Walking And Waterfalls

Rain fell, with cameo appearances by thunder, lightning, and hail. The river Torrens, acting like a real river for once, overran all the little weirs along its length and managed a robust flow out to sea.  Every creek and gully in the Adelaide Hills became a waterfall tumbling in a hurry in homage to gravity. Hordes of Adelaideans put on their puffer jackets, grabbed their umbrellas, and headed out to look at waterfalls.  We were no exception, and decided to follow the crowds to First Waterfall at Morialta Conservation Park, where we stood a good chance of spotting a bonus koala or two.

I left early and rode my bike along the Torrens, through the city, and up to Thorndene Reserve where Roger met me and off we went to Morialta for a picnic and a spot of waterfall viewing.

Torrens doing grown-up river things.

Existential angst on the Torrens Linear Path.

Picnickers swarmed all over the Morialta Conservation Park picnic area. Mobs of little children found all the muddiest spots and clambered over the fantastical timber playgrounds. In a fine example of survival of the fittest, picnickers staged competitive power walks to grab vacant picnic tables, some of them sending advance troops of small children to claim the spot before Dad had even wrestled the esky out of the car.  A group of young men plaintively wondered if they were allowed to light a real fire in the fire pit that they had brought for just such a purpose. Picnickers who had lost the power-walking competitions searched for spots of high ground on which to place their (hopefully waterproof) picnic rugs.  An opportunistic coffee van did a brisk trade at the upper car park where the crowds funneled in to the Waterfall Walk.

 

A fine old gum tree beside the creek.

 

The trees with koalas in them were easily identified due to the clusters of people under them, all pointing up. The koalas themselves curled into tight furry balls, wedged into the forks of branches that whipped back and forth in the strong and unpredictable wind which roared down the gully.

The waterfall performed as advertised.

 

Having enjoyed walking as a nice break from cycling, we went out a few days later to walk around West Lakes.  This was a much more civilised outing and did not involve any power walking or competitive claims to picnic tables. 

 

 

West Lakes was, until 1959, merely part of the swamp, marsh between Port River and the Torrens.  Being isolated and undeveloped the area was a playground for exploring children, young (and probably not so young) lovers, hikers, and people who wanted to dump rubbish.  Back in the 50s an untidy swamp with frogs and birds and muddy grasses was viewed as nothing more than an opportunity for development and in 1970 the Development Finance Co (Delfin for short) started swamp reclamation. Lots of earth was shifted out and sea water and storm water were encouraged in.  A shopping mall opened, as did the Lakes Resort Hotel (more about that in a minute).  By 1978 one could buy 'prestigious living' on Delphin Island (I wonder how they came up with that name?) which had its own freshwater lake and set a record for the sale of subdivisions in South Australia, selling 70% of the land in the first fortnight. In 1991 Delphin Island also had the dubious distinction of being crowned 'best Real Estate project in the world' by the French based International Real Estate Federation.  All of which didn't really bring back any of the marshland birds and vegetation which had been tidily replaced by concrete foreshores and cultivated expanses of grass.

Rowing pontoons on West Lakes.

Swimming was not recommended in the slightly less than stellar waters of the lake, and an Aquatic Centre was built where one could swim in clean water whilst looking at a lake of dirty water.  A tidy arrangement of rowing lanes and pontoons was installed, resulting in a need for permits to ride bicycles beside the lake lest one get in the way of the rowing coaches who rode bicycles up and down while shouting at their teams through megaphones.  Mansions sprouted like mushrooms along the shores and the City of Stuart council posted signs advising everybody that they must not, on pain of unmentionable consequences, fish in places not designated for fishing. Not that this appeared to concern the groups of fishermen whom we saw braving the bitter wind and 'No Fishing' signs to try their luck.  

    

Not to mention the attention of persistent pelicans and a pigeon or two.

 

The stiff breeze made my nose and eyes run, and sucked any warmth out of the moments when the sun poked through the clouds. Trudging past the Lakes Resort Hotel, I peered in the window at cosy people sitting drinking hot coffee while the wind beat at the window. I turned to Roger: "Shall we-" too late! He was already halfway up the path to the Hotel entrance.  I caught him up in the foyer where we were sidetracked into the world of competitive cake decorating and sugar art, of which we had previously been totally unaware.

The novice section of novelty cakes.  There were sections of sugar art devoted entirely to the creation of flowers so life-like that one was tempted to smell them. 

What do you do with a cake like this? T'would be a shame to eat it!

 

Having admired all the cakes and resisted invitations to join the Cake Decorating Society, we moved across the hallway to the cafe and relished sitting on the inside of the window, sipping our cosy coffee and watching the wind buffet pedestrians and whip up waves on the lake.

This is nice.

 

I sipped my coffee as slowly as I could, but despite my best efforts the cup was eventually empty and we had to leave our little sanctuary and go back to our walk.  We explored Delphin Island and found the freshwater lake, which had another a little island in the middle. 

 

 

Roger was quite taken with the idea of being on an island in a lake on an island in a lake... etc

The wind blew us back to the car along deserted lake shores, only fishermen and the odd silly walker being out in the weather. 

 

Rain is forecast.

 

I opened the door to home, nearly standing on the cat who hadn't moved since I left.  He was clearly confused as to why anyone would want to go outside when they had a warm place to sit inside?  Rain splattered against the windows as I pulled the curtains, and I had to concede that the cat had a point.

Bird of the day.