Big River

The Brisbane River runs large in our lives, and not just because we live beside it. The river's appearance changes according to weather and time of day; it boasts a variety of wildlife, especially birds; it is a working river, busy day and night; it gives the city its name and focus; and, of course, it was the principal player in the great flood of 2011.

It flows 344 kilometres into Moreton Bay from headwaters on Mt Stanley in the Brisbane Range about 25 km northeast of Nanango in the South Burnett region. The Brisbane drains a catchment area of 13,500 square kilometres and has numerous tributaries, including the Stanley, Cooyar, Lockyer and Bremer, and urban creeks such as the Enoggera, Oxley, Bulimba and Norman. It was first explored by John Oxley, New South Wales Surveyor-General, in 1823. He was looking for a suitable site for a remote penal station and navigated as far as modern-day Gailes, near the junction of the Logan and Ipswich motorways. He named the river after Thomas Brisbane, Governor of New South Wales. Allan Cunningham explored upstream of Ipswich in 1829.

It is a river for people, essentially, either on it or by it: for walkers, runners and fitness enthusiasts; skate-boarders, cyclists, rowers and kayakers; boaties, fishers and (unfortunately) jet-skiers; ferry passengers and sightseers; picnickers and partygoers; river police and coastguards; and all manner of workers on barges, platforms, tugboats, liners, tankers and container ships.

Its colour and mood reflect weather and sky. I never tire of looking at it: it is a joy to walk by and sail upon. Other cities' rivers look small and insignificant now by comparison. The Brisbane is mighty and mysterious, winding back on itself as it does so that newcomers become disorientated. Strangely, even at king tides, it is never menacing. And, as people gazed silently at its swollen waters (bottom of post) in the hours leading up to the flood peak, the power of inevitability was mesmeric.

Let's start with mood.

  

 

Then birdlife. In 'our' Weeping Figs we have Crows, Magpies, Magpie Larks, Currawongs, Butcherbirds, Noisy Miners, Figbirds, Lorikeets, Rosellas and a pair of magnificent Nankeen Night Herons (immediately below). We occasionally hear Kookaburras just across the river, and one evening a couple of months ago we thrilled to the eerie cry of a Bush Stone-curlew. Closer to the water you will see Herons, Egrets, Cormorants, Darters, Ducks, Gulls, Swallows, Magpie Geese, Striated Herons and, my favourite, Pelicans. There is rarely a dull moment.

As for river craft to-ing and fro-ing, where do I start? With the smallest, I think.

 

 

 

 

  

 

 

 

The smallest craft often seem disproportionately noisy. The Cats purr soothingly; the tugs labour unmistakably; the cruise ships glide majestically – and almost silently until signalling their departure with a spine-tingling horn blast; and, rarely, yachts under sail pass peacefully save for the flapping of sailcloth. 

And then there are the bridges. Where would a thriving city on a major waterway be without landmark bridges?

Occasionally there are unexpected visitors...

Brisbane has grown up relatively recently and is not yet a far-reaching city. The contrast between beautiful riverside residences in the burbs and urban jumble is therefore just around a bend or two.

When visitors first come to Brisbane, we take the CityCat route – from the Port of Brisbane to the leafy academia of St Lucia. It is by far the best introduction. Almost three years down the track, I still look forward to catching the ferry rather than any other mode of transport, and it's the best start and finish to a working day (I'm told!). I used to work in a building that overlooked the Thames, and the walk over Waterloo Bridge still provides the best cityscape-by-night in the world, but I don't think I've ever used and enjoyed a river quite as much as the Brisbane.

This post was last edited on 29 September 2012

Bridge to Brisbane 2012

It's a fun run, right?

I am awake at about 04.00 (nerves?). Out of bed at 04.30. A few sips of tea, get dressed (race number affixed to T-shirt and all clothing options laid out the previous evening) and leave the house by 04.47. Solid traffic from Barry Parade to the Women's Hospital car park. A half-hour wait in a queue to get on the free buses provided to take runners from the RNA Showgrounds to the Bridge: it's 8 degrees and still dark. But, hurrah, there is no icy blast of aircon on the bus; in fact it's warm; and the route is uncongested almost all the way, unlike last year. I still miss my group start, however; rather appositely, the greens.

We are dropped on Lytton Road and start walking amidst a chattering, lively crowd. I must confess, the sight of all those bobbing dots moving up and over the Gateway Bridge is inspiring. And the sun is up by now. But the walk to the start is frustratingly slow. All I want to do is get on with it. The sooner I start, the sooner it will be over, I hope.

The run up the Bridge to its highest point is more than manageable. Who would have thought that my running route years ago back home – starting with a steady climb half way up the South Downs – would stand me in good stead today, half way around the world. It is one kilometre to the top, and we do it in six minutes. On target. The run down the other side is liberating. I wish it was downhill all the way; then I'd easily run 10 km sub-60. By the 3-km marker I've got 45 seconds in hand; but unfortunately it is subsumed by the realisation that I can't maintain the pace. By 5 km I'm already off target. And I have discovered some way back that, in blindly stabbing at the settings of my iPod while on the bus (no glasses and half-light), I have inadvertently set my running playlist to repeat one track. Idiot.

By the time I reach the lovely riverside stretch of Kingsford Smith Drive I am past caring. I know the ramp up on to the ICB (Inner City Bypass) is coming up and I know it kills. It's at about 8 km and it's two slopes too far. It slows you down massively at a crucial point in the race and is probably the difference between sub-60 or not.

And then I'm at 9 km. Surely I can summon up a last big push for a final, faster kilometre? Apparently not. And there's another hurdle right at the last. All the runners are funnelled into a narrow, twisty, uneven path once they're in the Showgrounds with about 200 metres to go. Tired legs are easily tripped. And there also appears to be a human barrier. Runners ahead of me have stopped dead just the other side of the finishing line and I careen into some poor chap. I am extremely uncomfortable from over-exertion by this time, and the sudden overpowering smell of bacon cooking almost proves too much.

I don't hang around. As I walk to the car park, I develop the most excruciating cramp in both legs. Too late I realise I haven't drunk anywhere near enough liquid since last night. And I haven't done what I always do when I've finished running – drink lots of water. Idiot, again.

As the pain eases, I begin to look forward to our special-treat breakfast, at Spicers Balfour Hotel in New Farm. And the endorphins are now producing that warm, glad-I-did-it inner glow. There was little doubt that would be my lasting impression, even when I learn that sub-60 remains my goal. (My time was 61 minutes and 24 seconds.) Guess I'll just have to do it all over again next year.

(This isn't the T-shirt I got last year!)

The day the world went mad

George Monbiot is a columnist in The Guardian newspaper in the UK. Last Thursday he wrote a piece entitled The Day the World Went Mad*, and suggested we all remember the date – 29th August 2012. I have a lot of time for Monbiot and believe that, in fact, there have been several milestones on the route to global insanity.

Thursday, however, was extraordinary. Following news of record melting of the Arctic ice sheet**, Tory MP Tim Yeo urged that the UK Government get on with the building of a third runway at London's already-huge Heathrow airport in order to ward off Britain's 'slide towards insignificance' on the world's stage. (Another well-respected Guardian columnist, Simon Jenkins, encapsulated the bullish attitude of Yeo's party to this economic and environmental folly†.) I say, let's encourage more and more planes to take to the skies when we should probably be thinking along the lines of 'essential' flights only. (And one dog per household^, incidentally, among many other necessary measures.)

I make no apology for all these references to a newspaper that did especially well last week in highlighting the issue that is far more important than any other and yet is consistently ignored by most politicians; by most people. In Australia there is still a debate about whether anthropogenic global warming is a reality, let alone a big, big issue that should be being addressed by all politicians, working together regardless of party label. Germaine Greer on Q&A last Monday twice alluded to the coming catastrophe – a hotter planet that will have even less chance of producing enough food for its billions of people – but not a single panellist, member of the audience or twitterer reacted. Many probably didn't get it, I'm sure, but I detected the uncomfortable foot-shuffling of a wobble of ostriches in the studio.

Then, the irony of the fact that the climate-science-denying Republicans' Convention in Tampa was interrupted by tropical storm Isaac was completely lost on Mormon-Mitt Romney who mocked Barack Obama:

'President Obama promised to slow the rise of the oceans and to heal the planet. My promise is to help you and your family.'

As if the two are mutually exclusive. Perhaps he should go get a reality check among the people of Colorado, who recently lost everything in vicious wildfires, and Midwestern farmers whose crops have failed in the intense heat.

Every Friday, there's a regular slot on Steve Austin's Mornings programme on 612 ABC Brisbane on topical ethical issues. Austin discusses them with Scott Stephens, editor of the religion and ethics page on the ABC's website. Stephens always recommends articles for listeners to read. Last Friday he enthused about an opinion piece by Clive Hamilton based on a speech he had given at the Australian Catholic University in Sydney the previous day, the 29th. Hamilton is Professor of Public Ethics at the Centre for Applied Philosophy and Public Ethics at the Australian National University, and the piece was entitled The church and the ethics of climate change††. Despite the Catholic Church's endorsement of the IPCC (Intergovernmental Panel on Climate Change) and its own strong statement of the ethical argument –

'Failure to mitigate climate change will violate our duty to the vulnerable of the earth...' 

 – Cardinal George Pell, Archbishop of Sydney, remains firmly embedded with the climate science deniers. I have heard Cardinal Pell described as having one of the foremost intellects in the Catholic Church in Australia, but a few months back evolutionary biologist (and well-known atheist) Richard Dawkins made mincemeat of Pell's defence of creationism in a Q&A debate.

Hamilton's point is that

'We all become wedded to our beliefs and change them only grudgingly in the face of new evidence. We are more reluctant when the evidence contradicts beliefs deeply held... We owe a greater allegiance to the truth, and must put aside any personal discomfort the truth causes us.'

This has resonance for many more people than politicans or cardinals. Read the article – stick with it, it's quite long – and then you might like to follow up with this book, which, in my humble opinion, should be compulsory reading in schools across the land.

* http://www.guardian.co.uk/environment/georgemonbiot/2012/aug/29/day-world-went-mad
** http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/aug/27/arctic-ice-rich-world-disaster
† http://www.guardian.co.uk/commentisfree/2012/aug/28/heathrow-third-runway-big-willy-politics
†† http://www.abc.net.au/religion/articles/2012/08/29/3578983.htm
^ http://phys.org/news176582720.html

Back o' Beaudesert

It's always pleasantly surprised me how quickly you leave the city behind once you're past those daggy, American-style strip malls facing all the major arterials out of Brisbane. Yesterday, less than 60 kilometres south of the city, we were in nowhere land on a beautiful afternoon.

I studied the Brisbane and Region map and spotted a track going through the middle of a square of nothing with Beaudesert, Coulson (near Boonah), Loamside (near Ipswich) and Browns Plains at its corners. We took Route 13 (Mt Lindesay Highway) off the Ipswich Road and turned right about 5 km south of Jimboomba on to Cedar Grove Road. This joined Undullah Road which crossed the Logan River just before Kagaru. Almost immediately there was a problem.

It's not uncommon to come across closures of out-of-the-way tracks, often because of flooding; but not on this occasion. Our detour along Kilmoylar Road soon gave us a great view towards the Teviot Range and then a few photo ops by the Edward O'Neil Bridge over the Teviot Brook, which drains into the Logan. Despite little if no rain since mid-July, the brook was full-flowing.

Back on track on Undullah Road, we passed through cattle country. White humped Brahmans and the occasional cactus indicated this could be harsh country in the hot and dry. I half expected to see some evidence of coal seam gas exploration on the plains, but the only threat of development seemed to be this.

As we headed deeper into the bush there were few folk abroad but more and more private property signs and prosecution warnings for trespassers. A trackside pond with pink duckweed and lilies hosted several ducks and waders, including the striking Comb-crested Jacana – with brilliant red crests and waterski feet (below but one).

A few kilometres further on, we turned off on to Mt Elliot Road in an attempt to reach the twin peaks ahead of us. The track wound round to right and left and up and down, but was ultimately a private-propertied dead end – not for the first time in this part of the world. I had envisaged being able to drive along a ridge towards the peaks and view an impressive Scenic Rim to the south. But no. Lovely, ever-changing bush, on the other hand.

Eventually we were back in civilisation, a land of fences, power pylons, speeding utes and the sounds of shooters. North of Bundamba Lagoon we joined Ripley Road and eventually the Centenary Highway and Ipswich Road back into the city. It had been a jolly jaunt to Jimboomba and beyond, for just a few hours of peace and quiet and away-from-it-all before the challenge of the Bridge to Brisbane the following day.