Day 26 - Southern Lost City

Thursday, 24 June 2021

We listen to a recording of Mark Coleman interviewing Kaira Jewel Lingo for the recent Nature Summit. A Buddhist nun, she teaches retreats and works with children on learning to appreciate nature. It’s not just that we need time with nature, she says. Nature needs us too, to be aware and present and finding joy in her riches. “The earth is longing for us to be with her,” she says.

We hike the 2.5 km trail through the “Lost City,” another 15 kms up the road from our camp. It’s a geography created by similar forces to the Devil’s Marbles, only these towers aren’t smooth and round, like the Marbles. They’re craggy spires, indeed like the remains of a steepled city, leaning into the sun. The wide view is spectacular, a craven temple. 

The micro view is equally wondrous. Tiny butterflies, in the thousands, flitting through the undergrowth. Look closely and you’ll see many of them copulating, joined at the butt. Larger black-winged butterflies soar gracefully through the upper story. Orange-pronged grevilleas splay forth promiscuously from needled trees. Little Martian-head mauve flowers open to expose tiny succulent fruits that give way to spindles of grey seeds. All three stages evident in one bush! Miraculous purple starred blossoms that drop their outer blooms to end in a simpler purple splay. Ants doing their antly march up and down stems and branches. Watch closely and you’ll see them migrate to a strange beetle-like bug sitting in the crook of a branch. His little butt wags up and down while ants go up to it, kiss the tip of the bug’s rear, and back away with something miniscule and jewel-like in their mouths. What is the beetle feeding the ants? And why?

Nature up close. Seen. Marvelled at. It’s fun, childlike. We get passed by troops of hikers who stop to point-and-click, talk and chat, take in the long view. Maybe they think we’re scientists with our noses in the flowers. Or just weird.

The sudden immersion into the tropical climes leaves me woozy and tired. It’s hot and humid. Back from the hike, we opt for a cool reprieve in the car and drive a bit further up the road. Butterfly Falls, next on the map, has campsites available. We (I) fret about where to park, wary and frustrated by other campers’ generators. By the time we set up, three of them are going at once. 

We head to the falls in our bathers, which, miraculously, is still running, though only a trickle. It feeds a cool black pool surrounded by towering paperbarks and chunky cliffs. What a delight to wash off the sweat and irritation. Two older couples stand knee deep in the water, chatting. Johan and I slip in the water and swim out to the falls. Johan climbs to a prime seat just under the falls and motions me to join him. It feels like a gentle rain on our heads. We scoop handfuls of clear water into our mouths. 

As we swim back the couples are still standing, talking, holding their swimming noodles. Two sink in the water, straddle their blue and pink noodles, continue chatting, one end of their noodle to the front, the other to the back. A young couple, beautiful and shapely, strip down to their bathers and step into the pool, swim to the deep end. We explore the cliffs and find a cave with brown spiralled nests, each with an entrance that looks like a bugle. Who would build such an oddity?