Itches, Scratches, and One Helacious Mountain Climb

Welcome to Newnes, Australia, where everything you see will bite you.

Population: 3

I'm gonna start a petition to change the Newnes greeting sign to the above text. While there are conceivably one or two species of bug that didn't bite me during my week-long stay in the mountains, the rest of it's accurate. The abandoned mining town's population rose by 33% when I arrived late Monday afternoon. For a week, a quarter of the population was named Phil.

Welcome to the world of the WWOOF program (Willing Workers on Organic Farms) where you never know where you'll end up. Thomas, a smallish man of German descent, was my new boss... the goal of my week-long tenure being to assist in constructing a brick water tank. His property was 40 acres in the middle of the gorgeous Wolgan Valley canyons; its primary feature a century-old hotel/saloon in the process of being refurbished with the ultimate goal of becoming a tourist haven. Solar powered with a water purification system and sewage treatment plant, the property was entirely self sufficient. Apparently the water supply from the mountains was slighty acidic, and the best remedy was to create a filtering tank, constructed of brick and mortar, and consisting of a chamber filled with crushed marble, a base substance which would - in theory - neutralize the ph level of the water and reduce its acidity.

My initial job was to get sand from a nearby creek to mix in with the cement for the tank's base. The job was daunting for several reasons. I'd have to drive an old four-wheel-drive Suzuki across a river with an empty trailer attached to the back, turn around on the other side of the river, load it up with sand, and then drive back across. The steering column was on the right and I hadn't driven a manual transmission in years. I was filled with a sense of foreboding. Here goes nothing.

Thomas had forgotten that the Suzuki's clutch was mostly burnt out. Halfway across the river I got stuck. 4WD high, 4WD low, 2WD... nothing would work. Finally I threw it in reverse and rambled back up on the shore. Determined to make it work, I floored it and roared across the ford, blasting water in every direction, slowing down but grinding up onto the opposite shore. I was exultant, but only for a moment; the stupid thing wouldn't climb the hill so I could turn around. I got halfway up and started drifting backwards... it turns out the brakes were gone too, so jamming the pedal to the floor only partially slowed it.

Somehow I managed to get it turned around and facing the direction I'd come from. Shovel after shovel of sand filled the trailer; exhausted, I clambered back into the Suzuki, threw it into gear, and floored it. When it grumbled to a halt halfway across again, and the acrid odor of burnt clutch filled the cabin, I knew something was wrong. This time it wasn't going anywhere. Cursing my luck I, jumped into the river, and proceeded to shovel the entire load of sand back into the waters from whence it came.

Even lightened, the rig barely made it back to shore. There I reloaded it with a smallish portion of sand and gunned it up the embankment. By this time Thomas showed up, wondering what was taking so long, and then remembered the clutch's terrible condition. "We'll just use the Ute," he said, referring to his utility vehicle. "Drive that up to the site and dump it and we'll retire the thing for the day."

The site was halfway up a mountain.

Bouncing and crashing up a horrendously-formed dirt track, I drove about three quarters of the way there, made a left up a hairpin curve, and... you guessed it... the thing died. The verdict: out of gas! I yanked the emergency brake as far back as it would physically reach, wedged heavy rocks under the tires, and refilled the thing. Even fueled up it would go no further, thanks to the clutch problem; we ended up just tossing the sand onto the ute and coasting the Suzuki back downhill, where it stayed for the rest of the week. Good bloody riddance.

I stayed in the beautifully-constructed holiday cabins on the property, welt-scratching my nightly ritual. My lower arms and legs were mottled with bug bites, mostly from spiders. Some spider with a sick sense of humor bit a smiley-face pattern into the top of my left foot. I wished I could meet that spider and smile back at him. And then stomp him into the freaking floor.

All week we worked, mixing mortar and laying bricks, mowing grass, constructing plumbing fittings, etc. Most days we finished by around 2 pm, and I was able to go on walks. I must've trekked a good 50 km over that week; my legs were exhausted every night, but it was well worth it. One climb ascended a mountain on railroad tracks that'd been abandoned since the early 1930's... when it reached the treeline that separated foliage on the right from sheer cliffs on the left, it was like being dropped into the Jurassic era. The trail wound through a narrow canyon, humid and cool in contrast to the dry heat of the day, with bizarre palms and exotic shoots of flowers rising from the spindly creek on the rock floor. The trail halted in front of an enormous abandoned railroad tunnel, a foreboding presence of yawning blackness.

In I went.

My dying flashlight was a pittance against the enveloping blackness - the tunnel curved, which led to absolute darkness, absence of all light. Luckily I didn't need any... the walls were dotted with hundreds of thousands of tiny glowworms. I switched off my light and stood in awe as irridescent blue blotches surrounded me. It was like stargazing... almost an unearthly experience. A half-kilometer later the tunnel dumped back out into the open, and I found myself disappointed.

The walk back to Newnes was another good 10 kilometers; seven or so into it the trail disappeared. I wandered for a half an hour trying to find it, couldn't pick it up, and decided to blaze my own trail back. I knew the river was to the west, so I trudged through the bush, following the setting sun until I could hear the Wolgan River in the distance. Alternately walking and listening, I navigated my way to the riverbed, crossing on an enormous tree that'd fallen and connected the two shores. I simply followed the river into Newnes, arriving a little over an hour later.

As if that wasn't enough of an adventure, two days later I hiked up Mystery Mountain. It was aptly-named, because finding the trail was an absolute mystery. Following the previous hike's logic I decided to make my own way up the moutainside. This time it didn't turn out so well.

The terrain was heavily sloped, rocky, and slippery. Footing was precarious and by the time I reached the cliff base that led to the top, there was no trail and no way up. I considered just leaving, but decided instead to follow the cliff base and find a way up.

I clambered across little ridges in the ground, snagging onto a nearby eucalyptis tree everytime my footing failed. At times I walked mere feet from two or three hundred foot drops down sheer rock walls, found no way around the edge, and had to climb near-vertical stretches of wind-worn rock face. It was one of the scariest things I've ever done, gingerly picking my way along footholds and crevices, no safety gear, nothing. Just my wits and prayers. Heart beating out of my chest, twice I slipped and hurtled momentarily towards the edge, latching onto tree trunks or rock outcroppings and stopping myself.

In retrospect, it was probably the stupidest thing I've ever done... certainly the most dangerous, the scariest, and arguably the most fun. Eventually I found the original trail and struggled up a tiny fissure in the cliff, another hundred feet to the top. The view was absolutely magnificent; I let out an involuntary yell as I finally stepped onto the summit. A devil-may-care climb was rewarded with sweeping panoramic views of Wollemi wilderness: plunging canyons surrounded by wind-eroded cliffs in every direction. Absolute solitude; just me, my Creator, and ten billion itchy bugbites. I downed the rest of my water, took a few pictures, and half-slid down the mountain on the way back. You don't realize how steep a mountain is until you descend it... balance is much more difficult to keep.

Thus ended my Newnes adventures. I departed Saturday morning satisfied both in the completed water tank and the week's mountaineering. I'm now in a hostel in Katoomba (still in the mountains, but with a five-digit population this time) planning out my next move.

Whatever it is, Newnes will be hard to top.