Walks – Walking With Kids

Linden Creek, Faulconbridge

Last Sunday marked our family’s return to bushwalking since COVID-19 restrictions were lifted. We headed to the small village of Faulconbridge to follow a trail leading to Linden Creek, a popular walk among the locals. Linden Creek criss-crosses many suburbs in the Blue Mountains and is a major tributary of the Grose River which then feeds into the Hawkesbury River.

“The bad news is, there are leeches on this track. The good news is, there are leeches on this track and the sooner you learn about them, the more places you can explore when you grow up.” The pre-bushwalk spiel to the family was really to prepare me – I have an aversion to slugs, snails and leeches which Miss 7 and Master 5 have, thankfully, not picked up. The spiel was accompanied by a generous drenching of insect repellent and clothes shuffling as pants got stuffed in socks.

On the way to Linden Creek via Highlands Road Fire trail

It rained the day prior to our walk which made the path muddy and slippery. The sounds of boots squelching, bell miners calling in their punctuated tinkling bell calls, and the wind rushing through the trees accompanied our slow walk to the end of the fire trail. Here we were greeted by the steep descent to Linden Creek and one of Miss 7’s favourite things: rock boulders.

Rock boulders at Highlands Rd Faulconbridge fire trail to Linden Creek

There were plenty of giggles from Master 5 who found it amusing to slide down the rocks on his bottom. The walk down to the trail near the creek bed took us a bit over an hour as we slowly and carefully made our way down the boulders littered with loose rocks. The sunlight became more and more muted by the towering eucalyptus canopy and the air was noticeably cooler as we reached the fern-lined path next to the creek.

“Walk faster please”, “Don’t touch the ferns”, and “They can also drop from above” I nervously called out as I ran and peered to the left to find suitable stepping stones that led to the creek. Andrew walked at the same leisurely pace, the appointed leech remover. I couldn’t bring myself to walk further into the trail where more densely clumped ferns and the glistening wet track apparently housed (I was told by a local after the walk) the said leeches and a wagon wheel of potential historical value or was originally one of the wheel displays from the front yard of 49 Highlands Street above. The wagon wheel had to wait another day, when I am finally ready to deal with leeches.

Miss 7 led our run up, away from the ferns and the creek towards the steep boulder ascent to return the way we came. When we reached the fire trail, we walked together in silence for a few minutes then she held my had before saying, “Mummy, you should stop being scared of leeches so you can explore more places.” Touché.

Want to try another rock scrambling track (without leeches)? Check out our post, Berowra Waters Scramble, for a day hike or an overnight camping trip on the banks of the Hawkesbury River.

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Elysian Rock Lookout and Olympian Rock Lookout, Leura

1 January 2019

2: 45 am – Alarm rings. Andrew and I both go back to bed.

3:10 am – Andrew’s stomping about the room wills me out of bed. Morning bodily business followed by rugging up the sleeping kids.

3:30 am – “Why do they have fireworks on New Year, I heard some last night?” Miss 6 asks sleepily as I help her buckle her seat belt. “I’m still sleepy, can I keep sleeping?” Master 4 pleads. “I’ll tell you more later, you both go back to sleep,” I reply efficiently. Andrew waits by the burring Nespresso machine making our first dose of coffee for the year.

3:45 am to 4:45 am – We get ourselves on the Great Western Highway and ascend to Leura. Andrew and I spot a highway patrol car stopped behind a P-plater and debate whether or not an imposition of road-work-induced-80-kph-zone is appropriate on a 110 kph road without any visible road works ongoing. Ensuing silence is punctuated by mine and Andrew’s “Wows” at magnified starlit paths along unlit parts of the highway, accentuated by the dim waning crescent moon.

4.46 am – Arrive at the spot GPS told us to go but it turns out to be a private driveway. We back out the driveway as the household’s outdoor automatic lights reveals our intrusion. Consult our go to guide for all New South Wales related walks, Wildwalks.

4.48 am – Success! We find the track entrance to Elysian Rock Lookout located to the left of the white boundary fence to the public gardens and amphitheatre in front of the Leuralla Toy and Railway Museum. With first light at 5:22 am, we have plenty of time to navigate our way down the unlit 10-minute track.

4:52 am – I piggyback sleeping Master 4. Andrew back lights our way with his mobile phone while fielding Miss 6’s questions on whether snakes are more active at night or in the morning. I drag my shoes along the dirt path to make as much noise to herald our presence to any snakes about.

5:10 am – We are the first to arrive at the lookout and position ourselves on one of the benches. As we get used to the stillness of the fog-filled valley before us, cricket chirping becomes more apparent. Morning flute calls of a lone magpie is answered by a laughing kookaburra perhaps echoing from another part of the valley. “I want to go home,” Miss 5 complains. “Let’s wait for the sunrise so we can sing ‘NANTS INGONYAMA BAGITHI BABA’ like the sun rise in Lion King,” I explain. “Umm, okay,” she replies then resumes pensively looking at the orange streaked horizon. When Master 4 takes his sister’s lead, I bribe them both with McDonalds breakfast. Andrew takes photos.

5:22 am – Sunrise. Our annual attempt to witness the first light of each new year is rewarded. We celebrate the first sun-lit part of the new year in silence among a dozen strangers before greeting those awake and friendly enough with a “Happy New Year!”.

5.50 am – Bush toilet search yields another lookout. Should we go? Of course! It’s 2019! We’ll strive to seize today and each and every one of the 364 days that follow.

Distance:

600 metres, return

Pram/Wheelchair:

Map:

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2018 Walking Group Adventures

In 2018, the Walking With Kids Family Walking Group, made up of literally, our family, was born. Here is a quick look at our walking year.

Thank you to Mia and Roda for the reconnaissance trips throughout the year. You are both wonderful role models for the kids and you bring the best snacks.

Thank you to all the parents, grandparents, aunts, uncles, and friends who went on the walks this year. We really appreciate the gifts you provided to everyone in each walk: your time, your presence, your stories, and of course, your shared yummy post-walk snacks. We hope to see you again in 2019 for more family walks and adventures!

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Waterfall Track, Mount Wilson

Mt Wilson is a small village off the Bells Line of Road in the Blue Mountains. The village harbours quiet fern-filled gullies, often overlooked by most visitors who are lured by the chestnut picking and the autumnal deciduous leaf displays. One morning in May, my mum (“Nanay”), my kids, and I decided to take advantage of the bushwalking solitude Mt Wilson had to offer.

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Pulau Ubin, Singapore

In 2016, armed with umbrella strollers, baby carriers, and two massive backpacks, Andrew and I took our then two-year-old son and four-year-old daughter on a backpacking trip through 15 European cities with a couple of stopovers in Singapore. This is but one of our many memories from that trip.

I first heard about Pulau Ubin on a CNN ad in 2016 while unpacking our bags in an air-conditioned Singapore hotel room. “Surely if we leave early enough, we will miss the heat,” I explained to Andrew as I organised our belongings to make the hotel room feel like home, something I would do 16 more times in the coming months. Eager to explore Singapore beyond its city limits, Andrew agreed. Miss 4’s pleas to go back to the Jacob Ballas children’s playground we visited earlier in the morning were replaced with questions like “Will there be sharks?” and “Will the boat sink?” after I explained to her that we get to go on a bumboat to get to the island.

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Berowra Waters Scramble

Last summer, my cousins and I planned a camping trip to Mt Kosciuszko, as we do every few summers. Lightning storms were forecasted and the trip had to be relocated as one of our friends had a metal plate in his arm. We decided to change our camping location to Wolgan Valley, closer to home and near the Glow Worm Tunnel Walk. Twenty four hours before the trip, bushfires erupted in that area of the Blue Mountains. Running out of options and time, texting alternative tracks close to midnight, we settled on the Berowra to Cowan section of the Great North Walk, the section frequented by Seven Summit enthusiasts and ultra marathon runners.

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Truganini Lookout, Bruny Island

With the Grass Point Trail and the Lighthouse Walk taking up the most of our day, Andrew and I decided to keep walking after dinner by heading to the Truganini Lookout. The Lookout, with its 200 plus steps, is on an isthmus of land connecting north and south Bruny Island and was conveniently located near our accommodation.

The beach near the track is open until dusk during Tasmanian summers. When we reached the beach, Andrew and I sat on the sand, satiated and sluggish with pizza and steak from the Bruny Island Hotel. The children spent a few minutes repeatedly teasing then running away from the crashing waves.

At around 8 pm, Ranger Stacey and her junior rangers asked beach goers to get off the sand. We were informed that the shearwaters and the penguins needed the beach to be clear so they can come back to their rookery located under the platforms above the walk. Estimated time of re-entry in burrows: 9.45 pm for the shearwaters and 10.00 pm for the penguins.

Ranger Stacey started with an Acknowledgment to Country for the traditional custodians of South Bruny Island, the Nuenonne, before giving the growing group of families a background on short-tailed shearwaters and little penguins, the magnificent birds we were about to witness coming home that night. Some shearwater oil and a stuffed little penguin were passed around, morbid yet poignant reminders of the millions of birds killed for human use and amusement. I’m not complaining, I eat chicken…

As informative as the talk was, it made me reflect on how sometimes what is not mentioned in a story is as important as what is mentioned. There was no mention of Truganini or her people that managed to survive the genocide of the 1800s. Truganini was a Tasmanian Aboriginal woman who even in death, could not escape the brutal dispossession and destruction of her land and culture. Her bones were exhumed for public display shortly after her death in 1876 and some of her body parts were sent to different institutions for “scientific study”. It was only in 1976 that her request to be cremated was finally honoured.

As to what was mentioned in the talk, at 9.45 pm, the shearwaters made their precision landings into or near their burrows. Shortly after, a raft of about 15 penguins landed on the beach. With red cellophane on our mobile phone lights, we witnessed the graceful swimmers turn into bumbling waddlers. With mingled bird cries filling the air, penguin and chick and burrow were reunited for the night. My son whispered “Good night,” to each penguin he spotted while my daughter had to be sternly reminded by Ranger Stacey to stop jumping so as not to scare the penguins. It was 11 pm when we finally pulled out of the car park and into the dark roads of Bruny Island, smug with the thought of walking three bushwalks in one day, with kids.

Looking for child-friendly materials that promote Aboriginal and Torres Strait Islander cultural awareness and don’t know where to start? Click here for a copy of Aunt Annie’s Sorry Day to start your journey.

Want to learn more about birds? Click here to visit the Birdlife website. Identify some birds in your backyard, read up on their current campaigns, and start your own bird survey family project. Click here to buy a copy of Adam Nicolson’s book on oceanic aviators. See below for his description of shearwaters.

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Lighthouse Walk, Bruny Island

Fresh from our two-hour walk at the Grass Point Trail, still full from our 11 am cafe brunch, and with four hours to spare before our much coveted pub dinner booking at Bruny Island Hotel, Andrew and I decided to drive to the Southern end of Bruny Island to visit the lighthouse. Past endless horizons of cloudy sky and eucalyptus-scented tree-filled green, Andrew focused on getting our family safely through narrow dirt roads as I drifted in and out of my afternoon nap like our kids on the back seat.

When we arrived at the main entrance to the lighthouse, Andrew, not one for naps, stepped out to brave the gusts of wind blowing in from the Tasman Sea to explore. With a quick “I can see the lighthouse from my window, have fun,” I moved to the driver’s seat to resume my nap with the kids, occasionally nudged back to consciousness by conversations carried by the wind into our half open car windows. Twenty minutes later, with Andrew content with his share of alone time and myself refreshed and resuming the driving duties, we slowly drove away from the lighthouse. 200 metres later, our son woke up, filling the car with guttural screaming to match Sepultura, one line repeated over and over: “I want lighthooooooouuussseeeee!!!!!”.

From the bottom car park white gates, we walked towards an old cottage housing a small museum. Looking out one of the windows, I found myself romanticizing the solitude unperturbed by earlier sign reading, “A welcome and a Warning”. The lighthouse is claimed to be the oldest existing tower under Australian Commonwealth Control. Completed with convict labour and lit by whale lamps in 1838, these days the lighthouse is decommissioned, replaced by a solar-powered automatic light located on a hill east of the lighthouse.

After the small museum, we headed towards the wire gates to follow the concrete steps leading to the lighthouse. My daughter led the way as Andrew and I took turns piggybacking the reason why we got ourselves on this impromptu walk in the first place.

As we arrived at the lighthouse, we met the keeper who just finished the last tour and was locking up for the day. “Don’t blow away kids,” he said as he made his way down the hill. Taking the keeper’s words literally, my son tightened his grip on my hands. Despite much squinting, because I left our binoculars back in the car and because of the cloud cover, it was hard to discern Pedra Branca and Eddystone Rock. These rocks are said to be white-tipped due to generations of pelagic birds’ droppings.

Some say “Your life is a product of your choices.” By making a choice to turn around, our family found three more tracks to explore for another day: to the white sands of Jerry Beach, to pristine and secluded beaches of Cloudy and Mabel Bays, and to the dolerite cliffs of Quiet Bay. Three more of the thousands of reasons why our family will continue to come back to Tasmania over the years to come.

Distance:

Pram/Wheelchair:

Map:

1 kilometre return

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Grass Point Trail, Bruny Island

Away from the Australian island continent, on the lower eastern side of the island state of Tasmania, lies Bruny Island. Five years ago, Andrew and I were lured to Bruny by the prospect of fresh seafood and cheese. Five years and two toilet-trained and non-stroller dependent kids later, we went back ready to explore some of the bushwalks the island had to offer. We started with the Grass Point Trail which started on the beach to the right of the Fluted Cape parking area.

At 11am, there were already families coming back from the trail as Andrew and I lingered at the start dusting off wet sand. A passing walker recounted how the track took 40 minutes walking in, then 20 minutes walking back. I thanked him and waved to his school-aged children. In the background I could hear Andrew imploring our kids to continue walking. I mentally doubled, then tripled, the kind walker’s figures.

The land for sale to the right of the start of the track triggered my memory of a conversation I overheard at the local oyster place the day before. “You must have to travel out of the island to find things to do,” said a lady in her 40s. “It’s so quiet here, what do you do for fun?” her friend added swilling her white wine. Not missing a beat, the stubbled beanie-wearing waiter, the object of condescension or perhaps flirtation, replied, “Oh I keep busy, I bought 40 acres of land in South Bruny a few years ago and I spend my time camping in and exploring it when I’m not working here.” Anyway, I wondered, will that part of Bruny be subdvided, sold, and commercialised in a few years time or will the owner protect it and keep it wild ala JD Tipper and Mougamarra Nature Reserve? Time will tell.

Andrew and I trailed behind the kids, him taking photos, me finding gaps in the trees to look for seabirds through my binoculars. Our children busied themselves inspecting and collecting what I hoped were gum nuts and not scat, assessing sticks for walking stick suitability, and pointing out insects along the track.

At one point, my son tripped on the track. I suspect it was because his shoes didn’t really have much tread. He was left with some shallow cuts on his forehead imprinted by the gravel he fell on. Andrew dispensed some lollipop treats that comforted our son enough to stop crying, but he refused to walk. Some reshuffling of cameras, binoculars and bags between Andrew and I, followed by a safety talk on how to eat a lollipop while sitting on mummy’s shoulder, then we were ready to continue on.

The trail ended on a pebbly beach. A few hundred metres away, a tour boat gently bobbed up and down to the beat of the waves. Our kids waved and shouted, their hellos muted by the wind. Some people on the boat waved back while most continued to look intently to the right of where we were standing. Intrigued, I urged the kids to continue walking along the beach to investigate. We were rewarded with a view of a rocky outcrop in front of Penguin Island where terns, seagulls, and cormorants rested.

Our walk back the way we came was spent by everyone listening to my son pointing out where his blood dripped all over the trail although in reality, only a pin prick blood was spilled where his forehead hit the gravel. We played along as this distracted into walking most of the track back.

Some shelf back in Sydney lay a partially read copy of Adam Nicolson’s “The Seabirds Cry: The Lives and Loves of Puffins, Gannets, and Other Ocean Voyagers” and Jeannie Baker’s children‘s book about kelp, “The Hidden Forest”. The Grass Point Trail enriched our reading nights when we got back home, bringing us closer to the world and creatures we thought we’d only ever see through books.

Distance:

Pram/Wheelchair:

Map:

4 kilometres return

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Dove Lake Circuit, Cradle Mountain

On a recent visit to Launceston, Andrew and Neil, foodies at heart, wanted to explore the region’s wine route. Alicia and I, with many hikes shared together, wanted to go further afield for a short day walk at the Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park. We were only in Launceston for less than a week so we decided to go our separate ways. My son decided that he would go with the foodies while my daughter volunteered to join her womenfolk on a mini-hike around the Dove Lake Circuit. This is a quick recount of the girls’ day out.

The drive from Launceston to the Cradle Mountain Visitor Centre took two hours of driving bliss. We passed towns like Promised Land and Nowhere Else while listening to traffic reports proudly reporting “no traffic” and weather forecasts announcing clear blue skies and pleasant twenty-degree temperatures throughout the week. It was no wonder Alicia and I spent nights throughout our Tasmanian holiday, texting each other links to houses for sale and dreaming of endless trails to explore. No doubt like millions of mainlanders who have holidayed in Tasmania before us.

We arrived at an almost full Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair carpark where Alicia and I decided to catch a shuttle to the start of the walk instead of driving in. This ended up being a good decision because the roads into the park were narrow gravel roads more suited to four-wheel drives. We also got some helpful tips from the ranger like it’s best to walk the track in a clockwise direction for better photos of the Cradle Mountain saddle and that the quickest way to finish the Dove Lake Circuit was to get off the shuttle, walk to Glacier Rock, take a selfie, then get back on the shuttle.

The start of the track was very busy and made me suspect that the ranger’s whole spiel about walking clockwise on the track was aimed more at facilitating the traffic among the herds of tourists, than for the supposed Cradle Mountain photo opportunities. When we got to Glacier Rock, a giant quartzite boulder scratched by ancient glacier debris, I urged my daughter to avoid the people taking selfies on the unfenced edge by crouching low near the edge of the rock that was closest to the footpath. The crowd disappeared when we continued our walk, away from Glacier Rock. The ranger’s words on the quickest way to finish the walk rang true.

The walk was straightforward and no map was required. Looking out from the higher sections of the track, we could see faint trails leading to the water’s edge, a few of which we followed. When we reached the sandy pebbly shores, small waves of icy cold glacial water were a most welcome respite for our weary toes.

Parts of the track housed cool temperate rainforest vegetation of ancient towering myrtle-beech trees carpeted in moss and lichen like the ground they stood in. Native flowers, trees, and grasses, common in the mainland, sprinkled the scrub and lake shores. We walked to the sounds of rustling leaves , water gently slapping rocks, conversations carried in the wind, and cawing of what appeared to be forest ravens. Such a peaceful setting made it easier to absorb the finer details of our surroundings.

The track was made of loose gravel, meandering boardwalk, and some sections were paved in stone. We exchanged fleeting greetings with other hikers, some parents, the most dedicated of which was a father with a front carrier with a baby and a back carrier loaded with a toddler. I uttered a silent thanks to the universe when my daughter only asked to be carried once. Down hill. Towards the end of the walk.

Towards the end of our walk, my daughter kept looking up at the sky and walking faster. I asked her what was bothering her. She confessed that she was worried it might get dark soon and that the shuttle might leave us. I showed her my watch and explained the last shuttle leaves at 7.00 pm and the ranger will wait for us, having logged our trip intentions in the guest book before the start of the walk.

In the end, we finished the walk in four hours with plenty of daylight left for the drive back to Launceston. My daughter said the best part of the trip was spending time with her aunt and chomping on our stash of chocolate bars. No doubt, Alicia, my daughter, and I will continue sharing outdoor adventures together for many many years to come. Someday perhaps exploring the Pacific Coast Trail, the Appalachian Trail, or the Camino together. But I’m getting ahead of myself. For now, one step at a time close to home, is good walking.

Distance:

Wheelchair/Pram:

Map:

6 kilometers, circuit

No:

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Tamar Island Boardwalk, Launceston

The Tamar Island Boardwalk meanders through wetlands that lead to the grassy Tamar Island then ends on a wooden platform overlooking the kanamaluka/Tamar River. The Tamar wetlands is home to a variety of birds, mammals, reptiles, frogs, fish, and insects. The wetlands currently supports over 1% of the world populations of pied oystercatchers and chestnut teals. A few years ago, Andrew and I walked along the Tamar Island Boardwalk with our then eighteen-month-old daughter who wobbled along slowly next to the pram. Fast forward to 2017 and we were back with two children along with our new-found family walking buddies: my sister-in-law, Alicia, and her partner, Neil, which you may remember from our previous Forest Path Walk.

We started our day at the Wetlands Centre where we picked up maps and the kids inspected preserved specimens of native animals common to the area. My son kept whispering “Is that dead?” then pointing to each display, which Andrew and I took turns in answering with varying versions of yes. Our kids are familiar with the sight of stuffed animals having visited many museums and I have explained, to my daughter at least, that although some animals are killed just because people want them in a collection, most are required to die naturally before they are preserved. At this stage, the age-appropriate version of “naturally” is old age which has recently led her to question why her great-grandmother is still alive. Some drawers were accessible to the visitors, one of which housed a replica of a copperhead snake that was enough to entertain the kids for a few minutes while us adults rummaged through the reference books, peeked through the spotting scopes, and checked the recent lists of bird sightings

After the Wetlands Centre, we continued walking for about 500 metres before veering to a side track sheltered by a small patch of melaleuca forest. Here, we were treated to the sight of a bevy of swans slowly navigating their way around trees in the shallow waters. When they sensed us watching, they hurried their pace and broke away from the forest to slow float on the lake next to the bird hide. My daughter said the bird hide smelt like our chicken coop which was enough to deter Neil from going in.

Away from the melaleuca forest, a constant cool breeze soothed our skins from the stinging midday sun. The continuous rushing noise along the board walk from the wind-swept reeds and sedges served as reminder that these were the dominant vegetation in the area. My son was intent on finding snakes, unstirred by a bird of prey gracefully circling above us, and the orange-beaked blobs – pelicans – flying towards the water. Alicia and I watched dragonflies darting in and out of the reeds working out the mechanics on how it was possible for our parents to have caught such delicate insects bare-handed. The horizon changed every few bends, from blue skies and cotton wool clouds grounded by farmlands on the mountain sides on one bend, to glimpses of power lines and urban sprawl running along the Tamar Highway the next.

There are three bridges along the walk, each offering a welcome breeze and views of the river. Each bridge had a few benches ideal for resting, re-adjusting piggy-back or shoulder-riding passengers, and the usual watching of the river, the reeds, the birds, the sky, the nearby mountains, whatever appeals to the beholder. I am a bad birdwatcher so naming the birds we saw was a result of thumbing through the Birdlife brochures and bird books we had at home, long after our walk, where my kids and I shared small Eureka moments matching the pictures we took and the details we remembered to the photos we found on our bird books.

An hour later, our shoes crunched gravel signalling our arrival on Tamar Island. We watched superb fairy wrens dart in and out the bushes along the path. Reeds and sedges behind us, we sat at the picnic area munching on some fruit and muesli bars to my son’s squeals of “I want to go home”. Under the sympathethic gaze of the family of four at the picnic bench next to us, we carried on for another 500 metres, with my son on my shoulders.

The walk ended at a platform overlooking a wide section of kanamaluka/Tamar River. Here we watched a small boat rip through the small waves, a faint whirring sound in the otherwise quiet setting. Well, as quiet as the gusts of wind, the wet slaps of water on the timber posts, distant bird calls, my children’s giggles while pointing out bird poo patches on the platform, and conversations among us adults about wanting to move to Launceston for good. We returned the way we came with Andrew and I sharing the load that was our son while Neil, Alicia, and my daughter set a fast pace back to the shady respite of the our cars.

Distance:

Pram/Wheelchair:

Map:

3.2 kilometres return

Yes

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JD Tipper Loop and Point Loop, Muogamarra Nature Reserve, Cowan

Determined to give the family a break from our routine bushwalks in eucalypt-laden forests (well, okay, we live in Australia), I booked a walking tour at the Muogamarra Nature Reserve in Cowan. Muogamarra is only open to the public six weekends a year, between August to September, when the wildflowers are in bloom. The Reserve is home to over 900 species of native plants, 16 reptiles, and 140 native birds have been sighted here. We got a sense of the Reserve’s popularity when at 9.30 am on the day of our walk, we arrived to an almost full carpark and lined up for maps behind a throng of nature buffs, young and old, all bright, early, and eager to explore.

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Bungoona Path and Rawson Parade Trail Loop, Audley

Approximately 1 km loop, 30 minutes

Decades ago when I was growing up in the Philippines, a distant relative we called Lola [grandma] Eling stayed with us one summer. That summer, Lola Eling took me, my brother, and her grandson on outings with minimal fuss and preparation. Our recent walk at the Bungoona Path and Rawson Parade Trail in the Audley end of the Royal National Park reminded me of the impromptu days out to parks with Lola Eling with just breakfast leftovers neatly tucked in her handbag. One time she just picked up a pot with some leftover rice that was mostly the brown crunchy bit, dumped the leftover fried egg and tuyo [dried fish] inside, wrapped some plates and cutlery in tissue, put all these in a plastic bag, then off we went to rent bikes at the local park. In Lola Eling style, this impromptu walk was agreed to on the day because the track was short and it was near where we had to drop off my sister-in-law, Alicia, anyway. We brought some leftover fruits and crackers from home.

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Forest Path, Royal National Park

4.4 km loop, 1 hour 45 minutes

My sister-in law, Alicia, and her partner, Neil, recently joined my family for a winter walk at the Forest Path in the Royal National Park. The Forest Path was built in 1886, seven years after the park was declared a “National Park”. Logging was permitted in the area during the early part of this century, but public pressure led to the cancellation of the logging contracts. The signboards at the start of the walk remind visitors that “These majestic forests remain a memorial for those people who spoke for them.”

Despite having weeks to check out the Wildwalks track notes for the Forest Path, Andrew and I left reading them to the last minute. This meant we ended up being at the wrong entrance to the walk in Audley, while Alicia and Neil were at the correct entrance, closer to Waterfall. The kids were oblivious to the slight mishap. With a stroke of serendipity, Alicia and Neil were able to receive Andrew’s voicemail on our whereabouts before their reception failed and it turned out they had to come back to the NPWS Office in Audley to buy their park entrance ticket anyway.

After swooping to a branch then to this bench, this cockatoo warily watched the kids.

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Gadyan Track, Berry Island Reserve, Wollstonecraft

750 metres loop, 40 minutes

It was a sunny winter morning when we decided to stop by Wollstonecraft to explore the Gadyan Track in Berry Island. Berry Island used to be a stand alone island until it was connected to the mainland in the 1960’s through a man-made isthmus of rocks and mud, making the flat picnic area enjoyed by many today. The island contains rock engravings, stone grinding grooves, and middens made by the original occupants of the North Sydney region, the Cammeraygal. To the east of the island lies an Australian Navy establishment and to the west lies a fuel import and storage facility.

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Beach Track and Providential Point Lookout Track, Wattamolla

1 km loop

The Royal National Park is Australia’s first national park and the second oldest national park in the world after Yellowstone in the United States. It was a crisp winter Sunday morning and we started the day lounging at my sister-in-law and her partner’s place in Engadine for a quick visit to return their car that we borrowed last week before heading to the Royal National Park next door. I was so excited to show my kids the ocean-fronting clifftops, the open Pacific Ocean, and coastal heathland that captured me in my twenties but I was met with both of them saying “I don’t like bushwalks,” eyes glued to the TV, intent on finding out how Owlette, Catboy, and Gecko would thwart Romeo’s evil plans. Andrew and I finally succeeded in prying them away from the TV (after all we’re about walking with kids) but it really made me wonder whether they were actually getting anything out of our walks.

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Nepean Lookout, Glenbrook

1.4 km return, 40 minutes

After a week of winter rain, I was relieved that the sun finally came out on the last day of the Queen’s Birthday long weekend. With our daughter spending the long weekend with my parents, Andrew and I decided to take our two-year-old son for an easy walk to the Nepean Lookout in Glenbrook. The Nepean Lookout boasts stunning views of Fairlight Gorge that was carved by the Nepean River along part of a fault line running along the eastern edge of the Blue Mountains.

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Cumberland State Forest, West Pennant Hills

Sensory Trail, 350 m loop, 30 minutes

Forestry Trail, 1.3 km loop, 1 hour

The Cumberland State Forest in West Pennant Hills is home to over 100 species of birds being the last remnant of genuine forest in the Sydney Hills District. The Forest was established in 1939 with parts of it naturally regenerated from earlier agricultural clearing and other parts planted as an arboretum. According to the Forestry Corporation, the Dharug, Guringah and Gummeriagal Aboriginal people traditionally visited the Forest.

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Waterfall Track, Hunts Creek Reserve, Carlingford

2.5 km return, 50 minutes

After a lazy Saturday breakfast of rice bubbles, leftover Thai, and what turned out to be stale peanut butter on toast, our family decided to go on a bushwalk. Andrew and I consulted our trusty go-to list of bushwalks then agreed to take the kids to the waterfall at the Hunts Creek Reserve in Carlingford. A bushwalk leading to a waterfall and only 25 minutes away? It was hard to say no.

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Leura Cascades Circuit, Leura

844 metres loop, 30 minutes

“I am not wearing that raincoat because it is not raining!” my four-year-old daughter cried as our small family of four packed into our car. “But it might be raining up the mountains today so we have to be prepared.” I answered in exasperation looking up towards the overcast sky. Her expression changed to wonder as she asked quietly “Why is it raining up the mountains and not here?” I made a mental note to Google how to explain it better in the future and settled with “The world is a very big place and sometimes it rains in one place but not in another.”

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