Diving behind the glass

Of all the urban "bushwalks" I have done to date, this one is easily my favourite. (Nothing yet comes close to West Head, but that's not what I would call urban.) I'd done this walk once before, and looked forward to repeating the experience. It begins inconspicuously at the end of a suburban cul-de-sac that abuts the bushland in Castlecrag. You can park outside someone's house, then walk a few metres to the start of the track, which is clearly signposted. Turning off the road and heading down the hill, you walk past the side of the last house in the street, and are immediately enclosed in bushland. It's a magical experience to go from urban normality to treed solitude in just a few seconds. Mysteriously, as soon as the house is out of sight, the sounds of the city disappear. All that can be heard are birdcalls - kookaburras, magpies, sulphur-crested cockatoos - and the rustling of the undergrowth as the ubiquitous skinks scurry for cover. On this day, I had much to think about and, as the reality of city life dissolved behind me as I walked, I felt as though I had dived behind a sheet of glass that protected me from what was on the other side of it, showing me what was there, but keeping me outside my life.

Walking down the hill towards the creek at the bottom, innumerable spiderwebs wrapped around my face. Far from being distressed by their clinging sticky embrace, I was entranced that, on a sunny weekday mid-afternoon, I was clearly the first person down the path that day.

There was much to capture my attention during a delightful and solitary amble through the trees before the waters of Crag Cove came into view. Some sculptured fungus caught my eye, artistic in its presentation on the tree trunk. Just as the path rounds the end of the promontory and begins to head back west along Castle Cove, there is a side path that leads to a rock overlooking Crag Cove. I sat on the rock and watched the fish jumping in the waters below. Yet another beautiful place, in the middle of a major city, where I have sat alone and felt at peace.

Heading back west along the shoreline, there is a folly to be seen across the water: Innisfallen Castle. Castle Cove and the suburb of Castlecrag are named after this whimsical construction of the Willis family, built in the early 1900s. Until the 1960s, the family lived in the castle without connection to electricity or town water supplies, perhaps recreating the doughty forebears of earlier centuries.

At the western end of the reserve, the path turns uphill, and intersects with the path to The Sugarloaf picnic area in the Harold Reid Reserve. Supposedly, the name "Sugarloaf" comes from the resemblance of the piles of rock to old lump sugar. A bit like finding three stars and seeing a figure in them. The road around the Sugarloaf is paved, and you will undoubtedly encounter walkers here. Those ones who don't want to get any dirt on their expensive trainers. But there is a lookout, with one of those large engraved tablets mapping the geopgraphy, and a wooden goanna of unclear purpose.

As I walked back down the hill in the fading light to rejoin the original path taking me back to my car, I was surrounded by colours. As the light disappeared from the sky, wildflowers were made sharp against the grey, and the pink of the rocks grew richer as I looked.

This is a lovely walk, suitable for all except the larger members of our society, as near to the end there is a short descent between two rocks where someone of rounder girth could become wedged. If you cannot squeeze past this point, there would be no option but to retrace your steps and essentially repeat the walk. A problem if it's late in the day, and you are running out of light, as I was.

Next, a venture into the city to take in the delights of the Botanic Gardens, with perhaps a side trip to the Art Gallery as I walk past.