I can’t blame you if you question what a walk along Barnbougle Beach is doing in a blog that mostly contains “real” bushwalking (so, walking at least at some stage in the bush), with the odd post on Orienteering, which also, at least, generally takes place in the bush. What was I doing on such a walk?
Pacific gulls enjoying the vistaSweet little Red-capped plovers
Well, the walk was being done by friends who manage to make themselves clear on a Wednesday. When reading the description, I noted that this “bushwalk” included having lunch at a Lost Farm Restaurant. I imagined some farming couple up there on the coast feeding us produce from their own paddocks in a homey sort of atmosphere, and I thought it would be fun to try. The walk would be at least 12 kms long, which is not a lot, but would do, so curiosity had me stick my name on the list. I would not normally volunteer for a flat walk of that kind, but something urged me to give it a go.
Pied oystercatchersWalking and talking, Barnbougle Beach
Over the first dune we went (actually, via a tunnel) and out we emerged into a marvel of aquamarine and white, stretching vast distances to left and right. I was in love, and I hadn’t quite made my first step on the pure sand yet. A variety of seabirds flitted past. I’d even seen a Wedge-tailed eagle from a mere three metres away as I drove in, but it had gone by the time I grabbed the camera placed in the passenger’s seat.
What a place! Lucky Pacific gull.
I walked, talked and dreamt, dropping back quite often in order to spend time with this or that bird, and then catching the others afterwards, enjoying the expanse, the colours, the views and conversations with my companions. We had four river crossings to do this day. The first was very easy. I took off my shoes, and enjoyed the feel of the cool water on my feet and the texture of the soft sand. I walked a few kilometres in bare feet afterwards, quite often just in the water. Some went swimming in our food break.
Crested terns circle while the next crossing is being discussed.And they’re off, while Louise photographs, meaning I started last and was then very slow. Oh well; there were no trains to catch and I didn’t get dunked.Hm. It seems to be getting waist deep. This is going to be tricky with my gear. Not your normal bushwalking photo.
The next crossing, at the mouth of Anderson Bay, was more challenging. Low tide was still an hour or so away, but we didn’t feel like waiting that long, so crossed anyway. I hoped the “tidal rush” wouldn’t topple me. Knowing that we had these crossings, I had left my very best camera and birding lens at home, but my second best is also very good and also expensive, so I didn’t want to accidentally lose balance. The others seemed to find merriment in how slow and careful I was executing this crossing, but I managed to get through it without damaging any of my gear, and that was all I cared about.
Delicious lunch. Not exactly the norm for a bushwalk either, but it sure was a welcome change!
Lost Farm turned out to be the Restaurant attached to Barnbougle. The view out the window had me do a quiet gasp, and it so happened the food was wonderful. The mood was relaxed: fine company; delicious food; stories and laughter circulating. The grins in the photo are not lying. Unfortunately nobody else wanted dessert, so I stored that idea for some future visit; at least we had coffee and a biscuit at the very end of the day (after two more careful river crossings further west) before driving home. The others are connecting other walks they’ve done in order to eventually have walked from the far NE of Tasmania to some point further west. The Tamar? Whatever; if I want to do that too I have some serious catching up to do.
This guy lost out on the good menu. It’s a juvenile Pacific gull. Looks like a teenager to me.
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.
Dawn after rain
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.
All waterfalls in the area were pumping
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.
Wildflower garden. Now we’re talking.
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.
Ossa summit areaOssa summit area
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.
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).
Richea scoparia, Ossa
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.
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.
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.
I have often stared at Walford Peak and wanted to climb it. Last year I organised to do so, but problems cropped up at the last minute. And for some reason, Marble Bluff seems to have bad street cred (it is rather a scrubby beast), so it has also been on the to do list, but to no avail. I looked down on it from the summit of Eldon Peak in 2018 and very much wanted to see its view, but was told it was very hard to reach. Well, it wasn’t a piece of cake, but neither was it overly taxing. Let the actual adventure begin ….
Spicer Track crossing Anthony R, a bit over an hour into the trip.
Here we were, all keen for time in the wilderness and these two mountains in particular. It was to be a five-day trip, as we were also going to explore the Sticht Range. I knew I was running-fit, but last week in the Jubilee Ranges made me question whether I was also pack-carrying fit. That ingredient was gong to be rather essential on this expedition. I set out with uncertainty.
Lake Spicer Track over Anthony R
The plan for day 1 (begun after lunch because of driving time) was to walk along Lake Spicer Track until we arrived at just the right place to camp for the first night. The aim was not to go all the way to the lake itself, as we were expecting rather a hefty storm the next night, and the level of the lake might rise enough to turn tents into cute islands in the lake, if the strong winds didn’t blow them down first. We needed a sheltered spot that neither wind nor rain could mar.
Walford Peak view to Mt Murchison, Lake Plimsoll and Lake Rolleston
There was no sign right now of the storm to come. The sky was blue; the day was glorious. Crossing the many creeks and puddles was picturesque and enjoyable, and gave plenty of drinking opportunities. Thus, when we reached the high point on the track just below Walford Peak in just a tad over two hours’ walking time (on the agenda for a later day on the rebound), it was decided not to waste such beautiful weather, and climb it right now. I was thrilled. We dumped our packs and up we went. The bush was pretty thick, but it yielded to energetic shoves, and in a shade under forty minutes, we were at the top. Everything looked glorious from up there. The many lakes in our purview shone with sparkling blue iridescence; countless well-loved peaks towered above with clarity.
Walford Peak view to the Sticht Range (Right) and Lake Plimsoll and Mr Murchison (Left).
Back down on the track once more, descending to our eventual campsite was fun, as said track turned into a creek with cascades that were rather pretty. Soon enough we were beside Lake Dora, and agreed that a point on the road that was a bit of a knoll would be a great place to stop. We had been on the track for about three hours, and had also done eighty minutes without packs to climb Walford Peak, but for some reason that wasn’t quite enough for me, so I went and explored the track further after dinner, and climbed a small bluff for kicks. The view was excellent. Maybe my problem was that I had just eaten the worst dehydrated meal I can remember. The packet said it was vegetarian shepherd’s pie, but it was sickly sweet and made me feel very dissatisfied.
Descending back to the track. Lakes Rolleston and Plimsoll, and Mt Murchison behind.Ultricularia dichotoma near our tents.
By the dawn of day two, you could tell that the weather was changing. The air had mood and attitude, and clouds were assembling. We finished off the Lake Spicer track quickly enough, and then began the somewhat long climb up onto Unconformity Ridge. That ascent contained probably the thickest scrub of the day. Once we reached the ridge itself, the terrain varied from patches of thick scrub to long areas of smaller bushes with button grass, both knee to waist high. Only the very last bit was easy going. The actual moving time (ie, breaks not included) was around 3 hours 40 minutes total in each direction, from tent to summit and back (3 hrs 10 off-track). On top of that time, we had a few breaks so everyone could be comfortable, often eating, or just chatting and looking at the view.
Lake Spicer Track. Yes, this water is the track.Another watery view of Lake Spicer Track
Luckily, we got to inhabit the summit area without rain, but the wind was so strong that hats went flying, and we all huddled for shelter on the leeward side of rocks to have our lunch. The view was disappointingly hazy, not just from approaching bad weather, but also from fires in the Central Highlands. I didn’t take many photos.
We reach Lake Spicer. From here on, it’s all bushbashing
Half an hour after summitting, we were off on the descent, trying, but failing, to beat the oncoming rain. By the time we hit the track, it was raining properly. I was pretty wet on arrival back at the tent. We tried to dry wet garments in the breeze while we had dinner, but things remained quite damp, although no longer dripping.
Marble Bluff view to the north. Eldon Peak towers behind
That night, as I lay in bed, I enjoyed the sound of very angry wind howling above me, often lifting me off the ground as if I were on a magic carpet. It was rather fun. However, a toothache that had been brewing over the preceding days was particularly painful, so I didn’t get much sleep.
Marble Bluff view to the to south: Lake Burbury, Mts Lyell, Owen, Huxley and Jukes
On day three, the rain had settled in. I decided I needed to attend to my tooth as soon as possible, so bailed out of the rest of the agenda, and dashed back to the car. I made it in under three hours, not bothering with any breaks seeing’s I was alone, and find no particular pleasure in sitting in the rain to rest. I drove to where I had reception, made an appointment to see my dentist and bought the strongest pain killers I was allowed (I don’t usually use such things). Right now, it is the middle of the night, but my pain is so great I can’t sleep. I sure made the right decision to come home. The Sticht Range, object of today’s agenda, will just have to wait for another day. My gear was saturated when I reached the car, but I arrived home to a desperately dry Launceston.
Next day (today as I write) I had to have my wisdom tooth extracted. Leaving early was more than a good idea!
I had read that there was an orienteering women’s training weekend happening at St Helens, but entries had closed when I went to join in. On the Friday, however, I got the bright idea of seeing if there’d been any cancellations. Weee. I was in.
Bush scenery from my weekend
First session was in 3 hours, but I had made dough and needed to bake the bread or my efforts would be wasted; I had to pack, of course, and drive 90 minutes to the venue in the Fingal valley. Hm. Rush rush. I threw gear into a bag (without a great deal of thought) while the bread was cooking, threw food with equal haste down my gullet, and set out for the location, Rajah Rocks.
Dawn Bay of Fires. I decided I didn’t want inside accomodation.
Here we practised a Middle distance course in a fabulously rocky area. I had already been training that morning, not realising I would be accepted into the camp, so was pretty tired as I drew near to the finish. As I headed further east to the coast, I witnessed the most wonderful sunset, but needed to keep driving, so hoped there would be more over the next two days. After a fun activity after dinner where we had to build a tower made out of spaghetti and string (and perch a marshmallow on top), I left the 32 or so others to their warm, comfortable accomodation and went to the coast to pitch my tent in the dark.
My tent, my happy place
I wanted to camp, and near the coast, as I love the sound of waves lapping against the shore while I lie in my sleeping bag. It’s a pity I packed my old 1980s bag in my haste: it wasn’t very warm, but I survived, and the beauty of dawn next morning drove away any thoughts about relocating to standard-type accomodation.
Orienteering day 2. Waiting for things to get underway.
The Saturday contained lots of training sessions and even more camaraderie than that. Our fabulous coach, Francesca, had to design courses for total beginners through to former international representatives, from people who struggled to run to people who were very fit, and with ages from 14 to over 80, and she pleased the lot of us. Perhaps her biggest problem was to get us to stop chatting and laughing, and get the next session started. We did relocation in pairs, compass only (HELP – I decided I was actually a shocking orienteer in this session), and contour only courses, where I was allowed to slightly revise my opinion of myself.
Bay of Fires. Dawn day 2.
On the final day we did a longish course practising long legs. I was stunned that I still had legs left to do this, but once I’d got going, somehow all was fine. It was very lonely out the far end of the long course; I think most took the shorter option for this session.
Tiny Orienteer
I was too busy orienteering (or chatting or eating) to photograph orienteering in action, but I did want to share the beauty side of our weekend, so here it is. As it is a post about orienteering, I will finish with a shot of one of my very favourite orienteers taken recently rather than this weekend. She’s not quite a woman yet, but I’m sure she’ll join in such a camp one day.
We didn’t choose Markham Heights on Ben Lomond for our Wednesday walk specifically because it was the shortest day of the year, and we also didn’t quite choose it because it was possibly the coldest day of the year so far (it was minus 8 as we passed through Blessington), but because the minus 5 we were expecting on top would be a lot nicer and safer with 30 cms snow on the rocks than where we had been going, which would probably just be a dangerous expanse of ice rime.
Blessington ValleyBlessington Valley
Meanwhile, I was, at the time of the decision, disappointed, as I had been looking forward to the original destination. Through the dark I drove, heading for the Ben Lomond National Park. My spirits picked up considerably as the sun began to rise and I saw the scenes of some of the photos here. I also nearly skittled a deer which ran across directly in front of me, and also nearly had a collision with a black shadow on the road which turned out to be a cow. Needless to say, with temperatures so low, the road was very icy and I was not familiar with its dangerous points, so drove pretty slowly after those two scares.
Off we set. Markham Heights leering down at usClimbing higherAnd higherBen Lomond patterns in the snow
I have always wanted to camp under Ben Lomond to photograph the rocks at sunrise. Even though the sun had already risen, the rocks were still delightfully red on my arrival, so while the others did practical things like putting on boots and more coats and beanies, I dashed out and photographed rock. Hey; who needs to go to Central Australia for red rock? We have it a-plenty right here in Tasmania if we get up early enough (or hang around in rocks until sunset). Dolerite, the predominant rock in most of the state, colours up beautifully at the extreme ends of the day.
ClimbingSnowy sceneUnnamed knob. Dave arrives.Sue climbs
The rest of the day was a visual treat, seeing magnificent scenes of snow on bushes or rocks or windswept mini ridges. We had morning tea on an unnamed knob, and lunch on Markham Heights, and assorted snacks here and there to spin out the day. My coils came off and another friend lost one of his mini spikes, so three of us got extra exercise retracing our steps, which also added nicely to the exercise value of the day, and the time spent moving in the white wonderland. I didn’t enjoy the stationary snack times as much as, well, minus 5 is minus 5, and even with 5 layers of warm clothing on, that is still cold. When I’m moving, I’m fine. Here is a small collection of scenes from the day. I hope you enjoy them.
