Quamby Bluff in the early light. I so love a dawn start to my jaunts.
Whilst everyone else seemed to be dashing to Cradle Mountain for the fagus season, my interest lay in the fungi that usually appear at this time of the year, and in the waterfalls that should be flowing after our recent rains. I was impatient to get there and see what I could see.
I had a wonderful day – by myself, so I had head space, and yet not by any means alone, as everywhere I went I met new lovely people who wanted to chat to me, so had a delightfully companionable day as well. It was a perfect mix of solitude and sociability. Many, many of these people helped me in one way or another: one cleaned my car camera (for reversing) for me, one helped me adjust the stiff legs of my new tripod and taught me how to use it as a monopod as well. When I lost my black gloves at late dusk, people assisted in trying to locate them for me. On every trail I walked, I met people who wanted to discuss ‘fungi success’ on other trails, or camera gear, or to relate stories to me of this or that walk they’d done elsewhere. The mountains were full of nature addicts. It was so lovely to be helped rather than be the eternal helper, which my role as carer of my ill husband dictates. With every breath the air felt so fresh and clean: two lungfuls for the price of one, it seemed.
What follows is more of a photo essay than a verbal one. It is the story of my love of light, of nature, and of this beautiful, peaceful spot that I am privileged to call home.
And now we come to sunset. My battery is running dangerously low. I get into place, reckoning I’ll shoot until it runs out and then head for home. Shortly afterwards, a seeming crowd of photographers appeared. It got quite crowded, with tripod legs being intertwined with mine (but not spoiling my image). I was sure glad I’d arrived early.