Picnic at Reids Flat

It's only a tiny adventure today: I don't even have my camera to glam things up with a photo and I'm visiting a place well-known to me in the summer when we go swimming here.
Still, it felt like a small adventure going out of season and seeing the river in a different mood. I took a little picnic with us. Dave the Rucksack looked like he'd swallowed a wasp, so skin tight and puffed out with rug, food, thermos and swim gear. Sure, it's autumn but the river has the scent and temperature of the sea which is not far away, and it still warm enough to swim in. For other , braver people that is.
When we arrived, there was hardly anyone about except a trio of mums carting little girls in pink frou-frou around on a golden day-bed. They were obviously doing a photo shoot, but it was very surreal. Seems ironic to dress kids up to the hilt in pink sequinned glamour and then take photo's of them in a natural setting...Yeah, okay I just sound old instead of philosophical.
I picked a grassy spot beneath a tree, overlooking the crooked green elbow of the river and sat watching the hypnotic pin-prick sparkle of sun on water. Occasionally there would be a plop, and like a shooting star, a fish would leap from the water so fast you only caught the ripples of their disappearance.
Like the bank I sat on, the far side is all sandstone; some of it flat with oyster-encrusted shelves hanging over the water, the rest massive boulders which perhaps once tumbled down the treed hill behind.
I sipped my coffee, very aware how lucky I was to be able to sit peacefully in such a beautiful spot.Just magic.
Eventually I noticed the blue sky was having a white cloud tucked under its chin and it would soon rain, so we packed up for home like everyone else. Soon the river would enjoy some peace for itself.

Dave the Rucksack at Karloo Pool

A beautiful Autumn day that promises to go sour in the afternoon sees us heading off into the bush by mid-morning.
Once again, a well-worn path, this time to the Karloo Pool in the Royal National Park. At least it is a 3 hour round walk and medium grade, so for a green adventurer like me, this is good practice:lots of broken-up terrain and sandstone plateaus to negotiate with the promise of a swim at the end to sweeten the deal.
Theres lots of Banksia Ericifolia in bloom, lighting up the scrub with their orange candles. As we wind down, down down into the valley I admit to groaning a bit at the thought of having to ascend all this a little later. Confirming this, a walker passes us coming up from below; he is not smiling and looks far fitter than I. Oh God.
But all concerns are washed away when we reach the soothing green vista of the Karloo Pool. With a lovely mantle of green bush behind it, the pool just beckons for a swim leaving you gasping and invigorated in it clean chill waters. We sat on the bank, eating sandwiches and enjoying all the squeaking and carry on of anyone game enough to go for a swim. I loved the mineral smell of the creek and the sound of wrens in the undergrowth, but at some point , with weather threatening, its time to get back. My thighs are crying silently at the thought, but I shoulder Dave bravely and off we head. Along the way we are thrilled to see some baby bearded dragons ( I think, since I've never seen one so small. Well, they weren't brown snakes and that is the main thing).
We'll definitely head back down to the lovely pool again sometime soon.

Dave the Rucksack Has a Little Outing

Okay, it was no walk through the untamed wild, but it was through the bush, albeit along a well-trodden track. Still, it was an enjoyable trudge among majestic eucalyts, racking my brains for the names of flowers and avoiding at all costs having enormous orb-weavers in your hair. The peaceful river below, with it's dozen pint-size beaches was just begging to be canoed upon. I love the fresh air and the faint smell of clay and modestly perfumed blooms. It's lovely to know that though I have an endless sprawl of suburbia before me, I have a wilderness at my back.

Dave the Rucksack Arrives in Hobbiton

I had been applying salves of Tolkien and Thoreau, when a life-bouy arrived in the form of a ruck-sack named 'Dave.'
It was love at first sight. Dave wasn't just some frivolous purchase from one of my English Country Home porn mags; he was Bilbo Baggins heading out onto the road, he was Ratty messing about in boats, he was a gypsy caravan, a canal boat, a pair of Redstone rollerskates on the top of a steep San Francisco hill. He was a red flag snapping at the nose of adventure- and he wanted me to join him!
Sure, there was that wonderful spark of loves first bloom when I first savagely ripped Dave from his Postpak womb, but it wasn't until my husband started referring to him as an extra family member, that I knew things were serious. My husband even made little jokes of jealousy over Dave, possibly because I wouldn't put the bloody thing down. And I was obsessed with repacking him. Made from Organic cotton canvas, Dave was no polyester light-weight to begin with. And he had a severe case of pockets (which I only found endearing)which I knew it was of vast importance to fill with two of each species of animal, toiletries, first aid kit, emergency books, art and writing sets, plus bottled water if I must.
My devotion to Dave awakened me to the fact that I hadn't been doing too well. I mean here I was, preparing to climb the fells in search of Smaug, when in fact I lived in the guts of suburbia in Sydney. I had a garden that was a mess unless you squinted, a house that probably needed bulldozing but we couldn't afford to rebuild and a mortgage big enough to squeeze the gonads off Hemingway. AND I was busy. Two gorgeous teenage zombies, a flustered husband, two shedding hounds, two reproducing male guinea pigs and a part-time job in a fabulous book-store filled with papery things I had no time to read. Did I mention I also wanted to be a published author and illustrator? (insert sounds of maniacal laughter here.)
I just really wanted to chuck a Moley and toss the effing whitewashing in and follow the dandelion puffs over the hill to the sparkling River.
I thought about Bilbo and how he had been hood-winked and rifle-birded out his front door with ne'er a moment to grab pipe, hat and kerchief. He hadn't planned that adventure like a P & O cruise; months of mooning over which knickers to take and speculating what to wear at a craps table. It had just sort of happened to him. God, where was Gandalf when you needed that swift kick up the arse?
I had definitely been going about things the P & O way until Dave's arrival. I guess he was my Gandalf. I'd long wanted change, craved adventure, but I thought in order to be allowed IT, I had to get the rest of my life right first.Ordered, dusted and eco-friendly. Yet Thoreau had pissed off to Walden without permission or a tick of approval from the masses. And everyone admires him. Right? Well, probably everyone hated him or thought he was a weirdo back then but the important thing is that we love him now and respect him. Respect. I needed some of that for myself.I need to think for myself, find myself, some peace, reflection, stillness. And here was Dave offering to keep me company for the duration if I would but go.
Will I go????????????