One thing I almost always tune out is any political material, domestic anyhow. I've been almost completely tuned out to politics for the past six months or so and ask me what I've missed. The drama, the conspiracies, the muckraking, the empty promises? Has anything changed? Has anything really happened? It feels like missing a season of a soap opera. I'll miss a lot of talk, the overuse of soft focus, a plethora of raised eyebrows and the occasional love triangle. But when I come back to it next season it will all be the same again.When I'm not fixing and building things around the house I'll cut out for a hike in the Blue Mountains. The trails are everywhere, within a half hour drive or train ride are probably a hundred different walks, official ones anyway. If you include the unmarked trails there could be twice as many. This past week I did two hikes. The first a popular route known as the Grose Valley Grand Canyon track, and the second a much lesser known unmarked trail to Dark's cave. The Grose Valley is on the northern side of the Blue Mountains and is surrounded by a massive sheer wall of sandstone. The sandstone walls burst out in deep reds and rusty orange from the surrounding green eucalypts on the valley floor and cliff tops. It is very different from the American Grand Canyon and not of such great magnitude, but it is a grand canyon nonetheless. Like many of the tracks in the Blue Mountains it starts off with a daunting amount of stairs. On a previous hike coming out of the Jamison Valley, just to the South, I humored myself by attempting to count the stairs. Frustrated and slightly discouraged I quit counting when I got to a thousand and the top was nowhere in sight. So it was down into the canyon I went, sometimes trotting in an attempt to save the knees. The canyon was filled with flowing streams, waterfalls and intensely colored cliff faces. The further down you go into the canyon, the darker and wetter it gets. Crossing over streams and wet rocks the footing can be a little tricky. The two highlights along the trail are Evan's Point lookout and Bridal Veil Falls. Along the way there were more than a few tourists; if you are looking for solitude this is not the trail for you, at least not on a Saturday. Despite that, there is good reason it is so popular, it is strikingly beautiful.
My second hike was suggested to me by my host Katherine who knows quite a bit about Katoomba's history. Any hike that has a story behind it is always more interesting. Eleanor and Eric Dark are two of the most well respected former residents in Katoomba's history. Eleanor, a successful writer, completed ten novels including The Timeless Land, which topped best seller lists in America in the 40s. Eric Dark was a well respected doctor and one of the area's first rock climbing enthusiasts. Their former home known as Varuna, located about a block and a half from where I'm staying, was turned into a writer's center and residence in the late 80s. The family spent a great amount of time bush walking, climbing and exploring throughout the Blue Mountains. Amongst their exploring they discovered a large series of caves hidden down on the side of the canyon of the Grose Valley. They would come to these caves on a regular basis to camp and swim in the creek. Rumor has it that during WWII the Dark's were considering using the cave as a hideout in case the Japanese ever invaded. That was enough to entice me, I was ready to find this place.
The trail leading out to the cave is not marked on any maps, however I did have a hiking book that told me where to find the trail head. The directions were worded quite vaguely and I wondered if they had done this on purpose. It has a secret sort of vibe to it, and I could tell once I actually found the trail head and started down it that wasn't travelled by many people. At about 30 meters in the trail drops steeply down the valley wall. Soon I was using all four limbs to traverse the rough terrain, there would be no trotting on this slope. I got to a section of slick rock face and paused to contemplate my decent. A small tree trunk curved out over the top of it so I grabbed that and swung my body down below. When my feet hit the surface of the rock I got no traction and had let go of the tree just a moment too soon. I realized I was quickly sliding down a cliff. I dug my hands in behind me in an attempt to grab onto the rock but it was too smooth, they just slid over the surface. The rock threw me off and I stumbled onto a landing a few feet below. I wiped the mud and grit off my hands and kept descending. It was a bit of a challenge when I realized I had skinned my finger tips while sliding down the rock, but I reached the bottom of the canyon and started following the creek. I started to see small out coves in the rock but nothing quite the size that a family could live in. The path started to lead me back up the other side of the canyon and over some more slightly precarious rock faces. During drier times this would have been a breeze but since we have been getting rain almost everyday each rock forces you to be extra careful about your footing. I climbed up onto a ledge that ran along the rock face and followed that for another 20 meters or so. Up ahead I saw a huge overhang of rock and knew this was it. A large boulder was almost perfectly positioned at the edge of the cave to allow just enough room to squeeze through. I sucked in my gut and shimmied on in. Right at the entrance was a nice little fire pit and in front of it a natural stone bench sat out from the wall. I walked further back and the cave opened up. The ceiling must have gone 30 feet up. Tucked nicely into the corner were some artifacts from previous tenants. An old rusted out shovel, a worn and faded canvas blanket, and the carcasses of well loved hiking boots and shoes. There was another fire pit in this room and next to it sat a couple camping pots, or "billies" as the experienced Australian bush walker would call them. There was an old rusted tin box sitting there as well. I stooped down and lifted the lid slowly, half expecting it to be packed with snakes or spiders. Inside were a few boxes of matches inside a jar, some fire starters, a couple of hearty looking granola bars, and a little red journal. I flipped it open and found a short history writeup about the Darks and then a poem about the cave written by Eleanor. The rest of the journal was filled with blurbs and insights from previous visitors. Some of it quite sappy but all of it respectful. This was surprisingly pleasant. A lot of the time in these field journals you'll find a slew of snide or crude remarks. I then looked around and was shocked to find not one set of initials. Nobody had obnoxiously notified the world that "Biff wuz here" or "Leroy luvs Bertha." It was the first notable destination I've been to in Australia that wasn't littered with tags. This place was respected. At the far end of the cave was a marvelous little waterfall spilling into an intimate bathing pool. If the weather had been warmer I'd have stripped down and been splashing about like a drunken otter. Instead I sat back and took in the view. The cave faces outward across the Grose Valley and its dramatic orange cliffs. This was a hobo's paradise. An image flashed in my mind: a can of beans curled open and warming on the fire, dirty toes poking out the end of an old boot wiggling away to a wailing harmonica. The long bearded man lays back on a thick wool blanket and gazes out at the night sky, his face glowing red in the firelight. A long pull from a green glass bottle warms his inners. Maybe in another life.
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| Dark's Cave |
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| looking out from the cave |
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