But Wait, There's More (Of Belair NP)

 

Back to Belair: the pencil pine and (yet another) walking track up a hill.

 

There I stood in Belair National Park, with a choice of three pathways all to the same place.

On my left the Saddle Hill road, curving gently up the contours of the hill to the western boundary of the park. On my right the Melville Gully/Cherry Plantation road, following Minno creek gently up the increasingly narrow valley to the western boundary of the park. In the centre, Saddle Hill Track aka the Ridge Track, following the spine of the ridge up to the western boundary with a steep rocky trail section at the start and the promise of more to come.

Of course I chose the ridge track, didn't I?

Up, up, I went, and more up. Heard but not seen, a freight train roared through a tunnel under my feet because yes, Belair NP was bisected by the train line and had two tunnels, protected by high anti-trespassing fences, for both the passage of trains and for the pleasure of people who like tunnels and trains. I took lots of rests to 'admire the view' (which was largely obscured by trees, but its the thought that counts) and listen to the birds. The birds were many, varied, and very sh, so the only photograph I managed to take was of a cheeky little blue wren who wasn't at all worried by me stalking him through the bushes.

I met a fuzzy black caterpillar, doing important caterpillar things on the rocky track. We had a conversation, I took photos, and on he went on his busy way.

 

Places to be, things to do, caterpillar coming through!

At the top of the hill I turned right and started going down which is the painful thing about altitude: somewhat like money, it's far easier to lose than gain. Down down down I went through the forest along the MTB track, the undergrowth getting thicker and greener as I descended into the gully. I stepped to the side of the track briefly to admire some flowers and a good thing I did too, because with a whirr of wheels a mountain biker zipped past and disappeared out of sight before he or I had a chance to do more than make inarticulate surprised noises at the nearness of each other.

There is a biker in this picture.  He was going very fast.

 

I made it safely to the creek while keeping a wary eye out for any more close encounters of the bicycle kind and discovered a sequoia grove planted, so the sign said, in honour of those fallen in war. Mind you, planting a grove of foreign trees in a forgotten corner of a small NP seemed like an odd way to honour anyone but despite that it was quiet and cool under the sequoias, the sunlight glistened on the foliage, and arum lilies (also an introduced species) carpeted the ground under the trees.

Light on sequoias,

...and lilies.

 

All I had to do when I left the sequoia grove was walk up (there's that word again) to the boundary fence and follow it around to the car. Which I did. Slowly, for the up part mind you.

Nearly to the top.

 

Along the perimeter fence: busy road on the left, serene National Park on the right.

Light on leaves.

As I followed the perimeter I briefly intersected with the Tom Roberts Trail, passed the Stuart General Store (tempted but my tired legs declined to cross the road and take me there), skirted around Melville House, and grumbled under my breath about the amount of down-and-up-again in the perimeter track.  And then before I knew it I was back where I'd started and all that was left was to take photos of a single flower in the car park, hop in the car, and go home.

One final car park flower.

Home I went to find Roger pinned to the couch by a particularly bad case of cat paralysis. Although he didn't seem particularly upset and neither did the cat.

I like Belair National Park.