UP THE CREEK

It's a gorgeous day, sunshine spilling across the seaside burbs, too good to stay in. 
We decide to go out, right out, right now. So we head for Eumundi and the road west to Kenilworth.
We're not far along our escape road when we're met by double tandem heavy earthmoving trucks, belting around the bends towards us and generally being big. Not relaxing stuff. Where are they coming from, where are they going? 
We bemoan the constant pop-up housing developments, the city-making dirt-sculpting of our once-were-villages homeplace.

A huge wedge-tail eagle is soaring above us, a welcome into Country.
We exit the truck pressure at the first Belli Creek crossing where there's a little park. The trucks continue to thunder over the bridge every three to five minutes, both ways. I determine to find out what they're about, but for now, we'll explore the creek. The cameras come out.

We've parked beneath a callistemon and I'm delighted to see the tiny red honeyeaters flitting among the red brush flowers.
A single transluscent pink hibiscus glows in the shade, it's throat deepening into burgundy.

We follow the track to the creek, disturbed to find the water distinctly milky-looking. It hasn't rained for some time and this creek usually runs clear. Another issue to query.

Tree roots claw the banks supporting whole families of trunks bound together in their bid to resist floodwaters and remain vertical.

At the entrance to the horse riders' track, two voluminous bushes of hovea are fully dressed in violet. I've never seen hovea bushes this size, or this full with blossom.

Back on the road again, heading west, we tango with the heavy truck traffic, and then head off left again, this time up the Gheerulla track. The dirt road winds into the gap between rocky mountain ridges.

Rose is telling me about a time when she saw thousands of the monarch butterflies here, flocked in layers upon each other. 

We share our childhood memories of these morphing creatures that lay their eggs on the "wild cotton" plants. As a child, I used to keep the leaves and caterpillars in shoeboxes, as they grew large and spun pupae, and emerged as the beautiful russet and black butterflies. And yes I released them. 

Rose's memory was to pick the seed pod and float it like a swan on water. We spy the very same plants and Rose holds the swan in her hand.

Mmmm, it's so very interesting when it's opened. 

A flowering eucalypt is waving honey in the air above us. Luscious.

Following the stream now, we go deeper into the gap. The road quickly becomes rocky, with dirt humps. Good thing the weather has been dry. Any rain and it could become slippery. We reach the campground without mishap. We're deep into forest now, beside a rock-lined swimming hole of clear water, edged with nature's rock garden.

We both have a strong sense of spirit presence in this place, a friendly abundant joyful place, no doubt beloved by those who walked before us, time before time. The little birds love it.

We'd love to camp here sometime but the dirt bike track runs through here, could get noisy, and that road in is a bit suss.

We drift on back out again with smoky hills in the distance now.

We swing left back on the road to Kenilworth and realise that somewhere along the way, we lost the trucks, thank goodness. It's time for a cuppa stop when we reach the little village of Kenilworth, but oh we must see what's happening in Lasting Impressions Gallery first…and it's as wonderful as ever, stunning art work.

Mid-afternoon, refreshed by cuppas and cake, and we're keen to go even a little further out. So off we go west again, through the bell miner bird colony, a wall of pipping sound, through the deep dark rainforest, across the bridge at Little Yabba Creek and pull into the park under the huge hoop pines and silky oaks.

People are camped in their vans, no-one moves in a hurry. It's so laid back. Some guys wander up from the stream with their fishing rods. Another man is singing, playing uke to a pair of feet out the door of their camper van.

We wander across the bridge and take in the broad rocky bed of the creek.

Then into the Fig Tree forest walk, 800 metres through rainforest. The forest has this dark, cool moist smell. Whipbirds dart through the litter on the forest floor. Giant stinger trees glow gold-green in the canopy.

And yes, there are giant fig trees, and pigeons, flycatchers, and wrens, and with a single miaowing call, a catbird. It's a fabulous walk experience.

As we exit the forest, we hear that the singer has gathered a little band and they're belting out a few old numbers…"We're all going on a summer holiday"…

The shadows are long, time to head home. A glorious sweet peach sunset rides at our backs as we head east to the coast through the lovely rolling hills. 

We're a little tired but so replenished. Nature has a way of doing that.

If you're up for an afternoon escape on the Sunshine Coast, head for Eumundi and take the Kenilworth road west. 

I'd not risk the Gheerulla Road in a 2WD again.

About 5ks past Kenilworth is the turn off on the right to Charlie Moreland Park campground…Sunday Ck Rd. The road in is about 5ks and all 2WD accessible. 

Just beyond the Sunday Ck turn is the Little Yabba Ck crossing, where the creek joins the Mary River. Here you'll find the Fig Tree walk coming off the bridge on the northern side of the pedestrian walk.

The next turn off the main road is to Booloumba Ck, beautiful but 4WD access, and the last creek crossing on this road is a little dodgy, so best walk the creek into the park…beautiful place, thick rainforest. Both Boolumba and Charlie Moreland parks have great swimming holes.

Postscript: The milky creek water was reported to the local catchment authority. The big trucks carry loads from the Moy Pocket Quarry to wherever development is happening.

UP THE HAWTHORN TRACK

The bus driver sets me down at Mahogany Drive and I wander through to Hawthorn Grove where there's a track into the Marcus Section of the Noosa National Park. 
It's a cool morning, dew on the grass, butcher birds singing arias from the treetops…our wonderful songbirds, ancestors of the world's songbirds, Out Of Australia.

This is a great track for wildflower hunting…if it's dry. We've had little rain in the last weeks so all should be well. It's early in the flowering season so it will be a hunt to find them.
The track divides thick wallum woodland to the left from a broad sweep of low growing wet wallum heath, swampy ground, mostly sand. There's an open view clear across the wet heathland to the Marcus high dunes.
Immediately I see that the heathland has been burned right up to the track edge. And the track is dry.

The morning dew is frosting some intricate little net entrapments created by some crafty little spiders no doubt.

Along the track as I enter the walk, the silver green patersonia clumps are sporting closed buds. They'll be open, flaring purple by the time I return.

Further in, I see that everywhere the wet heathland is charred to the sand. What was a tumble of chaotic intermeshed growth has become a skeleton frame of twisted charcoal black branches of hakea and swamp banksia, glowing green and gold underneath. At their base, growth spurt is pushing out velvety russet and softest green leaves; regeneration.

The clumps of wallum grasstree that populate the understory have been relieved of any trash. Sprinkled through them are the bobbing white faces of the milkmaids, and very occasionally a few tiny heads of sweet vanilla lily in tight pink buds on the end of long fine stalks. Wildflowers are like little jewels in this country. And like I said, it's early in the flowering season.

The wallum woodland on my left is thick, quite luscious, such a stark contrast to the burnt heath on my right. There are deep dark spaces through the trees, good for creatures to feel safe. Often there's a burr of wings close by. Up top the casuarinas are just beginning to take on their rusty red coats.

Butterflies flash black/white, cavorting, flirting, courting in the paperbarks. A tiny warbler finds breakfast in the creamy brush flowers, too quick to catch with my camera. And there's a friendly flycatcher, lovely fellow. Across the wet heathland I hear the reeearrk of black cockatoos.

In the grassy edge of the forest on my left, there are a few flowers popping through. Here a pink boronia, there a rice flower, a little philotheca (Qld), and profuse yellow pea flowers that I can never name as there are so many.

The burnt heath on my right is high drama now. Fronds of blechnum fern wave like so many flags shivering slightly in the breeze, glowing against the char, gold green on charcoal. Such a lifeforce surging.

I've reached the boggy bit of the track. It doesn't look too bad, I can walk on the outer edges. I'm pleased to see the clumps of villarsia lily that grow here have survived the burn. They're already holding tall spears of buds.

I wander the return. The black cockies sweep over the swamp. It's really warm now. When I reach the patersonias, their buds are open to the sun, so gorgeous.

If the sunshine keeps happening through the next couple of weeks, this is a wonderful track to wander. If it rains, forget it …or wear your rubber boots.

You'll find this track off Hawthorn Grove, off Mahogany Drive, off David Low Way, Marcus Beach, Qld. Happy wildflower hunting.