Text and photosIan Smith

Ruin on the road to Wollomombi Falls

It was raining … again or still, take your pick. I’d parked at the end of a short dirt road where the Armidale Tree Group had their headquarters. It was quiet but muddy and the rain, light now, was consistent. Not a good day for shooting birds, more your day for waterfalls. Thus it came to pass that I headed out for Wollomombi, arguably Australia’s most spectacular gorge.

As I did I reflected on what I’d heard the night before. Don Hitchcock, for 40 years the husband of the erudite president Maria, goes bushwalking – a lot. Like me, he mostly goes alone, not being able to find willing accomplices. The stories he told of his years in the bush were fascinating. Like the time a python literally dropped out of a tree onto his head and shoulders. Fortunately it didn’t see him as food and Don, wisely, remained calm.

I learned that for every 100 metres you descend into the gorges you can add one degree of temperature. I learned that the “island” separating Chandler and Wollomombi gorges isn’t actually an island but a ridge and that years ago the University Climbing Club were out there taking photos on the end of the ridge just before they packed up and moved on. Thirty seconds later the section where they’d been collapsed into the gorge below.

Whether there was a mass purchase of lottery tickets and fresh underwear the next day isn’t recorded.

I learned about the stinging tree, whose leaves I’ve had personal experience with. Apparently a Queenslander was chopping one down with an axe and the tree fell on him. He died, not as a result of the impact but of the massive amounts of poisonous barbs that enveloped him as a result. The word “agony” seems inadequate in such a case.

I learned that a lyre bird, the world’s greatest mimic, used to whistle a flute solo from Vivaldi that a wood worker from England used to play every afternoon. I learned that when he goes walking, Don uses the minimalist approach to the point where he manufactures his own gear. If you buy a “lightweight” tent from a retailer it weighs 1.2-1.6 kilograms. Don makes his own and it weighs in at 450 grams, 600 grams with the pole. He imports his fabric from America.

Brush tailed rock wallaby at Dangars Falls

Dangars Falls

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However, the piece de resistance was when Don climbed down beside Dangars Falls at the start of a multi-day hike. His first night was beneath the cliffs on a rock-strewn area. No sooner had he set up his tent on his lilo (the only time he has ever used it) when the rocks started to fall. Turns out they were coming from feral goats on high. The torrent continued until one smashed a hole in his tent. So terrified was he that he clasped his EPIRB next to his chest with the thought that if some rocks came and trapped his legs he could still set his beacon off. Needless to say, there was no sleep that night.

The start As the motorhome splashed along the Gwydir Highway my sense of anticipation rose, especially when we crossed the farm streams running a banker where there had hardly been any water for the previous decade. At least their dams would be full, something that hadn’t happened for a long time according to

the ABC local radio I was listening to. They specifically mentioned that the Wollomombi area had missed most of the recent rain and that the dams there still weren’t yet full. They must have been the only ones in the entire eastern Australia region that weren’t.

The small causeway just after the turnoff even had water over it, something I had never seen before. It augured well.

I was a tad surprised to see an early model Mitsubishi campervan already in attendance with the occupiers having breakfast in the covered picnic area. It was real “Gorillas in the mist” type stuff.

I opted for a nap before heading out, and by then the rain had eased to almost nothing but the fog was still intense; though I noticed that over the 10 minutes I took to get ready, visibility had doubled to about 200 metres, so I took a punt and headed out.

Wollomombi Falls - Lace lichen (Spanish Moss)

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No sooner had I alighted than I heard a reverberating crash in the forest. How many times had I seen fallen trees and wondered if they made a racket when they fell. I had a first hand answer now, and it was awesome as the heavy branches wrought havoc amongst nearby vegetation, though all invisible to me.

The trail to the Wollomombi Off along the trail I trod, through the lace lichen covered trees whose twisted trunks lent a ghost-like quality to the experience. Choughs scattered before me as I walked further, their squawking the only noise I could hear above the almighty roar of Wollomombi. It was simply an unforgettable sensory experience to hear one of the great waterfalls of Australia so close yet be unable to see it.

The mist closed in again as I neared the lookout so I fiddled around taking atmospheric shots of the vegetation that clung in desperation to the cliffs, eking an existence out of the sparse soils that lay upon the top

of rock remnants. A small flock of thorn bills cheekily bounced around the branches beside me while all around the dogwood displayed its beautiful yellow hues.

I turned around to pack my camera away and there, right before me, was the might of Wollomombi revealed in all its glory, framed by the drifting fog. The water furiously threw itself down the cliff face in ever-changing patterns of foamy maelstroms. Wave upon wave alternatively advanced and retreated, seemingly reaching for some kind of freedom in an epic display of nature’s might, sending out wispy furls like moist sunspots. The raging waters of the river were the dark brown colour

Chandler Gorge

At Wollomombi Falls

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of the soils they carried seaward from the plains above.

The jagged spur that splits the Wollomombi and Chandler gorges stood like a sentinel over the scene, parting the two great conflicts

until they could be managed more easily downstream.

The afternoon before I’d spent in much more tranquil surroundings, surveying the limpid ponds of Beardy Waters and watching the

Beardy Waters

Fan tailed cuckoo

Dogwood (Jacksonia scorparia)

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Wollomombi River in flood

many types of dragonflies darting around to the symphony of a few birds that chirruped in the background. The bleach white cumuli were reflected in the ponds but all too soon they became cumulonimbus and an ominous grey band descended from the west. It had dumped its load overnight and that led to the rushing waters of today.

The afternoon I had lunch back at HQ and set out again, this time with a National Parks and Wildlife Service worker Matt. He was going to see if the bridge across the Wollomombi was still there. It was, but it was in trouble as the raging waters tried desperately to remove it. A couple of other tourists contemplated the torrent in awe, an emotion we were all feeling I suspect.

Wollomombi Falls

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Bakers Creek Falls panorama

A little further down it made normally pleasant rapids a seething maelstrom with swirling, crashing volumes of brown sludge cascading onwards, drawn inevitably by gravity’s force.

To the side there were a few rivulets whose paths I’d noted before but never seen running. Today they were happily gurgling through the forest, painting a more benign picture than that into which they flowed. Tiny wildflowers sought sunlight here and there, a somewhat futile exercise on an overcast day like this.

I thought of the contrast also to two days previous when I’d walked up to Clarence Gorge, a place below where the mighty Clarence River is joined by the Nymboida and where it plunges a few metres over up to four waterfalls depending on how much water is flowing at the time. Here was exactly the type of place where all those small rivers like the Wollomombi end up after they’ve finished their life in the New England area. Here was

a wide splendidly panoramic valley made for bushwalking and bird watching unlike one of Australia’s most awesome canyons, Chandler Gorge, where I now stood.

At day’s end I raced off to a friend of mine, Frank Low, a noted landscape photographer of the New England area and he insisted on going to see for himself the next day so we saw Wollomombi again but it wasn’t as atmospheric, the mist having abandoned the gorge. We did, however, visit nearby Bakers Creek Falls where there’s seldom a decent flow and found it in gushing form.

This lookout has a tragic history, for three men were murdered here a couple of decades ago for no apparent reason by a group of three men who had murdered a pregnant girl at Dalby and went on to hold two children hostage at a farmhouse before they were eventually captured. A bouquet of flowers is maintained at the lookout.

It’s hard not to think about that as you view the raging river and note the delicate wildflowers in late spring bloom around you but all too soon it was time to leave.

I started counting the days to when I can return to the natural wonders of New England.

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