spot over the next ridge – so I pressed on. Before I knew it, I was on my way up the mountain and there was no turning back.

My progress, illustrating the steep incline

I’ve climbed many a mountain in my time, but this was easily one of the more challenging ones. The final stretch is near-vertical with enormous boulders requiring actual climbing in some spots. I had to take my backpack off several times and throw it to the boulder above in order to spiderman my way through small gaps or take large jumps. I’m glad I have long legs, because I’m not sure how one would achieve this climb otherwise. I also imagine even the slightest amount of condensation would turn those rocks into slippery dips – so I was fortunate that the weather cooperated. But there was more than one moment where I was stuck looking for a pathway up the rockface and thought “my confidence in my ability will get me killed some day”.

But I got there with only a few scrapes on my legs, and the view was incredible – and I felt alive. The trip was off to a good start.

Bruny Island

One thing which always struck me in North America was the intense scent of pine trees whenever I ventured into nature. I’d never noticed the same thing with eucalyptus here in Australia – but figured either I was immune to noticing it, or that pine was simply a stronger scent. Bruny Island changed that. The smell of eucalyptus enveloped the entire island with an intense aroma, noticeable from the moment I drove off the ferry. I asked around about this, but nobody seemed to hold any insight – so it remains a mystery (or I am insane, also possible).

The island itself was incredibly stunning. Everything just seemed to shine and sparkle. I was disappointed that I didn’t manage to spot any significant wildlife, despite waking before sunrise and venturing out into the scrub. An albino wallaby would have been a thrill, as would an echidna or platypus – but nothing came. While watching sunrise at the neck point between the north and south sections I met a couple of Belgian girls who claimed to have seen penguins at that spot the day earlier. I saw nothing. Perhaps I was cursed? I gave up and went for a swim in water which was so much warmer than the air that steam was rising in front of me, and there was not a single other person in sight. Bliss.

Hobart

Really the only thing worth mentioning about Hobart is MONA. Sure, the city has a lot more to offer, but it’s the kind of stuff which would be better enjoyed with some company (food and wine for instance).

But MONA was impressive. It has to be the most fascinating art gallery in this country, full of unique ideas, thought-provoking works and captivating spaces. The museum itself, and the way visitors move through, is all part of the experience. And once you’re done with the art, you can sit in the garden and listen to some live music while knocking back several Moo Brew Anotherberry Sours as I did.

Words can’t do it justice; it really has to be experienced.

Port Arthur

I pulled into Port Arthur around two in the afternoon, hungry as hell and in need of something to eat. The area isn’t exactly sprawling with options, and that time of day is already too late for most – but there was a pub which I thought might have something to eat so I parked my car and marched on it.

I walked in to see eight eyeballs pointed firmly in my direction. Three men were sat at the bar, facing away with their heads turned to the doorway which my silhouette now filled, and the young woman behind the bar stood expressionless. The men looked like garden gnomes who had spent a bit too long in the sun. Their leather skin was almost indistinguishable from their jackets, their beards like steel wool. They wore faces which were just as dirty as the work boots on their feet. In that moment I was wishing I hadn’t entered, but there was no turning back now. I must have looked like Peter Pan to this Pirate Crew – my green shorts, white tee and pristine thongs shining like a light globe.

I noticed Keno on the screen and broke the ice.

“G’day fellas, who’s winning on Keno?” I asked in a volume about 10 decibels louder than usual.

“Steve just cleaned up he’ll shout you a beer!” one of the men replied, which set off a conversation. I sat at the bar, ordered a burger, and washed it down with a beer I had not planned on drinking, but enjoyed in order to fit in. I had a brief chat with all of them, witnessing the casual sexism directed in the direction of the bartender – followed by her even more masterful return serves.

Shortly before I finished my burger, a man walked through the door and I became the newest member of the bar team, turning around as the light in the room darkened – the sunlight from the doorway being the brightest source of light, now filled by a man dressed in chinos and a crisp long-sleeved striped shirt and glasses. All that was missing was someone asking “Where’s Wally?”.

“Oh, um. Do you have food?” he asked. “Never mind” he added, as he left before anyone had the chance to respond, and I pretended that I had not been the exact same man just half an hour earlier.

Port Arthur was a lot more fascinating than I had anticipated. The area is dedicated to its convict history first and foremost. The tragic events of 1996 (which is also how they reference the event) are a footnote. The site of the Broad Arrow Cafe, now a garden, made the hairs on the back of my neck stand up.

The convict history, and the former prison buildings were all really well preserved and I wandered around with the attitude of “when in Rome” but quickly found myself fascinated. Growing up in Australia, convict history is so engrained that it can be easy to glaze over and switch off. But I exist in this country thanks to the presence of these prisoners, so it carries a little more weight. It’s hard to imagine such brutality occurring amidst so much beauty.

Freycinet and The Bay of Fires

The approach to Freycinet had me craning my neck as its mountains started to peek above the treeline and the bay in front of them sparkled and flashed between tree trunks like a zoetrope. I pulled in for a coffee at a berry farm to take it all in (along with some incredible blackberries, which we all know is king of the berries).

The sight of crystal-clear water lapping cleanly against rock with no moss or sand momentarily took me back to Lake Powell, one of the most alien places I’ve ever been (and part of one of my favourite trips ever). That place, however, was in the middle of the desert. Freycinet was dense with gum trees which I found myself immediately hiking through to access Wineglass Bay.

There’s a childlike excitement I still get on the journey to a beach with a long approach. Wineglass Bay is only accessible via a walk over Mount Mayson – or in my case, a thirty-minute run. At the top of the mountain, you’re treated to a great view of the beach with its sparkling turquoise water and blinding white sand. From there the excitement builds as the water gets closer and the perspiration builds. I jumped straight into the water as soon as I got there. The best swims are earned.

And it was so good I did it all again the following day, before heading out to Launceston via Derby. I squeezed in a stop to the floating sauna at Lake Derby on my last day and thoroughly enjoyed it. After a little bit of confusion finding the place (hard to get angry over when its seclusion part of the appeal), I spent an hour moving between the wood-fired (the smell!) sauna and swims in the lake. A perfect way to end things, although if I ever find myself back in Derby I’ll be hiring a mountain bike cause the tracks there look terrific.

The Gripes

There were a few issues with this journey – first, the trip was about three days longer than it needed to be. I suppose this is something that can only truly be determined in hindsight, but there were periods where I found myself bored and having to kill time. When travelling alone, I prefer to be go-go-go – to the point where I can sometimes stretch myself a little too thin. There were still days like that, but other days left me frustrated. I took the time to slow down, do some reading, drawing, writing or simply “existing” – but I became keener to head home with each passing day.

Which brings me to the second issue – on the third day on the road, I passed a truck. The truck threw some pebbles my way. One of the pebbles hit my windscreen. The windscreen cracked with a twenty-centimetre L-shape right next to the rear-view mirror. My initial reaction was cool and calm, straight from the gospel of Shit Happens, and I reflected on how good it was to not have to stress about such things. But as the days progressed the crack slowly grew, agitated by the poor condition of the roads. If the moon landing was staged, then they filmed it on a Tasmanian road. So many bumps and holes, and every bump had me checking the crack, its L-shape glaring back at me like a highschooler making the “loser” sign on their forehead. It affected my plans as I avoided rough dirt roads and four-wheel drive tracks.

And my fellow road users did not help. Passing trucks naturally caused grief, but I’ve always loathed them. It was the dudes with their lives in tow who were the real enemy. Every second car which passed was a white Toyota Hilux. It was like the semi-trailer from Steven Spielberg’s Duel – a villain on the horizon at every turn. Every Hilux was driven by a man carting all of his worldly possessions like an Egyptian pharaoh hauling his pyramid along the road behind him. Khufu in his Hilux with his great pyramid. No wonder the roads are chopped to shit.

But the final thing was the biggest surprise of all – solo travel just wasn’t cutting it this time. Gone was the sense of freedom and independence which accompanied my incredible Utah and Florida trips. In the past, I’ve had moments where I had wished someone was with me, but it never bothered me, as it did here. I’ve long known that cities are more difficult when alone – when you want to try restaurants and bars, art galleries and “culture”; whereas nature can be enjoyed equally well. The hikes were most enjoyable for this reason, but even there I was missing something. Perhaps it’s just the familiarity of “Australia”, or perhaps this phase of life has run its course.

There was a moment when I checked into a tiny house in Freycinet National Park and found a free bottle of champagne along with a telescope set up on the back porch and thought “my life is wasted on me”.

(Didn’t stop me from downing half the bottle and doing some stargazing and astrophotography)

So often the decision comes down to travelling solo, or not at all. Solo travel will always trump travel with the wrong person, and in the absence of the right one, the equation typically falls on going it alone.

Some great memories were made, mountains were climbed, and incredible sights were seen, but I don’t need alone time. And with my “pandemic home journey PTSD” now a distant memory, I’m keen for the next one to be overseas.

(I’m also not keen to do that Geelong-to-Sydney drive home in one day again. Five coffees and a red bull, Christ)

Hobart

31 December 202223 January 2023

2022: Light and Dark, at Once

To die for your country does not win a war
To kill for your country is what wins a war

Brooke DiDonato (aka, me on the beach after the work Christmas party)

In my final week of work for the year I was working at home as per usual, when all of a sudden my vision became blurry. It was as though I had accidentally caught a glimpse of the sun, and for a moment had a blind spot – although I hadn’t been outside in hours. I sat down for a moment and closed my eyes, waiting for it to pass. The light was still bright with my eyelids clenched. A kaleidoscope of bright geometric rainbow colours filled my vision. Within a few minutes I could no longer see my monitor. I lay down in the dark for twenty minutes – nothing changed. It took two hours for my vision to return.

I later discovered that this is known as a “migraine aura” – something I had never heard of before. A migraine aura has nothing to do with the eyes, only the brain. Essentially the brain shuts down. It was a little confronting, but in a roundabout way ultimately incredibly relieving. My mind looked after itself.

It was also very emblematic of the year – Light and dark, at once.

There were a lot of ups and downs this year – successes which came with a catch, disappointments which came with a silver lining. I worked way too much this year. I received a promotion which re-energised my enthusiasm for work, but then got caught doing a lot of overtime. Following two years of being locked up inside from a pandemic, to then spend a third locked inside working was especially painful.

But all that work also meant a lot of overtime pay – most of which I have thrown on the mortgage to put me in striking distance of clearing the thing in the next couple years.

The return to office life has come as a great relief for my sanity. I gained a lot of new friends – and some of them have quickly grown to be some of my closest mates.

I managed to find a couple of pockets of good weather within months of La Nina downpours and explored Lord Howe Island and South East Queensland – both of which were incredible.

Definitely returning to Lord Howe Island again some time

The typical refrain seems to that the 2020’s have gotten worse with each year that passes. I’m inclined to disagree. This year was undoubtedly an improvement. The power dynamic between generations has finally shifted from the over-60s to the under-40s and I can’t see that being anything but good for society as that shift becomes even more pronounced in the years to come.

Music

I wanna be the shoelace that you tie

There are no surprises in the yearly playlist if you’ve been following the monthly ones. Jockstrap and Big Thief‘s new releases were my most played albums. And that Black Midi one satisfied my appetite for a bit of crunch.

I did the sloppy Splendour in the Grass, and the drizzly Harvest Rock. Khruangbin easily proved to be the best gig of the year between the two festivals, which came as a huge surprise. I’ve not seen a gig like that in a long time – an hour-long jam session where their own tracks were bridged together with classic guitar riffs like Wicked Game and Spandau Ballet’s True. I’m keen for even more live music in the new year, but I think I’m festival’d out for the time being.

Agnes Obel was the overall top gig. Absolutely incredible to witness live.

Khruangbin

Streams

My regular movie and series reviews on this old thing were another casualty of having more of a life this year (along with more work). My abundance of screen time at work also reduced my desire for spending too much of my free time doing the same thing. I can’t say I really have any “top movies” since I saw so few and even fewer stuck with me. But the world of long form series continues to be where quality lies.

Severance was the most inventive and visually unique series I’ve seen in a while. In many ways it reminded me of the best elements of Lost (mysteries aplenty).

The final season of Better Call Saul hit the mark and then some. Easily the best written show of the past decade in my eyes, it may very well exceed its predecessor Breaking Bad as the better show.

And second season of The White Lotus was some good fun, albeit not as fresh as the first time around.

That’s it for the year. Back at the end of January.

6 August 202213 April 2023

Ear Candy 2022.08 – Tim Minchin in Byron Woolies

Dude, I’m so over this
The ups and downs, strikes and gutters
Let’s just go bowling
I’m out of my element
DOMi & JD BECK

If you’d asked me in January 2020 whether I wanted to go to a music festival, I’d have probably said no. But in the midst of my first lockdown Splendour in the Grass 2020 was cancelled – and suddenly it seemed a great idea to snap up a ticket to the postponed event in July 2021. Absence makes the heart grow fonder and all that right?

July 2021 was cancelled, and became November 2021, which in turn was cancelled and became July 2022.

So after two years of pandemic cancellations it finally arrived, but with a day to go, 2022’s other villain (rain) tapped into the ring ready to put plans in a headlock. We rolled into Byron on Thursday thinking gumboots and a raincoat would suffice. It did not. Friday was cancelled and we descended into town to sink some consolation beers at the pub. Try as we might, we couldn’t lift the mood. As the sun set, news came through that Sofi Tukker were going to make an appearance at the establishment in which we were planted. They managed to lift the mood, but we still started day two struggling to feel any buzz of excitement.

Saturday was a mess. The festival went ahead, so that was a win – but it took so long to get in there that we were only getting our bearings at 4:30 in the afternoon (whilst still dealing with dark clouds and light rain). We lined up for a long time to be met with mid-strength Captain Morgan with watermelon and coconut. Watermelon and coconut? Oh, sorry, did you want flavour? At Drink Mixer High School these two flavours played chess with each other at lunch time. These drinks were clearly made to discourage drinking. It was impossible to get a buzz, and the lines for food were even worse. Then, Violent Soho took to the stage and it seemed the day could turn around. But by the time The Strokes came on, you could feel the crowd were tired – and sober. And the three hour ordeal getting back to Byron from midnight capped it off.

Sunday lived up to its name and brought the sunshine. With the sun out, trudging around in mud was a novelty rather than a pain. Sunday made the whole experience worth it. We found a place serving normal drinks, mingled with crowds who were equally buzzed and excited, saw some great music and experienced the feeling we’d been craving for over two years. The only catch – thanks to the bus ordeal on Saturday we left early and missed Tyler. It was a shame, but preferable to spending another three hours trying to get out of there.

And I managed to catch Gorillaz at their Sydney gig to make up for Friday – who were fantastic as always. They were so good that I was left with a sense of melancholy that they hadn’t been able to take to the stage at Splendour. They would have commanded that enormous space.

And I still haven’t had covid.

Random other thoughts:

The Strokes were solid as ever. I felt bad for them that the crowd were tired and grouchy (understandably). I suspect they cut their set short as a result. They brought their A-game regardless.
Glass Animals (aka Milhouse and friends) have such a great body of songs. Every song is catchy as hell. But they really didn’t fit on that stage. When Dave Bayley said that it was the biggest crowd they’d ever played to, I was not surprised. The stage presence and sound was small. Seriously, Tokyo Drifting is a thumping track which should have ripped a layer of skin from everyone on the hill – and it had all the presence of a dude on the train playing music from his phone.
Pond are really underrated and really helped in turning the mood around on Sunday.
Grinspoon were a real surprise. I’d long dismissed them as daggy Gen-X dudes that my brother was into. They were tight as hell, and with some distance it was possible to assess their body of songs with perspective. Fantastic stuff.
Duke Dumont was a real surprise too. I had little idea what to expect. To be honest I was only really familiar with Red Light Green Light but I loved every moment. Very much in the vein of The Chemical Brothers. Lasers, lights, thumping beats and repeated phrases – very easy to fall into a trance.
We probably saw about 10% of what we’d planned.
Tim Minchin was seen …in Woolies. That is all.

15 May 202223 January 2023

Road Trip to South East Queensland

The drive into Green Mountains was incredible. Winding dirt road encroached by rainforest.

An unexpected week off work emerged on my calendar with just two weeks of notice right before Easter. I scanned the map for somewhere to go – my one goal to find somewhere where the sun was shining and not a drop of rain was forecast. Melbourne was sunny, but it was Melbourne. Cairns was borderline, but required a flight and I didn’t want to deal with airports (turned out this was even wiser than I’d anticipated). I was keen to hit the open road, and take my Blue wheels for a decent spin.

Two possibilities emerged – western NSW, out to Mungo and back; or south eastern Queensland. Both are places I’ve wanted to explore. I chose to head north, given I was more in the mood for rainforest than desert, and that accommodation at short notice was a lot easier to find along the coast than out west.

I started the journey with only a loose plan to see Lamington National Park and Glass House Mountains, deciding my journey at the start of each day. So, with the first night booked for Bellingen and nothing more, I set off.

Dorrigo national park

I wanted to get to Queensland as fast as possible, but I try not to drive more than six hours in one day – especially since we’re well into Autumn and the sun is setting sooner. Heading off at midday, I powered my way to Bellingen, arriving shortly after sunset. The recent rains were evident in the quality of the road surfaces. Dodging potholes was tricky business in the darkness of the final twenty minutes.

The next day I whipped up the road to Dorrigo where I hiked down into the depths of the rainforest and found myself surrounded by spooky mist and lush green vines, palms, figs and more.

Given the park sits on a stretch of road named Waterfall Way, it’s no surprise that there’s an abundance of waterfalls of all shapes and sizes. I only had time for a couple, but Dangar Falls was the most impressive. I even encountered a Red-Belly Black Snake along the way, and took far too many photos of Booyong trees.

Byron Bay

Byron was a sleep stop and little more. I didn’t have the energy (or time) for another six hour drive so I stopped half way. I had never been to Byron Bay before, and it was about what I expected. I arrived just before sunset and so had only enough time to dart to the beach, and then do a short loop around the town. I simultaneously understood why it was so popular, and why it was so loathed.

It’s pretty, for sure – but there are thousands of equally stunning spots up and down the coast. It’s really a moot point when weighed against the cons. There was an energy in the town, but it really did seem to be teeming with douchey and phoney types. The kind who post gym selfies or have yacht parties where everyone has to dress in white for some reason. I guess stereotypes exist for a reason. The natural beauty is offset by the hollow people.

I checked out the lighthouse the next morning in the fresh morning light, which was the highlight of the stopover. Onward to Queensland!

Lamington National Park

I crossed the border and took a sharp left turn to avoid Gold Coast as much as possible. The destination was Lamington National park, which is split into two main areas – Binna Burra to the East, and Green Mountains to the West. I spent a day in each, and it was not long enough for either.

Impressive waterfalls and trails kept me busy, and an abundance of bird life kept me company. The journey into O’Reilly on the Green Mountains side was incredible. Winding dirt roads put the Jimny to work, surrounded by a tunnel of rainforest. I wish I could have stayed longer, but was glad I didn’t since that would have meant I’d miss out on my next destination – Glass House Mountains.

Sunset at O’Reilly’s

Glass House Mountains National Park

If you want to see lumpy rocks in the middle of nowhere, Australia truly is the place for you. But their abundance doesn’t make them any less unique. I thought Glass House Mountains might be similar to the Warrumbungles in NSW, which I saw last year. I was wrong. Yet again, I was wishing I had more time.

The Glass Houses have their own character and the entire area is just made for driving. I got lost in the best possible way zooming up and down roads aimlessly, just trying to see each of the mountains from a different angle and vantage point. I even got to go off-road and put my four wheel driving skills to the test (as more gung-ho motorists zoomed past in convoy).

More than once I came upon pineapples lined across the road, every time followed by giggling children hiding behind a nearby tree or fence. Must be a local prank. It only made the place more endearing.

Sunset from Wild Horse Mountain was the perfect bookend to a spectacular week on the road.

6 March 202228 November 2022

Lord Howe Island – A Short Trip Back in Time

A worthy consolation prize for a cancelled Tassie road trip

It was with great reluctance that I cancelled the road trip of Tasmania which I’d been planning for most of the year prior. Locked down for five months last year, I dreamed of the eventual relief and freedom at the end.

Then Omicron got in the way.

There’s every chance I could have proceeded without drama. No government rules or restrictions were stopping me – but case numbers and supply chain issues took away any sense of confidence. The worst case scenario could have stranded me and cost a fair chunk of coin too. But it was the best case scenario which caused me to cancel. Even at best, the experience wouldn’t have been the same. So I saved the apple isle for another year, and found myself another isle a little closer to home – Lord Howe Island.

A two-hour flight from Sydney in a Dash-8 was all it took to get there. Plus, it’s under the jurisdiction of NSW so I didn’t even have to worry about crossing state borders. I touched down, checked into my accommodation (they don’t use locks, keys or room numbers), hired a bike and set off cruising around. Cycling is easily the best way to get around. Bikes outnumber cars, and the speed limit for motor vehicles is 25km/h so you share the roads with ease. Bike racks are sprinkled across the entire 12km stretch of the island – and again – no locks are required. Going for a hike and don’t want to carry everything? Leave it in the bike basket. It’ll be right where you left it when you return. Only 400 people are allowed on the island at any one time, so it keeps the place pristine and honest.

Furthermore, there is no mobile coverage on Lord Howe Island, which only added to the charm and makes it the perfect place to disconnect from the world. Old Telstra phone booths are sprinked across the island if you need to make a free local call to book a tour or dinner. I probably hadn’t used a phonebooth in 20 years prior to this trip!

It’s also a bird lovers paradise. With no natural predators, the unique birdlife has no reason to fear people – to the point where you sometimes had to be careful not to step on a nest, or worse, a bird. Banyan trees and Forky trees dominate the landscape.

I love sea stack. This side of the island reminded me a little of the Oregon coast

There were no shortage of bushwalks either, only a shortage of time. So I ended up running around like a madman squeezing in as many of them as I could (which left me aching for three days upon my return home). The biggest of all was the trek up Mt Gower – 875 metres through the clouds and mud at a steep incline, including sections of rope climbing. Unfortunately the cloud cover at the top was too dense to witness the rewarding view, but a lower vantage point offered spectacular sights regardless.

Much like the bird life, the fish were not afraid to say hello, coming right up to the shoreline at Ned’s Beach. The hut by the beach has food if you’re keen to give them a feed. Coral and Turtles were also sights on offer on the other side of the island, but I didn’t have my camera for that day.

Unfortunately the weather further out to sea didn’t sync up to enable me to see Ball’s Pyramid up close – but I suppose that’s just one more reason to return.

Right up to your feet!

30 April 202115 May 2022

Bungled the Weekend

Friday morning I awoke. Only a day earlier I had been informed that I had the day off, having finished my latest show early. My newly-minted long weekend was forecast to have perfect Autumn weather, and I had no plans. Suffering from weather-guilt, I had to ensure I made the most of it.

Now, most places in the 2-3 hour radius of Sydney I’ve seen a bunch of times. It doesn’t make them any less amazing, but I was craving new sights and new hikes. Warrumbungle National Park (6 hours west of Sydney) had long been on my list of places to check out, but the distance had always landed it in the too-hard basket. But not this weekend!

At 8:30am I decided I would do a three-day loop out to Coonabarabran, down to Dubbo, then back to Sydney via Mudgee and Lithgow. By 9:30 I had departed.

Silo art projects are found in abundance in NSW

I’m glad I made the effort. The journey (once out of Sydney) was a breeze. Podcasts, tunes, and a new audio book kept my ears entertained while the road provided the visuals. As I approached Coonabarabran I noticed a scale solar system started dotting the roadside. I’d come for the hike, but the stargazing opportunities were an unexpected delight. It’s easy to see why so many observatories are set up in town – the sky is incredible, thanks to the lack of light pollution. I visited one of them and was treated to an impressive show (and the most powerful laser pointer I’ve ever seen – somehow it reached the sky??).

The highlight (and main goal) of the trip was the Breadknife and Grand High Tops walk. This is the main loop in Warrumbungle National Park, offering views of all the “bungles”. The guide suggested it would take 5-6 hours – “five if you’re fit” said the lady at the visitor centre. I was done in three, and I spent a lot of time taking photos and little detours off the track. Climbing up mountains really is my happy place.

Dubbo was really just a rest stop. I did have a quick look at the zoo – but all it did was confirm what I already knew – that I really find zoos incredibly boring. I did see some Galapagos tortoises doing some slow-motion banging though which was quite the sight.

The drive home was incredibly picturesque, and it got me thinking. We really don’t value the journey enough as part of the experience in this country. There were so many spots I wanted to pull up and take in the scenery, but the roadside failed me. It’s one thing America does really well and we could seek to emulate that a little by sprinkling a few more scenic lookouts along the roadsides of our beautiful country.

Dead trees reaching from the depths of the lake just outside of Mudgee

13 January 202123 January 2023

Life Finds a Way

Maybe happiness is this: not feeling like you should be elsewhere, doing something else, being someone else.
Isaac Azimov

But why are they called the Blue Mountains?

Moments before the Christmas break was due to kick off and “life as normal” seemed within reach, the clouds rolled in (literally and figuratively) and a new Covid cluster emerged in Sydney. Suddenly I was having Vancouver flashbacks.

But as usual for Sydney the clouds eventually moved on, and while Covid still lingers, it at least feels under control for now. Yes, I missed out on a lot of things I’d been looking forward to, but I did achieve one thing in my week off – I got some wheels!

(I also wore my thumb completely numb smashing through Ori and the Will of the Wisps in a week. That fucking spider boss can fuck right off.)

One of my goals for the next chapter of life now that I’m back home is to do more road trips around Australia, including off-roading and camping. I also wanted to visit some of the areas hit by the bushfires a year ago. The Blue Mountains seemed the most obvious place to start, so I gunned it out to Blackheath early on a Sunday morning and did two tracks. Each took around 2-3 hours with lots of stairs (my calf muscles were rooted on Monday and Tuesday).

I’ve seen these mountains countless times but never like this. Charred-black tree trunks still stood on the landscape like gravestones twelve months on. From within them, luminous-green branches pushed their way outward like a zombie hand bursting out of the dirt. Around the trees, flowing waters and full waterfalls gave life to the greenest grass I’d seen in those parts.

The clouds and rain which had caused annoyance the week prior were now providing me waterfalls to admire and watering holes in which I could cool off.

Yin and yang.

10 October 202023 January 2023

Return To Oz

I’ll never pass a lonely railway line without snapping a shot. They have an old-world romantic mystery to them which gives me a strange sense of calm, hope and wonder. I’m also really just an 8 year-old-boy who loves trains.

Well, I made it back. Six months of isolation (save a handful of exceptions in July and August), two months of sleepless nights and stress, six cancelled flights and 37 hours in a face mask later, I made it to Perth. There, I spent two further weeks isolated in a hotel. Ordinarily such a challenge may be met with anxiety. But when I received the regular mental health calls on my hotel quarantine phone I couldn’t help but scoff. Baby, this part is a breeze. I’m happy to be back.

I’d never spent so much time on my own as I have in the last year. Some of it was helpful for reflection. Some was helpful for learning new things (Unreal), and getting in touch with old hobbies (drawing).

But I really missed people. And it wasn’t until I was back here that I realised how much.

So I was released from quarantine, got in a car, and hit the road. I spent six days exploring north of Perth soaking up the Australian landscape and a Covid-free world with full pubs and none of the pretension I’d become so drained by in Vancouver. Red dirt, wildlife and sunsets over turquoise waters.

Driving around the Peron Peninsula gave an incredible sense of freedom

The Pinnacles. Just myself, the desert and the wildlife.

I then moved on from Western Australia to Adelaide where I spent ten days exploring the surrounding area soaking up wine and good friends. The biggest surprise was the Adelaide hills – a feature far underplayed in their marketing. It may be my favourite feature of the place.

Sunsets in Adelaide really are something else

14 September 202015 September 2020

The Final Canadian Adventure

Maligne Lake. It felt like summer, but the trees were already starting to move on

Well, I never made it to Palm Springs. And I didn’t make it to Italy or Greece either. But if there’s a silver lining, it’s that I got to have one last look at Canada before I left – and it was classic postcard Canada too, Banff and Jasper National Parks.

After 30 months in Canada I came to the conclusion that the country’s natural beauty is probably its greatest feature, and nowhere is more spectacular than the rockies.

So here’s a few snaps from my road trip from Calgary, along the Icefields Parkway and back. I saw incredible mountains, glowing glacial lakes (and shrinking glaciers), curious wildlife and powerful waterfalls.

1 July 202011 November 2021

Utah Road Trip – Part 4 of 4: Planet of the Buttes

The final destination of my journey through Utah (and Arizona) was the one which had been on my travel list for the longest time – Lake Powell. I remember watching the original 1968 Planet of the Apes when I was a teenager and being intrigued by the bizarre landscapes. Bright clear turquoise-hued water lapped against golden sun-drenched stone and sand. It was other-worldly, and somehow idyllic and post-apocalyptic at the same time. I immediately did some research into where the film had been shot, and ever since then it sat on my travel list. It did not disappoint.

The temperatures during my road trip had been pretty hot, in the low 30s, but as I turned into Page Arizona, oven-door-heat blasted at me from all directions – and I loved it. Page was my base for three nights as I explored beautiful slot canyons and got to know the lake by foot, boat and from the top of a butte via helicopter.

Antelope Canyon

My first stop on the way into Page was Antelope Canyon. Antelope is a slot canyon, which is a long, narrow, and deep channel with sheer rock walls. This system of drainageways hooks up to Lake Powell at the north where it can be explored by kayak. To the south they can be explored by foot. That’s where I dropped in.

There are several spots along the canyon that can be toured. I avoided the most popular one, preferring to avoid the busloads of tourists taking the same four photos. What I did see was incredible. The colours, erosion-worn texture and light play had me staring mouth-agape in all directions.

Horseshoe Bend

I approached Horseshoe Bend with partial reluctance. It’s perhaps the biggest tourist trap in the area, given it’s easily accessed by a short hike off a large parking lot at the side of a highway.

Despite this, it was still worth a visit. The scale was spectacular. The green Colorado River lapped against those Utah red rocks and I was able to get up right to the edge and watch as kayaks and speedboats zoomed by below.

I tried a polarising filter on my camera for the first time on this trip and got most use of it in this section to reduce glare on the water and see more detail within.

Lake Powell

With oven-heat blasting from all directions, I made sure to get down to the lake for a swim. The water was about 25 degrees, which some locals informed me was “too cold for a swim”. Warm enough for me! The water was clean and clear and incredibly blue-green. Small waves washed upon a sandy beach, and I was in the middle of the desert. I found it awesomely surreal.

After my swim I boarded a boat to venture further out onto the lake. Along the way we passed Tower Butte, rising 1600 metres above sea level – and I caught a glimpse of a helicopter hovering above. My afternoon was wide open and I was looking for a way to round out my trip, so on an impulse I purchased a ticket and two hours later I was on a chopper above the lake.

Helicopters are awesome.

I left Page and made my way back to Las Vegas. Due to my early flight I stayed the final night there – which was mostly spent stuffing my face at the Bacchanal all-you-can-eat buffet. The food was amazing, and I really did eat all I could before rolling back to my room.

But Vegas is a total dump, so after eating my body weight in food I took the shortest route back to my room.