Jackie, Honey and I wander through dank woods and mist to Sharrah Pool. The deep water is slow and black through splatters of orange and yellow still clinging to the trees. The pool is less cold that we were expecting, and we swim gently upstream in water the colour of an old penny; its usual paisley pattern of foam is accented by fallen leaves. The rapids glow the colour of urine. All about is a blueish mist, heavy and veiled, through which the woods burn with autumn flames.