Day Fifteen : Cobbold Gorge
Just before sunrise Peter and Denise headed off into the hills on the 4.5km Russell’s Lookout walk. So named as a bloke called Stuart Russell used to hang about in the area in about 1898. This one headed up and continued up. It was nothing too challenging until the last 800 metres where some scrambling shoes were needed. Not sure what old Stuart was on about, but the lookout at the top was essentially closed in by trees not permitting any expected sunrise perfect vistas.
Back down the hill for breakfast and the crew gathered for the long awaited gorge tour. We joined about 50 our closest friends on three buses before heading the few short km across the Robertson river sand bed gathering again at a big shed.
Our group of 14 were guided by a young British bloke called Rob. Given he had been born and bred in these parts for at least the two months he did a pretty decent job of explaining the ins and outs of how Cobbold Gorge was created, found and managed. He also espoused his vast knowledge of the flora and fauna around although had to admit the numbered yellow disc markers on the ground were reminders to him to stop and explain something or other. It was so tempting to mix them up and have him detail the taste and uses of the deadly red thing instead of the husky brown thing, but someone might have died as ‘Red is Dead’ is the rule of the bush.
The boat ride the little unstable electric boat for the length of the gorge highlighted Rob’s navigational skills…..absolutely none. We bounced and scraped our way up between ever narrowing cliffs till we could go no more. Along the way we learnt heaps about the gorge, looked at spiders, moss, and other creatures. On cue, Julie dropped her steel water bottle on the floor of the aluminium boat sending most of us sky high in fright before settling into a nervous laughter only those about to capsize understand.
The return trip revealed a couple of freshwater crocs sunning themselves on the banks of the gorge as well as a low speed passing manoeuvre as another boat came out way.
It was our turn to walk next. We climbed along and up the side of the gorge, stopping every now and then to examine sandpaper trees, some other tree bearing fruit that tasted like microwaved poo and little flowers that smelt like Dettol.
The crowning glory, however, was walking across the glass bridge directly above the gorge. Costing about $1million a few years back the bridge spans 13 metres with a direct downward view into the gorge below. We donned our surgical shoe covers, to stop scratching the surface, then marched out into the middle putting out height fears aside just long enough to grab a photo and scamper to the other side.
Our return trip was via the northern side of the gorge with entertainment provided by two little kids, Ollie and Ollie’s brother. Their insights made the tour an outstanding event. Back at the bus, we returned to Cobbold Village unscathed.
In the afternoon Richard and Denise jumped in a beautiful black helicopter for a ride over the gorge and its surrounds. Returning they were beaming as the trip was the icing on the cake for the Cobbold visit.
Our afternoon was spent catching up doing not a lot of much. Mainly we prepared for one of Julie’s feasts. And what a feast it was. She cooked dumplings on top of scrumptious stuff in the camp oven that made the mouth water. As usual we talked, laughed and defended the unfounded allegations of snoring levelled at Ron and Peter by G and Julie.
Great stories. Keep them coming