Armidale in Autumn

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

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On our 450 Km (5½-hour) onward way, fall lit up the bare brown regional swathes of land sporadically with golden poplars gleaming like a hint of hope - sparse, yet steadfast. 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. Tamworth deserved a stop by for The Big Golden Guitar - we infallibly ensure to include nearby Big Things while on road trips. Armidale was majestic - we lost no opportunity to pose with the panoply of reds, yellows, oranges - pretty hard to come by in this land wrapped with 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.

Sated with our share of shots with oaks and poplars, 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 at all; the awe-inspiring grandeur of its surrounding sheer drops and arid escarpments plunging down 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 with a shawl of lazy silence, ruffled occasionally by a chirp of Scarlet Robin and a rustle of fallen leaves.

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. 

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 frolicking down the rugged ridges. A short walk along the trails later we arrived at a suspension bridge across Apsley River bed - the wilderness and resemblance was a close second to Wollomombi. 

Conscious of time we rolled back to Walcha only to thread back to Thunderbolts Way that gloats of a 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 as we clutched on to each moment of highs and lows. Slanting rays of an autumn sunset was painting pieces of paradise before our eyes - horses, cows, sheep grazing serenely on the lush beneath bluish hills framed with reddish orange leaves were postcards.

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 for home. Just so we don't miss the warm hues at home amidst the greens, the sky picked up the baton of 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.