It had promised to be a good night. It paraded the stars as only nighttime in the outback can, resplendent and shining from afar. I wondered whether it would deceive as it had a couple of nights earlier when the mist had come to claim the mountains and banished the stars to a memory. But no, before the dawn they were still there with a crescent moon and a vivid Venus whose soft lights tinted the grass.

The fresh wind was a good sign the next day. I waited until after 9am when the tourist centre would open and I could find out whether access to one of my two sightseeing goals was possible. Having spent four nights beneath the escarpment going nowhere, I’d lost the potential to do both.

The woman at the tourist centre rang the ranger station at Carnarvon and was told the road was open. A feeling of relief  came over me. At last the trip was back on and I would get to see something special.

The first ‘special’ was just south of Rolleston where I came upon one of Australia’s unique birds. I’d always imagined a few in a lagoon but here in a broad paddock, there were about 50 brolgas scattered over a wide area. It was a wonderful sight. It was the first time I’d ever seen them and they didn’t disappoint with their  dancing routines. They also bent down, grasped some plant remnant and threw it up in the air in a seemingly petulant display that has meaning in their world. I could have watched for much longer but now I was on a mission and turned off towards Carnarvon. However, my total joy was short lived. On a sealed section I came upon a cattle grid in a dip. Unfortunately for me there was a bump immediately before, and as the motorhome  recovered from that it banged straight into the cattle grid that wasn’t bedded properly. It didn’t feel good and moments later when I was on a left hand turn there were unfriendly noises emanating from underneath somewhere.

I stopped and noted that I’d managed to bend the rim in one spot and desperately hoped the tyre would not go down. It didn’t, but I knew the noise would worry me for the next couple of days.

A memorial for the Dakota C-47 that crashed here in 1943, carrying Australian soldiers

At the Ranger Station I got a map and headed out to tackle the Moss Garden, once better known as Violet Canyon and listed as a two and a half hour, class three walk.

The Moss Garden is one of those special spots in the Australian wilderness that enchants with its location. Towering sandstone cliffs form a spectacular backdrop,  while mature ferns overhang like parasols and seemingly protect the delicate waterfall that must barely carry a drop when times are dry.

This couple travelled all the way from Estonia, to take in Queensland’s beauty

Beside you on the raised wooden platform is the dripping moss, oozing its moisture and accompanied by liverworts and smaller ferns with a few aimlessly dangling vines to frame the palette. All the water ended up in an icy shaded pool below. The excess  gurgled through the rocks on its downward course, which I followed for a little while away from the trail, managing to extract a few gems here and there before I scrambled through undergrowth and regained the trail.

The enchanting Moss Garden; taking a closer look at the dripping moss; there’s plenty of colour to see during the walk.

Back on the main track,the ramparts of the escarpment continually draw the eye as they dazzle in the late afternoon sun. Palms also intervene regularly in prominent displays that feature in several places.

A keen traveller takes in the scenery

Category: Destinations
Written: Sat 01 July 2017
Printed: July, 2017
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