After enduring devestating bushfires just three years ago, the glorious Grampians region of Victoria is fully recovered and is once again bursting with natural splendour.
Fire can purify. After a terrifying bush fire “cleansed” half of the Grampians National Park in 2006, this Victorian wonderland is greener than ever. Eucalyptus trunks sport vibrant new growth as thick as legwarmers, mushrooms bubble up from cinders and sand, wallabies lope among baby ferns and the region’s new restaurants and hotels are again flush with clients. The Grampians has truly risen from the ashes.
The most dramatic way to take in the region is via the great Southern Touring Route (a three to five day round trip from Melbourne), as my wife and I discover as we set out on a journey to get reacquainted with these Victoria’s icons. From the city we carve up the Great Ocean Road and, after counting the remaining eight Twelve Apostles we head inland at Port Fairy to the Grampians southern entrance.
Approaching into a thunderstorm, the sandstone buttresses of Mount Abrupt and Mount Sturgeon loom large around every bend. Surveyor Sir Thomas Mitchell named many of the area’s landmarks, including the park itself. (In what may well have been a wry joke about his obstinate nature, the Major Mitchell’s Cockatoo was named in his honour.) In the prevailing storm lorikeets, galahs and his namesake birds flash from one side of the road to the other to settle in the shade of a downed gum tree. The boughs have been long since removed for firewood leaving the locomotive size trunk to bleach among concentric circles of new hay.
The air is salty and heavy with ozone so we decide to wait out the storm over lunch in Dunkeld. This tiny hamlet is populated by 444 of the luckiest country folk around. Most towns of this size would be fortunate to have a mediocre Chinese takeaway. Dunkeld is home to The Royal Mail Hotel, a two chef’s hat restaurant/motel with an extraordinarily sophisticated menu. Discovering a restaurant of this caliber in the country is akin to finding a Fabergé egg in a box of googs: we feast on an inventive tasting menu featuring dishes like lamb with young garlic, sheep’s milk and licorice.
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The following morning we head north towards Halls Gap. For many this is the town that epitomizes the Grampians. Freckle-nose kids splash through the creek in search of tadpoles, hikers lumber wearily along main street and rock climbers load battered utes with enough supplies to last them another week at the nearby crags. Halls Gap is still the focus of family-friendly and adventure activities but some new additions have injected a Melbourne sense of cool.
We spend the night in the rather oddly named DULC in Halls Gap. “Holiday homes” is how they are described in the advertising literature but these hideaways are far more than that. These contemporary light-filled rustic villas feature leather couches, gas log fireplace, espresso machine and a glass-roofed bathroom that lends an outdoorsy feel on even the briskest mornings. It’s a far cry from the damp campgrounds I recall from my youth.
For me the Grampians always held a mysterious, somewhat dangerous allure. If a fire or spider or snake didn’t get you, a cold snap surely would. As kid, I was inundated with stories of hikers underestimating the changeable nature of the terrain, the weather…usually both. Invariably they ended up a newspaper headline. With almost twenty years since my last visit I was eager to see if the region’s landmarks were as scary as I recall.
The crimped sandstone topography of the Grampians is still supremely atmospheric. It feels as if a giant callused animal is slumbering just below the surface its hide wrinkling into deep furrows and pushing up into exposed, bony ridges. It is no wonder that the indigenous Gariwerd people have such a strong connection to this land. It feels positively alive and, not surprisingly, is host to a whopping two-thirds of the Aboriginal rock art sites in Victoria.
Every walk involves testing a hiker’s will against that of the beast. We edge our way up the rough sandstone flank of the Elephant Hide. The grade of the incline increases almost imperceptibly, so by the time we’re ready to head down a vertiginous, knee-shaking descent awaits us. Next stop is The Balconies. Of the Grampians’ scariest natural wonders, The Jaws of Death (as it was known previously) was always my favourite. In the days before concerns over public liability, our entire grade six class crowded onto the bottom sandstone jaw. There was no safety railing and the braver kids (who would clearly spend time in juvenile detention) dangled their legs over the edge letting long gobs of spit fall 200 meters to the valley floor. For all we knew the verdant basin below might well have contained man/child-eating dinosaurs.
When we reached the lookout, I was both pleased and dismayed to discover that the Jaws of Death are no longer accessible. The view of them from a nearby vantage point is still remarkable (and safe) and in the thin mist, I can still imagine the valley filled with diprotodon, the three-ton ancestor to today’s wombat. (Oddly enough, Sir Thomas Mitchell was the first to discover fossils of these wombats in the 1830s.) Our third stop is The Pinnacle. A trail descends into deep rock folds and, in places, we have to shuffle sideways to allow descending hikers to pass. Eventually we emerge onto the ridgeline where painted arrows worn to a patina by many boots lead us like lemmings to the cliff edge. The ridge resembles one giant wave, caught mid-break with The Pinnacle itself, a precipice of rock jutting out like a surfboard. We edge our way to the railing to hang ten over the Grand Canyon. The view is breathtaking.
Our final destination is Hollow Mountain, a series of caves carved by the wind located an hour’s drive away. Heading north the tarmac gives way to sand so colorful, Uluru wouldn’t look out of place here. As we scramble along the trail towards the entrance we see the white chalk from rockclimbers’ hand prints echoing the indigenous handprints at the sacred sites below. We take shelter inside the mountain from a sudden downpour and listen to the wind wheezing through the tunnels. The rain soaks the bush and pelts the earth, bringing the woody scent of ash to hang in the air. In this ancient place, the cycle of life continues.
Breakout Box:
DULC — Holiday cabins with a contemporary feel. (www.dulc.com.au).
Aquila Ecolodges — Perfect for birdwatchers the property boasts over 200 varieties of feathered friends (www.ecolodges.com.au).
Brambuk National Park and Cultural Centre - learn about the indigenous history and sample bush tucker at the bushfood café (www.brambuk.com.au).
Royal Mail Hotel - Recently voted Country Restaurant of the Year by the Age Good Food Guide, a must for foodies (www.royalmail.com.au).
More suggestions and route alternatives visit www.greatsoutherntouring.com.au
Words by Adam McCulloch. Originally published in Symmetry Magazine. The format has been altered to suit Tumblr.
