Outside the Canberra Bushfire Memorial

Stromlo
Forest Park
Canberra Australia

ACT Bushfire Memorial

The ACT Bushfire Memorial acknowledges the impact of the 2003 bushfires, the many organisations and individuals who played crucial roles in the fire fighting and recovery efforts, and marks the process of renewal.

The Memorial is a journey from the day of the fire, through the process of recovery, to the honouring of memory. Located in regenerated fire-affected land, it provides a place for contemplation and reflection for many Canberrans.

[ACT Government crest]

In emergency ring 000

Venue management: 6256 6700

General Warning & Exclusion of Liability

Sporting activities at Stromlo Forest Park maybe [sic] dangerous and may result in injury or death to the person &/or property loss or damage. Users participating and spectators viewing these activities do so at their own risk. To the extent permitted by law, the Australian Capital Territory excludes all liability, including but not limited to liability for personal injury, death, property damage, property loss, and consequential loss or damage of any kind arising from the use of &/or entry to Stromlo Forest Park, whether in contract, by negligent act or omission, or any other tortious action.

www.stromloforestpark.com.au

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Plaques outside the Memorial

1. ACT Bushfire Memorial

[ACT Government crest with an additional logo: "building our city building our community"]

On Saturday 18 January 2003, the bushfires which had been burning in the hills to the west and south-west of Canberra for more than a week reached the perimeter of the city. Four people lost their lives, nearly five hundred homes were destroyed, countless pets and other animals were killed, and there was widespread damage to rural properties, parks, forests, gardens and urban infrastructure.

This memorial has been commissioned by the ACT Government to acknowledge the impact of the 2003 bushfires, mark the process of recovery, and thank the many organisations and individuals who played crucial roles in the fire fighting and recovery efforts.

The memorial is designed by Canberra artists Tess Horwitz, Tony Steel and Martyn Jolly and incorporates elements requested by the ACT community. It is a journey from the day of the fire, through the process of recovery, to the honouring of memory.

The entrance walls are made from the community’s salvaged and inscribed bricks which contain messages of grief and gratitude. Beyond the walls, a site framed by a grove of casuarinas contains red glass and metal forms that refer to the force of the firestorm and the lightning strikes that sparked the main fires.

An avenue leads to an amphitheatre enclosing a pond and bubbling spring. The glass columns bordering the pond contain details from photos provided by the community which speak of memory and human resilience.

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2. ACT Bushfire Memorial
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3. Dedication

Dedicated to

PETER BROOKE
DOUG FRASER
DOLLY McGRATH
ALISON TENER

Who died on 18 January 2003

And to the injured, the volunteers, emergency services personnel, charities, Bushfire Recovery Task Force and all others who helped survivors recover.

Bushfire Affected Families

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Wall transcriptions

Seven groups of inscribed bricks appear on the entrance walls. All the bricks in these walls were salvaged from houses that were lost in the fire.

Inscribed Bricks 1

Inscribed Bricks 2

Inscribed bricks 3

Inscribed Bricks 4

Inscribed Bricks 5

Inscribed Bricks 6

Inscribed Bricks 7

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Return to the ACT Bushfire Memorial walk

It seems as if They don’t want us to know where it is. Searching the web doesn’t turn up much. Eventually I found a page with a map but clicking on it to get a street view (so I could work out how to get there) kept giving me Settlement Road. Which I’d nevereardov.

Now that I’ve been, I can confidently state that the memorial is off Uriarra Road, about 1.7km from the Cotter Road turnoff.

Getting there takes you through the uproar that will be the suburbs of Coombs and Wright. Much progress has been made since I last drove by on my way home from U3A Danish last July. The Cotter Road seems to have been moved: you now have to turn left to keep going along it, otherwise you find yourself on a new, three-lane road called John Gorton Drive. Apparently this is going to be another north-south arterial road.

Coombs and Wright have reached the stage of having roads and kerbs and gutters and street signs. I was reminded of Tuggeranong in 1976 – and for some time afterwards. I used to take visitors there for a drive, all the while humming the theme from the Twilight Zone. (Those were the days before going for a drive felt immoral and extravagant.)

The Bushfire Memorial turns out to be part of Stromlo Forest Park, “a shared public facility with designated trails for bike riders, runners, walkers and equestrians”.

I knew I’d be seeing a fair few cyclists: Mount Stromlo seems to attract them like moths to a flame, and the park is at the base of Mount Stromlo. So I was not surprised, when I finally deciphered a small sign to the memorial, to find the carpark thronging with the cars of cyclists. One chap appeared to be building his bike, and a couple of families were getting ready to roll.

One family had a German Shepherd who’d been for a swim, but they saw me smiling at him and said “Keep away! He’s disgusting! He’ll shake himself all over you!” The only dog of the walk, and I missed taking his picture. Still, it was thoughtful of his owners to warn me!

A sculpture at the Canberra Bushfire Memorial

I didn’t expect to be as touched by the memorial as I was, or I’d have taken some tissues. Fortunately no one else was around, so I was able to sit on a shady bench by the pond and wipe my tears away with the hem of my blouse. The part that really did me in was the memorial to the pets.

The pond

Now, my contempt for people who get all het up about animals rather than people has known no bounds ever since I worked in the Prime Minister’s correspondence unit in 1981. For a start, no one should bother writting [sic] to the Priminister [sic] unless s/he is famous or an actual constituent. All other letters are forwarded to the writer’s local member. Might as well save time and write to your local member in the first place.

Furthermore, why will eight thousand people write about the fate of Canadian baby harp seals, and hardly anyone about people being oppressed and persecuted all over the world? Because baby harp seals are cute and furry, that’s why.

So when I was looking at the wall made of bricks from the ~500 houses lost on 18 January 2003, and reading the sad and brave messages people had inscribed, I did not expect to burst into tears when I came to the ones commemorating the pets that had died. I felt like a hypocrite, for all the years of thinking animal rights campaigners were shallow dopes.

Entrance wall of salvaged bricks

Many animals were lost in the 2003 fires – pets, horses in agistment paddocks, the RSPCA, a whole veterinary hospital and its inmates, countless native animals. And they were not only blameless, as we were, but helpless as well. And the pets were loved, and missed, and part of a home. So I’ve thought again about the baby harp seals. They too were blameless and helpless: the people defending them had a point.

I’ve transcribed all the brick inscriptions, and the signs, on a separate page.

I wasn’t even in Canberra on 18 January 2003. It’s my nephew’s birthday and I was in Sydney. Dac was here, in the pitch dark in the middle of the day, with the mountain on fire, no mode of transport and three cats to carry.

Waiting on permission to use the original

The fire didn’t get to our place, but it came close – not only physically. This walk brought back the memories, along with a familiar sinking feeling: if it’s this bad for me, how must it be for the families of the people who died, for those who lost pets and memories and homes? And for the Victorians.

The glass columns contain details from photos provided by the community

The memorial pool was nice. I looked at the columns of photos and cried a bit more, and then I struck out on a path around the memorial, where I saw this lizzie:

Tiny lizard (~6cm)

which rushed across the path in front of me and then froze on the leaf litter till I went away and left it alone.

It wasn’t till I was on the way back to the car that I realised the cycle path was exclusive, but I’d managed not to set foot on it, so that was OK.

Exclusive cyclepath; obBMT

I received seriously old-fashioned looks as I was taking the above photo, even though I was several metres away from the path. Then I came home.

I’ve been halfway through writing up our trip on the Zig Zag Railway for some time. Finding out about the following derailed me:

Accident on the Zig Zag Railway, 4 April 1901 (State Records NSW)

And then I got ahead of myself. I will come back and post the story of our excursion soon.

The walk

ACT Heritage Council.
Entry to the ACT Heritage Register: 20012.
Barton Housing Precinct

Dac still can’t go for walks but he came along for the drive, and waited with his iPad in a shady Telopea Park carpark. We left home good and early – it was already getting hot at 9 am. I was looking forward to seeing heritage housing plus the National Trust’s  promise of:

Historic remnants of the original street furniture including street signs, fire hydrants and footpath lighting and other elements including kerbs and gutters and examples of brick drains within some verges.

I saw historic street signs and a fire hydrant, but the other elements escaped me. They could have been in the streets I didn’t visit, of course. I do hope one day to see brick drains. The footpaths were asphalt, which seemed unusual to me.

(Unless otherwise stated, all quotes in this blog entry are from the National Trust brochure on the Barton Housing Precinct.)

Gipps Street and Telopea Park

For this short interval when Canberra is not in drought, when we’ve had some spring rain and the truly hot weather hasn’t yet struck, everything is green and growing. Walking through an area of 20s and 30s housing, I expected to see hedges: they’re an Old Canberra phenomenon. Bitching about public servants often includes the story that the Federal Government used to clip their hedges for them. I see from the Heritage Register entry that this wasn’t just an urban myth: “government supplied and maintained hedges”.

I didn’t expect the hedges to be so luxuriant that I would barely see anything else, however! According to the Heritage Register, “Hedges should not hide the contribution of the dwelling to the streetscape.” In order to catch a glimpse of the houses (“Features include door and porch arches, false windows and niches, various kinds of pillars and small six-paned windows”) I found myself peering down driveways, trying to look like a nonchalant passer-by rather than a burglar. It’s a prosperous area so you can imagine the residents might feel quite anxious about their joints being cased.

There’s been much renovation and modernisation, not all of it appearing to meet the heritage conservation requirements. I don’t know what force those requirements have, or whether there’s been a period of open slather at some stage, but it appears that the charm of modest period housing could be giving way to current fashion and opulence.

Different places in Barton

I was very taken with the first house shown above – it’s a red Canberra brick house, for one thing, and for another, the water tank reminds me of the country NSW of my childhood. This was also the house that had the best letterbox I’ve yet seen on my walks (see next photo).

Other curiosities above:

1. middle left: a glimpse of an arched door,
2. middle right: seven-paned windows, roof tiles completely covered with solar panels, and
3. bottom: modern colour scheme, another arched door, a roof with an added clerestory window.

Now the letterbox:

Beautiful!

I didn’t feel I could stand around scrutinising it for long, but it seemed to be made from an old wooden crate, with a couple of little oil paintings tacked on for handles. I don’t know if I liked it so much because it was colourful or because it was recycled and improvised. Vive le bricolage!

Incense Cedar and Black Locust in Gipps Street

The trees that line these streets are 80+ years old. Later in the walk, I encountered “recreational signage” which informed me that Charles Weston, superintendent of Parks and Gardens from 1913 to 1926, was responsible for the planting of more than two million trees. Some of the Barton trees are cordoned off, possibly because they’re becoming hazardous. It’s hard to lose any tree, but losing a familiar streetscape is shocking. For a long time, every time you come home, it’s to an unfamiliar place. I feel for those residents who are losing street trees.

Mystery tree

Above is a street tree that is definitely not one of Weston’s – possibly even a volunteer caused by passing birds. I was intrigued by it because it had the spiked leaves and red berries I associate with holly. I don’t believe it can be holly, however, flourishing in the spring as it was.

They're everywhere!

Above, just to show that we can never escape, is a palm tree in someone’s yard.

More than six panes

I admired the leadlight window shown on the left – there should be more of ‘em! – but I haven’t been able to work out what it represents.

When I came into Belmore Gardens, I decided to wander through the trees on the public land in the middle.

… one of a number of communal gardens incorporated into Canberra’s early suburban plans, in line with the ‘garden suburb’ principles adopted by John Sulman. The trees planted in Belmore Gardens are Silver Birch and Atlas Cedar.

As I wandered, I unnerved a chap who was perched on the gutter drinking coffee from a paper cup – not a street person, but a resident. He was gazing contemplatively at his house until I disturbed him, whereupon he strolled back across the street and inside.

At the top of Belmore Gardens I was able to have a good long look at Brassey House (see featured image at the top of this entry).

Originally called the Telopea Park Hostel, the building was opened in 1927. In that year, it was renamed ‘Brassey House’ after Sir Thomas Brassey, Governor of Victoria from 1885–91 and an early supporter of Federation. Brassy [sic] House is designed in the American Colonial style which differed from other government hostels. The building is set in a picturesque garden setting. When it opened, it provided full board for 60 people in 36 single rooms and 12 double rooms. In 1935 it was leased to the private sector and returned to Commonwealth management in 1959. Major extensions were carried out in 1964. It was sold in 1987 and, after major refurbishment, now caters to the short-stay tourist and business market.

It’s now called Brassey Hotel. I was interested to see its architectural style described as American Colonial: looking at it, I was reminded of big Parisian buildings, perhaps because of the venerable slate roof.

The “recreational signage” mentioned above was opposite Brassey House. I’ve transcribed it on another page. I snapped away at the hotel, gathering shots for the panorama above, and deranged a guest who was having a quiet smoke on one of the balconies. Maybe s/he was somewhere s/he shouldn’t have been, but I didn’t feel too guilty since it’s pretty hard to see that anyone’s there at all.

By Brassey House, I encountered the only evidence of a dog on this walk: wild barking emanated from the house on the left as I walked by.

Young Street and Gipps Street

The suburb of Barton is named after Edmund Barton, the first Prime Minister of Australia, and its streets are named after assorted governors. I wondered about Gipps Street, where my walk started and ended. There’s a Gipps Street in the middle of Melbourne, which I remember Helen saying was a very useful street for a cyclist. Presumably it, like the Canberra one (and like Gippsland, for that matter) is named for:

George Gipps (1791-1847)

Captain-General and Governor-in-Chief of New South Wales and Van Diemen’s Land, 1838-46; much valuable exploration work was done during his term of office.

- ACT Planning and Land Authority
Place Name search

Looking into Melbourne’s Gipps Street led me a merry dance just now. I read about the Hoddle Grid, the layout of streets in the Melbourne CBD, which originated during Gipps’s regime. I cannot forbear to pass on this unsourced remark from the Hoddle Grid Wikipedia article:

Gipps also insisted that all towns laid out during his term of office should have no public squares included within their boundaries, being convinced that they only encouraged democracy.

Perhaps they do! How nice! I will look upon public squares differently from now on.

"Recreational signage" opposite Brassey House

[Canberra Tracks logo:]
Canberra Tracks
See how far we’ve travelled

Canberra
A Garden City

[ACT Government crest]

Four men and a plan

The extent of government planning and intervention in the early design and establishment of Canberra is unique within Australia’s history.

Four men are responsible for the character and identity of the bush capital and garden city of Canberra today.

The contribution and legacy of each of these men can be seen here in Barton, as well as other garden city precincts throughout Canberra, including Ainslie, Braddon, Reid, Forrest, Griffith and Kingston.

Surveyor Charles Scrivener, when selecting the site for the capital in 1909, was under instruction to choose a site:

‘with a view to securing picturesqueness, and also with the object of beautification and expansion.’

(In Brine, J. et al. 2000. Reid Conservation Area Conservation Plan).

Walter Burley Griffin in 1912 provided the winning design for the nation’s capital, stating:

‘I have planned a city not like any other. I have planned it not in a way that I expected any government authority in the world would accept. I have planned an ideal city, a city that meets my ideal of the future.’

(In the New York Times, 2 June 1912).

Griffin envisaged a green city with tree-lined streets and open parks and gardens. His wife, Marion Mahoney Griffin, contributed much to the success of his initial designs for the capital and his subsequent work here.

John Sulman, chairperson of the Federal Capital Advisory Committee (FCAC), was responsible for Canberra’s earliest subdivisions. He furthered Griffin’s planning for a garden city through the creation of large land titles, allowing low density residential development, garden settings, and wide nature strips.

Charles Weston, superintendent of Parks and Gardens from 1913 to 1926, was the man responsible for the planting of more than two million trees during this time.

[Photo 1 (top, RHS):]
Charles Scrivener and other surveying staff at Canberra. Scrivener is seated, second from right. 1910.
Credit: Mitchell Library. State Library of NSW D1_11821

[Photo 2 (middle):]
John Sulman, shown third from right, with other members of the Federal Capital Advisory Committee. c1922.
Credit: National Library of Australia AN11030057-442

[Photo 3 (bottom, LHS):]
Walter Burley Griffin and his wife, Marion Mahoney Griffin, 1930.
Credit: National Library of Australia VN3113700

[Photo 4 (bottom, RHS):]

Charles Weston at Yarralumla Nursery in 1932.
Credit: National Archives of Australia A3560:233

Fences affected by my fence

That’s me in red, with my five neighbours in maroon. The fence to the left of me is going to be replaced: ACT Housing owns that property, and they have spoken. I thought it would be a good opportunity to get all the fences done, but I reckoned without the house-of-cards effect of our staggered boundaries. The pink shows some of the other houses that would be affected if I changed my back fence.

I set off as early as I could, given that I didn’t wake up till 8.30 this morning. (Slept like a stunned mullet, thanks to the antihistamines I’m taking for extremely late-onset hayfever.) After months of luxuriously moderate weather, 30 degrees was forecast. I fondly imagined I’d be safe if I started early, but unfortunately 10am wasn’t early enough. The heat whacked me in the face as soon as I stepped out the door.

My street is downhill on the way out (how I wish it were the other way round!) so I was fine for the first hundred yards. Then I struck out up the side of Mount Taylor: walked one block (possibly another hundred yards) before I had to stop, puffing and panting, and have a drink of water. The people in the giant house on the corner were in their front yard getting ready to go out, and must have wondered why someone was loitering in the street.

I learnt something while I stood gasping there: one of the hoonish noises I hear in the night is their car. It has a throbbing, rich, metallic engine tone and sounds as if it’s about to boil over. If that doesn’t conjure up a soundscape for you, search on YouTube for any car race.

Another block up the hill and I had to stop again, this time under the nice shady tree on the corner of Murphy and Pendred Streets. I hadn’t been along Pendred Street for ages, and was surprised to see that the house in the lower “corner” had been McMansioned and now sports three letterboxes. There were only four houses in the street in the first place. I wonder how the neighbours felt about such a large increase in urban density.

In the walkway down to Beasley Street was a cat cage exactly like ours, except that it was outside its owner’s fence, and full of broken bits of wood.

Two features of the walk:

• the upsurge in renovated and extended houses, covered in grey or pumpkin-coloured render, with “Mediterranean” gardens, and
• the number of unfamiliar bird calls.

I stopped to see if I could spot the birds in question, but no luck.

My neighbour’s doorbell was up a steep flight of stairs and no one came to answer it. I’d heard a shower going as I climbed the stairs. Perhaps it was too early for him/them (there were two SUVs and a car parked outside). Now I’ll have to ring up.

Didn’t pass many people, didn’t see any dogs. The Pethebridge Street choughs were rummaging around in Murphy Street. I came to another halt just before I got to my home corner and had some more water. Some people from my street drove past and stopped to ask me if I was all right. Nice of them! I explained that I was just girding my loins for the last little climb.

“Back already!” was Dac’s greeting. “It was enough!” was my reply. It’s a start. The temperature was 25 degrees at 10.30 and 26 at 11.

Silver Soles Cloggers on the Carnival Stage

Front row, left to right: Louise (our fearless leader), Tamara, Marilyn, Jessie
Back row, left to right: Judy, Bob, Val, Sandy, Lenore
Photo from Louise

My sister came down with the whole family, and they were in the front row of the audience. Judy and Sandy had said, as always, “We’re only dancing because you are, Val”. No way could I wriggle out of it.

No one told me hats had become obligatory, but I’m glad I didn’t know. Bet I couldn’t have got the hat over my hair, anyway!

Actually this post is to mark a hiatus in the Weekend Walks.

To everyone who said it was all that dancing that wrecked my back: nah. It’s been bad since July and was already well on its way to being impossible.

To Daryl, who looked at the video Fiona & Co took and wondered why I didn’t move my arms, it was because I was having such trouble moving my legs. (Well, I always have trouble with arms, but I had practised a couple of the gestures. I simply couldn’t do them at the time.)

To Louise, who inadvertently left out the Karate-turn section, one of the few scary bits of Red River Valley: thanks! I was relieved!

So … not much walking last weekend. Three swims and three osteo treatments (they were so kind to fit me in!) since, and I’m still struggling. See you back here one day. Soon, I hope.

• footpaths, because it’s been raining off and on for a couple of days, and
• an easy walk (yet again I’ve had to miss a week, this time because of the dreaded lurgy. Two dreaded lurgies, in fact, one after the other.)

I was considering Canberra House Walking Tour #1, which covers parts of Deakin, Forrest and Red Hill, but Dac laughed uproariously. Those are hilly places. We settled for more ANU sculptures – supposedly all that remained, but we (well, I) didn’t quite make it to the end.

I parked outside the H C Coombs Building, planning a figure-eight-shaped walk, and we started by looking at #23, the Matcham Skipper iron lace screens flanking the front entrance. In the past these have made such an impression on me that I imagined they extended all around the building – and Coombs is a very big building indeed, three and a half hexagons’ worth. I think I’ve conflated the screens with the louvred shutters.

Purple line: where we went. Pink line: where we didn't

Dac knocked on the Pukamani poles (#22. Benny Tipungwuti, Pukamani poles, 1973, Fire-blackened bloodwood) and established that they were holding up well. My favourite sculpture of the day was the nearby #21, Guardian figures.

Guardian figures

Gregory Johns, Guardian figures, 2003, Corten steel (H.C. Coombs Building lawn)

Neither of us knew what Corten steel was.

It is a copper chromium alloy steel – this alloy displays a greater level of resistance to atmospheric weathering when compared to other unalloyed steels. It’s [sic] chemical composition promotes the early formation of an adhering protective layer of rust when exposed to the elements.

- Masteel UK Limited, who reckon the Angel of the North
(mentioned in South Side of the Lake) is made of it.

This lovely shape appears to have been made from a continuous block of steel which Dac estimated to be 40-odd metres long. Impossible to imagine how it was bent into such neat and symmetrical curves.

We set off along Fellows Road, glancing at Lyndon Dadswell’s copper screens on the R G Menzies Library. Sculpture-walking round the ANU has opened my eyes to sculptures on buildings – before, I mistook them for part of the architecture, which perhaps they are and all, but I hadn’t previously thought about what went into them.

Nevertheless we gave much more time and attention to this tree by the side of the road:

Dead and alive tree

Dac was intrigued by the live tree growing out of the dead trunk, then by the metal insert to stop something (what?) from living in there, and by the diseased-looking growth above it, and of course by the possibility of spiders under the bark.

Turning right into Garran Road when we reached University House, we soon found #19, Inge King’s Black sun II. While looking at it, we almost tripped over various swallows who were looping around us, much like the ones on the Kambah Pines walk last year. The blossoms were out and birds were flying everywhere.

Black Sun II; Pictures at an exhibition

#18, Michael Snape’s Pictures at an exhibition, decorated the side of Graduate House, one of the many buildings on campus that are new to me. The figures didn’t seem exciting to us, but I suspect they look terrific lit up at night. The poem reads:

For all of the changes
For all from which
We walked away
For all of the new
We could not resist
A structure emerged
A core around which
The distance was
Contained and safe.

Next came #17, Hossein Valamanesh’s Unveiled, at the Australian Phenomics Facility. Neither of us had ever heard of Phenomics. The sculpture brochure calls it a biological research facility. Its own website is worth a look for the excellent photo of the building (the Hugh Ennor Building) which Dac found remarkable for its “snot-green” tiles. Back home, the Facility’s About us page leapt out and surprised me with the following summary:

The Australian Phenomics Facility is a purpose-built mouse breeding and management operation with a number of specialist teams for supporting major research platforms.

Mice!

Further down Garran Road, we could see the new John Curtin School of Medical Research (JCSMR) so I requested a departure from the agreed route in order to inspect it. On the way down, we took the obligatory Black Mountain Tower shot.

"Thus high at least..."

Dac went up all the stairs to look at the twisty windows. The JCSMR is an impressive building. The former JCSMR building (where SCUNA’s legendary conductor Chris Burrell worked in the late 1960s) also seems still to be part of the JCSMR.

I sat at ground level and had a rest till approached by a man who asked where there were toilets. (I had to ask him to spell what he was saying because I couldn’t understand him – how embarrassing all round!) I was telling him to go up the road to University House when Dac arrived downstairs, agreeing that UH had the nearest toilets, but suggesting he made use of the bushes on the side of the oval.

The man wandered off to the bushes, from whence he had in fact come, and resumed wandering around declaiming to himself, which is what he’d been doing when we first arrived, I realised. Es gruselt überall. (That’s my attempt to emulate a sign I used to see at railway stations in Switzerland which said “Schhh! Es spionert überall!” which I took to mean “Shhh! Spies are everywhere!” My phrase, which I believe is much truer than the Swiss sign, is supposed to mean “Creeps are everywhere”.)

We’d walked a long way past Eggleston Road, where we’d been supposed to turn left. I pointed out a path beside JCSMR which seemed likely to take us to Mills Road, the home of #15, Inge King’s Great gate. I believed I could even see the path on our poorly-printed map. Dac was entirely sceptical.

“You know what happens every time we take one of your shortcuts,” he grumbled.

I do know that it quite often doesn’t turn out well, so I am extremely careful about proposing one. I was sure this one would work, and very relieved when it did. A sculpture appeared on the horizon and we headed for it, finding ourselves at the end of Garran Road and in fact considerably overshooting the supposed location of Great gate. What we had aimed for wasn’t listed in the sculpture brochure at all. Very nice, for all that.

The Canberra Homopolar Generator sign

Transcription:

“Magnetic Power”

The Canberra Homopolar Generator (H.P.G.) was developed in the Research School of Physical Sciences during the period 1951 to 1964 under the direction of Sir Mark Oliphant. The H.P.G. was used for a number of experiments utilising very high currents until it was decommissioned in 1985. Experiments included High Current Arcs, a Rail Gun, a High Field Magnet, High Speed Circuit Breakers and a Plasma TOKAMAK. The H.P.G. was the largest homopolar generator ever constructed. The major specifications were:

• Energy storage capacity 560,000,000 Joules, as rotating mechanical energy. (This energy was taken from the electricity supply over about 15 minutes.)
• Maximum output voltage 900 Volts
• Maximum output current 1,600,000 Amps
• Maximum output power 1,000,000,000 Watts
• Typical output current pulse length 2 seconds
  

  Dac and the Canberra Homopolar Generator (and a mossy screw)

When we made our way back down Mills Road towards Eggleston Road, we found that Great gate had vanished, leaving only a plaque. (I subsequently discovered, stumbling across a sculpture map by Acton Walkways, that it has moved to Kinloch Lodge, part of the Unilodge Complex which opened at the beginning of 2011 in Childers Street. Furthermore that map cites “Sir Mark Oliphant (scientist)” as the sculptor of the Canberra Homopolar Generator!)

A preponderance of metal sculptures, this side of campus. #14, Anne Neil’s Leaf lines (top right, below), turned up in a courtyard in Eggleston Road. Around this area we also saw labelled rat traps and inverted-V-shaped cages with signs on them warning of poisoned carrots. Rabbit traps, we speculated. Mynah birds were everywhere, too.

Flahrs, Leaf Lines, and mynah bird

This one was peeping rhythmically in its tree, puffed up till it was nearly spherical, until we came close. It deflated and sat absolutely still until we left. I had plenty of time to focus the camera and imagined I’d been able to get a decent bird shot for once – although a more literal shot would probably have pleased more of the people more of the time. Mynah birds are regarded as a plague in Canberra; various organisations trap and kill them. I don’t like the fact that they eat native birds out of house and home, but when I look at them I don’t see vicious monsters, just innocent creatures.

When I came home and looked at my photos, I didn’t find a decent bird shot: just the usual blur. My camera has some tiny buttons, one of which is for close-ups. That’s not the one I was pressing, apparently. :-(

We cut across country behind the Menzies Library in search of the next lot of sculptures. I was flagging, very tempted to stop by the thought that we were going to pass the car. Dac encouraged me to press on.

End of the walk

1. #34, Saraswati, created by the students of the Indonesia Institute of the Arts, Yogyakarta
2. #25, May Barrie’s Head of R.C. Mills. 
3. #28. Neil Roberts, Transmission tower (render all their dues), 1992, Neon tubes and metal (Ellery Cres entrance to ANU School of Art)
4. #26, Olavi Lanu, Reclining figure, 1982, Wire, fibreglass resin, moss and lichens (left of Ellery Cres. entrance of ANU School of Art)
5. #27. Olavi Lanu, Seated figure, 1982, Wire, fibreglass resin, moss and lichens (intersection of Ellery Cres. and Liversidge St)
6. Ducks in front of the Coombs building. The drake on the left tried several times to attack Dac, who didn’t even notice the wild aggression taking place.

We missed #28 on the first pass (it’d be easier to see at night) but caught it on the way back. It says “Honour to whom honour, fear to whom fear” and comes from Romans 13:7 (KJV):

Render therefore to all their dues: tribute to whom tribute is due; custom to whom custom; fear to whom fear; honour to whom honour.

Dac wasn’t fond of the two figures, seated and reclining, and liked them even less when he realised they were hollow. Someone has put holes in the head of the reclining figure. I thought the moss and lichens were pretty good! The reclining one reminded me of this:

No motion has she now, no force;
She neither hears nor sees;
Roll’d round in earth’s diurnal course
With rocks, and stones, and trees.

- From Lucy by William Wordsworth

Sculptures 29 to 33 will have to wait. At least they’re all close together, over at the Schools of Music and Art. One day we’ll just go there and have a look, without a walk. As far as I was concerned, walking was done – although I got to do a bit more walking as we looked for somewhere to have lunch. Some of it was even in the rain!

He did request that there should be no screaming. Years ago, he put me on his bike in the back yard and whooshed me about, trying to teach me to ride. I was unable to prevent myself from screaming throughout. This time I did better – on that front, at least.

There was only one other car in the Mr Spokes carpark when we arrived, and we were soon sitting in our fully-paid-up pedal car, discovering that my legs barely reached the pedals. I admit that my legs aren’t long, but tiny people were pedalling by looking perfectly calm and in control. What was going on?

Furthermore I felt quite sure we were going to thunder down the slope from the hire place to the lakeside path and fall straight into the lake. “See what it’s like when someone else has the steering wheel!” said Dac, who was in charge. He kept us out of the lake.

The lakeside path near the hire place is quite narrow. It was full of unlooked-for hazards such as children running out under our wheels, and cyclists trying to hoon between us and oncoming pedestrians. We had to maintain a certain amount of speed in order to keep going at all, which meant that we overtook people (calling out to them in warning) once or twice. One man was outraged and made a point of speeding up and overtaking us in turn -and then of course slowing down and blocking the path. What an oaf!

Because I felt as if the pedals were going backwards when I tried to push them, and couldn’t keep my feet on them anyway, Dac did all the pedalling till we reached a point where we could stop. This was just under the bridge, at the start of the R G Menzies walk – we’d come possibly 800m. We pushed the pedal car off the path and sat on the seat while I panicked for a while.

It was clear to me that I couldn’t go on. Even on the couple of occasions when I’d managed to turn the pedals, my artificial knee had complained bitterly. The small bike seat wasn’t something I was getting used to, either. While we were sitting recovering, I saw several excellent dogs, including a standard poodle which I’m pretty sure I’ve also seen in Bowen Park and Kingston. I was too demoralised, though, to think of photos and cards.

Dac gave me some lessons in turning the pedals, but I just wanted to go back. I managed to help a bit with the pedalling on the return trip, but my left foot kept wanting to slip off. Stirrups like the ones on my old exercise bike would have helped! We had to keep way over on the narrow path, to leave room for the oncoming traffic. On the way back, this meant I was extremely close to the water’s edge. Nerveracking!

I’m sure I was a complete ingrate, especially as Dac hadn’t believed it was a good idea in the first place, and then got lumbered with nearly all the work. I was grateful to him when he suggested a small walk in the Botanic Gardens instead.

The nice man refunded us some of the hire charge. Even though only about half an hour had passed, the carpark had filled up completely. It was the first day of Floriade.

* ~ ~ * ~ ~ *

The degree of dubiety I encounter when I attempt to show anyone the way to anywhere is probably justified. Nevertheless, I was right about the start of the Main Loop Walk at the Gardens. After all, I’d been there only a few weeks before, with Annabel and Helen. Where I went wrong was after the Rock Garden. I was still trying to follow the Main Loop Walk, when what was wanted was a quick route down to the cafe.

We were very pleased to see water monitors at the Gardens. These thumbnails are linked to bigger pictures:

Evidently they hide in the winter, and the spring has brought them forth.

Driving along, not knowing where to stop, was a little nerveracking. I thought we might run out of road before we found a way onto the mountain. A pity I didn’t think to look online for a map of the Mount Taylor Nature Reserve. Territory & Municipal Services provides a PDF which shows among other things paths, access points, and heights.

Eventually I saw a bunch of cars parked on the opposite side of the road and we crossed over and joined them. There was a gate, with a gap beside it that was obviously meant for walkers to sidle through. I feared I wouldn’t fit, but I got through – just.

Kangaroos in the distance

Although I have lived at the foot of Mount Taylor since August 1985, I didn’t know much about it except that it was steep. I’ve been to the top once, a very long time ago. Failed to get beyond the track at the base on the next attempt. A couple of times I’ve walked around that track. The last time, I had a bad fall, which I tried not to think about as we set off.

Mount Taylor’s listing in the Australian Heritage Database states that, with Mount Tuggeranong, it’s the second highest hill in Canberra, at 855m above sea level. It’s also described as “the most prominent landmark in southern Canberra”. From the same source:

Much of the reserve has been degraded by past land management practices, but [...] significant remnants survive, and important regeneration, both active and passive, is taking place.

There’s a lively Mount Taylor ParkCare Group but they regularly encounter problems, many caused by humans. Here are some excerpts from their contribution to a volunteer newsletter (The Scribbly Gum Spring 2010), interspersed with my comments:

There used to be 4 echidnas on Mount Taylor, but we have not seen them for years – one had been thrown over the underpass near Weston.

One day when Helen and I had been here only a couple of years and were still struggling with the enormous “lawn” ourselves, we were outside having conniptions because we couldn’t get the lawnmower to start. We were stopped in our tracks – and enormously cheered – when an echidna stumped by. It continued purposefully across our front yard, across next door’s, down the hill to the next block, and out of sight. Perhaps it was going to Melrose High to check out the discarded lunches.

I think of myself as a pacifist, but when I’m forced to contemplate people who enjoy causing pain and death, I want to do them severe damage. I descend instantly to their level. At the very least, I’d like to stick them all on a desert island to tear each other apart. I worry that I’d have to go with them because of my violent reaction to them.

There has been systematic rock rolling on Mount Taylor to remove scorpions, lizards and other animals; we never find the culprits. There has been frequent fence cutting over the last year, often for access by small motorbikes and mountain bikes.

Systematic rock rolling, FFS!

I hear motorbikes on the mountain all the time. Night after night they’re up there, screaming around. I don’t recall hearing them early in the week, but from Thursday to Saturday nights I hear them.

Mount Taylor is probably the most walked mountain in the south side of Canberra, with hundreds of people present every week, especially on weekends. We need to protect the access because the numbers are increasing steadily and the tracks require constant control and maintenance.

And perhaps I need to phone the police when I hear the motorbikes.

From the “recreational signage”:

It is believed that the name ‘Mount Taylor’ commemorates James Taylor who squatted in the area in the 1820s. He was the son-in-law of Colonel George Johnston, reportedly the first person ashore when the First Fleet landed, and who later became lieutenant-governor and arrested Governor Bligh.

So… Taylor was related to someone quite famous!

The first part of our walk went straight up. I have nothing against hills in principle, it’s just that I lose my breath straight away and can’t catch it again without stopping for ridiculous lengths of time. Meanwhile we passed (and were passed by) many dog owners, so I was able to take breathers, and photos of the dogs, and hand out my cards. This time, I warned the owners not to expect excellent portraiture!

The first and last of the dogs we saw on Mount Taylor

The first dog  appears again – on the right – in the second photo. She has the same collar as Teesy the Great Dane, Helen and Chloe’s dog! These are beagles, I believe. The last dog (my guess: labrador) was quite a long way away, but we chatted to one of its people. He wasn’t its owner, but a visitor from London who was walking his hosts’ dog while attempting to take photos with an old wide-lens camera. The look of it reminded me of my first camera, in 1962.

Back to the first part of the walk: I soon despaired of puffing and panting, and asked a couple of passers-by if there was ever going to be a flat bit to walk on. “Yes,” they said, “in about 100 metres.” It seemed a long 100 metres to me, but we appreciated the views when we got up to the flat path.

You could even see Lake Tuggeranong!

More dogs! Pretty black and white ones. The malamute makes the border collie look small.

Brothers

And here’s Batman:

What an excellent name for a dog!

We turned off onto a narrow path, between a drainage ditch and a slope leading to a wire fence, and teetered along past a bit of Torrens. On the way back to the car, I came the closest I’ve come in a while to falling over, and the consequences would have been dire. After giving a card to the owner of Geoffrey (following photo), I’d turned to walk on when she said “You dropped something”. I swung around, saw my bundle of cards on the ground, started to reach down for it, and lost my balance. I don’t know exactly what happened next but I managed to stay upright, to the relief of all concerned.

Geoffrey

Geoffrey with a G, she said. I was reminded that Jeoffry is a cat’s name.

Walking on unpaved surfaces is obviously still an issue for me, but it is nice to get away from footpaths sometimes!

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