Beautiful Bega River Walk for the WednesdayWalk community

25 days ago (Edited)

So yeah, yesterday afternoon I took Spike for a stunning — and stumbling — walk along the Bega River track.

It’s one of those places that always feels a bit wild, but someone’s definitely been in there with a whipper snipper at some point, you know? Like, it’s landscaped just enough to pretend it isn’t — which is great, because it still keeps that natural, "wild" look, but is tidy enough to spot snakes — for the most part.

![7.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/chocolatescorpi/23tvZzeWFA61fUVQSyceKW7d8rDitY5xLExy5CsvW5NyiTbYDkpvfuKmvWE6n1cRYLsRK.jpg)

And since we’re in beautiful autumn — as I’m sure you can tell from some of those brilliantly burnt red, gold, orange and yellow trees — this is usually the time snakes are out and about. Not just catching the last warm rays of the day, but also their meals. So, you really need to have eyes not only in the back of your head and on the dog, but just... everywhere.

![4.png](https://files.peakd.com/file/peakd-hive/chocolatescorpi/23uFHFk8MsTxUYEG3K1zyUPN7c9vj1XTPcn8C9kiTypDrUHdfkGUaU6wWWF6cAZLRH8pr.jpg)

And although we could hear the birds, we couldn’t see them up in the trees. The river gums are massive, their branches shooting off skyward in every direction, and honestly, between that and needing to keep our eyes on the ground... there’s only so much multitasking a person can do.

Thankfully though, Spike and I have been lucky on our walks down there this past week — no snake yet.

The path was covered in leaves — all those crunchy autumn ones in yellows and reds, and that really rich brown that always makes me think of stories with witches and deep forests. Spike was already on a mission before we even got out of the car. Nose down, tail up, doing that zigzag thing like he’s reading an invisible map only dogs can see. I just let him lead — he always finds the good spots. For himself, anyway. And hey, it was his walk. His choice.

It was the perfect time of day, too — the sun just starting to think about setting, streaking through the trees at that golden angle. A lot of the old river trees were still stubbornly green, but some had absolutely gone full show-off. One tree — I think it was a maple — had just exploded into crimson. Couldn't miss it. I actually stopped and stared for a bit. It looked like fire. But soft.

The birds were going off — all of them. From the cockies screeching somewhere above to others I couldn’t quite identify. Then, a kookaburra let loose behind me — one of those big belly laughs that feels like it’s definitely laughing at you, not with you. I cracked up. Spike didn’t care. He was too busy shoving his face in a clump of grass like it was full of party favours.

There’s this one spot where the track opens up and you can really see the river. The light hit it just right, making it shimmer like silver threads stretched across the surface. You could see the trees reflected in the still water. And right at the edge, this massive old log lay half-covered in moss and spiky little grasses. It looked like it had been there forever. And it probably had.

Unfortunately, the video and photos just don’t do it justice. And when you’re standing there, looking at the sheer size of some of these trees — I mean, I couldn’t even guess how old or big they are. That sort of scale just doesn’t translate through a lens. But I did stand and try to guess the size of one from a distance — it was surrounded by thick undergrowth, so I didn’t go in — but I reckon it would take six to eight people, arms outstretched, just to circle it.

Anyway, we kept going. The path dipped back under the canopy and everything went a bit darker, cooler. The air changes under there — smells like wet bark, dirt, and damp leaves in the best way. Spike slowed down. Not sure if he was pondering something deeply or just a bit puffed out. Could’ve been either.

Then there’s this bend in the trail where you reach a sandy patch by the water. I stopped there for a while, just sat and listened to the symphony of nature while Spike pottered around, nose-first in the underbrush.

By that point the sun had dropped a bit more, turning everything golden. The river was completely still — like glass, even though it was clearly flowing along.

I watched the sun reflecting off it, completely mesmerised. Felt like the world paused for a minute. Everything just... held its breath, including me, breathing in the fresh air.

The birds, the breeze rustling the treetops, the water trickling past old fallen trees, and the soft squish of Spike’s paws in the dirt, I really didn't want to leave, but eventually, we headed back — a bit slower this time, coming full circle back to the car park.

And I still didn’t want to leave. Had things to do, but it felt wrong rushing, so we sat on the bench for 5 minutes before talking myself into getting in the car. Even Spike had mellowed, just sitting alongside me instead of darting off.

There’s something about that walk that makes everything quieter — not in a lonely way, but in a good, grounding way. Like things make sense again. At least for a while.