Marching on

I think I have discussed the merits of the month of March in Canberra before, probably last year, er, quite possibly around March time. It is officially autumn and whilst it is true that some of the leaves have started to turn, the weather is settled and warm, the nights drawing in only slowly, and the capital is putting on one last shebang before it trickles slowly into winter slumber. I think this time of year also brings focus and a renewed purpose to make the most of the good times while they last.

So around Canberra we have had events and exhibitions and evenings by the lake, along with the good old pockets of nature and landscape to keep us comfortably happy. There have been balloons and bands, flowers and fireworks, portraits and photographs. No writer’s festival though, which perhaps explains why I am struggling for words this week and am just going to pile a string of photos online instead, which is arguably good preparation for next weekend’s photo marathon.









This weekend, the general gloss of pleasantville has been tarnished slightly by smoke drifting in from time to time from a controlled burn across the border, providing a nice smoked ham flavour to clothes on the washing line, and hazy, wistful sunsets.



In an effort to escape the smoke I took a jaunt across the border in the other direction on Saturday, tackling a lack ofclear signage and direction on a couple of trails within Morton National Park near Kangaroo Valley. The first, unintended, walk took me down a fire trail to a wide expanse of the dammed Kangaroo River and, mercilessly, back up again in the heat of the day. The second, intended, walk took me to two of the three views on the Three Views Walk, which was also hot but mercifully provided some splendid outlooks into the wilderness.



My walking efforts deserved a celebration and as chance would have it I arrived back to Canberra and there were fireworks greeting me. A chance to sit by the lake, avoid perilous mini Jedis (younglings I believe) with green and red lightsabres, and get bitten by insects. And, as the thousands of cars filter back away from the lake, take a stroll back to my car parked up near the war memorial, to complete 12 pictures in one blog entry. I’ll have to up my game for next Saturday, when I am supposed to take 12 in as many hours!

I should be so lucky

There are two very pleasing things about the fact that I am writing this tucked up from the rain in the bricks and beige of a random motel room on a Sunday evening. The first, that I am writing this at all, is no doubt pleasing for you as well, but if I’d listened to the weathermen I might have nothing much to say at all, inexplicably stranded in Canberra for Canberra Day. The fact that it is Sunday evening – and it has only just started raining – has left me feeling blessed all weekend.

I am big into spontaneity at the moment. When I say spontaneity, what I really mean is a general tardiness and lack of organisation to plan things in advance. I have also been cautious in planning things due to the weather, which is being a bit unAustralian and unpredictable across the land. Hence it was Saturday morning of a long weekend and I was moping around Canberra with the apparent prospect of a soggy weekend in store. A quick read of the paper, a few scans of the weather radar and a few clicks on the Internet and two hours later I was eating fish and chips in the sun at Dolphin Point.

This contrast from Radiohead to Mika resembled the mood swing that accompanies that first day of Spring in England, usually a random day in March that strikes you out of the blue with temperatures in the teens, where people suddenly shed clothes, look better and smile for a bit, and some even buy barbecues in Tesco (have you had it yet?). A smile was never far away as the water lapped over my feet along the length of Burrill Beach, eagerly making the most of it before the storm clouds arrive.



Those storm clouds, yeah. Never did appear. In fact, it was getting rather warm and I was starting to get a little pink from my time in the crystal clear waters at a gem of a beach just south of Ulladulla. I forget its name, but then perhaps it will remain a gem, hidden to all five of my readers, four of whom face some severe accessibility challenges, being in the northern hemisphere and all.

On a bit of a whim (spontaneity and all that), I had chucked some golf clubs in my car, thinking I could perchance stumble upon a golf course if the weather was dry and the conditions ripe. Conditions were in fact rather totally tropical as I set off on the nine holes of the cheaper course at Mollymook, a pleasant spot to pass some time, mishit some drives and recover with audacious chip shots as the late afternoon sunlight filters down. Apart from a ball tucked up under a flailing Banksia, remaining rather blessed.

And so the day that promised little delivered much. Early evening, the sun sinking, the breeze cooling, sharing the long curve of Mollymook beach with a scattering of happy kids, thrill sinking wave lovers and contented fisherman. This is nice.



Sunday Sunday, and it seems from the wetness on my car that the skies had delivered overnight. The charmed life continued however, a shower cloud skirting past the shoreline and missing Mollymook and my breakfast table. Hitting the road on a stomach of bacon and eggs, it was northward to Jervis Bay, home to some of the most dazzling white sands in Australia, all the whiter when the sun is out, beaches and bushland threaded along the length of the pretty special White Sands Walk.



For respite from the dazzling white, you can of course at appropriate points aim your car inland towards the more soothing green farmland and moister lushness of the coastal ranges. As much as the beaches are adorable, it is customary on such trips for a random detour up a winding dirt road. It seems to be the Magna, begging me to unleash it from the boring tarmac and ride the great gravel ribbon through the bush. The last half mile of this ribbon was particularly narrow and pitted, but, as always, what the Magna says the Magna does (though surely one day I will break down in the middle of nowhere in a scary Neighbours meets Bear Grylls moment). Until then, lap it up!

All this fun had tired me and the car out and I had one of the best afternoon naps ever on Sunday, while the car took a little rest itself in a cosy little car park. By now the cloud was thickening and what was expected a long time ago finally arrived, expelling me to the brick and brown surrounds to regurgitate some verbose waffle about glorious weather and dazzling beaches (see above).