Alum Cliffs: Edge of Stillness and Power

Feeling refreshed after an afternoon nap, despite the chicken from lunch still slowly digesting, it was time to get the legs to work. I’d found us a short local hike to get us started on our hiking holiday. Only a 10-minute drive from our Mole Creek hideaway, we arrived at Alum Cliffs Trail, which advertised itself as a 40–50 minute walk. I’d seen this online and thought it would be a good starter hike. The fine print on the sign said it was an 800m each-way walk. Hang on — 1.6km in 40–50 minutes? That seems absurdly slow and somewhat triggered a competitive side of me to ensure I smashed that record. So, with many questions about how they come up with these timings, we headed off into the woods.

The first part of the trail was slightly uphill, with farmland on the right and bush on the left. As the farmland petered out and the bush thickened, we came across what I’m guessing is some kind of old sculpture. Three long logs of wood, each rectangular in shape and about the length of a telegraph pole, forming a smaller central triangle with the longer logs then darting off across each axis of the triangle. There wasn’t much info about it other than several signs plastered to it advising “Do not climb on structure”. Safety signs seem to be a Tassie thing — with signs advising how dangerous areas are rated from low to severe. This structure has been deemed at risk of collapse and injury should it be climbed, which to be fair is something I probably would have done if the multiple signs hadn’t told me not to.

But what was this thing anyway? It kind of looked as if it was either drawing attention to whatever may have once lain at the centre, or maybe some special place for a cult ritual. Without Google, we’d never know — but fortunately we don’t live in the dark ages anymore. A quick search tells me it celebrates the confluence of Quamby Bluff, Alum Cliffs Gorge, and Western Bluff at that point. With that explanation in hand post-hike, it does explain what is going on when you get to the lookout. Nice work to the artist David Jones on using natural materials to represent the viewpoint we soon see from the lookout ahead — perhaps a sign explaining that would complement the many warning signs.

What we now know is art behind us, it was time to finish off the walk to the lookout. I bypassed all the signs telling us about… well, I’m not sure, because I didn’t read them, excited to see the view and beat the trail time. Somewhat strangely, everyone we passed on their way back from the trail were solo walkers. Were they all together, argued, and then walked back solo? Or were they all just on their own little hikes? Pondering the relationship status of these fellow walkers, 12 minutes later we were climbing up stairs to a small two-tier platform overlooking the bluff and the Mersey River below. It’s only after the last couple of steps onto the railing of the viewpoint that the strong wind blowing through the gully and up the cliffs hits you, on what is otherwise a super calm day.

Despite being someone who throws down words in my blogs like they’re going out of fashion, I find it hard to find the right adjective to describe scenic views. The standard ones — beautiful, breathtaking, amazing, stunning — feel too generic and overused. I’m not saying the view and sensation up here isn’t all of those things, but the generic nature of them feels like it takes away from the feeling of the place. Kind of like ticking a box that says “meets expectations” on a performance review. So perhaps instead of using a single word to describe the view, it’s easier to use many words to explore the experience of being there, rather than just describing what it looks like. A picture does that anyway, whereas writing about the experience gives context.

The view aside, the feeling for me here was the contrast in the last few steps before reaching the edge. It was like there was an invisible wall separating the forest from the cliff top — the wind couldn’t penetrate it. Moving from the calm tranquillity of the forest to the rage and danger of the cliff edge. For those following along on the safety scale at home, this part of the trail was rated as severe risk — the highest category. I’m not an overly spiritual person, but it felt like the energy from the canyon below was pushing upward, trying to escape, only getting as far as the edge before the calmness of the forest soothed it, changing its energy from anger to warmth.

With that somewhat philosophical description of the experience complete, and windswept group selfies taken, we made the walk back to the car in another 12 minutes — thrashing the suggested 40–50 minute timeline with ease. I learned on the walk back that Brigid and CK are “twitchers” as they stopped to take in the black cockatoos squawking in the trees above. It was time to head back to the Airbnb, where I lay on the grass writing some blogs, enjoying a beer while Brigid read a book. CK meanwhile was taking care of us, cooking a delicious fresh dinner. Day one complete, I crashed into bed before the sun even set, happy to have shared this day with great friends.Read more