When a daughter says to come down south ’cause she’s free on Friday, and the two of you can ski on Mt Wellington, what quarter-sane mother would say: “No thanks”? Certainly not this one! I packed my skis and trappings and headed south on Thursday night, ready to begin nice and early on the Friday.
Mt Wellington, the top. Can you find the wallaby?
We dropped the children at school and drove straight to The Springs, where the road was (as expected) closed. With that nice early start, we had a good parking spot, right near the start of the climb. Let the fun begin.
Wellington views to the ocean below
We were carrying “boot chains” and spiders (mini crampons) – utterly necessary – but had not yet attached them. However, the need arose quite quickly, and at the second icy patch, we stopped to put them on, after which the going was a lot better. My daughter kept eying up the terrain for ski possibilities, but the track was far too steep to even think about it. There would be no skiing until we were on top. I slowed things down with a few photos on the way (I just couldn’t help myself), but soon enough we were on top, and deciding which direction we wanted to pursue.
Mt Wellington summit area
South Wellington looked very tempting, and it eventually won the day, but, for me, not before briefly exploring the other direction first. There I met with heavy, noisy machinery squirting snow everywhere and ruining the pristine look of the environment so that cars could drive up there on the approaching weekend. Heck, we couldn’t ask the population to exercise their muscles a bit in order to see fairyland, could we. No. Far better to destroy it so they can all drive quickly up, take their snap and rush away again. I love it when the road is closed.
Wellington skiing
I turned my back on destruction and noise, and gave chase to my daughter, who’d gone off in the direction of the unspoiled fields to the south. Funnily, only one of the other people who’d walked up that morning ventured south, which meant we had this whole huge playground to ourselves.
Wellington scenery
The pictures tell you of the extreme beauty we experienced that day. How incredible it was that right below us, admittedly nearly 1300 metres below, was the capital city of our state. We could see not only the city buildings and ocean, but even the sand of its beaches. But we were up above the clouds in a land of white (and blue). It felt like we’d accidentally arrived in heaven.
We had finished our epic (for us) three-day expedition into Pine Valley with the children only the day before. Surely they would be too tired to go adventuring today – a day that seemed quite gloomy as we sat in the warmth making plans. However, despite the fact that the odds were stacked against us, Kirsten and I suggested with enthusiasm that we do a snow climb of Mt King William 1. Almost unbelievably, the kids said they’d like that. Once more packs got filled with clothes and food and of we set, with the proviso that Abby really shouldn’t try to make the summit. Enough is enough: she is only four, and a very tiny four at that.
Nearing the top
I gave the others a head start, and by the time I caught them, Gus and Abs were deeply involved in a game where Keith gave them points for spotting interesting things while they walked. Abby was trying to gain points for a leaf, but Keith seemed to draw the line there, until she explained it had a hole in it, so he relented and gave her a single point.
Up he climbs
We reached a fallen log which seemed to be raised about 20 cms off the ground. Adults stepped over it; Gussy went around; Abby dived under with ease.
Fun as all this was, we realised we wouldn’t reach the summit if we kept going at this pace, so reluctantly separated, leaving Keith and Abby to continue walking and earning points, while we remaining three tried to give the summit a decent attempt. The first snow was spotted within metres of our surging ahead.
Beautiful snow
The real snow, however, began where the smaller path goes directly up the steep section to the summit. Gussy, in shorts, found that knee deep snow and scratchy bushes were not the most comfortable things to experience, but toughed it out to a more level and open spot with a rock, where we popped thermals on him to help protect his skin (and keep him warmer. Gloves got added at this stage).
Getting nearer
It was good that we did, as the snow got thicker and steeper from then on, with some drop-offs to the side that challenged Gussy’s nerves. On he pressed, however, making great pace for the top.
Foggy scenes on top, but I like them like this
Soon enough, we spotted the weather equipment that signalled the summit. Doing it in the snow not only added to the beauty of the scenery, but also enhanced the feeling of having had a great adventure.
More …
As the wispy clouds floating around us revealed and concealed aspects of the expansive view 500 ms below us of lakes and other mountains, we lingered on top to enjoy all it had to offer, being eventually turned around by a combination of the cold and the knowledge that we’d better at least get the snow part done before darkness descended.
Summit duo
This was another great effort by Gus (8): 10.8 kms with 505 ms climb, to yield 15.85 km equivalents. It was his fourth Abel.
I enjoy summiting in the snow. I need to redo a few more while it lasts.
For the Pine Valley walk of the days before this one, see http://www.natureloverswalks.com/pine-valley-with-children/
When we first bought our home and looked out the window, we saw a mountain that everyone calls Ben Lomond. I can see it clearly enough from my bed to know whether there’s any snow, or whether it’s smothered in clouds today, which is kind of handy. Years later, I learned that ‘Ben Lomond’ refers to the whole high plateau; the actual highest point on that overall rather flat but high massif – indeed, the second highest point in all Tasmania – is called Legges Tor, a lump higher than the rest perched above the small skiing area.
Legges Tor summit view, Ben Lomond
To stand atop Legges Tor in summer, is to survey a high, windswept plain, rocky, almost featureless in its barren expanse of broken dolerite. Other very high points are only just visible in the distance, and their shapes do not demand your attention. This is very different from being, say, in the dramatic Western Arthurs, but with your hair blowing in your face, and a chill in the air, you can see for great distances, and the emptiness – the sheer volume of negative space – somehow enlivens your senses and makes you feel fresh and refreshed. Dolerite rocks with their patterns of lichen and tough little alpine bushes earn your respect for their ability to inhabit this inhospitable zone. It is not crowded up there, to put it mildly, adding to the sense of desolation that is characteristic of being there: you feel tiny in the presence of such enormity, which leads to a feeling of the sublime. If you want a ‘Wuthering Heights’ experience, then this is as near as you can get. For me, the only other place that feels the same is Iceland.
Legges Tor winter ascent
There are heaps of lumps and bumps to climb up here, but in this blog, I will concentrate on the ones I have climbed in the last eight days, namely, Hamilton Crags, Stonjeks Lookout, Whymper Crags, Markham Heights and the Plains of Heaven.
Stonjeks Lookout from Hamilton Crags (a selfie ha ha)
Hamilton Crags pose little mystery for me, as I have ceased to tally the number of times I have visited the top (not that I’m sick of it). Summitting yet again was just something to be done on the way to Stonjeks Lookout. Now, this WAS fun. What an impressive-looking bunch of congregated rocks, pointing to the sky and offering their challenge.
Stonjeks Lookout catching the sun
It seems that Tony Stonjek, after whom they are named, was also oriented to reach for the sky. He was a champion skier who had represented the Czech Republic (then called Czechoslovakia), and who arrived in Australia as a refugee after the war. As a child, he skied to school, skied down the 150 steps of his church, and skied across the Polish border to pinch wood. He won so many skiing titles in Tasmania that most people lost count. The rocks have added spice if you familiarise yourself with his history. They are demanding and fun.
The third item on that day’s agenda was Whymper Crags, which are just further along the spur than Hamilton, and which, at their highest point, offer commanding views to the Jacobs Ladder approach to the massif, and to the cliffs that form the lower part of Markham Heights. One sees Whymper Crags every time one drives in, so it’s good to have at last climbed up there.
Markham Heights, rear end with bellendena montana (Mountain Rocket) in foreground
One sees a lot of Markham Heights, too, and yet I have never visited them. I decided that today was the day. I didn’t have a clue how long it would take. All would depend on how rough it was along the tops, and whether the scoparia would pose a problem on the approach.
Markham Heights does have interesting angles. (Taken in winter)
Just in case the scoparia was nasty, I decided to use the Legges Tor track to gain the height I needed, and then hive off right when the opportunity looked good for a lead in the direction of Markham. There seemed to be a line of weakness in the marshalled defences of the scoparia slightly before the highest part of the broad spur heading in its direction, so I took it, figuring if I was wrong, I could climb higher later. Markham Heights did not lie on this particular spur: it was just a kind of feeder.
Scoparia near Markham Heights summit
There were appealing little lanes of Pineapple grass and other low-lying alpine vegetation so I could make handy forward progress: handy, but not speedy. Predictable at the height of 1500 ms, the wind was quite strong (this is February, but I had two Icebreaker layers, two coats and two hoods over my head), and it kept blowing my hair into my eyes. One had to search for the leads: they didn’t yell their welcome at me, so I zigged and zagged about the place, avoiding prickles, and eventually found myself reaching the summit one hour after leaving the car.
Scoparia in bloom – and it’s 22nd January!!
I was enjoying being up there, and so also visited the next lump along to the west, which is nameless, but which stands at 1534 ms asl. It had a cairn that had called me over. For my return route, I decided to use the spur that ran parallel to the valley I had come by. What a terrific fluke of a decision that was. This area is magic. The scoparia had been surprisingly good for this time of year, but on that spur, it was amazing, especially with the added colour from the flowing bellendena montana. Daisies and other flowers were also out. The walking was even easy, as the scoparia was a little thinner on the ground, and there were huge cushion plants as well. As usual, the were countless mounds of wombat poo but no wombats. Three wallabies hopped away, but that was all.
More scoparia. (No reds or pinks here)
This spur had a cairn at its highest point, so I went and touched it. It was just the world, the wind and me … and all those flowers. What a beautiful place. When I got home and stared more closely at my map, I saw that it was called Plains of Heaven. What a prefect name. I wonder what it looks like when the scoparia bushes are actually in season rather than just popping in here and there for a late show. I’ll let you know eleven months from now.
Markham Heights route
Above are three routes: far west is part of my route back from Markham Heights (sorry, I bumped the tracker off); middle is my route to Markham heights; far east is part of my route back from Whymper Crags. It only occurred to me part way through the journey that people might like a copy of the route. It all seemed terribly straightforward, but there it is anyway.
I have lost count of the number of times I have set out (or wanted to set out) to do the Western Arthurs Traverse, and been weathered out of my mission – by fires, floods, blizzards. You name it, the weather won each time. This time I fooled the weather by not acknowledging what I was doing. I pretended I was just going to play at the Eastern end of the Western Arthurs, and by the time this morphed into a traverse K-A, the weather hadn’t had time to work up its normal fury, like a snake you surprise so it doesn’t have time to summon up all its poison. Off I set. I couldn’t believe it was really happening. And I was so glad to be doing it the tougher K-A rather than the normal A-K. I like climbing.
Descending Mt Scorpio
The first day was merely a half day, and thus didn’t begin until after lunch, so we only had time to get as far as Two Mile Creek. This was actually great for me, as it’s been far too long since I’ve carried a Big Expedition pack, so it let me ease myself into the task. The next day, of course, brought in the absolutely massive task of climbing Kappa Moraine to the top (nearly) of Mt Scorpio (which we climbed, of course), before ascending some more out of Lake Sirona, and finally dropping to Hanging Lake, where platform space was scarce, and where it was yet again proven that wretched platforms and gorgeous Hilleberg tents are not good companions. My tent is not free standing, and needs more than the usual number of anchor points. Grr.
On a lump above Lake Sirona
We began full Day 2 by going backwards, to climb Aldebaran, for me for a second time. As this is one of my very favourite mountains, I don’t mind how many ascents I tally up. It was beautiful to reach the summit with the clouds still in the valleys below.
Climbing Aldebaran with daypacksView from Mt Aldebaran
“Mt Taurus” does not look all that foreboding from Haven Lake, but climbing it was the most taxing part of the whole traverse for me. It seemed to go on forever, and I guess I hadn’t found my so-called second wind yet, so it felt formidable. I couldn’t wait to drop the packs and go touch the summit. I am confused, actually, as everyone calls what we climbed Mt Taurus, but Listmaps has the much more dramatically interesting, more “bullish” rock to the NE labelled Taurus. Is everyone quoting Chapman who got it wrong? Or has Listmaps got it wrong? I don’t know the answer.
Wayne and I on Aldebaran. Thanks John.
After that, the Dragon Spine of four … or was it seven??? … bumps (one lost count after a while) was not too bad. And awaiting us were the famous Beggary Bumps with the bad-street cred’d Tilted Chasm which had to be negotiated before we reached the also-much-talked-about High Moor. For me, it was a dream to at last be seeing these wonders, having read so much about them, and seen so many pictures (mainly David Noble’s inspiring ones).
On the Dragon Spine, staring at the formidable Beggary Bumps
We climbed up a chasm that seemed pretty steep with loose sections, and I thought it was fine, but was starting to wonder about how bad the Chasm that everyone spoke about with fear in their voices was. I then got told I had just done it. I laughed with pleasure. The same happened with some sloping rock with small ledges that didn’t worry me in the slightest, but which one of our four was fearing. I was surprised to find that I’d just completed the dreaded object.
The Beggary Bumps get nearer
There was one moment in the day when I looked down and told myself that had been an idea less well-advised than most, but I just turned my attention to the task at hand and didn’t look down again until I had a bit more terra firma underfoot. Soon enough we were choosing our spots at High Moor. A group of ten camped there made life a bit tricky, as there was no space for my tent, but I managed.
Climbing one of many chasms
That night, during the night, a mighty wind whipped up, ripping John’s tent along its top as it broke his pole. He and his gear were in a less than ideal state in the morning, which dawned wet, grey and windy. We spent this day catching up on the sleep we didn’t get during the night, and then climbing a few thises and thats. I had already climbed Columba the previous evening, but did it again to kill time, adding in a few other lumps and bumps to keep myself amused.
Capricorn view, looking back. I climbed both bumps.Me on Capricorn. Thanks Karin
The next day’s walking took us out of High Moor, up Capricorn (packs dumped to summit), up the much harder Mt Pegasus, which I had already climbed from Cygnus with just a daypack. Climbing it with a full pack was somewhat more strenuous, to say the least. The views from the top remain fantastic. This day was pretty hot, which was rather welcome, but even more welcome was the little nameless tarn between Pegasus and Oberon, where we stopped to dip our faces in the water to cool down and drink.
Negotiating the slopes before PegasusPegasus approach
The next stop after that was at the outlet to Square Lake, where we took out about half an hour to rest up before the final slog to Lake Cygnus. High Moor to Cygnus was a pretty long day. That evening, the air was balmy, and it was so nice to sit outside and chat and enjoy the temperature. I went along to say “Hi” to the only other people at the lake, and discovered it was Ben the Skier, whom I had met the night before he did his amazing ski down the chute of the Ducane Range the month before. Small world. (At High Moor, a guy had come in and pitched next to me late in the evening: we worked out I had given him a lift just two weeks before as he headed in to the King William Range while I was bound for my Rufus waterfall adventure.)
Pegasus view
The final day turned on mist and howling winds for us. It took round about an hour to reach the top of Morain A. In this time I was blown off the track every third step, and was absolutely exhausted from trying to stabilise myself in the presence of forces so much more powerful than I was. My core even started to cramp due to the hard work. It was a blessed relief to get out of the main wrath as we descended, and begin the easy part of the trip to Junction Creek and out.
Climbing Pegasus
This traverse will remain in my mind as a highlight, if not THE highlight of my bushwalking “career”. It was not as remote or ‘different’ as many of the extended walks I have done, but I adore a physical challenge and this trip offers that in extremis. I felt like I was in the most dramatically beautiful fun park I have ever entered.
In the Peter, Paul and Mary song, “Well, well, well”, they sing: “God said a fire not a flood next time”. With regard to my attempts at Mt Nereus, it was the reverse, … with a twist. The first time, we were “droughted” out, with not enough water in the single yabby hole to fund our starters (albeit only two of us) on a long, hot day. We were scorched and parched.
Snow on Walled
This time, we had so much snow and rain that we failed to make the distance we needed on day two, thus making day 3, summit day, impossible. Ah well. Third time lucky?
Snow on Walled
It was a beautiful trip, and I’m really glad I had that time in the wilderness. I love seeing my mountain friends in the snow. Here are some shots of day 2, and our climb up Walled Mountain. Sorry, but they are just phone photos. My intent this trip was summiting, and I didn’t want to slow myself down with my heavy camera gear.
