Beautiful Cumberland: A Wonderland of Loveliness
To most city dwellers the preservation of the Cumberland forest sanctuary from the vandal touch of the miller seems to be a very remote, unimportant business —just a dry subject of political argument. But has he ever heard the music of falling water? Is the song of the mountain stream, the happy prattle of a pebbly creek, the tune of amber water falling over golden tinted stones anything more real to him than the hyperbole of poets? His he heard or seen the Australian Minnehaha, the laughing chuckling, merry life-giving loveliness that shelters in the mountain fastnesses of the Cumberland? The drab, dull, sluggish creeks that most Australians know cannot be even poor relations of those murmuring, crystal clear rivers that pour their melody over the rocky shoulders of the Divide. The Cumberland is sanctuary not only for the birds, for the tender plumes of the emerald ferns, for the lacy loveliness of the beech trees, and for all those tumbling waters. It is a haven of healing peace and solace for the refreshment of jaded dwellers of the cities and plains
The Cumberland is the crowning beauty of the superb mountain scenery that has Marysville as its centre or starting point. After a climb of 11 miles up the mountain side, where the road swoops up in some parts at a grade that rises almost 3,000ft. in three miles, the drooping, sad leafed gum trees soon are quickly livened with the graceful lacy foliage of beech trees, the glossy fern-like leaves of which beautify these forests just as the gracious presence of charming women still enliven an assemblage of sombrely garbed men. Giant tree ferns toss their plumes as the way leads upward, sudden turns in the road giving glimpses of shady dells carpeted with smaller ferns, where the boles of the wattle trees and blackwoods are covered with pale jade moss, and tiny honey-eaters, wrens, butcher birds, and tits flit in the cool green light Sometimes the face is brushed by the foaming white of a branch of Christmas bush, and the musky smell of dogwood is wafted from the forest on either side as the grade stiffens. Now a gap in the trees calls a halt, for from the vantage point on the edge of a steep drop down the mountain side is offered a magnificent view of the Acheron Valley.
Like some surf-battered ocean cliff the rugged battlement of the Cathedral Peak is etched in a cobalt silhouette against the distant pinkish undulations, the haze of which melts into Alexandra. At its foot lies the happy rural a valley that is sweetened by the Taggerty River and the Little Taggerty. Part of this valley at Buxton is now laid out as golf links for the pleasure of the Moondai Country Club. Dropping sheer down from the road here at this view point the mountain side is clothed in tall timber, sassafras, white gum, mountain ash, and blackwood, screening many a little rill that tumbles along eventually to feed the Acheron. Now onward through even thicker aisles of whispering beech trees and towering blackbutt, the road leads over the shoulder of Mount Arnold, 4,300ft. above sea level, and the Divide, forming the watershed of the Goulburn and Yarra watercourses, is crossed. Here the blackbutts soar to heaven in superb palissades, stately boles, straight as knitting-needles, marching in mass formation through acres of fern-strewn undergrowth. Many of these have a girth of 20ft., a height of 280ft., and a timber volume of 1,230 cubic feet.
The Triangle
Among this big timber is found a pathway, shady and leaf-strewn, so that the footfall is soundless. It leads to the wonderful Cumberland Triangle. On either side great tree-ferns dip then giant emerald plumes in salutation and welcome, and during every step of the walk is heard the musical crooning of running water. In the distance all the time are the rumble and roar of the cascades, but as the pathway meanders in little twists and turns and steep upward steps a variety of little tunes also come to the ear from the pebbly streams. Some murmur like the hum of whispered conversation, some gurgle in little bubbling pools and deep amber trout-filled streams; some laugh in staccato splashes over yellow and white and russet pebbles that gleam like jewels when the sun kisses them unexpectedly, sometimes through the dense leafy screen. A sharp turn in the little path leads into a long alley-way hedged on either side by a row of treeferns, the giant fronds of which sweep to the ground like a feathery curtain, completely enclosing the avenue for about 100 yards. Soon after leaving this green aisle the roar of rushing water announces the presence of the Cora Lynn Falls. The way leads to a fallen log, from which a perfect view of this beautiful cascade is to be had. Not so high as some of the other falls in this neighbourhood, the Cora Lynn are particularly beautiful, the very rapidly flowing water being spread right over the face of the rock, forming a great sheet of tumbling white.
Reluctantly leaving this exquisite spot, the path is followed, still going downward, accompanied all the time by the chuckle of running water, screened by walls of fern and beech, with the continual boom and roar of the cascades as the bass to the melody of the treble. Down steep pathways, now over steps made of fern boles that are still growing feathery fronds, an enchanting spot is reached, and the music of the single stream is accompanied by the presence of others. This is the meeting of the waters, where the Cumberland Creek and Cora Lynn unite to form the Armstrong River. A cool, sequestered haven this, will fallen logs, tree ferns and great grey stepping stones inviting rest, romantic dreams and assuagement of icy cold, crystal-clear tumbling water for the thirsty. Here trout hide away in tawny pools and the water is pellucid as the diamond. A deep cup in the very heart of the mountains from which the life-giving streams flow, always to the lilt of their own laughing music, eventually to contribute to the water needs of Melbourne.
The Falls
From the apex of the Cumberland Triangle the path soon rises, a stiff climb giving awe-inspiring views of precipitous rocky crags and sheer stone walls of the mountainside where it now “shows its bones” in gorge-like fissures. Up, sweeping swiftly round, shadowed always by the giant pillars of the blackbutts, the austerity of which is softened by the thickly growing beeches and the gaily waving arms of the ferns, the path leads toward the torrent of the Cumberland Falls. A “crow’s nest” platform with a rustic seat upon it gives a view of this beautiful cascade, round which beech trees and Christmas bush crowd, growing quickly as if jealous to screen the lovely bridal veil from the eyes of curious world. All this wonderland is just within the comparatively small area of the Cumberland Triangle, and about an hour and a half’s walk is required to see it. Undoubtedly there are many other perhaps equally beautiful spectacles waiting in the miles of forest beyond. Such places as the Cumberland are given us by Providence for refreshment and encouragement to bear the burden of the ordinary flat, mundane life of the drab world “down below.” Philistines who would filch them surely know not what they do.
