If you're like me and have had a lifetime of hyper-fixations on Australian motorsport, bushwalking is quite possibly one of the most boring things you can be sentenced to.
I mean, why walk when you can go for a spirited drive? If I want to see nature, I'll go for a spin through the national park and maybe pull over for an occasional bird spot, but bear with me here because I may have found the best possible walk for any car enthusiast.
Recently visiting the Blue Mountains, New South Wales, I was forced to look at some overpriced rocks marketed as "gemstones" and battled the crowds of tourists foaming at the mouth to see the Three Sisters.
Overstimulated, I pulled out my maps app as I was aware of an old circuit near Katoomba. There it was, sitting there, less than a 10-minute walk from the Katoomba centre, a racing circuit that hadn't been sold off to a cashed-up developer for the latest in lego-land building technology.
I parked up the car and broke through the shrubbery shrouding the hidden gem. What I was left with was a road, broken and cracked, looping a marsh, but glimpses of something special shined through, with old wooden barriers lining the turns, bare advertising poles, and asphalt breaking through the overgrown outskirts.
Anyone born after the early 1990s would probably have no clue what circuit I'm looking at. Still, those more closely tied to the history of motor racing in Australia can probably guess that I'm speaking about Catalina Park.
The 2.1km circuit was once a hub for everyone from international Grand Prix teams on their way to Bathurst to local road racing clubs. It consists of eight turns, evaluation changes and flat-out corners of pure man versus machine.
Before the track existed, in 1946, the land was used as a tourist park, featuring speedboat rides, a miniature train, a Ferris wheel, and even a Catalina PBY-5 flying boat that was shipped in and placed in the middle of the lake, hence the name 'Catalina Park'.
By 1952, the park had become so unpopular and dilapidated that the government purchased the land, and the Blue Mountains Sporting Drivers Club (BMSDC) constructed the circuit.
Opening in 1961, it hosted the majority of Australia's main motorsport events, predating the opening of Amaroo Park by six years, which later became the main hub of motor racing in Sydney.
It was a fantastic little circuit with one major flaw – Catalina Park had no runoff areas. You either had an Armco or a wooden fence to save you from becoming closer to nature, which worked great for keeping cars out of the trees, but an impact with these gave you a high chance of a meeting with God.
Not to mention, the circuit's location caused multiple round challenges and delays due to the constant fog and the need to clear the track of overhanging trees.
In less than a decade, three drivers lost their lives during races and many more were seriously injured.
Race meetings were held there for just nine years. Growing concerns following the 1969 death of John Ward in his Lotus Cortina, combined with financial troubles from the BMSDC and the opening of world-class facilities such as Oran Park and Amaroo Park, led to the demise of Catalina Park.
Brief stints as the circuit opened its doors once again in the '80s for rally cross and the '90s for one-lap club sprints saw glimpses of hope the circuit would once feel the vibrations of a thumping V8 again, but it was to no avail – the circuit completely closed to all events in 2001.
The Gully the track is located in was declared an Aboriginal Place in 2002 and returned to the Gundungurra and Darug people, which is a way that actually saved this amazing piece of mid-century history.
Places like Oran Park and Amaroo Park were sold to housing developers, but because the land on which Catalina Park is located is protected, it still allows for an intimate glimpse of what it was like in the '60s.
Uncovering the circuit is like a step back in time; you can walk the whole thing, albeit you will need to hop over some overgrown and flooded sections. Even just touching the wooden barriers and feeling the splinters, where someone undoubtedly brushed the wall with an Austin Mini or MG Midget, is something special.
You can't get your car onto the circuit, but a walk is enough to evoke emotions and make you feel like you're standing in a place where people once put their lives on the line for the love of a sport.
Meeting this once loved legend, you can't help but close your eyes and feel the road beneath you. Start at the beginning on the main straight and transport yourself back to 1969, when the culture was alive, and people revered the sound of motorsport, not despising it.
You come around the final turn, facing down the hill. The butterflies on your Repco V8 are wide open with enough induction noise to make Ludwig van Beethoven hear again.
You bump down the terribly paved and heavily repaired main straight; at the end of the hill, you feel your suspension completely compress as the floorpan kisses the ground. Back up the hill, you reach turn one; it's a game of chicken with the throttle as you hold it flat through here.
Back down another small straight, the car settles into a straight line before it's time to quickly clamp down on the brakes and shift down a gear. You apex late as a mid-corner bump rattles your bones.
You turn the car in sharper than the corner demands, keeping it on the left side of the circuit to hold it flat through the next right-hander.
Back down a decline again; this time, it's a shorter straight that slingshots you back up the hill into another right-hander. You can't hold it flat here, but your shocks are at the end of their compression, ready to upset the car the second you hit the brakes and send you backwards into the Armco.
Instead, you lift off ever so slightly to cheat sudden death and hug the corner as close as you can without dipping a wheel in.
On the exit, you allow the car to run wide as the tyres are tested to the limits of their torsional rigidity, turning the two right-handers into one velodrome.
You keep your car in the centre of the track, ready for a late apex on the oblique-shaped hairpin. Again, you pull hard on the reins and shift down a gear to dig in your heels just enough to lift off the brakes before you turn in.
You make the corner but hang it out as wide as possible to the edge, planting your foot through the firewall as all eight pistons explode into life. It's time for another game of chicken. You dart the car into a fast left with your right foot still glued to the floor.
You can't cut it too close because there's a mid-corner bump on the inside, ready to catch your wheel, but you can't run it wide because the game of flat-out chicken follows you into the next fast right.
You run it down a hill, kissing the floor as it inclines again but holding it flat into yet another right corner. Then back on the anchors, and a spit of flames as you clutch in for a downshift into a mid-corner, cambered and downhill left hairpin, ready to start your next lap as you cross the start-finish line.
It's 1969, and you're a Sydney man named Frank Matich. You've just set the fastest lap around Catalina Park in your self-built Matich SR4, finishing it in just 53.4 seconds.
Regardless of the fact that you can't drive on it anymore, it might be worth the drive out of Sydney if you're a motorsports fan. You can still bust out a bicycle and make car noises with your mouth, while appreciating the fact that for once in New South Wales's history, some heritage of when we were a fun state still exists.
It's a bit of an emotional experience seeing another dead circuit in the country, but at least it's less depressing than seeing the copy and paste housing development of what used to be Oran Park Raceway.
Zane Dobie comes from a background of motorcycle journalism, working for notable titles such as Australian Motorcycle News Magazine, Just Bikes and BikeReview. Despite his fresh age, Zane brings a lifetime of racing and hands-on experience. His passion now resides on four wheels as an avid car collector, restorer, drift car pilot and weekend go-kart racer.
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