Saturday 9th May To increase the horrors of the Lannagan’s Creek, the peaceful night air was shattered with the yapping of wild dogs and the nightmarish squealing of what were clearly psychotic, demented wild pigs. In addition to my (incorrect) certainty that vast hordes of leeches were amassing around our tents, the sounds gave the valley an atmosphere of danger and terrible malevolence. The morning, however, was bright and clear, though somewhat cold and damp in our area. We had a hurried breakfast and packed in haste, but were still not away before 8am.  The continuation of Lannagan’s Creek was, bitterly, more of the same: thickets of thorns, unstable footing and a torturous lack of progress. It really was a wretched section of our trip, and we checked eagerly on the map and the GPS for signs that we had reached our spur leading out of it. We were met with disappointment over and over; but finally, after all hope had been abandoned, we agreed we had reached the appropriate spot, and Michael duly discovered an ancient metal sign with the blessed description of “Batsch Camp” on it.  Not waiting another minute we began the ascent, which we read off the map to be about 200m in elevation in its initial steep rise. The pain of the rise was more than compensated by the knowledge that each step brought us further out of the accursed valley. Mistaking a brief levelling for the top, we had a short break, only to find that the same amount again was waiting to be climbed. It was a sunny day, and it being mid-morning and the trail quite exposed, we were thoroughly warmed up when we reached the top, just near the summit of Mount Moogen.  Batsch Camp awaited as the next notable location, and we walked briskly to make up for the many hours lost to the Uni Rover. The landscape returned to the generic dry sclerophyll so characteristic of the Blue Mountains, with lovely, tall eucalypts surrounded by sparse undergrowth, particularly lomandra. It was easy walking, though perhaps a little more undulating than I felt really necessary, and it turned out to be quite a bit further than anticipated. Batsch Camp is a pretty camping area accessible by vehicle, but it is probable that the road was still block by risen rivers as it was when Michael was denied entry a week or so earlier. In any event there were no visitors, even on a Saturday. The grounds are covered in large part by huge numbers of lomandra, and the effect is very appealing. The water supply at the Camp was meagre and miserable, but we availed ourselves of its services before starting off again. The next section followed an unsealed road for several kilometres, although we took a small short cut across some scrub to eliminate an unnecessary triangle. We made good time and decided to push on to Bindook Mountain for a late lunch. The walking was comfortable and enjoyable, through private property with some large expanses of grassy hillsides opening out of remnant and regenerating bushland. The pale eucalypts were especially beautiful, and I found the return of leptospernums, absent since the White Dog Ridge, strangely pleasing.  The road led to “Bindook” property, where only the cows seemed to be at home. It appeared to be a well-maintained, working property, and the homestead and worksheds were all of especial interest to Michael. The long road and our heavy packs began to slow us, and we stopped for lunch before reaching Bindook Mountain. It was only a brief pause, because, as ever, the threat of the early setting sun provided the incentive to get a move on. Some moments of confusion as to the correct course delayed by briefly, but essentially the rest of the walk that day was unremarkable. Apparently our trail used to serve to torture horses, who were ridden up and down its startling steep and rocky slopes, but it was clearly some time since it had been used for that purpose. We rediscovered a previous campsite of Michael’s, which he had reached after a Herculean day travelling all the way in one day from near our camp two nights earlier.  There were several cairns along the descent to indicate that other humans had taken our route, and some obvious sections of track, but essentially it was a matter of finding the path of least resistance in the right direction and following it.  At the base of the spur was a fabulous, level, grassed area perfect for camping, and although we could have continued for another half an hour or so we decided to pitch our tents early. Close by, the intersection of the Bindook and Murruin Creeks provided an exquisite swimming hole with steep granite walls on one side and small waterfalls cascading into it. It was the perfect spot for a final swim of the trip, and though cold it was probably not as cold as the Kowmung.  A leisurely and heartening dinner was enjoyed, kookaburras and stars appreciated and a beautiful, bright full moon admired as it rose above our valley. Walking time: 8am to 3:30pm (minus breaks) Casualties of the day: 1. Our psyches in Lannagan’s Creek. 2. Michael’s tent and bedroll, both of which were attacked by the thorns during our attempts to get through them. The bedroll was particularly catastrophic, as it was thus unable to hold air, which made for a very cold and uncomfortable night. |