The dog

In the time since my last walk, we have acquired a dog. She is a lovely golden labrador and of course it seemed axiomatic that she would now come on my walks with me, when location allows. So a suburban north shore Harbour walk seemed the perfect place to start. This walk officially starts at McMahons Point and ends at Waverton, but as I intended to do the return trip, and it's easier to park at Waverton, I did it in reverse, starting at Balls Head Rd at the old BP terminal.

The first thing about walking with a dog is that, when she's only new, it's a bit like taking a baby out. By the time you remember the lead and the ubiquitous plastic bags and organise her into the car, both the camera and the dictaphone get left behind. And the second thing is that the whole nature of the walk is changed, so that the focus becomes the dog, and not the surroundings. This dog is not silly, and she has learnt that pulling on the handbrake is usually a signal that we have arrived. (Makes hill starts a point of confusion for her.) So as I pulled up to the kerb in Balls Head Rd and applied the brake, the dog was beside herself with excitement at being in this new place, with a plethora of smells to experience. She surged out of the car, with me trying to get the backpack onto my shoulders whilst wrestling with a lead that was fast being wrapped around my legs. Eventually we both gathered our composure and set off at a trot, the dog dictating the pace.

The first part of this walk takes you through the landscaped cliff park that marks the site of what was once the BP oil terminal. They've done a great job in converting industrial wasteland into a very attractive park, that speaks to its history without being dominated by it. In keeping with its industrial heritage, the stairs traversing the cliff face are those metal open-weave ones. It is at this point that I discover that the dog is terrified of them. Some time later, I have managed to half-coax and half-carry 25 kgs of dog down to the bottom of the cliff, and have chosen not to think too much about having to do the journey in reverse on the way back. I have not paid very much attention at all to the view, which is magnificent.

At the water's edge at the end of the BP park lies Waverton Park. Waverton Park is reached down a few flights of solid stone steps. Stone steps are completely safe in dog world, so she flies exuberantly down them, towing me behind. Somehow I stay upright. On a warm day, I would have stopped here to sit in the sun at the little beach while the dog had a swim, but the weather was cool, and threatening to rain, so we pressed on.

Private properties spill down to the water's edge at the eastern end of the park, and at this point you must take to the streets for a short and unedifying distance, before heading back down to another waterfront reserve known as Sawmillers Reserve. Here there is another small beach with a rusted boat hulk on the shoreline as testament to its working history, if the name isn't enough of a clue. This would be a pleasant park in which to picnic on a warm day, for there is plenty of shade.

At the end of the park, another short detour through the streets brings you out to Blues Point Reserve, and it is worth spending some time here absorbing the view. For those who know Sydney, Blues Point Reserve is notorious for being overlooked by Blues Point Tower. I use the word 'notorious' advisedly. Harry Seidler (the architect) might have built a controversial structure, but he certainly recognised a spectacular site when he saw it.

At the very tip of Blues Point, you can look straight under the Harbour Bridge to the Opera House beyond, framed in the arch of the Bridge. It's probably the most iconic Sydney image, and I wish I'd remembered my camera. But 1000s of photographers before me have taken the same photo, and I've since realised that the only missed shots I should mourn are those that you can't find on Google Images, photos such as the one of my tennis ball in the West Head post.

The dog, having been panting enthusiastically for the whole walk, is now clearly thirsty. She will happily drink from a tap, so I search in vain for a working tap. But, presumably because people left them running, all the handles of the public taps have been removed so that they can't be turned on. I try a few bubblers to see if they will have enough pressure to spout over the edge of the bowl, but for once they all appear to be in perfect working order for human use. We walk on round the corner to the wharf at McMahons Point, officially ending the walk, but the focus has shifted from the walk to solving the problem of the dehydrated dog. Some concerned workmen who are employed on the Blues Point harbour wall renovation join me in the vain search for a tap. I have visions of featuring on that Animal Rescue show, where irresponsible pet owners are pilloried on prime-time TV. Suddenly, I realise that the plastic bag I am carrying - as yet unused - has more than one potential use, and I hold it under the dribbling bubbler tap until it is full. With some encouragement, the dog lowers her nose into it and drinks. My pet-owning credentials are restored! We can now focus on the return trip, and the thought of those stairs awaiting us at the end.

My next walk involves a National Park again, so the dog will have to stay home. Oh dear, what a shame.