Explore Series: Mount Beerwah

We spent last Sunday starting our first Australian adventure of the year heading up to Mount Beerwah, located in the Glasshouse Mountains of Queensland, Australia. Itching for some new content and new friends, Jake used Instagram as a megaphone reaching out to those wanting to explore the area. Lucky for us, Kieran graciously reached out to us keen on showing us what golden hour could really look like. 

We filled our Sunday morning with chores, getting the apartment together (a.k.a. getting more plants) before heading up to meet with Kieran and his girlfriend, Emily. 

The drive from Coolangatta was a lengthy one at best, having to go directly through Brisbane to get further north to the Sunshine Coast region. It roughly took about 2 and a half hours before we pulled off into the wilderness. We reached Steve Irwin Way and headed into a stretch of dense terrain consisting of luscious palm trees and greenery. 

We pulled into the hiking trailhead for Mount Beerwah where we met, exchanged smiles and hugs, and got ready for one serious hike. Kieran warned it wasn't for the faint of heights, or for those that couldn't handle a good rock scramble. 

The hike started off as normal, but then we reached the point. The point at which most hikers shake their heads in an instinctual no. The point where most decide to turn back. The point at which my rock scrambling skills were put to the test. There were about two shear rock faces to climb, only going straight up. 

As we summited the second rock face, the trail leads you up to an other-worldly terrain with jutting ledges and craters that look like the moon. Dust like fine silk settles underneath your feet, swirling up in clouds of powder. What were once black leggings turned powdered gray and soft to the touch.

We climbed through the area, to the right of the cliffs finding a point at which the mountain created a sort of mezzanine. While the three photographers shot away, I indulgently took in the landscape. It had looked like something out of Jurassic Park had come alive. There we were, like ants scrambling above a dense jungle interspersed with farms. In the distance you could even see the ocean. I never knew places like this existed. 

I ran into a man coming down from the summit, and he warned that we'd better head down soon. There was about an hour left of light and the hike down would be precarious to say the least. I told him we had headlamps and he shrugged, going on his way. A helicopter whizzed overhead, looking for potential rescue missions for people doing things just like we were. 

Golden hour had piqued as we continued to summit into blue light - the moment when dusk becomes the friend of color, creating a backdrop for the eyes to feast upon. We all took in the moment through our lenses as the last bits of usable light dwindled behind an oncoming storm cloud. 

With the wind starting to whip at our necks, it was time to head down. I was hoping we'd be able to pass the rock faces we had climbed before it was completely dark. Only about a quarter of the way down had full darkness hit, leaving just the light of our headlamps and phones to guide the rest of the way. 

In a way, darkness was much more comforting. Only being able to see the few feet in front of you tends to banish the consequences of falling in the dark. We slid and scooted and hoisted and slipped our way down to the very bottom. Worn and tired and filled with the satisfaction of knowing you filled your day with dirt.