Triple Date

(This stone seat at the top of Mt. Victoria reads, "The Explorer's Wishing Chair", my kind of chair)

Disappointed to be leaving the Hunter so soon, I was pressed for time as there were three sisters waiting for me just a three and a half hour drive away. Hopping into my sporty blue Corolla, I waved goodbye to Chris and Chloe as I turned to become one with the backroads leading me out of grapeland. With a little luck I would be with the triplets before sunset.

What do you get when you combine Auburn, California, the Grand Canyon and the Amazon? The Blue Mountains. Entering the Blue Mountain National Park, I traveled through little mountain towns resembling Auburn. Dense lush foliage lined the road cut through the hills leading me to Echo Point, where the Three Sisters were waiting for me. But then again, they were waiting for everybody, just as they had for millions of years.

Three sandstone pillars overlooking a vast expanse of a valley frozen in time, the Three Sisters were famous as much for the aboriginal fables behind their formation as their beauty. No single photograph, nor my words can explain the breathtaking vista from Echo Point. Add the sounds of exotic parrots and white cockatoos reverberating across the valley and you are transported back to a pre-historic time when Teradactyl’s commanded the sky.

Encircling the exotic forest, bare sandstone cliffs shoot up vertically from the valley floor. While the valley foliage was unmistakably green, the hues of the sandstone ranged from burnt orange to brick red to chocolate brown to elephant gray. God spared no earth color from his palette when s/he painted the Blue Mountains, even the mist was dyed blue (hence the name “Blue Mountains”), a visual effect brought on by the oil from large numbers of Eucalyptus trees.

What is it about views like those from Echo Point, the Grand Canyon, the Rift Valley, the Gorongoro Crater, or Yosemite that draw millions of visitors? What is the draw? Surely, everyone enjoys it in different ways, some just drive to the canyon rim to observe, while others hike into, and still others backpack into the wilderness for weeks on end. Regardless of how it is viewed, people of all nationalities and cultures seem to be drawn to such geological spectacles.

This universal appreciation seems to be rooted in an invisible connection, a connection to something deeper in the human spirit. No matter where you are from, there are some special natural spots on earth that speak to all. Whether you work in a high rise, low rise or no rise building, watch three kids all day or are enjoying retirement, there is something compelling about “taking in” nature directly through one’s senses.

How many times have you reached a place of natural beauty and taken a deep breath? And not because you spent four or five hours in traffic on a Friday night trying to get there, but because your soul is soothed, connected to something grander than our own individual worlds. It’s proof enough that we are willing to spend such an excruciating amount of time staring at brake lights (usually on Sunday too) just to spend a weekend amidst nature. Or for those who are too busy to respond to nature’s call personally, there are tens of CDs and fancy alarm clocks that will magically bring the sounds of birds chirping, waterfalls falling or waves crashing to your bedside.

What sends us to the national forests or Central Park (for Manhattan residents) on weekends like Penguins marching for the sea? For me, communing with nature is a built-in reset button, a return to a time and place where the fundamentals, the basics of life, remind me of my connection to the planet, infinitely small as my role may be. No matter what is going on in your personal life, spend an hour on the beach, or take a hike in a forest, and there is a calmness/peace/serenity available to all seekers.

Standing on the western rim of the Jamison Valley, the Three Sisters and I watched the sunset as the eastern rim was illuminated by fading rays of light. They had seen the sunset millions of times, but it was my first, and they stood quietly while I soaked in the panorama. While I did most of the talking, the Three Sisters spoke in their own ageless language, leaving me refreshed, energized and more connected. It was a triple date worth having, so much so, that I would return the following morning, just after sunrise, to see the Three Sisters in a completely different light. Nature has an endless wardrobe, and the sisters had donned a new look for our second date. It was a great way to start the day, again feeling like an ant standing on the rim of a coffee cup.

Not wanting to seem overly anxious about my fondness for the sisters, I left Echo Point in search of a trail head with my name on it. There are dozens of trails for all levels of hiking in the Blue Mountains. From thirty minutes to all day, trail blazers can make their way to the valley floor (just bring lots of water). A local told me about another valley even more beautiful, about 15 kilometers up the road. Following the signs to Grose Valley, indeed there was another grand panorama suspended in time for all to see, only in this instance I shared this scene with no one else. More off the beaten path, in fact on an unsealed road, I pushed the low riding compact as far as I could until I was on the verge of 4WD territory.

It was time to set out on foot and do my own unguided bushwalk. Starting at Hat Hill, there was some fun amateur rock climbing irresistible to the kid at heart. It was afterall, nature’s jungle gym. After placing my bare hands up and down the rock, I spotted a trail to nowhere, at least nowhere that I knew. Curious and desiring to get a deeper sense of the area’s original explorers, I set off for a destination unknown, but it was the journey that I was after.

Walking further into the bush, the trail became less visible and, since I was fresh out of bread crumbs, I began to stack rocks on the side of the trail every 500 yards so as not to become the subject of a search and rescue party. All at once there was the trail, forests and glimpses of red rock face scarcely visible through the trees. Keeping a lookout for the forewarned infamous poisonous snakes of Aussie land, I kept wondering where the trail would end, what would be there and entertaining the occasional Indiana Jones fantasy of coming across an undiscovered cave fully stocked with a mummified Aboriginal tribal chief.

No cave or slithering reptiles in sight, two hours later, I came to the end of the trail, literally. Two steps further and I would become one with the Grose Valley floor, forever. Sitting on the edge of the canyon wall, my eyes tried to grasp the magnitude of the setting as the sun danced behind the scattered clouds like a disco ball shooting its rays across the landscape, nature’s own touch of mood lighting.

Out of water and with lots of bush unseen, I found my way back to the car via rock stacks. West from the town of Katoomba, there was Blackheath, Mt. Victoria and Lithgow, more sleepy towns with spokes of trail heads leading in all directions. Following a few of the shorter paths to rewarding lookouts, there were more valley panoramas than hours in the day. Just before dusk, I was a well run horse ready for some stable time, having played in Mother Nature for the better part of the day.

My date was over and I told the sisters I didn't have millions of years to wait for them to make a decision. Time was clearly on their side and suitors from all over the world visit and photograph them each day. But behind the scenes the sisters knew they had a higher purpose than merely entertaining suitors, they were there to remind onlookers of nature's awe and rekindle their awareness of a deeper connection. (At right: Valley view from the rim of the coffee cup.)