The main tourist attraction of the Blue Mountains, Scenic World, was our destination for the day's activities. We arrived just after opening time to beat the crowds and headed inside where we bought our tickets and headed outside onto a precarious metal mesh platform where we were to catch the world's steepest railway to the valley floor. A grey cockatoo sat on a railing and immediately caught our attention as it preened in the morning sun. After a short burst of rattling and banging, the train was in the station waiting for fresh cargo. Now, when I say train I know what you're thinking but this was no ordinary train and when I say world's steepest railway I mean it. The train was more like two long cages attached and balanced on a few wheels with sharply angled seats and a meshed roll cage over the top and right side - I sat on the left where just a simple chain prevented me from falling down a crevasse. The two 'carriages' were attached to a rather unsubstantial cable, not a locomotive, and the weight of the train was offset by a large counterweight that swung precariously above our heads. Everyone was aboard so we set off steadily to the theme tune of Indian Jones. We had a front row seat and so could see our fate down a tunnel in front of us. The track curved sharply down as we hurtled through the tunnel; it did this twice until we were almost vertical with Gemma and a few others screaming in the background. The so called scenic railway had descended into what felt more the old Victorian wooden rollercoaster at Blackpool, the big dipper, where the fun comes at the end when you get off and you're still alive. It was actually great fun and the view from the cliff face was spectacular though we didn't have time to enjoy it as the rainforest canopy and numerous rocky outcrops blocked our view for most of the relatively short journey. The reward came at the end as the train stopped on top of another wire mesh platform where we alighted to a magnificent view of the Three Sisters - three stout rocky towers at the and of a cliff point that jutted out into the rain forested valley below.

After a brief photo session we followed the board walk down into the temperate rainforest of eucalypt trees. Almost instantly we saw a pheasant-sized bird scratching around on the floor looking for a bite to eat in the leaf litter. Being fairly dull, with plumage that seemed more like it was designed to blend into the surroundings than to impress anyone, I assumed it must be the female of the species, but of what species? A few metres on and the answer was revealed, it was a lyrebird! An amazing bird that I vividly remember seeing, years ago, on one of David Attenborough's nature documentaries for it's astonishing ability of being able to copy almost any sound, hence its name. Chainsaws, telephones, falling trees, car engines, other birds, you name it and it would be able to produce the sound, though probably not on command. The female went about its business and produced only generic bird noises, however much we stared at it hoping it would sing. As we continued down the board walk we managed to catch a glimpse of a pair of lyrebirds, one of each sex. Whilst the male remained behind some bushes it was still possible to see that his plumage was much more impressive. Just before we left them he made what sounded like someone dialling a number on a mobile keypad, so I was suitably impressed and we moved on. The rainforest was just similarly impressive but different to how I had imagined it to be. The air was cool and dry, though it was the dry season, and the atmosphere calm and surprisingly spacious. The giant eucalypt trees, of many varieties, were spread thinly with ferns, creepers and climbers, and other trees interspersed. The ground was relatively bare with rocks and dead leaves sprinkled on top of the dark earthy soil. There was little fauna to be seen at floor level, especially in winter, giving a very still feel to the rainforest but evidence indicating the contrary was all around. Huge trees with trunks the diameter of a small house that had been effortlessly toppled over with a gust or two of wind. Trees that have been around for millennia, just uprooted and tossed aside like splinters, often taking other younger trees with them as they fell - a sad but necessary part of a very long cycle. The trees slowly die and rot giving a wealth of new life to insects and other plants. Most notably is the re-growth of new trees, as the sun now manages to penetrate the canopy, hitting the forest floor; seeds that previously laid dormant now alive as the race to reach the golden sunlight starts. Reaching the cable car signalled the end to our forest adventure and so we boarded, admired the view as we slowly climbed the distance to the top of the cliff, and then started the drive to the ominous Pulpit Rock.

The rock was not far to the rock itself but took sometime due the roads. As we left the main carriageway turning onto a residential area the road markings disappeared and then the road narrowed to a country lane and then… well, then the tarmac stopped. We were suddenly breaking more than one of the terms and conditions of the rental agreement as we bounced along the gravel track. When I was given a 4X4 Land Rover driving weekend in the Brecon Beacons in Wales for my 21st birthday I had no idea that just 18 months later I would drawing from all of the skills I had learned in wet and windy Wales and applying them to an entirely different set of circumstances - the Australian Outback (in a campervan too! There was certainly no 4WD to help me here). If I'm honest, I was a little scared, I had never driven a camper van before let alone down a well worn gravel track for goodness knows how long but I was loving it! The excitement of not knowing what the road would bring; would we make it out alive, or have to call for help? Maybe we would get stuck in a thunderstorm and have to stay the night in the wilderness? My mind was whirling feverishly as I cautiously, but gleefully, drove along with nothing but a printed Google map and Gemma's capable navigational skills to guide us. This wasn't really the outback at all but the landscape had me convinced as we left the tarmac roads for maybe five kilometres, though it could have been hundreds for all I cared.

Eventually we found the sand pit that was supposed to be the car park and pulled up alongside. We left the camper, carrying adequate water, and merrily tramped down the track surrounded by heavily scorched trees and shrubs. A forest fire had obviously swept through area leaving little vegetation at eye level and below badly burnt. The warm orange sandy soil only highlighted the burnt bark that was now peeling revealing fresh new bark, and twigs that had escaped total incineration. The remarkable thing was that the trees, shrubs, grasses and other plants and mosses were springing back to life. After what must have been several hundred degrees Celsius of heat, the plants were growing like new, sprouting all over as if rejuvenated, a true testament to the a power of nature.

Imagine if you will, walking, surrounded by trees, to a cliffs edge where an exposed, very deep, tree-filled valley stretches for as far as the eye can see. Now, in front of you is a thin strip of heavily eroded land, say 100m long, that leads to a rock, a rock that stands as tall as the cliff itself and turns ninety degrees to the right before culminating, after a thin and extremely steep set of steps, in a wedge-like point - this is Pulpit Rock. I was taken by surprise at the shear scale and spectacle of the thing, which was made even more bizarre by the walkway that had been placed on top of this very exposed piece of limestone. Giddy with excitement at the prospect of being able to walk to the very edge, we both took some pictures before I attempted to make my way out into the ravine to conquer the rock. Gemma, poised with a camera ready to take evidence of the task ahead, looked on in with concern as I cautiously walked along the planks to the end. The weather was fine and clear but incredibly windy. At the point the wind was tremendous, like nothing I had experienced before. I had to hold on to the railing just to keep my footing as my skin was forced into ripples from the gale but this only added to my elation. I, stupidly, ran back to inform Gemma just how amazing it felt to be out there and so she had her turn, with me behind the lens. With the night drawing in, and the horror stories that tell of the consequences of driving in the dark in Australia seeming more feasible now, we walked back and drove the three hours to Freemans where we were to have our first taste of National Park camping, or so we thought but I'll get to that later.

The drive from the Blue Mountains was lovely, with lush green fields full of curiously fluffy cows, presumably so they can cope with the harsh dip in temperature during the night, and pockets of forest. Houses did not line the streets but, instead, had long winding driveways with an interesting letter box next to the gate, if gates were indeed present. But these were no ordinary American-style letter boxes, oh no, they were pieces of art, rusting scrap metal, milk churns, beer barrels and even white goods! They certainly made the route more interesting and we later found that white goods, like fridges, freezers and even microwaves, made excellent letter boxes due to their insulation and dust free properties. We passed numerous villages, or townships as they're known, each of which, had its own showground, church, green grocers, butchers and petrol station. Our favourite was undoubtedly Stroud, an unassuming immaculate place which was, coincidentally, holding one of the most important events of the year the very same day we were passing through, though we did not have time to stop and witness the event. The event, in case you're wondering, was, of course, [drum roll please] the 'International Brick Throwing Contest'. Note how it says international, implying that people from out this community, even outside Australia, come and compete for the coveted title of longest brick thrower or whatever they get crowned. The residents, and presumably tourists, were all out in force as it was no holds barred for this event with multicoloured bunting, bagpipers, a short parade and even the closure of the only main road. We heard this news whilst buying meat from the butcher so we scarpered and headed for the hills passing the, already busy, showground along the way. It was nice to see an obviously close community genuinely bonding and excited as it made for a brilliant atmosphere, even if they were excited at the prospect of watching men throw bricks. I believe the most apt phrase here would be 'whatever floats your boat'. Just before leaving we filled up with petrol at the local station. As I topped up the tank, Gemma went in to pay. The company we rented the van from is called Travellers Autobarn and this was plastered along the side so people could see we weren't local. As Gemma paid, the cashier questioned Gemma about the goods we had to sell. We didn't have any goods on offer, obviously, but with the sticker saying Travellers on it the lady thought we were 'gypsies' and were looking to sell our wares, which provided a few chuckles.

Darkness fell as we travelled but we weren't too worried, as we were in a fairly residential area, until we arrived at the national park where we had booked, and paid, to stay the night.

"National Park closed. National Park opens at 6am."

Oh no! We were too late and completely unaware that national parks closed at all as the lady did not tell us when we called to book our spot whilst we were in Sydney. Gemma had the great idea of looking in one of the free brochures we collected with the camper and managed to find one not too far away but even still it was about 21:00 when we rolled up looking for space. The owners kindly found us a waterfront place at a discounted rate with power, water and our very own shower and loo.

Right, I'm off to bed as it's already past my bedtime. I was up early (4am) playing with leopard cubs this morning, I know, I know, it's a hard life. I'll write again tomorrow. I hope you're all still going strong.