‘Hell, but no devil: Bushwalking the best of the Blue Mountains’

It is listed as a mere 1.2 kilometres return but also a time factor of 1.5 hours, which clearly indicates that it isn’t flat. Indeed, the people for whom I’m house-sitting had done the walk from the other side of the Megalong Valley in New South Wales.

Down the Six Foot Track through Nellies Glen they went, unwittingly not knowing they were in a National Park area because, the problem was, on this 4-5 hour 10km hike they had undertaken, they’d brought their two terriers along! By the time they reached the Devils Hole it had been bad enough but Devils is a serious uphill ascent and, for half an hour, they had to lift the dogs up and over many an obstacle.

Me, I resigned myself to checking out Devils Hole on the advice of my Blue Mountains Best Bushwalks third edition, walk 26, grade — Hard. In fact, even the book says ‘walk’ is a misnomer and labels it a scramble.

I had a couple of hours to practice some self-flagellation so I mounted the Lambo (my new second-hand Lamborghini push bike) and headed for the trail entry, less than a kilometre away I suspect. From the very start when I dismounted my knees constantly reminded me that they weren’t in pristine condition, pain surfacing at every step in my right leg. For this was not a proper trail, just a well-worn track with stormwater gutters running every which way, exposing all manner of rock shapes, some fixed, some not, and the occasional fallen tree to bar your progress.

After negotiating 100 metres of forest I reached the first dramatic cliff face, pock marked with a thousand indentations. It rose dramatically above the near horizon and the nearer you got, the more this huge vertical slab blotted out all else.

Its mesmerising presence suddenly became irrelevant as the trail turned 90 degrees left in front of it and you gaze down one of the Blue Mountains’ most dramatic chutes, a narrow cleft between two cliffs and a 50-tonne rock perched alarmingly above the trail that disappears in a steep vertically aligned manner to who-knows-where. “Wow,” I heard myself saying, while thinking this is going to be riveting and painful in equal quantities.

You constantly have to stop and check that you have found yourself in this most unlikely of places, ferns and moss clinging to rocks that haven’t moved in some time while much of the rest is scree. Evidence of damaging rock falls is everywhere. Giant slabs of sandstone are clear indicators as to how these formations have attained their current state and to how frightening it would be to witness such an episode.

At times you have to seriously scout ahead with your eyes to determine the route; at others you have to go forward anyway because the trail drops disconcertingly out of sight ahead. My highly refined bum-sliding-downhill technique gets a good workout on occasions as the 500m track descends 200m … and the first part was relatively flat!

You can’t avoid gawking at the ominous walls above and the perspective changes every few steps. Eventually it broadens out somewhat near the bottom where there’s a sign. Somehow, when you’ve been out in the bush for an hour and haven’t seen anyone, signs can be so reassuring.

I head off to the nearby waterfalls the book mentions. It’s one of those that don’t have a surfeit of flow but makes for a lovely background noise. I’ve always found that the melody of dripping water on sandstone is as manna from heaven. Its calming effect never seems to diminish and you have to tarry awhile. The origin of the of the main drop is lost in the sky a couple of hundred metres above while the second sprays me as I cross in front to get a better photographic angle, the sharp ting of the clear drops bringing other senses to the fore.

These are magic moments to be savoured so I tarry for a few minutes before turning back to the sign, where three long distance hikers have just arrived. It’s so good to see some young folk without a phone in their hands revelling in the wonders of nature. They’re heading off for a few hours more and camping overnight. Me, I’m looking up at the climb and thinking I’d better get on with it but, it’s a lot easier, if more strenuous, and I seem to get up in no time at all, one of the reasons being that there’s so many things to hang onto so you can haul yourself up relatively easily.

Still, when I reach the bike I do take 5 minutes out to recuperate before swinging my leg over. Whatever else I get to do in the month-plus that I’m here, this will be one of the highlights.

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