An Autumn at Armidale

This ANZAC long weekend we drove up to Armidale, nestled in New England High Country region, chasing the final play of autumn hues, desperately clinging on to the branches that are bracing to go bare in the imminent wintry chill. 

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Our 450 Km (5½-hour) onward way could be best described as nondescript with a sporadic pop of golden poplars gleaming like a hint of hope in the bare brown regional swathes of land. The little towns of Tamworth, Ullara, Walcha intercepted the uniformity with welcoming change of bright foliage gleaming vibrantly like a burst of variagation splashed on an earthly canvas. As we approached each of the smaller settlements, it was humbling to watch small gatherings in honour of the war veterans - each one unfolded a tale of its own.

Tamworth warranted for a stop by for The Big Golden Guitar - we infallibly ensure to include nearby Big Things while on road trips. It served as a break for lunch and pleasing respite from cramming in the car for 4 hours.

Brown swathes of regional land with occasional pop of yellows 

Armidale was majestic - we lost no opportunity to pose with the panoply of reds, yellows, oranges - pretty hard to come by in this country wrapped in evergreen gum trees. The highland here has the right mix of weather elements to witness distinctive seasonal changes - its resemblance to England, Scotland has earned it the sobriquet New England.

University of New England campus

Out of the fall colours into the falls: Sated with our share of shots with oaks and maples, next day we took to Waterfall Way, aptly named, as it weaved through Wollomombi Falls and Ebor Falls. While Ebor was splendidly plummeting in tiers to the gorge, Wollomombi wasn't exactly flowing - it was a mere trace of its path; the awe-inspiring grandeur of its surrounding sheer drops and arid escarpments cladded in short shrubs plunging to cradle the ground kind of made up for its absence, as if by proxy, as if in apology. Whittled by wind and other natural sculpting agents over millions of years, they stood as silent sentinels of time - time that seemed apparently stalled, enveloped in a shawl of lazy silence, ruffled occasionally by a chirp of Scarlet Robin and a rustle of fallen leaves.

Wollomombi Falls a mere trace of its path

Ebor Upper Falls

Ebor Lower Falls - upper in distant horizon 

Great Dividing Range

On our return way we sped past Uralla admiring the fleeting fall colours from the cosy confines of our car, but broke the tedium at Walcha. The banks of Apsley River were garbed with golden yellow globes of aspens shimmering starkly against the bright blue above. Clicking a few shots and picking up freshly toasted sandwiches from Thunderbolts Way Cafe, we turned on to Oxley Highway, leading us out of the New England High Country to Apsley Falls. 

Apsley River 

Aspens by Apsley, Walcha

Our hopes weren't high as we weren't visiting after a spell of rainy days. From the viewing point at the rim of the gorge dropping precipitously to Ashley River, we checked a thin trickle of Apsley Falls frolicking down the rugged ridges. 

Landslide Lookout and Lion's Lookout were an easy 5-minute walk; its similarity was a close second to Wollomombi. While the walk in the wilderness offered us an immersive experience, we left with a heavy heart as we learnt the gory history of settlers riding horses to drive aboriginals off the rim - a fact stated on the information board that I wished I had never bumped up on! Their terrifying last thoughts of tumbling down would haunt these captures forever. It tarnished the piety of the land, beauty of buff striations on grey, and left an indelible dent in my otherwise cherishable memory hooked to the place. 

A trail from opposite to Lion's Lookout led us to a suspension bridge across a quiet, serene Apsley River bed. 

Conscious of time we rolled back to Walcha only to thread back to Thunderbolts Way that gloats of a distinctive place in the list of best road-drives in Australia. The sinuous tar strip was a roller-coaster through Great Dividing Range gliding past a series of national parks and reserves. Valleys reticulated with rivers, small woodlands, tree cloaked hills seagued in the horizon like a magical tapestry as we clutched on to each moment of the tricky road's highs and lows. Slanting rays of an autumn sunset were painting pieces of paradise before our eyes - horses, cows, sheep grazing serenely on the lush vegetation by the bluish hills framed with reddish orange leaves were postcards.

I could hum "এই পথ যদি না শেষ হয়, তবে কেমন হতো তুমি বলো তো?" (How about this path doesn't end, Honey?)

But keeping the forest area in mind and the risk driving poses to crepuscular wildlife creeping out of their lairs foraging for food, we endeavoured to conclude the scenic drive before dusk set in. The lesser we drive in the dark, the fewer of those gut-wrenching roadkills!

Many colours of the distinguished Thunderbolts Way 

With a surpise target to meet at Target, Tuggerah (a story saved for later), we hurtled past the few homes of Gloucester and Stroud to merge to Pacific Highway. Swiftly managing the last-minute rush at Target, we hopped back on to our car to head for home. 

Just so we didn't miss the warm hues that we left behind in the highlands, the sky-sun duo picked up the baton, bathing the clouds peach, thereby concluding our 1200 Km travel in perfect mood!

Dona, Sydney, April '26

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For Bengalis, this definitely strikes a chord! Kobiguru Rabindranath Tagore's lines:

আমলকী-বন কাঁপে যেন তার

বুক করে দুরু দুরু,

পেয়েছে খবর পাতা খসানোর

সময় হয়েছে শুরু।

A rudimentary translation sounds like this:

Gooseberry woods waver, their hearts pounding; 

it's time to shed their leaves, the cue is all-pervading. 

The  trees have picked up the zeitgeist in the air and are quavering in anticipation.