I’ve always tried to abide by Socrates’ famous quote, “to find yourself, think for yourself”, but recently I’ve been beginning to wonder if the old philosopher is getting nudged out the door in our modern lives.

It’s Tuesday morning.  Nanette and I are relaxing with a coffee on the porch of a very comfortable cabin, watching the birds and hoping in vain to spot a platypus in the creek far below.  

We’re just outside the historic town of Gloucester, about two hours’ drive north from Newcastle. This is the first two-night stop of our mini-break on the way home from a family visit.  Why Gloucester you ask?  Well, Nanette said she’s “always wanted to see the Barrington Tops.”  All I know about ‘the Tops’ is that they’re a sort of high plateau, that sometimes gets snow on a very cold winter day.

The conversation goes like this:

Me – “Isn’t it just another national park like the ones we’ve seen already?”

Nanette – “Well, it’s close to town, and everybody says that the views are spectacular.” (I don’t know who this mysterious ‘everybody’ is, but I know from experience not to challenge their social media pronouncements.)

Me – “It’ll be cold up there, and maybe rainy.”

Nanette – “That’s alright.  There’s sure to be lots of cafes and little shops where we can sit inside with a hot coffee.”

I’m tempted to mention that my new favourite travel advisor, ChatGPT, reckons all we’ll find after we take the winding road up to the plateau, then follow a few miles of rough gravel is, well, nothing.  I realise that an AI friend that doesn’t really exist can’t possibly hope to compare with the wisdom of ‘everyone’. 

Off we go.  A short time later, we start our ascent up the mountain.  Around and around, and up, up, up we go. Then – unexpectedly, around and around, and down, down, down we return.  We know we haven’t missed any side roads, but there’s no phone reception here, so we can’t check where we went wrong.  

Fortunately, the car’s nav system still works.  I search for Barrington Tops and get rewarded with the news we are indeed still on the right road and will reach our destination in a mere ninety minutes.  I don’t dare to comment, or glance sideways at my dearly beloved, but start the engine and ‘proceed’.

We traverse a lovely rural valley, climb another steep, winding mountain road, then bump and bounce along when, as promised, the bitumen surface gives way to rough gravel.

First stop, Cobark Lookout.  Easy access from the road and spectacular views over the escarpment. As we return to our car, we nod to young couple engaged in lowering the pressure in the tyres of their 4WD vehicle.  They give us that ‘special look’ reserved for people who have the audacity to drive their city wheels into the domain of ‘real’ adventurers, then turn back to their task.

We make two more stops at Thunderbolt’s Lookout, (named after the famous bushranger), and Devil’s Hole Lookout, before reaching the picnic area at Polblue Swamp. This the furthest point that can be safely accessed by regular car, so it’s a logical spot for lunch.  I tactfully avoid mentioning the complete lack of cafes, tourist shops, or civilisation in general, but note instead that the nearby composting toilets look well maintained.

We try to select a table that’s protected from the icy wind and settle in to enjoy our ‘just in case’ supplies of lukewarm coffee and partially eaten sandwiches left over from yesterday.  As we munch, a young lady pulls up in a 4WD and proceeds to set up her camp stove to cook something from a can.  We introduce ourselves and learn she lives in the hot northwest of Australia and is travelling the country solo, sometimes house sitting, and other times camping in the little tent contraption on the top of her vehicle. 

As tonight is to be one of the camping nights, she asks whether this area gets cold.  We mention the occasional snow that falls in the area. “Oh,” she says, “what about Armidale, or Glen Innes”. Our faces say it all. Her reply – “I knew I shouldn’t have listened to those people back in Gloucester.”

Shortly after, a group of hikers emerge from the track that circles the swamp this spot is named after.  They wave genially as they head to their minivan.  “The sign says that walk takes an hour, but we did it in fifty-two minutes!  You really must try it.  We saw three different kinds of swamp grass on the way around!”

They know, and we know, that we won’t do the walk, but they’re happy to have passed on the information.

As they jog away, we say goodbye to our new friend the solo traveller and start back towards Gloucester and our warm, comfortable cabin. Nanette muses, “well, that wasn’t quite like they said it would be.”  “True,” I said, “it was way better. We nearly got lost, saw some awesome stuff, and met a new friend.”  Socrates would have been pleased.