Category: tasmania

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Beecroft 2013 May

Mt Beecroft   19 May 2013

Our trip to Mt Beecroft began early, so for a bit over an hour we drove past glorious white fields, the grasses in the ditches beside us sparkling with thick frost. The mountains were spectacular in air that sharp, with every shadow and indentation, and every sunny ridge perfectly crisp and clear.
 
We arrived at our destination car park (on the highest point of the C132, which goes past Cradle Mountain. It is 10kms west of the Cradle turnoff) just as the clouds did, and set out into a biting wind. It was so cold that I said we’d go for an hour, and if we were still freezing, we’d turn around, as it was obvious we weren’t going to see anything in cloud like that. The water on the pad was between ankle and mid-calf deep, depending on where you put your feet (hard to see, as the wind had my eyes watering so much I just stepped out and hoped). All the bushes were drenched, so our pants were very quickly sodden. After 15 minutes, however, we had gained enough height for the ground to be a little less sopping, and after 36 minutes we either crested a rise or rounded a corner or both, but suddenly our goal was visible not far ahead in a gap in the mist that suddenly and unexpectedly appeared. I photographed it in case it was the only photo for the day. Unfortunately, the glorious views that the Abels book promised us were not to be had, but the details closer to hand, seen through the atmospheric mist, more than compensated. We also revelled in the pylons of rock emerging through the swirling grey veil higher still.
 
Although we couldn’t see anything other than the rocks close at hand, there was a wonderful sense of space climbing the ridge – much like we have when in the Lake District, or emerging at the top of Moraine A in the Western Arthurs. We ate a hasty (and very early) half lunch (half, because we were cold once we stopped, and I wanted to get us up to the summit, and then out of the mist while I could still see something, and because we got so much in a single salad roll from ETC that I couldn’t even open my mouth wide enough to get the roll inside, let alone finish such a deliciously huge portion).
On the return journey, I wanted to stay wild and free, so diverged from the waterlogged trenches of the Penguin-Cradle track and opted for the greater sense of space on the ridge line – a drier and more wombat-filled option, even if slightly longer. There were some beautiful tiny fungi at the end – mostly mycena I suspect. Here is some lichen.
 
On the way home, we warmed up and broke the journey by stopping at Villaret, which we haven’t been to in ages. There we shared one cake. It was a (breathe in deeply so you can say it all in one breath) “warm chocolate whisky date and macadamia fudge cake with caramel-macadamia ice cream, salted caramel and macadamia slice, butterscotch sauce (with the ice cream) and chocolate sauce (with the cake), garnished with white chocolate leaves, strawberries, cream and spun sugar”.
We felt very satisfied as we continued the final hour home. Sunset over the river was pink as we pulled into the drive.
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Drys Bluff 2013 Apr

Drys Bluff   28 April 2013  

“Bob Brown’s here”, the excited whispers ran through the bus; heads craned to see. Pulses rose. This was going to be a fun day.
As we stood in a circle to say our names, you could feel that these adults were like kids needing to suppress giggles, although they did their best to introduce themselves with less of a teenie-bopper air than they felt. My pictures of them during the day have faces lit with huge grins. One said to me at one point: “This is such a cool club. Do you bring celebrities to every walk?”

 

I have known Bob for nearly twenty years, dating back to days when I was on the green ticket in two elections. Despite this loose acquaintance, I have never done anything with Bob that was not official, so even for me it was a treat to go walking with him, and to see him on more relaxed turf – especially nice to see him in the bush that he fights so hard to save. I sometimes fear that he’s so hard fighting he has no time to enjoy what he’s fighting for – and I feel guilty for enjoying it so much and never allowing enough time to fight properly for its existence. It’s hard to get the balance right.

We climbed up the Bluff to pretty specy views, and then some of us perfectionists in the matter of peak bagging set off across the horrid scrub for the actual summit. Bob, having climbed the good part about eighty times I think he said, and having also officially bagged the thorny castle of a summit, was happy to go straight down with those who still retained sanity. We met back up down the bottom, where Paul had lit a fire, Bob had brewed some tea, Caroline had brought several cakes, and where the laughter and chatter continued until after dark. Most of us came home with a little goody-bag of walnuts, courtesy of Paul’s efforts while we had been off, gallivanting on high.

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Gould, Minotaur, Guardians 2013 Mar

Mt Gould, Minotaur and The Guardians  9-11 March 2013

Gould as seen form the Labyrinth
This was a trip with many highs and lows, but a definite high point, in both senses of the word, was summitting Mt Gould on the first day. This is a mountain I have long admired for its shapely triangulated peak, distinctive from many vantage points. It is the subject of many of my photos, but I had never been onto its bulk. I adored the view from the top, and stayed there a while, soaking it all in.

From Gould summit, looking towards Minotaur, Parthenon, Acropolis, Geryon At the end of the day, a campsite was chosen near the summit of the Minotaur. Sunset and sunrise yielded photos that were pretty nice, although not perfect. There were a few too many clouds for the sky to go pink, or rocks to go red as they sometimes do. The silhouettes were nonetheless grand, and we enjoyed eating and watching evening close in around us.


From Gould summit.
Day 2. The next day promised to be very hot, even though the clouds were building up, and it kept its promise. Sweat poured down our faces as we climbed The Guardians with their magnificent panorama. We were tiny ants on gargantuan cliffs dropping perilously several hundred metres to Lake Marion below.

 Photo from the Gould-Minotaur saddle
All around us were famous mountains, many of which we’d climbed, but were now seen from a new angle. It would be lovely to camp by the tarn rather than see the glory in the midday glare, but one can’t do everything, and Gould had won out this time. Everyone stripped off and had a swim. Some swims lasted longer than others. Being a wuss, mine was a stripped-down body wash, but I enjoyed having the cool water on my skin. It was just a bit too cold for me to dive in.

View of the campsite under Minotaur
We were back at our tents in time for an early lunch, and were soon off, over the summit of the Minotaur (marvellous views again, but these were not new to me, as I had been up when we first got there, and again at dawn), down to the saddle between it and the Parthenon, and thus into the Labyrinth.
 
Dawn from the flanks of the Minotaur, looking at Gould and Lake St Clair

On we went to Lake Eurynome, via a detour. Just as we arrived, the heavens opened with a bang. Gone was our much-desired swim. I didn’t know droplets of water could be so big and heavy. They were truly amazing, and I admired them while I tried to mix efficiency with speed in erecting our tent, trying to be calm but fast.

Bushwalker on Minotaur enjoys sunrise
There wasn’t much time for choosing, and not much space either, so most of us camped in a kind of yobs’ ghetto on top of each other, ropes overlapping, in a little flattish spot further along the shore from the leader’s spot (room for one tent only). We all pitched with a future view of lake and mountains in mind. As the storm continued, we disappeared one by one into our hastily erected cocoons to wait out the worst of it.
Climbing the Guardians, looking towards Geryon and Acropolis
What does one do in a situation like this? Somehow, one feels too antsy to read. What we always do when forced to wait impatiently for something (like the end of a storm) is sing. We sang all the tunes we know where we can harmonise together. Then we went through our repertoire of rounds and canons. Still the storm raged. Next I moved onto English folksongs to be sung in unison, and traversed from there to Gaelic tunes, German folk, through student drinking songs and on to old campfire tunes like “Michael row the boat ashore” and “Kumbaya”.
Tarn on the Guardians

The storm furied still. Thunder and lightning were separated by only a second at one point. (I grabbed Bruce, probably bruising him, as it crashed above us). Somewhere in all of that I did check on the state of play out the tent window, and I did notice at that time that a river was forming and running beneath the midpoint of our tent, but in such a storm, what could one do? Bruce in the background suggested I start bailing, so I got a pot and bailed and bailed but the river kept flowing, and I got tired, so gave up. We’d see what was what when the lightning stopped. The rain continued to plummet down.

View from Minotaur campsite
 After Kumbaya, and possibly because I was running out of songs in the next category, although we hadn’t begun on tunes from musicals yet, I decided to check on the view out the tent opening again and see how things were faring in our vestibule. I unzipped. My squeal was heard wide and far, although misinterpreted. C thought it was a squeal of terror, but actually it was one of surprise and a loud noise made in response to an absolutely hilarious situation.

Lake Marion from above (Lake St Clair in background)
Unbeknown to me, the others had all been sitting there watching the water rising, but felt immobilised by the deluge, and thought that if we were singing, then it must be OK. But we were singing because we didn’t know what was happening. I now saw that we were entirely surrounded by lake. We were a little Tent Island in the middle of the lake that had risen up 30 cms and swallowed us, and so were our friends. Luckily, unlike the victims of the floods in QLD etc, we could pick up our houses and move them whilst the waters rose into our bedrooms.
Tent Island, Lake Eurynome

 The storm had not stopped, but the lightning had eased and the thunder was less booming as I left our tent and began moving it to higher ground – of which, actually, there was none. That is, there was higher ground, but it was covered in sharp bushes. We tried to find enough bush-free area to make a bit of a go of it. I left Bruce to try to put pegs in the tent in the new spot and went off to help C who had no one to help her. First, I helped ferry her remaining dry gear into the dry spot enabled by our re-erected tent (thanks to B), and then C and I dug elbow deep in the water to retrieve her pegs, pull them out, and then four of us – C, B, Mike and I – picked up her tent and went wandering with it, in search of free space. I found her a tiny bit, but it had a stone in the middle. It was a choice between a stone and prickly scrub, so she chose stone.

Tent Island, Lake Eurynome 
Then it was back to help Mike, who was busy trying to bail massive quantities of water out of his tent … and then off to our own, where I also had a considerable bailing job to do. Somehow the process of moving had allowed water to enter (hardly surprising). At least all our gear – and most importantly, clothes and sleeping bags – were dry, so we were in a good position. Mike kept bailing, now helped by Rolfe, who had successfully moved. Mike was finished with bucketing, and was now ready to try the next stage, in which he used Rolfe’s towel to soak up water, passed it outside where Rolfe rang it out, and received it back inside to have another round of the same.
While I did the last of the above process on our tent, Bruce got the stove going on a rock, and boiled water both for our dinner, and for Mike, so that once he finished bailing he could get some warm food before the light completely went.
The next day, considering one thing and another, was fairly humdrum, almost boring. We didn’t get lost; we climbed no mountains; we made the ferry and we got home. And, believe it or not, I guess I’m just a weirdo, I enjoyed the walk immensely. Not only have I climbed several new peaks with brilliant views, not only has Bruce done an amazing job of traversing quite a wild part of Tasmania, but we have experienced a huge adventure, and one that we’ll laugh about together for years to come.



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Amos 2013 Mar

Mt Amos   2-3 Mar 2013

 

 

 

 

 
Mt Amos is not a high mountain. I used to run up it in 22 mins when I was an athlete. With a pack and walking, it takes longer, of course, but one can be fairly extravagant with weight and not feel the consequences, so as well as lugging up six litres of water and a tripod for my SLR, I even took along a musical instrument (and a book, of course).
We set out from home after lunch, and arrived in time to have a bit of a read before pitching the tent and cooking dinner, after which we sat on our rock and watched the glorious sunset for a very long time. When the whole landscape had gone dark, and we had enjoyed stargazing, we sang a bit, and then I played music in the dark until it was time for bed.
Sunrise and breakfast with such a view were also perfect. A magical overnighter.
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Loddon Range 2013 Feb

Loddon Range: Loddon Bluff, Ronald Cross and Church Peak  23-4 Feb, 2013

The Loddon Range that we were to climb, as seen from the highway.
One of the advantages of being in a club is that you get to go to places that you would not have gone to if someone hadn’t indirectly (by putting the name on the programme) said: “Come here with me”. I read the name “Loddon Bluff”. I hadn’t been there, so signed up for the two day expedition that would see us climb every highpoint on the Loddon Range over two days.

The bush was thick. Very, very thick. The distances we covered were hilariously minimal given the time we took to do it, but with impenetrable walls of well-armed scrub, that’s what happens. I’m delighted to have done it.

We began with a descent – very short – a creek crossing, and then a long climb up onto the ridge. The going was not too bad in the rainforest, but awesomely shocking once we emerged from it, and from there to the top of the first of the peaks on the range (Ronald Cross). From that point on, however, the scrub – still thick – did not do as much damage to our progress (which was now ‘slow’ rather than ‘armoured fight’ stuff), and the views became extensive and impressive.
We could see Frenchmans Cap just across the Loddon valley below, had a new view of Slatters Peak, Diamond Peak, Mt Anne and more.
 It was fabulous being up so high with the world stretched out below. Most of us followed the ridge line over each high point until we were directly above Needle Tarn, which we dropped down to once we’d regrouped. Two took a shortcut – less scenic, but also, of course, less fighting – as one of them was suffering a bit from heat exhaustion. We all met at the tarn where almost everyone (not this wuss) went for a dip.

Needle Tarn in the evening.
The evening light after dinner was wonderful. I went off and climbed a bit around the place, sometimes photographing, sometimes just sitting on something and singing, enjoying the atmosphere. The others had retired so I had the known (or visible) world to myself.

Here is the evening light on Mt Gell 

Mt  Gell a bit earlier in the day
Here was our view back to the Acropolis, Geryon, Byron and more.
The grand Mt Anne was a pimple on the horizon, but a lovely one.
 The next day we got a very early start (in which I discovered, or rather re-discovered, that I am a slow eater).  This was good, as the day was a very hot one, and we went about twelve hours without water (other than what we carried). At least we got in some work before the sun began attacking. It wasn’t far to go to get to the end of the range, but it took a very long time thanks to the rugged nature of the various lumps and bumps. We climbed Church Peak and Loddon Bluff before turning around. Already by about ten o’clock, we were hot and bothered. We dropped down to a tarn, but it was merely a mud slosh, and utterly uninviting as a source of drinking water. The leader didn’t want to drop four contours to return to our overnight tarn, so we stayed high. I hid behind small bushes in the breaks to keep the sun away. We all husbanded our water very carefully – except one person who drank his supply early and then wanted to “borrow”.
The route yet to be undertaken, stretched out towards the bluff
The others approaching the Bluff itself, endpoint of this excursion

 

Looking back along our travels
Despite needing to guard our water and hide from the worst of the sun, the trip was wonderful. How lucky we were to have two days so clear and views so grand. We fought the scrub some more until we at last reached the respite of the rainforest below the other end of the ridge. We all enjoyed the refreshing creek at the bottom, of course, trying not to drink it completely dry.