Tag: Abel

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Emmett 2014 May

Mt Emmett

We had not set out intending to climb Mt Emmett on this trip: instead, Mts Inglis and Proteus were on our agenda. However, the dismal weather forecast had us altering our plans. The worst day was to be our second one, so it was decided that we’d only go as far as Scott-Kilvert hut, behind Cradle Mountain, on the first day (instead of to the tarn on the moorland past the belly of Barn Bluff), and see just how much rain was going to fall thereafter before we finalised Plan B.

Approaching Hanson’s Peak, day 1

Day two was as bad as predicted, so the new plan was to climb Mt Emmett on this day, and then move to a better location for attacking Inglis the next one. 

 
En route, day 1

To the average person, Mt Emmett is not a name that means a lot. If you get out the appropriate map, you’ll find it sitting beside Cradle Mountain, minding its own business, looking nice and harmless as a bunch of smooth brown elliptical lines. When seen from the Cirque between Cradle and Waterfall Valley hut, it looks like a nicely rounded and gentle scree slope, much like many of the English Fells that you can dash up at a run. Before I knew better, I had once planned on sleeping on the top. 

A beautiful autumn bonsai Fagus plant on Hanson’s Peak

 Cradle from Hanson’s Peak
Unfortunately, the reality of this cozening deluder is that this is a mountain of angular boulder rubble, which could have been part of some story of angry gods throwing fridge-sized stone missiles at enemies and then cursing them so that they became covered in slimy black moss to destroy any approach efforts of hapless humans.

Twisted Lakes in autumn glory

We had already had one failed attempt on this mountain, admittedly due to snow (see my other Emmett entry: http://www.natureloverswalks.com/mt-emmett/ ) and I had not entertained the notion of taking my husband with Parkinson’s disease back there. My plan was to do it in summer on a nice dry day (without him), probably solo as this is not a popular mountain that anyone I know volunteers to do twice. However, the group was doing it in the rain, and my husband said he could do it too. Should a wife tell her husband he’s mistaken and make him stay behind for his own safety and the good of the group? (He laughed and said “Yes” when I read him that sentence.) “Not this time; not yet,” was the equivocating conclusion I came to after long reflection during the night as I listened to the insistent rain.

 

The moist mist swirled around as we left the hut the next day. We had elected to camp the previous night rather than stay in the hut, so were lugging a wet tent up the slope, but we love our tent, so that’s OK. I stayed at the back of the train, observing my husband’s progress, trying to read from his movement whether I should exercise some power of veto here. I was genuinely worried about this mountain – but again I let him have the call, not wanting to cramp his style with my own anxieties for his safety. 

Laccaria sp near our tent

Even highly competent and experienced walkers find Emmett with a water film over the slime to be a challenge (see rockmonkey’s blog) but we nonetheless set out over the slippery rocks that presented a line rather than a flat plane as their uppermost surface. I hoped that if Bruce ran into trouble, it would be in the first hundred metres to enable an easy exit. He seemed to be coping as well as some of the others in the group, and as he often goes much better if I’m not there as a backstop, I went on ahead, having fun crabbing my way on all fours across the slippery obstacle course, whilst checking behind at regular intervals to make sure he was coming, though the thick mist meant that, at best, I could see people who could see people who could report that he was progressing steadily.

Deceptive Mt Emmett from the Cradle Cirque next day

There were no commanding views to be had in the fog that day, but the best view for me was that of my husband approaching the summit of what I thought was his most challenging mountain yet. Bravo B. It snowed lightly (sleet really) before we began our descent. The weather was so bad I had not even bothered to bring my camera to the top; I have plenty enough photos of people in a grey, obnubilating veil labelled as this or that peak. 

Ramaria ochraceosalmonicolor beside the track

The trip down was as careful as the ascent had been and we all got there uninjured, picked up the heavy packs that we’d deposited in the Cradle-Emmett saddle, and made our way further on to Waterfall Valley hut where we could attempt to dry out our sodden gear before the next day’s demanding adventure (see natureloverswalks.com/mt-inglis/).

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Marriotts Lookout 2014 Apr

Marriotts Lookout April 2014.

Mt Field National Park, where I camped in order to enable an early start to climb Marriotts Lookout.
Can anyone who has done their research actually look forward to Marriotts Lookout? The Abels book describes it as “a poor relation and ugly duckling”, covered in “dense, wiry scrub”. Further descriptors are “dark” and “uninviting”, and the book promises cutting grass, bauera, tea tree (all bad words for those in the know), stumbling over hidden logs, scrub that can exceed manageable proportions if one doesn’t happen on the best route, and a peak “that cannot be described as photogenic from any angle”. (The only photo the book offers is that of an unfurling fern frond, proof of the statement). Apparently the view redeems it from total disgrace – but I was to climb it in a grey-out with barely fifty metres visibility.


Coral lichen near the top
Not wishing to spend the rest of my unfortunately shortened life irredeemably skewered by thick scrub, hanging by my plait from a hook of bauera with not even a nice view for consolation in my last lonely moments, I elected neither to do this mountain solo nor to give my husband the dubious pleasure of following me through such barricades, but instead I signed on the dotted line of an HWC venture to the summit. If it’s going to be thick and boring, then let’s see if conversation and company can redeem the bosky fight.

 

The rock we sheltered behind for lunch after summitting.

The mist settled in as we drove to the start. I was not far behind the car in front, but the driver still couldn’t see me. Light drizzle fell. We hardy bunch of soldiers equipped ourselves for battle with the usual layers – for me, an icebreaker under layer, then a thermal, a long shirt, then a fleece, a super-duper event anorak, and then another old gortex outer anorak that cannot be damaged any further, having socialised too often and too closely with scoparia. I never moved fast enough to warm up, and just got colder as the day progressed.

Obligatory summit shot
After morning tea in light drizzle, we pushed on to the summit, lunched in thick mist hiding from the wind behind a rock, and then began the journey home. My fleece gloves were sodden and my fingers started to ache. My overpants were so drenched they started falling down, which made climbing over high logs interesting. Our movement to elapsed time ratio was rather alarming, but that’s how it is in bush like that.

Russula persanguinea 

I’m glad to have a tick beside the name “Marriotts Lookout” in my book, and pleased to have amassed another big point for my effort. However, as the view had nothing to offer by way of any other redemption for the outing, I sought mine in the small things of life: fungi have returned to the forests after a long, dry summer (the Hypholoma fasciculare and Russula persanguinea were wonderful); the outer leaves of some fagus trees were beginning to yellow; the mist on the huge glowing waxberries (Gaultheria hispida) made them even more beautiful and noticeable than they normally are (the fruit reminded me of miniature albino apples with pink tips); moss and lichen never fail to thrill me, and were to be found in the couple of patches of rainforest that we chanced on; and I always enjoy the yellowy softness of the particular green of cutting grass, which, if it can be forgiven for hurting, can be admired for its colour and the contrast in both hue and texture it provides to a forest scene.

Hypholoma fasciculare var. armenicum (Thank you Dr Genevieve Gates for help with identification)
And then, of course, there was the all-important afternoon tea at the Possum Shed, which some declared to be the reason for the venture. I had pear and honey cake with cappuccino, and the warmth of the room and the food almost thawed me out, although my hands took nearly six hours before they stopped aching.


Our route showing both directions. I think we dropped quite low on the way out, to get the lovely rainforest, but on the way back decided that drop was unnecessary. 

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Recondite Knob 2014 Mar

Recondite Knob Mar 2014.

My husband cleared himself from work for the day so I could have a(n early) birthday wish. I chose for us to spend the day climbing Recondite Knob. Web reports had it as being a very long day indeed, so this time I warned the dogs we’d be quite late. Probably because I’d taken that precaution, we were back in time for dinner, surprising them by being early for a change.

This reticent, elusive Knob sat there quietly, just a brown ellipse on the map, one of many nameless shapes, until Bill Wilkinson, editor of the Abels book, did his research and found that it satisfied the requirements to be what he called an Abel (inter alia, a peak over 1100 metres) and in 1994 presented a submission for his chosen name to the Nomenclature Board. He dubbed her Recondite because of her property of being something that only those with specialised knowledge would know about – a mountain for the cognoscenti. And indeed, only those in the know would be aware she existed or desire to go out that way to climb her. She is still unnamed on maps, and her paucity of visitors is indicated by the very few names in the log book at the start of the track. We were the second visitors for the year, and it is now pushing April. Even the wombats seemed surprised to find humans in their otherwise undisturbed territory.

Drink spot.
We delighted in the sense of space and room as we wandered freely along the broad ridge tops with their views to many mountains of the Cradle Valley, and in the totally different perspective of Cradle and Barn gained from this new angle. We could see as far as Pelion West to the south, to Murchison and Farrell more to the west, and to St Valentines Peak in a more northerly direction – and that’s despite its being a pretty murky day. Not a sound was to be heard. It felt like we were the only people on earth today, increasing the sense of wilderness.

The summit – most appealing!
Our route began just out the back of Cradle Lodge where blue signs at the bottom of the dam point you to Speelers Track and Reynolds Falls (and more). At this stage you are on board walk, and are on the delightful King Billy Track which leads through an enchanted forest of ancient myrtles and King Billy Pines, with thick moss and lichen adorning the trees.
After a short distance (and after the narrow track crosses a small road, part of the lodge) the track we needed to follow hives off from the main King Billy track, and points still to Speelers Track, staying closer to the river than the King Billy one. It is the next sign that causes confusion among most bloggers (perhaps 10-12 minutes after leaving the lodge). One piece of information we read said to turn right here. The map agreed, but indicated we should turn left pretty quickly after that to connect with an E-W route. This route never appeared so we backtracked to the junction and this time noticed that three directions were possible, not just two as seemed the case at first. The middle one, which we took, was not represented on the map, but was going roughly where I wanted it to go, so we followed it. After 600 metres, it joined the E-W route that I had been trying for earlier. After this, it was plain sailing for the rest of the day.
I never tire of this forest.

We had to leave the magic forest, but climbed onto golden moorland with views described earlier and an exhilarating vastness. We wandered wild and free across the tops. 35 minutes after leaving the lodge, this track intersected very clearly with a N-S old mining exploration route, clearly visible on map and ground. Walking along this was very easy, but after 7 minutes, it dumped us into the button grass, after which we had to fend for ourselves for many kilometres.

An obliging fungus colours the forest (Austropaxillus muelleri)
My husband doesn’t cope very well with button grass bogs, so I made no attempt to follow the remains of the route and chose instead a path that minimised button grass mounds and ditches and maximised lines of pineapple grass and low coral vegetation. After nearly an hour from the lodge, I headed us down to a flowing creek with pencil pine grove, perfect place for a drink of cool mountain water and a muesli bar (where my blue path intersects with the creek).
 

The next kilometre was the slowest, as my husband struggled with the combination of gaining height and long, flourishing button grass with deep, hidden channels beneath. (He has Parkinson’s disease, so these conditions are particularly bad for him). After we passed the one contour knob to the left of our line, things picked up for him, as the vegetation changed, and meanwhile the old route reappeared. It was especially easy travelling once we’d climbed around the base of Back Peak. 2 hrs 30 walking time after leaving the lodge we were on the summit and eating our lunch, enjoying the plentiful mountains in our vista, even if the view was grey, hazy and unclear, with flat lighting.
Looking towards Recondite from Back Peak, but what you see here is not quite Recondite – it’s hiding behind this lump. You go up what you can see here, and then down and then up again and you’re there.
I was a bit worried about the weather, and the fact that the return journey would perhaps take longer, both due to my husband’s fatigue and the fact that I wanted to go up Back Peak. I hurried us away from this spot, promising my husband a rest while I climbed the peak. It was a fun little climb, but took me only a few minutes in each direction, so the promised rest was rather short. I called out from the top to make contact, and woke the poor guy up.

Summit cairn, Back Peak
Nonetheless, he went really well on the downhill journey, only faltering when we had a few rises to do. The good progress meant we could relax a bit more at the lovely drinking spot of the way out and just sit back in the grass, drink, snack on treats and listen to the sounds of nature, admiring little things like the lichen on the pines and the different shades of green.
 
Austropaxillus muelleri
What a perfect ending to that walk the last bit of forest is with its cool, refreshing, intense greenness. I even found some wonderful fungi to thrill me. And then it was off to ETC for a delicious afternoon tea, and home to Launceston to surprise the dogs with unusual punctuality for dinner.
(Warning, if you are planning to do this mountain, consult the Abels book and google the other bloggers who report on this peak to get an overall view of times. I was in a fast mood, part of my own expression of freedom and independence, and my times are probably not what you would fancy for yourself. They suggest one of many possibilities.)
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West Tower, East Tower 2014 Mar

Bush in the early stages of the walk
Contouring around Tower Hill

William Buckland, a delightfully eccentric Oxford Don of the early-mid 1800s (born 1784), not only poked around seashores for fossils dressed in his academic gown, but also decided to eat his way through the animal kingdom, often working his way through it in alphabetical order. Thus students visiting him for dinner not only had to negotiate their way through an untidy array of often gigantic fossils, but also were treated to such delicacies as bluebottle, mole or mouse for the evening meal. Buckland’s devotion to completing his collection of eaten animals was as thorough as it was outlandish.

Bellendena montana lined much of the way, adding a splash of colour
Lichen detail is always fun
How much more tame – how very plebeian – it is to collect mountains one has climbed, and to tick mountains climbed rather than animals eaten on a list. Possibly the only characteristic I share with Buckland is the devotion of a good collector to get the next item even if it might be distasteful. And thus it was that I set out to climb West Tower, an Abel that does not have good street cred; in fact, rumour and gossip have it that West Tower is unbearably scrubby, has negligible view and is barely worth the effort for the point. As with most gossip and rumour, this is based on hasty generalisations with only a modicum of truth, I found. I was expecting a scrub fight, but only encountered a tiny patch of scrub which had enough leads through it to make progress quite bearable. I didn’t even bother to put on my scrub gloves. I think I only had to push and shove once, and that for only a metre. However, the view from the top was very ordinary, and I am happy to put a tick in that box and move on to more glorious mountains. 

With regard to the route, we walked uphill from the locked boom gate for 12 mins before finding the remains of an old road to the left. A cairn marks the intersection. This old route travels in a rough arc, not changing height much until dropping four contours as it curves around the picturesque Tower Hill cliffs before meeting the main spur heading down from East Tower (which travels at this point a bit west of north). On joining this ridge (still on the “road”) a further six contours are lost until a broad saddle connecting the two towers is reached. After a couple of hundred metres along this saddle, there is a rusty stake with two horizontal bits at the top, and the road becomes much narrower. Time to say thanks for the lift and leave it, heading NW, keeping at first slightly left of the main turning point of the broad spur you’re climbing, but swinging further right. Ribbons magically appear at this point, and guide you up over the cliffs and down the other side, where you lose quite a lot of contours before beginning a traverse along the northern side of the cliffs, along a route that sometimes has cairns, sometimes old, and at other times new, ribbons. Mostly the path is on the border between rocks and bush, but don’t just take that for granted, and don’t go into this area if you can’t navigate without the aid of cairns, assuming the path will get you there. You need to know what you’re doing for the guides to be of assistance. The fastest route is to stay below the cliffs until the last minute, although getting onto the ridge line earlier and following it is possible, but is a prickly option.

East Tower from West
I didn’t expect to find any enjoyment in East Tower (done at the end, after the return from West), with its steps and ugly infrastructure, but I actually enjoyed it far more than its western mate. Climbing up and around the locked gate was particularly good fun – even got a grunt out of me – and the view from the top was much better than that offered by the western cousin.
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Snowy South 2014 Feb


Mt Snowy South Feb 2014
I have heard a lot of different stories of groups who tried to summit Mt Snowy South and failed, so I was not full of confidence as our nice small party set out, but the rainforest was so beautiful, it hardly mattered. Meanwhile, the climb to Lake Skinner helped clear my head from the overdose of caffeine I’d had to make sure I stayed awake, having got up at 4.30 in order to join the others in Hobart on time – and the conversation was fun. Up we climbed.

Lake Skinner surprised, as it was a beautiful blue that I associate more with the glacial lakes of Europe than with Tassie.

After morning tea by the lake, we set out to finish off the climb, up onto the main ridge and over the boulders to the summit, out of sight at this stage. After a short amount of time two of us found ourselves alone at the front, and decided to have fun moving nice and quickly up the boulders, chatting while we went, but not stopping – just a nice steady but satisfying pace. It was very enjoyable indeed to be allowed to go at our own pace to the top and just meet the others there. We were both exhilarated by the climb and the dancing on the rocks of the ascent. When we reached the top, neither wanted to touch the summit before the other, so to maintain the non-competitive nature of what had taken place, we held hands to jump onto the final summit rock, ensuring we touched it simultaneously.

A summit is, after all, a summit, so of course it was good to be up there in the grand arena with its sense of space. However, I enjoyed the colours, textures and shape of the boulders as much as the rather murky vista. In terms of view, it would not rank in a list of my all time favourites. We all, of course, enjoyed our lunch break surveying the scene, but for me, this particular mountain will be remembered for the fun of the scramble to the top rather than what I saw once I got there.

More chatter filled the way down, bouncing again over rocks, descending past the pandani overlooking the lake and dropping further through the inviting green rainforest to the car. “Make sure you keep singing all the way home”, my new friends encouraged me as we parted in Hobart, having been told that that’s how I stay awake on long journeys. After five hours of solo driving (two and a half each way), my voice was quite hoarse as I pulled into our drive.