Roughly 3 weekends ago, a friend and I embarked on a hike aptly named ‘The Castle Climb’, located 4 hours south of Sydney in the Morton National Park. Our campsite, situated at the beginning of the walk, I liken to a secluded bushland grove; with eucalyptus trees being the predominant surrounding, and a babbling creek heard faintly in the distance. During our arduous yet rewarding walk, roughly amounting to 7 hours, we encountered sheer cliff-drops to our sides, paths that became indiscernible, rope climbs, steep ascents, points where the path was engulfed by boulders and cliff-faces (resulting in us crawling at one point), and a snake. Amongst all this, there were points of silence. Unadulterated silence. Not silence merely identified with a lack of sound, but the silence you experience when you are surrounded by an abundance of nature, and all that you can do is absorb its beauty. One example of this sticks out in my memory: during a part of the walk’s ascent, my friend and I were travelling at a relatively quick speed – the path was well constructed at this point, with steps underfoot. Almost abruptly, my friend stops: ‘’…Wow…’’ He says. I looked up to see what the interest was. I followed his gaze to look behind me (as at this stage he was walking in front). The word magnificent I rarely use, but in this instance, it is the only word that comes close to describing the sweeping valleys, coated with green tree tops, that I saw. We stood there for a moment in silence, and breathed it in.