Bush Walk in Davidson Park

Tuesday, March 13

Today I went on my first bush walk.  There are hundreds of hiking trails in the forests of Sydney and these paths are thus known as “bush walks”.  I drove to the beautiful Roseville Bridge the other day, only to find that there was a fee to enter into the park below it.  I decided there had to be a free way- maybe if I park further away?  Sure enough, I found a book on bush walks and a secret road to the Davidson Park at the Roseville Bridge.  I parked in my newly discovered secret spot and started hiking.  The brush was thick and the ground, mushy.  It had rained for several days prior, so I had the fortune of dodging the mud pits. 

The vegetation was strikingly green.  Small dewdrops lay precariously on each leaf.  The air was crisp and fresh.  As I walked through the thicket, I saw streams leading to small trickling waterfalls.  I spotted a small spider and her spider sack, hanging under a rock with water droplets sprinkled on each individual strand of the web.  Yellow flowers of small bursts of energy and color hid in the sea of green.  They were like tiny pompoms or fireworks in an emerald sky.  The dewdrops on the leaves were twinkling stars.    

I made it to the park and was stunned by the perfect reflection of the terrain in the water.  It was a flawless mirror of the green turf, forest understory and treetops.  As I jogged along the path by the river, I spotted all different types of birds.  I was listening to my ipod as I ran, and suddenly realized I didn’t need, or want, the pulsing tunes in my head, but rather the natural sounds around me.  I turned it off and listened.  The breeze rustled the leaves as the birds harmonized together, composing a twelve-part theme that meandered through the air.  The coos and tweets swayed with my every movement.  I felt as though I were running to the beat of their song.

Thirty minutes... an hour passed. I kept jogging past the picnic tables and dew covered lawns along the river.  I couldn’t stop because I wanted to see what just lay ahead.  I was so curious to know where this path led.  I passed sandstone boulders with vivid contrasting layers of color.  I continued to jump across hurdles of mud and stagnate water in the path. 

As my heart rate began to elevate, I noticed my throat felt different.  It began to tighten.  I suddenly remembered this feeling, only at a dinner table.  I’m allergic to shellfish.  My throat closes up and hives start to appear on my face.  It’s easy to prevent- I just don’t eat much seafood and often take a pill when I go to a Chinese restaurant, as a precautionary measure.  If I have a reaction, I usually just take a Benadryl and I’m fine.  However, this was different.  I hadn’t eaten anything out of the ordinary.  So, I must be allergic to something air borne in the forest.  (There were clams in the water by the bay, so maybe me breathing the air around the water caused a reaction?  Far fetched, but it’s a theory.  I was surprised to see the clams as well as crabs in, what I thought to be, a fresh water river.  It must be brackish water, a mixture of fresh and salt water, that leads to the ocean.)

I had just reached another bend in the path, only to discover the trail narrower, with branches brushing the top of my head, forming a small passageway through the thicket. The meek path still continued forward.  I had to resist the urge to plow forward.  I wanted so much to see what was just beyond the tree tunnel.  I looked around me and remembered that I was completely alone in a thicket by a river with no sight of help or human contact.  I needed to abandon my quest.  I had now been jogging for the past hour and needed to make the trek back to my car to take some medicine.  I noticed the rapid pace at which my reaction was escalating.  After turning around, I started to quicken my speed, just as a horse homeward bound.  But with every step, the unyielding grasp around my throat tightened. I chose instead to briskly walk.  I had to stop a few times, to deeply inhale or attempt to subdue the dizzy and nauseous feeling.  But as I walked back, I still couldn’t help but notice the beauty around me.  It was so vivacious.  Life was all around me.  I spotted a family of an unfamiliar species of duck.  The seven fuzzy toddlers waddled behind their parents. I couldn’t help but stop to stare at their rare feathers and beak features, but I had to snap back to my plan to forge ahead quickly.  I continued to walk and then noticed the spider webs across my path.  I had reached a narrow passage and walked through a web, only to find the spider on my arm.  I quickly brushed it off and then heard a rustle in the bushes.  Then a splash in the water.  My senses were heightened.  I could hear and sense all of noises and smells around me.  I suddenly felt so alone in the forest with my throat closing.  If I screamed, would anyone hear me?  (That is, if I could scream…) So I chose to limit my scientific and artistic observations of the ecosystems surrounding me and, instead, persist forward to make it to my car, to safety.  I walked for what seemed like ages, and then back up the steep hill past the park and made it to my car, out of breath, throat closing, and shoes covered in mud.  I turned on my blue vehicle, and started back to the house.  I made it back, all in one piece, still breathing and took some medicine.  It was hard to swallow the water, but I managed.  Unfortunately, I didn’t have my usual medicine, so the effects didn’t entirely wear off, if at all.  It was then time to pick up Stefani from school, so I decided to buy a stronger dosage with a crucial ingredient, antihistamine, at the local pharmacy. 

Several hours later, I was back to normal, ready for my next bush walk tomorrow… Is it crazy that I want to keep exploring via bush walks?  I don’t know what I’m allergic to, but my plan is to take a pill before my hike and hope for the best.  Maybe I’ll bring my phone with me too this time…and my camera, to capture these beautiful exotic sites. 

The rest of the day was the usual tasks of childcare and laundry.  I enjoyed the simplicity of the evening.  What a day.