Natureloverswalks - Bushwalks and hikes in Tasmania and the world

March 15, 2026

Melaleuca trip part 2

Part 2 of our Melaleuca 11-day adventure bore the scars of the wild part 1, sporting casualties of equipment and of the equipment’s users (namely, us). Nonetheless, we set out very happily: much as I adore mountains, I also love beaches, and I was really looking forward to seeing the wild Tassie SW coast for the first time since 2013. It has a very special feel to it, knowing you are at the extreme end of our remote and wonderful island. The beaches have a raw quality, and their isolation creates a distinctive feeling when on their sands, listening to the roar of the waves.

As we headed south for the Y-intersection that separates those bound for the South Coast Trail from those heading further west, I heard what felt like large numbers of the elusive Ground parrots calling to each other. As our approach flushed them out, several would pop up from the low scrub and move to a new position.

While we lunched at the Y, we were greeted by our friends, the OBP official monitors who were having a walk to Cox Bight in between their morning and late afternoon observation sessions. No Ground parrots were seen between there and our first goal, New Harbour Beach. This beach is very lovely, but everybody in the huts at Melaleuca had preferred Hidden Bay, so we rested briefly and then moved on another couple of hours to Hidden, where we set up our tents overlooking a creek that ran into the ocean.

It was only a few steps from the tent that was in rainforest to a white-sanded sub-beach with fresh river water, with its distinctive and appealing tannin colour, nicely contrasted with the pure white, rounded boulders. The evening was very mild, and we enjoyed sitting on the beach to cook our meal, and to then have a walk along the sea front before turning in to our tents.

I had a good sleep, lullabied by the sound of waves on the main beach, but Adrian and Leandra did not fare as well. Rain was due on the morrow, and Leandra was not happy with the water-tightness of the patch on her tent. Adrian meanwhile, had a hole in his sleeping mat, so was very uncomfortable on the hard ground once it had deflated.

And so, next morning Leandra decided to return to base and fly home early. Adrain went to his much-wanted waterfall, Georges Falls, Tasmania’s most SW waterfall. I had seen it from further afield, and its colour looked almost yellow, so I didn’t find the idea of going to it in the rain to be at all appealing – and I didn’t want to get my camera wet. I moved camp to NHB, while Adrian bagged the waterfall alone.

I got my tent set up before the rain began, so my belongings were safe, but I did do six laps of the 1 km long beach just to keep myself occupied. I had a warm base to return to. Whilst walking, I saw Pied and Sooty oystercatchers, Hooded plovers, a White-necked heron and more … and then a pretty soaked Adrian. When he later showed me the beautiful images he had taken of the falls, I deeply regretted my decision not to go with him. They were really wonderful. Adrian being the amazing person he is offered to go back with me the next morning before moving on.

Georges Falls. Huge thanks for getting me there Adrian

I am so very glad he did that for me. I would only have been brave enough to view the falls from high above had he not been with me. The drop to the falls was highly confronting – almost equal to climbing Feder – as if you slipped on the near vertical slope, you only had button grass to hold (ie, nothing) and you would drop a large distance (70ms?) to the rocks below, where, if that hadn’t killed you, you would be rushed away by the eager water over another edge where you would drown or be further dashed to pieces. This didn’t thrill me.

Somehow I overcame my fear, due to Adrian’s encouragement, and lowered myself down to the water’s edge, ignoring for a while the fact that I also had to get back up that slope. By this stage the wretched sun had come out to ruin my shots with glare on the water, but I was happy just to be there. The rain of the day before had made the flow impossibly huge and not particularly attractive, and most of the best positions for photography were now under fast-flowing water. Adrian’s shots the previous day were far nicer than any I took, but at least I got there. I also went to the base of the lower falls, which was a much less scary undertaking than the base of the Upper ones.

After lunch, we set out in different directions, for Adrian sought the comfort of a mattress in a hut, but my gear was still left standing, so I decided to spend my final ‘free’ night on Cox Bight, so we parted at the Y. I had loved the fun of the company of the other two, but I also enjoyed the solitude of having that huge wild beach to myself.

I still have happy memories of being there with Bruce and our first-born daughter in 2002, at the start of a repeat trip along the more popular eastern beaches of the South Coast Trail. Sunset was pleasant without being sensational, but I really loved sunrise. Yet again, I took a ridiculous number of photos which then set me a daunting task once back home, as I had to process all those images. Sometimes my enthusiasm for the beauty of this world can be very annoying.

March 2, 2026March 2, 2026

Norold Ra return visit

I nearly didn’t survive to write this blog, but thanks to superb Swedish textile craftsmanship, plus their insistence on high-quality tent poles and good luck with getting the pegs into the ground sufficiently well, I live to tell the tale. Thanks also, to having two really good friends who suffered it all with me, and who helped just by being there, and also when I needed (twice) to change tent position. Having them there gave me hope and confidence that it could all work out.

It all began so nicely: a very late start which meant we camped on a hill with a great view only 1 3/4 hrs after setting out. We thus pitched our tents at 6.45, and collected our gear to eat together outside, looking at our amazing scenery.

It was when collecting gear that the first bit went wrong for me. We had been stuffed around by Par Avion and I hadn’t had time to rearrange my bags properly. I thought I had, but oh no!! I was on a 6-day hike in the mountains before returning to base, and I had not brought any dinners, and all my porridge for breakfast was also back at base. However, the good news is I had 10 lunches, 5 soups, 10 days worth of snacks, coffee and 5 breakfast biscuits. That was going to have to do. It was about to be a lean walk. Could I cope?

Time would tell. I didn’t want to tell my friends, as they are such lovely people they would immediately share with me and go without themselves, and I didn’t see why they should suffer because of my stupidity, so I just spun out the soup and pretended that was a perfectly satisfying dinner. A few days later I fessed up, as I was coping fine, so didn’t need their meals. I did accept some Deb potato from Leandra, which made the soups more hearty. I told nobody about the lack of porridge until we were back at Melaleuca, when I dived for my porridge as the first thing when back.

The next day was hideously hot. We got an early start, and went well for the first two hours, getting near the base of our first mountain, Wilson. It was just ahead. However it took 3 x stints of 50, 40 and 30 mins to cover a pretty short distance and at last reach the summit cairn where we had a very late lunch. Our liquid came from yabby holes. There were no streams.
Adrian was thus ecstatic when the creek that I promised would have water actually did. It was really hard for us to pitch our tents that night, as the ground was either sloping, really, really rocky, or full of bushes that wouldn’t let the pegs go in. We also knew a front was coming in next day, so we needed firm pegging and protection from the NW and W. It took us an hour to settle on semi-suitable spots.

Day 3 began with a glorious misty pink dawn, and we only had to saunter up the next mountain (Norold), as we’d already done most of the climbing the previous day. We loved it, although we could see the clouds beginning to assemble. Nearly at the summit, we discovered a truly magnificent alpine garden, and took lots of flower photos. On top, we were blown away – not by the view, but by the winds that had no resistance up there. I got literally blown off my feet several times. We found shelter among rocks for a snack (obligatory on any and every summit) and, having been blown over a few more times, I said I’d done enough climbing for the day. Leandra agreed, so we two returned to the tents. Adrian followed a bit later having done a tad more exploring, but eventually agreeing that to go further on to other glories beyond was not a good idea that day.

So strong was the wind now that we realised our putatively protected spots were not so very good at their job. The front was only forming at this stage – much worse was to come – so we decided to pack our tents up and drop 100 or so meters and try for more protection lower.
The other two had tents that didn’t need the many requirements of a Hilleberg pitch, so they found spots that suited. Every spot I tried, the pegs just wouldn’t go in due to the mass of bushes, so I settled for a kind of sandy area. I knew it was sandy for a reason but I really needed to get my tent up, so just hoped. Great. Next morning, my air mattress was floating in a cute tarn inside my tent, which was nestled in an even bigger tarn externally. The other two kindly helped me find somewhere else to go, with Adrian pulling out bushes for me to clear enough ground to peg out my scaffolding. We then hung all my stuff from a tree while the others held my tent base and other important items, letting the fury of the wind dry them.

We all then went exploring until lunch time, when rain returned. Leandra and I bagged some sweet cascades and climbed some interesting knobs and bobs. Adrian bagged the far more adventurous Wilson Falls. And then the furore began. With each blast, the tent was blown almost flat by the gust. It was really unnerving. The blasts hit you in the face as the fabric was pushed horizontally. I heard the others talking, so thought maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe they were out socialising while I wussed it inside, so I went out to join them. They weren’t socialising: they were collecting Leandra’s stuff as her pole had snapped, tearing the fly. The tent was a write-off. Adrian’s was officially a 2-man tent (but hideously cramped for two, actually) so she was moving in there. I helped before we all dashed for cover as the next round of chaos began. We have now had it confirmed: gusts were 130 km/hr.

The next storm lasted 4 hours. I lay there, waiting for my own shelter to bust, or for the others to come knocking on my tent flap because Adrian’s had broken. His fabric did start to leak due to the pressure, but they stayed put. My Hilleberg did not let me down, although some poles now have a curious bend and I can see my own fabric has spots where it has become thin due to the pressure. It did not leak, and the pegs fortunately stayed tight. Adrian’s tent is now pronouncedly skewed. Nobody had dinner that night. Cooking was of course out of the question, but you couldn’t even sit up to find or eat food. Anxiety stole hunger anyway.

Arriving at Wilson summit on the rebound

And that’s not all. All this was a rehearsal by the weather for the real storm that was to hit next morning. I was not as anxious in this one, even though it was the worst. I didn’t feel my faith in Hilleberg was misplaced, and I just willed it to last this one out too. It did. We were being picked up next morning at the base of by a boat we couldn’t contact. There are no telecommunications of any sort in this wilderness. If you get into trouble, you have to solve it yourself or die. No helicopter would or should go out in a storm like that. As Greg the skipper later said: “There’s nowhere to hide up there.”

Luckily, the fury began to be spent. We packed up and moved camp to a spot not far from the end, but still high enough for wonderful views. By the time we pitched at the end of the day, we could actually enjoy being outside. We sat out there together, having a fun celebration of our new safety. There’s nothing like a brush with possible death to make you triple rejoice in being alive. That night I did accept Adrian’s offer of a real (dehydrated) meal. It was the final night before Melaleuca, and he said it was spare. There was so much food I felt quite sick. My stomach had shrunk. All would now go well. On the morrow, we would get the boat and return to base, eat stacks, and then set out for part 2 of our adventure for the remaining 5 days, to the beaches to the SW of Melaleuca.

During my time at base, I took 905 photos of a little bird that is critically endangered. In 2016, there were only 3 females left on the planet, and 14 males. The govt has funded a project which is going OK. There are now about 86 birds. The problem is genetic diversity, as they stem from too narrow a genetic source. Most of the birds are from ones bred in captivity and then released. There was thus great rejoicing when the first WILD juvenile for the year turned up the day before we left. We have to hope that more wild breeding takes place, and that we have more time before something hits that would wipe them out before a mutation here or there could enable survival. These are my favourite birds in the whole world (puffins 2nd). They’re called Orange-bellied parrots. They’re the size of a budgie and have just the sweetest little faces. My 500m telephoto lens meant I could see the crumbs on their little beaks, the expressions on their faces, and could see tiny insects hovering around them.

AI has offered to give me truly genuine ‘original’ material for my blog. Have you ever heard of anything more stupid?

April 10, 2025April 10, 2025

Birthday wish mountain

My first-born daughter traditionally gives me a birthday wish to celebrate the fact that I was born. It’s always my favourite present, time and company being so much more important to me than things and possessions. My wish is always to sleep on a mountain.

Luckily, Gus was able to come too, so the three of us slept in a tent big enough for all. That was interesting, actually, as it was very cold up there – a thick layer of frost decorated the ground in the morning. I discovered that being one person in a good solo tent is warmer than being ‘piggy in the middle’ in a generous three-man one. The large tent had too much free space for the three of us to warm up as effectively.

The wind raged all night, making the tent fly flap wildly, and with each blast, bouncing the rocks we used to stabilise the guys. It was not a restful night for any of us. However, as I ate my rehydrated, formerly dehydrated meal in the company of my family, listening to said wind and feeling the nip in the air, it was with total sincerity that I exclaimed: “Ah. This is the life.”

As you can see from the pictures, sunset was magic. I had lugged my tripod up there for dawn shots, but the morning was solid grey. I was so exhausted from failing to sleep that I was actually pleased to be freed of the obligation of getting up to photograph.

The wind had died down considerably after we had finished breakfast (my usual: porridge, coffee and biscuits), so packing up was no big trial. We somehow built up a big appetite on the descent, and started dreaming of lunch at the Possum Shed even before we were half way down. It did not disappoint. The trouble was, we had booked a Greek restaurant in town for all the family to enjoy dinner together, and I was going to have real trouble fitting that in.

December 20, 2024July 11, 2025

Ossa and Pelion Plains 2024

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.

The forest within several kilometres of Pelion is superb.

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 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 for 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 noticed that my pillow – that is, all my emergency dry clothes, in a drysack – was now also wet. Somehow I fell asleep anyway.

Donatia novae-zelandia was enthusiastically flowering in the summit area.

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, and loved to tell me about the birds and other aspects of nature they had seen. I loved meeting them.

Richea scoparia on the descent. To Cathedral Mountain.

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.

Richea scoparia on the descent. To Mt Oakleigh.

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.

Richea scoparia; Ossa descent. To Oakleigh

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.

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.

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 original 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.

October 26, 2024October 26, 2024

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.

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.

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.

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 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.

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.