Milo Dunphy, November 1992
Somewhere near me there is a swarm of bees. Its high-pitched agitation dominates the two little pools and the polished rock which I have chosen for my siesta. A quick scan of three or four big grey peppermint trees and an angophora fails to locate the swarm.
Individual bees are working methodically along the thickets of pink-flowered dampiera which defines the edge of the stream. In the north, a sulphur-crested cockatoo makes a noisy way past a shadowed hill. To the east a family of yellow-tailed black-cockatoos had settled down quietly after remarking my passage. There’s a whipbird in the thicket nearby and a cockatoo or two. Where the track comes down to Myuna Creek there’s an old fox scat.
For firewood I have four or five beautiful straight deadfalls from a grey gum and a handful of Ti-tree fronds for kindling. For fireplace: three or four flat rocks roughly cemented to the bedrock – the remains of a little dam or bridgework which once raised the level of the upper pool a foot or two. Fire, flood and regrowth are eliminating these ephemera.
An illegal hut was built a little further up the creek perhaps forty years ago. It was pulled down by the then Park Trust but it remains a scaley clay patch littered with slabs of sandstone.
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