With nearly 300kms to be covered, we were away from the caravan
park in Morisset by 7:30am. After making a detour for gas and petrol, twenty
minutes later we were on the M1 Freeway, bound for a passing rendezvous with
Sydney. The northern, western and south western outskirts were as close as we
would come as we made for the southern highlands.
As luck or good timing would have it, we called in to see
Dad at Camden – on the fly – and caught him during the morning tea break of croquet
club. We joined them for a cuppa and I was asked to retell my encounter with
the magpie at Bingara, now being referred to as the “Bingara incident”.
After morning tea, the traffic got a bit thick in terms of
quantity and ability. Long weekenders, travelling on the open road at 110km/hr
for one of the few times of the year, are amongst the most inept and dangerous
drivers you can encounter. They change lanes like it is Sydney traffic,
snipping across the front of your vehicle within panel beating distance, often
without signal and always without consideration that you are driving a combined
vehicle that is much heavier and somewhat less manoeuvrable. We must have been
cut off three or four times and witnessed emergency breaking as many times. On one
occasion, a driver who had stopped beside the freeway, waited until he saw me
with caravan in tow and decided I would be the best vehicle to dive out in
front of. This went on for most of the trip from Camden until we turned off
toward Bungonia.
Bungonia NP used to be a popular destination for Sydney
adventure types who liked to slip into overalls, don mining helmets and spend
the day twisting and contorting their bodies through crevices so narrow that
they had to breathe out and squeeze through openings a mouse would be proud to
traverse. All of the latter, in the pitch dark of bad dreams and worse movies. The
caves at was once the State Nature Reserve, are the best “free range” caves in
NSW and there are plenty of them. Speilo ends the same as weirdo and that’s all
you need to know.
The modern park stems from one of
the oldest nature reserves in white Australian history, having been established
in 1872. Land around the caves was later preserved in 1902. The area was
declared a state recreation area in 1974 and a plan of management implemented in the late 1990's as one of the Carr Government's creation of many new national parks. It’s a well-resourced park in
terms of facilities, with modern amenities, including hot water showers. The
camping grounds undulate across the western side of the plateau that sits above
the Shoalhaven River, which has cut a deep mark through the limestone country
to produce stunning cliff faces. Water has been responsible for the formation
of the caves and sink holes that are right across the area.
We arrived just before 1:00pm and
after some judicious questions asked at the Ranger Headquarters, navigated to a
quiet area of the camping grounds, off the main loop but still with a pit
toilet and gas bbq’s. Our site was level and shaded and one of only four in our
quiet little cul-de-sac. One of the neighbours set up camp at the same time as
us. Even with the added problem of setting up the awning to avoid the western
sun, we were sill set up and eating lunch within half an hour. The solar panel
was perfectly positioned to catch the sun to provide us with power, whilst
avoiding the shade which fell over the main section of the van.
After fiddling with things around
the van, including setting up the pushbikes, we cycled off for an explore of
the park. I must admit, I wasn’t that keen, this being my first time back in
the saddle after the “Bingara Incident” and having put a reasonable gash in my
shin only minutes before we left. Within moments of riding across the rough
gravel roads, my hands were regretting the decision to ride.
The main road across the plateau
which is Bungonia NP is undulating in the truest sense which makes the
downhills a welcome relief from the sudden sharp rises. Most of the rises would
be on the return to the campsite, so we would worry about them later. We made
our way out to the Bungonia Lookdown - probably so named because of a sudden
drop over limestone cliffs and steep talus slopes to the Shoalhaven River
below. Our shock wasn’t the drop but what was included in the view, for across
the river, dominating the landscape on the other side, was the open cut
limestone mine. A deep gouge is cut in the trademark steps of such an
enterprise and the wilderness stops abruptly, there, to the south of the
lookout, as though it is one of the features.
Although we couldn’t see it
clearly, a slot canyon starts adjacent to our second viewing platform. It is a
short, vertical walled cut in the landscape caused by cracks in the limestone
rock beds giving way and cleaving shear walls on either side of a narrow passage
way for the river.
 |
| Second ladder in the Grill Cave |
Returning to the carpark, we rode
the bikes halfway to The Grill Cave, presumably named because of the iron gates
that have been erected at its entrance. Completing the remainder of the distance
on Shanks’ Pony, we arrived at a reasonably wide entrance in terms of the other
caves in the area. It wasn’t as spacious as the ranger had made out earlier but
it was big enough to do that swinging cat thing. Almost immediately through the
entrance is the first of the “ancient ladders” which we were told to expect by
the ranger. Sue waited at the head of the ladder whilst I investigated with an
all too inadequate LED torch which is usually only pressed into service for
after midnight toilet trips.
After descending the first runged
ladder of perhaps eight or nine rungs, a drop down across rocks worn smooth by
traffic soon led me to a second ladder, this time steeper and with steps rather
than rungs. This was a serious ladder, with the strings made of I-beams and the
steps of thick plated steel and all of it welded together to outlast the caves
themselves. Here it became spooky and cold and dark, especially when I decided
to test out how much light was bleeding down from the entrance, probably 25
feet above and through several twists and turns.
The answer was … none. I brown
corduroyed myself and quickly fumbled for the on-off switch on my little lamp. The decision whether to go on by myself – Sue had remained on the landing
just inside the entrance – was made easy when we lost the sound of each other’s
voices. Wimp? Maybe, but I have little to prove these days and even less need to
prove it. We rode and walked the bikes home in time for sundowners.
It had been a warm day but a
chilly night was the expected prospect. I promised I wouldn’t mention Sue
running around the campsite naked like one of Norman Lindsay’s nymphs, so I won’t.
Apparently they had red wine back in Lindsay’s day too.
She spent the next hour giggling.
She has always been a crack up.
POSTSCRIPT: about 9:45, two teenage couples arrive on site, set up their tents and drank till after midnight. No beef with that but the noise they made was inconsiderate. The girls, in particular, with their shrill laughter and loud chatter, audibly overpowered the lads, who we didn't hear until this morning. The empty bottles around their campsite was enough for any newcomer this morning to know how uncomfortable they made us, long into the night. Oh well, at least they are out in the bush and not sitting in some pub.
