Category Archives: Getting active

August 13, 2014

Switching to island time… in Noumea

By the dragonfly

Switch your mental clock to island time and your language to French… you are in Nouvelle Caledonie, where the pace is easy, the weather is (usually) warm, and the locals are forgiving of your dodgy execution of their language.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

It’s winter here, although on our first day you wouldn’t pick it. The weather forecast is looking good for our week here, so we head off à pied along the waterfront to get our bearings.

Of course, this takes most of the day. Not because we’re directionally challenged but because (have I ever mentioned this?) EB has no off-button.

At least there are irresistible cafés and bars along the way… and this time I remember not to order milk ‘on the coast‘ with my espresso!

It’s hot, the beach at the Baie des Citrons is full of people soaking up the sun and relaxing in the postcard azure sea, and there is plenty of action out on the bay at Anse Vata near our hotel.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

New Caledonians love their water sports. No, they are fanatical about their water sports. The island is surrounded by the Barrier Reef, so there are no waves.

But there is wind for kite surfing and sailboarding.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

And stretches of ocean you just want to sink into. Or paddle on. Or play in. Or do some relaxed ocean swimming. There are at least ten swimmers stroking back and forth across the Baie des Citrons.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

If you’re not exhausted yet, there is an underwater world to explore and some island hopping to do. But that’s another story…

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June 11, 2014

Winter beach escapes…

By the dragonfly

Copyright: Louise Ralph

The tourists have gone, the cafes and shops are quiet, and the camping areas are almost empty except for intrepid grey nomads on their way north to escape the southern chill.

A crisp wind sweeps the beach, where only the locals brave the elements to fish, walk or give their dogs a run.

Surf and sun are definitely big drawcards, but winter is my favourite time at the beach.

When our kids were little, we’d wrap them up  all cozy and warm and we’d go to the beach to play – to search for shells and other treasures, make icy sand castles, brave a paddle, throw a ball, look for dolphins.

Here in northern New South Wales, from June to November, humpback whales are coming and going along their migratory highway. Seeing them breaching and playing just off the beach makes you want to wait forever for each magical glimpse.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

But there is plenty to do around here that doesn’t involve the beach – or practicing your whale whispering techniques.

Try an early morning climb – with that last chain-assisted scramble – up Wollumbin (Mt Warning), the remnant central vent of an ancient volcano and an icon of the region.

Or slightly easier (with goosebumps of a different kind), paddle up the river towards the mountain. Along the way, you’ll see raptors riding the thermals above you. Last weekend, we counted twelve raptors, possibly square-tailed kites, in one breathtaking group…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

If you’re not into chilly water sports or ‘hill’ climbs, there are so many forest walks around here – and so many stories. Like the walk to Protestors Falls on Terania Creek near Nimbin, the birthplace of Australia’s environmental movement in the late 1970s.

Or head down the trail in Springbrook National Park to the Natural Bridge, created over millions of years by water tumbling through the roof of a basalt cave.

For something a little more civilised, the Taste of Kingscliff is a delicious foodie fest in July 2014. We’ve booked in with a bunch of friends for the Long Table feast under the stars, so more on that in July…

Then there are weekend markets, the Mt Tambourine wine trail, theme parks, the Currumbin Sanctuary, places for golfing and cycling, cozy bars and cafes, music, and more.

This is the kind of place where, once you dig your feet in the (now chilly) sand, you never want to leave. For too long, anyway…

 

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March 23, 2014

It’s a wild life in the Scenic Rim

By the dragonfly

Fruit bats and termites aren’t your usual cute and furry tourist magnets, but they’re still pretty amazing creatures.

Last night, we stopped at the local info centre in Boonah to fill up our water tanks – and we weren’t short of company. Thousands of squawking, squeaking fruit bats were roosting in the trees nearby. Here’s a few just hanging around…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Going batty in Boonah

But the thing that fascinated me were the hundreds of termite mounds dotted across the paddocks along the road from Beaudesert to Boonah.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Termite mounds near Boonah

Termites may be a No.1 pest on the urban hit list, but they play a vital role in balancing Australian ecosystems.

What do they do? Apart from building architectural mud masterpieces, these busy little creatures help to decompose dead plant matter and quickly turn it into nutritious soil (clearly not something you want in your woodwork at home).

They are also on the menu for wildlife like lizards, birds, spiders, ants, echidnas and other small marsupials. Some don’t just eat the termites, they nest in ‘the pantry’ or shelter from fire in the mounds.

From weird and wonderful to some dam fine scenery…

On the way home, we swung by Wyaralong Dam and the Mt Joyce Recreation Park, a fantastic place for kayaking, camping, fishing, waterbird watching and more.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

In Queensland’s January 2011 floods, the new Wyaralong Dam filled overnight. Pretty spectacular since, when it’s full, it covers 1,230 hectares!

We also encountered wild life here, of the dusty, sweaty cyclist kind. These creatures are a clue to the fun to be had on kilometres of mountain bike trails in the surrounding hills. They assured us the trails were better than our favourites at Daisy Hill in Brisbane – and not as busy.

Of course, EB immediately decided it was time to dust off our trusty mountain bikes so we can come back here to test the trails ourselves…

Back to bird watching. Gotta hang onto the serenity while you can, hey?

Copyright: Louise Ralph

going fishing, egret style

Copyright: Louise Ralph

making ripples…

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December 9, 2013

The Keepers of the Path

By the dragonfly

Saturday dawned hot and still in Brisbane. It may have been perfect beach weather, but we were staying in the city for silly season festivities with clients that night.

What’s the next best thing to surf and sand? A (very long, very hot) stroll in the bush of course.

So EB and I headed to Mt Coot-tha, where a network of trails crisscross the forest, up steep hills and into valleys, and it feels like you could walk forever and never find a way out (especially if you’re directionally-challenged like me!).

It’s a favourite place for intrepid travellers to train those walking legs for  their trekking adventures. We spent many challenging hours on these trails back in 2007 when we were preparing to walk the Annapurnas in Nepal.

the black dog

We couldn’t hit the trails without our black kelpie, who may be getting on in years but adores her bushwalks and doesn’t know how to give up (she gets it from EB, I’m sure!).

Let’s just say that when we arrived at the Simpson Falls after walking for a couple of hours, she dropped into a rock pool and wasn’t going anywhere…

But half an hour of water therapy does wonders and, with a little gentle persuasion (for me, not the dog), we were on our way again.

Soon we noticed that two crows were keeping an eye on us along the trail. They would perch in a tree to watch us pass, then their shadows would slide over us as they soared ahead to wait in another tree until we were a few metres past them, then they’d glide ahead of us again.

Occasionally, they’d koww koww and eh-aw to each other, as if chatting about these odd, dusty creatures below.

I vaguely recalled that crows were believed to be a bad omen, a warning of danger to come, shape-shifting creatures with evil intent, or vessels for restless spirits. And who hasn’t seen Alfred Hitchcock’s The Birds, where a terrified young socialite is observed and harassed by flocks of the black menaces and other winged avengers?

But being shadowed by these two crows was strangely comforting. It was as if we were being guided by the Keepers of the Path.

Back to reality. Perhaps they were curious about our four-legged companion, glistening black like them, but with no ability to fly? Or were they just tagging along in case we stopped for a picnic and they could swoop down to snatch up the leftovers?

About eight kilometres later and no picnic stops, they were still hanging in there. They arrived with us back at the car – waiting, watching, and clearly unimpressed with our pathetic attempts to bid them farewell in crow language.

It may be a bit spooky for some, but I’m going with the other myth that says two crows mean joy.

Because there is definitely something joyful about the distraction of two crows, when you’re out walking in the midday sun, your feet are sore and what you really need is a stiff drink…

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May 24, 2013

Climb every mountain… on Lord Howe Island

By the dragonfly

A life lived half in the city and half on the coast has left both EB and I temporarily speechless. The upside is I’ve overcome my fear of packing, but that’s another story. I’m taking a mental break with some retrospective travelling while we adjust to our life in motion. It’s 2011, we’re off to Lord Howe Island, and I have no idea what I’m in for…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

We’ve just landed at Lord Howe Island, 600km off Australia’s east coast. It’s a tiny speck on the ocean dominated by two enormous mountains,  Mount Gower and ‘little bro’ Mt Lidgbird.  EB points at the biggest one (in case I hadn’t noticed).

That’s Mount Gower.

I’ve been here before, back in the day with my parents, so I nod. Yep. That’s Mount Gower.

We’re climbing it tomorrow, he informs me.

I shudder the full length of my desk-fit body. Eight kilometres straight up.

No, I say. EB looks at me incredulously. What do you mean no? I mean ‘never’. I’d love to, but I can’t do it. I just can’t.

EB appears to agree, reluctantly booking in for the climb later in the week – on his own.

He is ever the optimist. So, he leads me off cycling around the island, walking the trails, climbing every mountain.

Except Mount Gower. Never Mount Gower.

Bring it on… or something

Way too early one morning, I’m on yet another path that hugs the spectacular rugged coastline. This one leads to the base of  Mount Gower (Don’t even ask!).

The walk is long enough for me to find comfort in a group where some find rock hopping challenging. Okay, I’m still nervous about the 8-plus km straight up, but I’m suddenly glad I decided to come.

Imagine how annoyed I’d be with myself if EB returned and told me the group wasn’t made up of fearless fitness freaks and rangy mountain folk. Just people like me – excited, in a slightly hysterical way, but definitely more puffing than puffed up.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

The rope-assisted climb begins and I’m remembering how much I love this walking-slash-scrambling up mountains thing, edging along narrow paths above sheer drops, challenging my fears (and yes, there’s nowhere to hide when EB knows this about me!).

A few tough but amazing hours later, we reach the summit and find ourselves in a mystical forest where pathways made by wild creatures could just as easily lead you off the edge of the cliff.

Our guide Jack Shick is a fifth generation Islander and third generation mountain guide. His passion for this place – and shimmying-up-palm-tree ability – is already obvious. But wait, there’s more.

A bird’s-eye view

Jack points out some elegant birds, with wingspans slightly over a metre, gliding on the thermals high above us.

Providence Petrels, he says. This is the only place they breed, and you can ‘call them down’. Yeah right.

Then he starts making weird noises that sound suspiciously like mating calls.

Suddenly one of these totally wild and extremely rare birds plops to the ground at Jack’s feet and fearlessly climbs into his hands. Then there’s a lot of serious plopping going on as several others land in awkward feathery bundles around us.

Their landing ability may be severely lacking, but they have to be the extroverts of the bird world.

They soon toddle off, unimpressed by the motley bunch of humans. So do we, back down to a sunny spot overlooking Mount Lidgbird.

For me, there’s always a moment, on a walk like this, when I look back to where I’ve come from and feel stunned. How did my legs carry me that far or that high?

Soon EB and I are sliding and scrambling down the mountain with two 13 year-old boys who have energy to burn (and yes, our well-honed parenting instincts are in full swing!).

At the bottom there’s a lot of whoop-whooping going on (mostly in my head). Not just because it’s a fascinating climb or even because I conquered the mountain – but because I did something tougher. I faced down my fears.

And there endeth the lesson.

Except… all that learning maketh me peckish (and thirsty). Time for a celebratory bubbly and a very civilized dinner in the fabulous Pandanus restaurant.

…and there’s still some walks we haven’t done yet.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

On the track to the Goat House Cave…

A ‘climb every mountain’ chorus line: It’s all here. Pick your grade – from 1-5. There is Transit Hill (2 km return), Malabar Hill and Kims Lookout (5 hours return), Goat House Cave (5 hours return and awesome), Mount Gower (8 hours return), Rocky Run and Boat Harbour, Intermediate Hill and more. (Note to self: next time, hide all maps from EB).

Climb the mountain…

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January 22, 2013

Hanging out around Sydney Harbour

By the dragonfly

We arrive in Sydney on Friday and walk out of the airport into a wall of dry heat. At 46 degrees celsius, it’s the hottest day on record. But that doesn’t stop us taking to the scorching pavements…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

I see a photo opportunity… a seagull poses in front of a giant, world-travelled rubber duck, the mascot for the Sydney Festival

It’s my real ‘new year’ and EB likes to make sure I grow old disgracefully.

This means my birthdays usually involve things like jumping out of a plane, driving a racing car, hanging doughnuts around an oil-slicked track at a defensive driving course, or whatever crazy thing EB can think of…and that I might actually agree to.

So far he hasn’t convinced me to go bungy jumping.

This year, we’re hitting the water for something a little more relaxing. So, after a scorcher on Friday, we’re up early to join our Sydney Harbour Kayaks eco-tour of Middle Harbour – and it’s 20 degrees cooler than yesterday. Of course.

Sydney Harbour is awe-inspiring, whether you’re walking around it, sitting beside it, driving over the Harbour Bridge, or taking a ferry ride. From a kayak, it takes on a whole new perspective.

We weave between moored yachts and cruisers and past affluent harbourside residences, glide past stunning sandstone formations and remnant bushland, and stop at a tiny secluded beach fringed with oyster-clad rocks.

The hours drift by too quickly and soon we’re taking on a fiesty headwind to make it back to the Spit. It’s so beautiful out on the water, even when it’s choppy, and we’d happily keep paddling all day…

Back to reality, and EB’s plan to do another section of Sydney’s stunning coastal walk is thwarted. Too much good wine and conversation with friends on Saturday night makes waking up at dawn the next day an impossibility.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Balmoral Beach

Instead we have a lazy morning walking around Darling Harbour, before meeting up with family and heading to beautiful Balmoral Beach. The cool change evolves to threatening grey and we watch the sheets of rain cross the harbour towards us.

Soon everyone is scrambling for shelter and the beach is deserted, except for a couple of teenagers and a jogger who shakes off the rain as he splashes along the pathway.

We shake the rain off too and frock-up for dinner at the iconic (and rather posh) Bather’s Pavilion.

Mais oui, there are worse ways to welcome in another year… Bungy jumping springs to mind.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

The Bather’s Pavilion at Balmoral Beach

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January 3, 2013

Hinchinbrook wanderings – a retrospective

By the dragonfly
copyright: Louise Ralph

Mt Bowen on Hinchinbrook Island

My only resolution this year is to ‘seize the moment’.

So EB and I have been lapping up the holidays, paddling the Brisbane River and freewheeling on our Bromptons around the city.

And while we’re at home, it seems like the perfect time for a little ‘armchair travelling’ – retrospective style.

Here are some memories from my first through-walk effort with EB…

October 2007: A friend of mine has just come back from Fiji and she’s still floating on ten days of waves lapping the shore just outside their beach hut, water of the perfect colour and temperature, cocktails and smiling happy people…

We’re off to the coast next week ourselves. Except I’m carefully packing bush camping gear, insect repellent, dehydrated food, snake bandages and two changes of undies into a backpack that looks big enough to carry me.

We’re getting ready to walk the Thorsborne Trail on remote and beautiful Hinchinbrook Island, off the Queensland coast near Townsville. When I say remote, I’m talking about the only way out being evacuation by emergency helicopter – or on foot.

copyright: Louise Ralph

Achtung! Crocs hang out here.

So, once the ferry drops you off, you’re on your own. Unless you count the company of estuarine crocs, marine stingers, bush rats that steal your food, and a variety of bitey insects.

I’m sure I’ll appreciate the cloud-covered mountains, fragile heath vegetation, patches of lush rainforest, sweeping sandy beaches and rocky headlands – once I’ve dumped my pack for the day.

Did I mention I won’t be able to have a wine for a week?

But there’s bound to be a bit of whine-ing going on! The whole ‘experienced and fit bushwalkers’ thing has me shaking in my sturdy footwear. What was I thinking?

Next time my intrepid adventurer partner EB decides we need a holiday, I’m going to be there when he books it.

Five days later…

copyright: Louise Ralph

As we wait for the ferry to collect us at the end of our Hinchinbrook walk, you could knock me over with a feather. Not because I’m exhausted, but because I am in shock.

I started the walk thinking I’d be counting the days and the kilometres until I reached the end. But here I am, feeling sad that it’s over and wanting more.

I’ve lugged my 15 kg pack along rocky trails criss-crossed with tangled roots, negotiated slippery creek crossings, scrambled up and down rocky sections, and (almost) got used to March flies with a fatal attraction to my hair.

And I’ve loved every bit of it, with the possible exception of EB whacking me over the head constantly (It’s a March fly, he says. Yeah right).

Even with the bities and the humidity, it’s a fantastic walk. One moment we are deep in cool, lush rainforest or rock hopping across crystal clear creeks, the next we’re walking through mangrove and palm swamps, open eucalypt forest or grass tree shrubland.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Zoe Falls

Along the way, we stop to cool off in deep forest pools beneath cascading falls or slide into the pristine blue of one of Hinchinbrook’s bays.

At night, the island comes alive in a very Jurassic Park kind of way.

There’s a whole lot of squawking, hunting and foraging going on beyond the campsite – which is strangely comforting, except when you want to go outside for a pee.

Who would have thought carrying all your stuff on your back for four days could be so relaxing?

Hinchinbrook has left us both floating…and there wasn’t a cocktail in sight. Perfect.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Crab art on Hinchinbrook

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December 24, 2012

Paddling the Noosa River

By the dragonfly

On the day the world was ‘officially’ supposed to end, EB and I took off up the Noosa River on Australia’s Sunshine Coast for some paddling.

Copyright: Louise Ralph

Past paddling days along the upper reaches of the Noosa River

There’s nothing like camping and paddling along a gorgeous river, far from the silly-season crowds, to bring back a little perspective. That was the plan, anyway.

Our intention was to camp at Harry’s Hut on Noosa River’s upper reaches, which is only accessible by 4WD or on  foot. But height became our undoing.

We’ve been here many times, but this was the first time we’d negotiated the rough track in the Douglas Albert – and with our double kayak on top. We laughed at the distinct possibility that we’d almost get there, then not be able to get under or around a thick low-hanging branch.

Try a fallen tree, propped in the fork of a tree on the opposite side of the road, just low enough to shave the roof of our motorhome (and the kayak with it).

With shallow gullies either side and dusk settling around us, we had no choice but to shrug, do a 25-point turn (okay, slight exaggeration) and head back to the more accessible Boreen Point camping area, on the edge Lake Cootharaba.

We found some privacy beside a paperbark forest, far enough from the camping hordes settled in for the long holidays.

Copyright: Louise RalphWaking to a chorus of crickets the next morning, we set off to paddle across the lake towards the lower reaches of the Noosa River – and into a haze of smoke from bushfires on both river banks.

Along the sheltered edge of the lake, a sting ray nestled on the sandy bottom, its white-spotted brown body just visible.

Flashes of silver surrounded us as fish leapt out of the water. Now if we’d been fisher-folks…

Copyright: Louise RalphThe egrets we usually see here had evacuated, but a brahminy kite circled above us and darters extended their snake-like necks from safe perches to watch us passing.

The world didn’t end, and Christmas is upon us. Time to eat, drink, be merry – and plan our next trip or three.

Oh and to see if Santa will deliver a light-weight, waterproof, smashproof camera for our paddling, hiking and cycling adventures.

Cheers reindeers, and happy travels,

Lou and EB

Copyright: Louise Ralph

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November 27, 2012

Bringing the baby (bromptons) home

By the dragonfly

Our new toys have arrived, and they make every bike ride feel like a holiday. I’m even tempted to buy a baguette and a bunch of flowers for the ‘basket’.

Introducing our new Baby Bs. That’s B for Bromptons, the fabulous folding bikes we ordered before we went to France.

How fabulous? [Cue nursery rhyme music].

Copyright: Louise Ralph

This is the way we fold the Bs, fold the Bs…

Copyright: Louise Ralph

…fold the Bs. La la la

Let’s just say, we draw a crowd whenever we fold them up. Or maybe that’s because we now have that certain ‘weird’ factor.

Oh well, nothing like being windswept and interesting!

Besides, they’re super responsive and a bit like riding a BMX bike – so we’re having heaps of fun zipping around the place.

But wait, there’s more. They fit in the back of my Mini and in the Douglas Albert. We can use them for touring and (my favourite bit) we can easily jump on buses and trains with them. Perfect.

Mais maintenant, it’s time for me and EB to zip out to lunch. On our Bromptons of course. A plus tard…

EB’s Baby B. Nice.

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