This trip to Mts Ossa and Oakleigh was a trip in which I didn’t do anything I was supposed to do, but ended up doing wonderful alternatives, seeing some absolutely magnificent scenery (including the best wildflower display ever), and meeting heaps of incredibly nice people.
So, for starters, I left on the “wrong” day. Originally, we were to leave on the Monday, so I had booked my dog into the kennel, and even delivered her, before I got news we were now to leave on the Tuesday (due to bad weather coming). But my dog was already gone, and I had ants in my pants. I decided to just weather the weather and set off anyway, do my own thing for a day, and then meet the others. As it turned out, A and T had decided similarly, so three of us set out early.
A and T elected to sleep in Pelion hut, reached after a few hours’ walking, but I unctuously declared that I was bushwalking, so would sleep in my tent, not in a hut. Tent pitched, the rainforest in all directions from the hut thoroughly explored, and several streams followed, I went down to the hut to be sociable. There were some terrific people in the hut, and I had lots of pleasant and interesting conversations until it was time to depart for bed, for which I had to wait for a break in the deluge.
The phrase “bucketing down” gained a new meaning that evening, as I waited for a pause in the tumultuous downpour to run the fair distance to my little isolated tent. I have never heard rain quite so loud, never seen sheets of rain quite so solid. Squadrons formed on the verandah to enjoy (and many, to try to photograph) the wild display. Conversation while it was happening was impossible.
That night the mother of all storms rolled in. The thunder was roaring like a sick lion, the noise ricocheting from mountain wall to mountain wall in the audience of mountains surrounding us. The rain continued to flood the plain. I considered the fact that I was somewhat vulnerable lying there under trees should one of them get struck by the lightning that accompanied the noise, but, well, that is nature: threatening. I was aware of the danger, but also philosophical about its potential to harm. I have enormous respect for nature, so was not lying there like a fool thinking it could never affect me, or that I could somehow control it. What would be would be. Emanuel Kant would call the experience of us tenters “sublime” as we were taken into the realm of fear and our own vulnerability, yet emerged safely out the other side. Those in the hut barely noticed what they were in the middle of. Most had ear plugs in, and were also locked away from the flashing lights of electrical power. I am glad to have experienced nature in such a wild frenzy.
During the night, whilst listening to the drama, I noticed that water was falling on my face. I reached for my torch and discovered it was sopping. In mild panic I rescued my beloved camera and gps device and put them as high as I could, but was not confident, as my face was still being splashed. I did my best. My sleeping bag was more than moist. An hour later, I notice that my pillow – that is, all my emergency dry clothes, in a drysack – were now also wet. Somehow I fell asleep anyway.
In the morning I awoke to the sight of a lake in my tent. Other plans I had made for this day to be spent at my will were now cancelled, as drying my stuff in the hut became my primary objective. First, however, I wanted to do something for exercise, so went up Mt Oakleigh in the rain (third time). The lush, mossy myrtle forest was magnificent in the mist. On the top rocks, the wind was blowing furiously and it was very cold. I had achieved my daily quota of exercise, so that was fine, and now I could try to dry things out to prevent hypothermia that night. High resolves cancelled, I moved into the hut. (No photos of Oakleigh; that might have killed my camera).
The next wave of Overland Trail walkers entered: another group of really nice people with new friends to be made. They were most solicitous about my gear, and many helped me turn and rearrange items to get them dry. We chatted around the heater meanwhile – hardly unpleasant. I was anxious to finish as quickly as possible, as these people were wet from the day as well, so we all needed to dry things. Amongst the smiling faces was a friend of my daughter’s from primary school in Canberra. It was fabulous to catch up with him and his family. I was really warmed to see so many children on the trail happily experiencing this initiation ceremony into distance bushwalking. They were happy, loved to tell me about the birds and other aspects of nature they had seen. I loved meeting them.
The people we should have met passed through, sopping and freezing. Not one of the three of us joined them in the planned further hour and a half’s walking. I needed to get dry before I could get wet again. My tent was still a swimming pool. Two days down. No previous plans fulfilled.
On day three, the others were climbing Proteus. My tent needed attention, and Proteus hadn’t thrilled me the first time I climbed, so I wasn’t going to cry over that lost opportunity. I scooped NINE cups of water out of the tent and hoped that by the time I got back from Mt Ossa, which I had decided to climb as a shorter alternative, it would be dry, and I could join the others for Pelion West.
I have never seen such a varied wildflower display on Ossa. I have climbed it seven times now but never have I seen it quite this colourful. I was floating on the wave of its beauty. Striated emu wrens flitted from bushtop to bushtop, and other birds I couldn’t see (or identify by their chirps) called to me and teased me. Apart from their twinkles and tweets, the bush was deliciously silent. I played on the summit, and on anything I could find on the way down. I didn’t want to leave the flanks of this mountain today. Luckily for me, my new friends from the hut were climbing up as I came down, so every twenty or so paces, I got to have another chat with people whose faces I now knew. It was a very sociable descent. Back at the saddle, I was still reluctant to leave, so walked in the opposite direction to prolong the excursion into flower heaven. I got back to Pelion Hut for lunch after 4 pm, feeling just a little tired. I needed lunch, quickly followed by dinner. I was in no mood to carry out my plan of packing up and walking two hours to join the others. “I can do that early in the morning”, I said to myself.
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Oakleigh dawn That night (after a third wave of OT walkers had arrived and befriended me), all of us were … er … “blessed”?.. with the booming thunder of a snorer, trying to compete with the recent storm. His noise lasted much longer, with a regularity that was utterly unnerving. I did a Lazarus, and moved my bed to the kitchen. In the morning I observed that four others had done likewise, We could still hear him through the closed door, of course, but at least the sound as a little muted.
Dawn Oakleigh I was so lucky in the morning, as somebody bumped me, and I thus got to witness a superb dawn. The bumper later sheepishly apologised, but I pointed out that I would be forever grateful. If she hadn’t accidentally disturbed me, I would have missed that wonderful dawn. I had wanted to wake up for it, but was so tired after the many disturbances during the night that without her assistance, I would have missed it.
Melaleuca squamea had come into full profusion while I was watching rain. It likes the bog under Mt Pillinger. Exhausted from lack of sleep, and perhaps having picked up a bug, I started feeling sick. I set out to join the others, as planned, but decided that I really didn’t have such a long day in me. It was time to get out. I turned around and returned to the hut. Yet another action that was not according to the orginal plan. My dog, picked up a day early, was thrilled at the unexpected day’s reprieve from the kennel. (It’s a great kennel, but she loves being home with me.) She sang with delight at my appearance, almost dislocating the shoulder of the carer fetching her.
Nelson Falls and more Oct 2024
As I drove towards Miena at the start of our adventure, the snow began to fall. The further I drove, the heavier it got. This was an exciting start to our adventure. But my mind asked: How cold would the forest be, bushbashing through new snow? Climbing steep slopes with ice-laden leaves dropping their bounty on our backs? Time would tell.
Snow, Central highlands I unloaded my gear at the bunkhouse at Derwent Bridge, and cooked dinner, waiting for my friends. When they arrived, they brandished photos indicating that the snow was now settling. Tomorrow would be interesting. We huddled by the heater, exchanging news, storing up on warmth that we wouldn’t get on the morrow.
The next morning revealed a wondrous white world. I was so tempted to skip waterfall bagging and just photograph delicate rainforest leaves in the snow. They knew I would be like that, and kind of set a schedule that prevented me squandering the day on the “wrong” activity. Past fairyland we drove, with me aching to see such beauty but knowing I would regret dipping out on new waterfalls if I did.
Crossing the creek that our waterfalls would lie on, higher up. The waterfalls we were to bag were just below the snow line, so at least we didn’t have to bother about little ice bombs dropping from the sky. This was actually my second attempt at these falls. On the first attempt, I had a broken hand, and got not much further than the start line. I didn’t dare risk a re-break. Some forests you can do with a broken bone, but not this one. Denied excuses this time, here I was, dreading crossing the creek below the main falls at the start of a day where the car thermometer read a mere 2 degrees, but trying to put on a brave face anyway. Luckily, the guys were no more eager than I was to get wet in such conditions, so we chose to do the three easier falls first, before tackling the mightily steep ones, where the slopes dropped at 89.9 degrees straight into the river below. Even the third of the easy ones would have some “interesting” moments.
Lower Nelson Step Falls in mossy glory Such challenges were for later. At first we just enjoyed walking at a pace that allowed us to stay warm, passing through kangaroo ferns, Dicksonia antarctica and mossy nothofagus. There were a few fallen trees to negotiate, but not too many, and very little actual bush bashing was required. Some short steep drops added interest to the mix. We even happened upon some out-of-season fungi. But we were on a mission, so I just privately called “Hello” en passant and forged ahead on our goal of finding waterfalls.
Lower Nelson Step Falls Any reluctance to forgo spending time with snow or fungi was quickly forgotten once the first of our waterfalls was reached, about 45 mins after leaving the main Nelson track. Sometimes I forget how wonderful waterfalls can be. At last I didn’t have to worry about time or holding anybody up. Out came Caedence’s tripod (and out came mine). Adrian is faster, using just his phone, but is totally happy to wait while we two do our thing with heavier, slower equipment. I take lots of shots with different f-stops and times, so I can determine my favourites later, while seeing the outcome in more detail on the computer.
Adrian and Caedence climbing between Lower and Middle Falls 
The Middle Falls are sighted at last The second waterfall was even more beautiful than the first. They felt terribly special, so hidden and yet so wonderful. They are part of the whole wider pleasure of needing a semi-challenging journey to get there; of not having the falls just being served on a ready-made NPWS dish. I like to have to work for my waterfalls. Stuff that comes too easily is not valued as highly. My brain and body both enjoy working for their outcomes. Anything too easy is boring.
Middle Nelson Step Falls up closer More photos taken, more oohs and aahs uttered, and off we set for the most challenging of the climbs to the third and final fall in the series. Here the ground was very steep indeed, and long legs were required to make one of the climbs that offered a wide range of injuries if one missed and fell. Kindly, Adrian offered me a knee to place my foot on, and moral support by standing below me. (On the way back down, I used his shoulder to cut the journey short, as it were.) I would not have liked to have done that particular climb without a safety net below me, and amongst his many assets, Adrian is an excellent safety net.
Looking back down from the top of the Middle Falls 
Climbing. It wasn’t all a walk in the park. I had cut breakfast short so as not to hold the others up. It was nearing midday and this animal that needs constant feeding was wilting. Why did these guys who are twice my size not need feeding? Why and how was their breakfast so small? At last we stopped for a snack, but the others had finished and I was only half way through mine. I knew we were about to enter some seriously tricky territory. I didn’t want to foul them out by not being able to do it, and I also didn’t want to just wait in the forest in the cold for them to come back. I also didn’t want to get so deeply into difficulty that I couldn’t get out by myself. I had had a snack but was not satisfied. How many hours would this bit take? I decided to quit while I was ahead. If it was doable for me, we would come back some other time, but for now, they could be more daring without me and I wouldn’t have to feel guilty about dragging them backwards. I pulled the plug and went a got myself soup, fruit buns, juice and coffee to quiet the beastie within. It began to rain. I was not unhappy to head for home and collect Tessie a day earlier than expected. As I entered the kennel, I could hear her yelping with joy at the sound of my approach.
Upper Nelson Step Falls 
Tasmanian Native Hen (Gallinula mortierii) plus chick on the way home Orienteering Aus Champs NSW 2024
Running, reading and sorting things out From the moment I heard that the nationals were in Armidale, I was excited. We lived there for five years, and both our children were born there. Of course I wanted to go – but also, of course, I wanted to compete in the nationals anyway. The Australian Championships and the Australian 3-Days are the two big events of each year, and the two events that determine your national ranking. Quite apart from having the best races and competition, giving great excitement to those of us who love this sport, they are also the best chance to catch up with old friends from across the years, as they cast the biggest and best net.
Eastern rosella. I managed to shoot quite a few birds in between racing 
Eastern rosella I had been careless in two of the three days last Easter, and had paid a big price, being excessively lucky to finish on the podium. I was thus pretty focussed with regard to the nationals, wanting to redeem my lost self-esteem and prove to myself that I could do nice, clean races again. Winning would be nice. However, right at the last minute w.r.t entires, my old friend-but-competition-foe from the 1980s, with whom I have had countless exciting experiences, fun shared times on national squads, teams and training camps, and endless races, Jenny Bourne, entered our age class. Jenny is a force to be reckoned with. She has won four Australian elite titles, and four Australian 3-day elite titles, as well as at least one (if not more – I can’t find out in google) World Masters title in orienteering. I have won many World Masters titles, but they are in sports other than orienteering, and that’s what we were to race in.
After racing, it was fun to spend time on my friends’ farm 
Farm fun. The kids are obviously exhausted after racing. Given that I thought winning would be nice, I thought I’d have a much easier time of it if I ran an age class younger than my own (yes, that’s how good she is; and yes, my inkling was correct when I compare times). I toyed with that idea for a few seconds, but decided that was the coward’s way out. So, I stayed where I was. It was gong to be a battle royal, and I would only do well if I ran my very, very best race, and even then, Jenny would probably beat me. Also in our age class was another friend from competitions in the 80’s, Sue Key, just back from getting in the A-finals of the World Masters. (The Key family is the “Jess Fox” family of orienteering.) Yes, the same old three that battled it out forty years ago were to repeat the encounter this year. Not surprisingly, we rather dominated the podium when medals were being handed out. I find it absolutely wonderful that three of the top elites from the 1980s are still competing, albeit now in age class. (Others from teams of that era are also competing, but in younger age classes). Thus I caught up with heaps of these friends. It’s such fun to see them again. Very, very few of us have dropped out.
Getting painted up for the highlight of ASOC: the relays. Sprints were conducted on campuses in Armidale (TAS and UNE). The main bush races were on a private property called Glenburnie. This setting was magical in extremis, especially for a granite freak like me. I don’t quite know why, but I have a real love affair with huge granite boulders. Looking at the tiny tots (1-10 year olds) crawling up and down boulders twenty times their height, I can see other granite freaks in the making. Controls tended to be hiding behind these boulders. After the race we all stood or sat around, eating, chatting, waiting for other family members to finish, and just enjoying the scene of open eucalypt forest littered with shapely giants of soft grey.
Having fun on the boulders after racing As with other big events in Orienteering, the purpose of doing races is only part of the story. Nonetheless, with the nationals, if you do all the events, you complete seven long-distance races, four of which you really care about, in nine days. Somehow, it gets done.
Mornings were often misty. I had fun photographing while the others slept. 
I never tire of seeing galahs There were over 800 competitors, not all of whom did that many races, but most did, so that’s a mighty number of fit people in this sport. (Competitors’ ages range from those in W10, the youngest of which are usually 7 or 8, to the oldest, the cluster of people racing M or W85. They are aged between 85 and 90. Veritable gangs of M/W10N also go around courses, but with their parents to guide them; N stands for Novice. They still have their L-plates on, and some seem only recently to have left nappies behind. This category is not competitive, and everybody gets a prize [but not a prized medal].) The main races take part on the two bookend weekends. The three mid-week races comprise the ASOC (Australian Schools Orienteering Championships) and, for those of us not young enough to be on our state school team (or not old enough in other cases), there is a different event, this year called the Thunderbolt Classic. I always treat the mid-week races as training runs. The weekend races are what count. However, even so, all are distance races.
ASOC relays. They’re off. No, they can’t just follow. Nobody knows who is on their course … and then the courses divide anyway. This year was little Abby’s first experience of the nationals, and it was Gus’s first year on the state team. How would eight-year-old Abby cope (a) without her mum, and (b) racing that often? She was perfect on both counts. All the kids were. The four in our group ( 3 x 8-year olds and 1 x 9) all raced each event and raced well. And for après-O they more than often ran up boulders or ran around paddocks. We visited a few watery places, but we also had times doing quieter craft work, playing cards or reading books.
Competing. 
The last runner heads for the finish of the junior girls’ relay, followed by the state flag and her delighted team mates. Gus was thrilled to make the team, and he told me he had a very happy time. The teams consist mostly of high-school students in two divisions: under 16, and over, and they do all the sorts of things that over-excited clusters of teenagers do (eg, seeing which state can fit the most team members into a telephone booth). A big highlight seems to be painting their faces with their state colours on the relay day – warriors preparing for war.
My first ever sighting of a Red-rumped parrot 
Enthusiastic Crimson rosellas around the feed dish And now it is all over. I had 930 photos to process, and am relieved to have finished. I have almost an equal number of birdie shots as of orienteering. Many competitors report having post-O depression once the party is over. Little kids and big ones wave to their friends: “Bye; see you at Easter”, and they start preparing and training for the next important event. My legs are still pretty flat, but after two days’ rest, I am back, training for Easter, waiting for the next exciting battle with Jenny. Jenny, Sue and I will in all probability be the Aus team for our age group in the coming Oceania Championships. We are looking forward to that!
Hugel 2024 Apr
Every time somebody says they want to go walking with me, I feel so fortunate. This weekend was a family one: a three-generation special, and our chosen mountain (at Kirsten’s choosing) was Hugel. Great choice. I haven’t been there since my early days of Abelling, when I climbed it in glary conditions with a bad camera. This time, we slept up high, nice and close, so we could linger on top until the light gave us glorious conditions for our descent.
Ramaria botrytoides We wanted beautiful light and plenty of time for our plans, so drove down the night before to Derwent Bridge. I had no idea that we would be the last guests checked in before the Hotel closed the next day. We felt very sad about this!!! That Hotel is a Tassie icon for bushwalkers. I fear for its character at the hands of NRMA who will doll it up for tourists’ dubious tastes.
Hygrocybe reesiae Thus at 8.45, which is early for my family if not for me, we took our first steps along the track to Shadow Lake. The fungi were superb; the track, mossy and lush. We all greatly enjoyed it. That section took 1 hr 15, so I was very hungry by the time we arrived at the beach Kirsten had in mind. Time for a snack, a drink and a shoulder break.
Climbing up to little Hugel Refreshed, on we went past Forgotten Lake, where the steep climb up the escarpment begins. Steep climbs are fun, even if we did take it pretty slowly. Our packs were heavy. I had my tripod and camera equipment aboard as I was hoping to photograph an aurora, and like the tripod for dawn and dusk at all times. Kirsten was carrying a lot to make sure Gus enjoyed it.
The last part of the climb, above Dip Lake (a nameless tarn). We bypassed Little Hugel, saving it for the next day, and continued on to a nameless tarn, where, despite freezing temperatures, Kirsten and Gus swam while I tried to photograph the occasion. Neither of them lasted more than a second, and I was still trying to get a good angle when they had already bounced with astonishing eagerness out of the gelid water. We declared it an early lunch, and they tried to warm back up in the sun while we ate.
Hugel summit The next section did not last long, so soon enough we were selecting our real estate for the night, a decision not based on anything mildly practical like water availability, but rather, on view. It so happened there was a little water nearby, but I was prepared to go back to wherever water might have been in order to enable a good view.
One of many fabulous summit views Site chosen, tents up, a snack had and it was time to set out. Gus was still going well. He had done his first ever bushbashing with a heavy (for him) pack. Hugel looked nice and close, but we knew that could be deceptive, especially with a pre-teen on board.
Surveying the view during the descent We walked along the ridge, and then attacked the rocks. We all felt the cairns were perfectly placed: not so near each other that you felt like a puppet or a robot, but often enough so that you had feedback that your route was the one intended. There was room for error and experimentation, which we appreciated.
This is what I came for We stayed a nice long time on top: we had plenty of time for the descent and we wanted to enjoy the low light to come, so stayed there until it began to happen.
Perfect conditions. I was thrilled to see young Gus getting out his camera and photographing aspects of the scenery that appealed to him. People who are sensitive to the beauty around them are usually people who are keen to protect and preserve it. He also chose to photograph quite a lot of fungi.
Having fun on the rocks The day cooled down very quickly. I tested for an aurora before I turned in for the night, but nothing was happening. The other two slept in our old Macpac Olympus, a beautifully comfortable tent, albeit a heavy one. My tent, on the other hand, allowed far too much cold mist to circulate around me, and the wind to brush my face far too often. Bad choice of tent. I was not surprised when I tested conditions later to find the mist had closed in. I did a few checks, but ascertained it wasn’t even worth getting up for dawn, which is not a bad thing, as that wet, cold air was not to my liking, and the wind was pretty stiff by dawn.
Day 2. Approaching Little Hugel Breakfast was a cosy affair in their tent, but packing up was pretty miserable. I even had trouble separating the pole segments in order to dismantle my tent. I was relieved to be setting out, knowing that the exercise would warm me up.
Summit view We liked the mist surrounding Little Hugel, so knew we would enjoy that small climb, and we were right.
Beautiful little fungi with guttation There were lots of fungi in the forest to make the return journey exciting. We spent time with the best of them, but made sure we were fast enough for a nice big hamburger at the Hungry Wombat. Kirsten was excited to discover they could even do a gluten-free version for her. Not every such place is so accommodating.
Orienteering SA 2024
Playing on sand dunes along the coast prior to race 1. Unfortunately (for photography), my focus this trip was on Orienteering, and, perhaps equally unfortunately, the weather was very hot for Taswegians (probably for everybody). Thus, on competition days, instead of having fun shooting other people, I was getting ready to run, or recovering from having done so (which basically means drinking large quantities and eating even larger ones, looking out for the children and cheering them in, or lazily chatting to friends whilst ridding my body of disgusting, sweaty gear. Once everybody from our family had finished and friends temporarily farewelled, it was off to the local (Murray Bridge) pool for hours spent slipping down slides or swimming, of course with some other competitors. I took a few iPhone shots of that, but nothing serious: record shots, not actual photography.
Camping 
On the way to the start. SA farmland. Thus the only shots I took in which I tried to capture mood or beauty, were mostly done on days before or after the competitions. I was a prisoner of place, given that proximity to events and a reduction in travel for the children were prioritised. We landed in Adelaide, stayed near the coast, retreated to the Adelaide Hills for the four days of competition, and afterwards, travelled down the nearby Fleurieu Peninsula, exploring some of its beaches.
Tiny competitor at her last control. The weather post competition was grey to drizzling, and we all felt like a rest after racing in extreme heat on the previous days. It was time to read books and play games.
Rock detail Despite all those brilliant excuses, I did get a chance to do some photography. I wanted some BiF photos (Birds in Flight), and the children and I had a hilarious time in which they tried to make perched birds fly, and I tried to capitalise on their efforts. Much stomping and shouting ‘Boo’ resulted, but not much good photography. The attempt was great fun, and surely that’s the point of it all.
Après-O using different muscles. One of my favourite moments of the trip was the first morning of our camping (an orienteers-only venue in the middle of nowhere). To the east a glorious sunrise was unfolding. I just didn’t feel like setting up. I took an iPhone shot or two to record it, and then went out and stood under a huge gum tree, its branches laden with choraling magpies. The sights and sounds filled me with peace and joy. There was one other person out under the same tree, doing exactly what I was doing and soaking it all in sans camera. We made a brief exchange and then I realised I was chatting to a guy I’d met while we were both in the forest shooting at a previous O event: someone whose photos I admire, Kelvin Meng. Ho ho. The only two photographers in the joint were the only two to be up watching the sunrise, but both of us were too absorbed in it to want to take a shot. We stood admiring together in combined worship, unsullied by words (or camera gear).
BiF Galahs 
Fleurieu Peninsula It was, as ever, terrific to catch up with old friends, to reconnect with people I’d been on teams with in yesteryear, or competed against, or with, here or abroad, and to see the kids making firm friends with other kids, many of whom turned out to be the children of people either Kirsten or I or both competed against, or with, decades ago.
Suicide-bombing Corella The other aspect of the trip I loved is the way Orienteering leads its competitors to explore new and different parts of Australia, to see and feel and smell not-yet-experienced parts of this amazing land of ours. I love staying at tiny towns I’d never heard of before; driving from there to the events and absorbing that slice of the world; and getting ready for the race imbibing all the smells and sights and sounds of this new location. Every race smells different.