Tag: Abel

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Patrick and Penny West 2014 Jan

Mt Patrick and Penny West

Summit, Mt Patrick

In a creative and explorative mood, I ignored the suggested parking area for Mt Patrick and continued driving northwards to see what would happen. This northwards route took us past our intended mountain (Mt Patrick) to the west (or so the map said – we had not sighted it, but we could see where it should be) and then curled east. When my gps said we were due north of the still invisible mountain we parked and got out all our normal daywalking gear – small pack, water, several snacks, anorak, warm coat, gloves, cameras, thermals in case it got cold, and a little umbrella for photography. Gaiters on, and we were ready to set out over the rocky (not bouldery) ground and into the bushy thickets that lay ahead.

Lomatia tinctoria (Guitar plant) Mt Patrick 
Nine minutes later we were standing in shock on the summit. “I think we were over-equipped for this one,” mused my husband wryly. The return journey was even shorter – seven minutes – as I was more confident. One Abel for the day down already.
Leptecophylla juniperina, which formed the understory for most of the route up Penny West 

Now, this produced a distressingly short day, and an egregious car to walking ratio, but luckily a friend (Rohan) who knew what we were up to, told me to make sure I took in Mt Penny West while in the area. I hadn’t noticed it on the map at all (which is hardly surprising, as it is off the map, hiding on the next map to the south, just over the edge). Had he not said that, we would have driven home and gone running instead. However, furnished with a photo of the map that he sent me, we parked on the recommended ridge and set out once more to conquer Abel number two for the day. Same gear. This one took us a tad longer than the fifteen minutes the book said, but we were still on top tidily under half an hour. We had not sped through the swathes of Leptecophylla juniperina which is now at the attractive lipstick berry phase – but is always at the ‘ouch’ phase.

Summit, Penny West
 I had not bothered keeping an exact bearing – one can hardly get lost here – and came to a very shapely little summit that looked most worthy of a climb. However, as I admired the view, I could see that even though my gps said I’d gained the right height, there was another mound, less shapely, to the north that was definitely higher. Off we set. Now we were on the summit. We took victory photos of said summit and its views, and enjoyed some of our snacks while gazing out to the water, and admiring a lonely bright yellow Leptorhynchos squamatus (scaly buttons). The only thing amiss was that I was sure the book had spoken about a “structure” at the top. My husband suggested I was confused, mixing this mountain with another.

Finished with eating and all packed up, I turned to leave. My husband wasn’t ready, so I swung around the other way to see what he was up to. And there, perfectly camouflaged and hiding in the tree tops of eucalypts that began further down, barely discernible and easily missed, was something that could be a pile of rocks. I squinted and glared. Yes it was. Now I needed to explore it too, as it looked higher than where we were. As I got nearer, I saw it had a “structure” a kind of beehive made of piled rocks. At last, third attempt, we’d found the true summit. I didn’t need more snacks, but we did touch and photograph it before descending. The way back was spiced up by the presence of “pixie cups” lichen, cladonia pleura. It was no faster than the way there. And after that it was full steam ahead for lunch in Longford.

The beautiful fairy cups of the lichen cladonia pleurota.  
For those intending to climb Mt Patrick, please note that it is on private property and has two locked gates to get through. The details of how to get keys that are in the Ables book are now out of date, as the property was sold two years ago. The person you now phone is Ingrid, on 03 6259 8204 or 0428 314 561. The cost is now the princely sum of $5 per head. My husband has pointed out that 20 cents to enter the Evandale markets is even better value if you don’t like quick Abels. 
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Perrins Bluff, Mt Achilles, Mt Thetis 2014 Jan

Perrins Bluff, Mt Achilles, Mt Thetis Jan 2014

Dawn on the final day
I am a person haunted by images, and the names above now evoke a series of wonderful mental pictures. They also connote smells of lemon scented boronia and agastachys odorata, and scenes of our group of hot, tired walkers trying to force a way through the bushy wall that confronted us as we climbed to more picturesque regions.
My story will begin with the first night, at Frog Flats, where we could see our destination up ahead. I had not actually wanted to camp here, but was somewhat placated by the gilded button grass and the numerous incandescent candelabras of bellendena montana, set aglow by the sinking sun.
Pelion West from Perrins Bluff
The trip from Frog Flats to Leonards Tarn is one of those “end justifies the means” journeys. The lower scrub was thick. There was a brief respite in some rainforest, and then the bush got even thicker. It took us three solid hours of shoving to get there, plus another hour spent in waiting, decision making, eating etc to bring the total to four. On several occasions I got spectacularly, almost irretrievably wedged between saplings that just wouldn’t budge despite my best attempts. They’d bent nicely for the five guys with me, but would not yield to my tiny frame. I decided that if I had been doing this solo, I would have died a lonely death by starvation or dehydration, permanently stuck. Maybe like Pooh Bear, clamped in the hole of Rabbit’s entrance after indulging in too much honey, I would have eventually thinned down enough to allow a weak escape.
 

Perrin’s spine from one of its many saddles
From Leonards Tarn onwards, things got better with each passing moment, (almost) justifying the scratchy approach. We quickly gained height and views as we skirted around Achilles to the left and climbed onto the Achilles-Perrins saddle with its picturesque tarns – a perfect camping spot.
From there we stayed to the right of the mountain in the scrub (nothing compared to the battle-fire fight of the morning) until a saddle about ten minutes from the end, when we crossed to the other side of the ridge (SE), walked along the shelf there and popped up an easy climb at the last minute to the summit.
I loved not only the extensive views in all directions of ridge upon ridge of steely mountains, many of which were now old friends, but also the impressive dragon spine of the Bluff that led towards Pelion West and Achilles. It was even better than the similar tail of Mt Pearse.

Perkins Bluff from half way up Achilles
Things got even better! On the way back, three buddies and I decided to also ascend Achilles as part of this day’s takings. We climbed up the first major landslide chute on offer after the tarns in the saddle, tried a bit of landscape rearranging / boulder fire, and were, fortunately all still alive, on the top pretty quickly. By now the sun was starting to end its course for the day, and the mountains had that alluring misty essence to them, with others lit by brilliant contrast of dark, well defined shadows set against aurated protuberances. Perrins was at just the right angle to catch these cooperative rays.

Achilles’ Heel from Achilles summit

I didn’t want to try to emulate Cyclops throwing boulders at people on the way down, so cast a vote for descending on the other side, in the bushes. I really enjoyed the fast plunge down, basically making a bee line for our tents at the tarn in a long slippery slide that you’d pay a fortune to do at a commercial fun park.

Layer upon layer of misty mountains as seen from Achilles
To cap off a perfect day, the setting sun burned the dolerite columns of Pelion West, turning them, and their reflections in the tarn, red. That night, as with the previous one, I chose to leave the tent flap open to see the view better. Once again I was too warm to sleep, so watched the nearly full moon on its course above Pelion West and then Achilles. It sank behind the latter around 2 a.m.

Pelion West from my tent at Leonard’s tarn
The next morning, the same buddies (John, David and Brian) and I made our way up Thetis, heading across through scrub to a patch of fagus, and then moving like cats on all fours up the boulder chute until we hit a brief tricky patch that needed more care (I swtched from cat to orangutang), and in no time we were on top of the plateau, where there were tarns in a beautiful grassy valley leading to a very minor saddle on the left, and the summit was just up slightly, a bit further on (still to the left keeping direction) from there.
I was thrilled to have an extra peak, and an Abel at that, under my belt, and enjoyed the view, but I think on this occasion the fun of the climb outclassed the scenery at the top – but then, I have been fearfully spoiled over these summer holidays.

View from Leonards Tarn
After that summit view, it was downhill all the way, physicaly and metaphorically, as we turned our backs on the vista, enjoyed the bouldery descent and slid through the scrub at the end back to Leonard’s tarn, endured the thickety fight down to Frog Flat, and joined the Overlanders on the last trudge in to Pelion Hut, where we set up camp.

One of the views from Thetis

I thought in anticipation that this would be unpleasant and crowded, but I actually had a wonderful time, chatting on the verandah until late into the night with a very interesting bunch of people, having had laughs and good times with my own group up where we cooked dinner first. The design of that hut seems to lend itself to socialising out on the verandah watching the changing light on Oakleigh. I have decided I love it.

Diplarrana moraea
The final morning was perfect. As usual I was up before sunrise, and was treated to a mesmerising pastel Alpenglow behind Barn Bluff and Mt Oakleigh while mist mooched around the trees below.

Dawn on the Pelion Plains
Full of the joy of the dawn, I sped my way along the Arm River track, delighting in the luminated pink and cream richea scoparia along the way, the filigree, diamond studded spider webs and the large number of wallabies and paddymelons that hopped past me as I headed with purpose towards my double shot cappuccinos at Mole Creek. I needed them plus full blast, deafening music and full voiced singing to keep me awake all the way home where I arrived in time for lunch.

Cream richea scoparia on the Arm River track on the way out
Maps can be found in my posts on Achilles:  
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/mt-achilles/     and on Mt Thetis:
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/mt-thetis/  

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Pelion East 2013 Dec

Pelion East 19 Dec 2013

 I had last climbed Peion East fourteen years ago – at dusk in a white out. The tall, stately boulders were shrouded in circling mist, barely visible in the gloom at the close of the day. I lament to this day that I ran, and therefore didn’t have my camera to capture that beauty other than in my memory.

This time, we walked, with my camera, and the sun was shining brightly. In fact, I was worried that the views might be spoiled by heat haze if we didn’t hurry.

The route was exactly as I remembered from last time, namely, angle up to the right, then zag left, and then a short sharp pinch and you’re there. Even though we were only walking, it was a mere 35 mins to the top, so not a great undertaking. Elin and I both enjoyed the workout, and the fact that we did have to climb rather than just walk to touch the summit, as with Ossa.
It’s fun for me to have Elin for company. Like me, she loves to climb, hates stopping before the top, and has the same kind of urge I have to get to the top quickly. 

From the top, Elin greatly enjoyed lloking back at our clear path up and down Ossa, the mountain of her dreams.
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Ossa 2013 Dec

Mt Ossa 18-19 Dec 2013

Have you ever done a friend a favour, and had the benefits of doing so far outweigh any effort you made? Not for the first time in my life, this was my experience on our Mt Ossa trip this week.
Elin, a visiting orienteering friend from Sweden, wanted to climb Mt Ossa – because it’s famous; because it’s the highest mountain in Tasmania. She had her heart set on it. I have climbed it three times already, so felt no need to do so again, and had never been enamoured of the views from the top (having mostly seen the white-out ones). The forecast was good, and if I had had my way, then the SW would have been my choice of venue. But I said we’d go up Ossa for her sake, with the proviso that we slept the night up there, and that we got up in a single day from home, as we had airport appointments looming. Elin readily agreed.

 

The packs were heavy with three days’ winter gear, just in case it was cold up there. My boots were unfortunately still wet from the Walled Mountain trip (only one day separates these two trips). My socks were wet before the first official step, and stayed wet until the end.

With happy stomachs full of pineapple-and-walnut cake, we launched into the wonderful rainforest of the “Pillinger trail”, eventually arriving at a wonderful open plains section, replete with tarns, a mighty view of Pillinger and a clear stream for our first break after nearly an hour. Already, we needed my homemade muesli bars.

The second stop we had was well before the next hour was up, but we had now joined the Arm River track, and had reached its high point, with a vista opening up that revealed not only Mt Pillinger and the mountains of the Cathedral-Twin Spires collection, but also Falling Mountain, Mt Massif, Mt Ossa and more. It was wonderful, and required gazing at while we drank some more from the tarn before beginning our descent. Lunch was had in the river (yes, in. Elin had decided that leeches were not her favourite Tasmanian thing. We were running away from them by eating on the riverbed pebbles) just before we reached Pelion Hut.

The day was very warm indeed, the packs heavy, and the walk up to Pelion Gap even warmer. However, the wildflowers were so beautiful they filled the journey with joy (almost). The snowflake petals of bauera overlapped the trail, making it a tiny ribbon of root-striated brown through a snowstorm of dotted white, with the buttercup yellow of pultanea daphnoides and the red of occasional waratahs giving colour contrast. And then you re-enter a patch of cool, mossy rainforest for a different experience of pleasure. Unfortunately I had once run this in 34 minutes, and walked it as part of the Overland trail in bygone days in 43 mins, so had never thought of this stretch as anything other than a quick dash. The slow trudge of 2013 seemed to last forever due to these false expectations, and  the 1 hr 11 it took lasted in my mind a lot longer than that. We were hot and bothered.

The gap was beautiful, although I was bitterly disappointed that the scoparia bushes were not quite in bloom. I wanted to come back in a week. The mountain views made up for it. After another food break, and a chance for my husband to gather a bit more energy, we were off.

Miraculously, as we climbed higher, the scoparia gained in colour. Meanwhile, more mountains came into view. I was floating on a cloud of joy. I was also in paparazzi mode by now. I left the other two to go on ahead while I played at photographing. It was nice to drop back and have the mountain to myself.

At one stage I was walking along in a happy dream, looking at the light, the colours and shapes and singing away, and I was awoken from this traumverloren state by three chirpy voices saying hello – three former sudents here in the mountains, descending. How lovely to see so many young people out in the bush. With unis on holidays, there are lots of people with free time, but it is fantastic to see that it is used to get out into the wilderness. Bushwalking is NOT a dying sport, and if you think it is, just get out there in December. The hills are alive with the sounds of students … and young families for that matter. We met a five-year old peak bagger on the way out (already collecting points) who wants the Abels book for Christmas!

I had caught Bruce again before the serious climbing began, which is good, as I wanted to help him through it. Life is tricky if you have Parkinson’s disease and a wife who loves to sleep on mountains. Some of the manoeuvres near the top of the very steep section were challenging for me with a heavy pack, let alone him. We got there. We’d cope with the problems of descent tomorrow. Elin was waiting at the top of the steep part, and we all did the final short climb to where the view opens up together. WOW. A hundred times WOW.
 

I was totally filled with emotion at the sight of the view that greeted us once we emerged on the plateau at the top. I couldn’t believe that it had all come together and that my dream of sleeping on top of Mt Ossa with a view like this was really going to materialise. Tears came to my eyes as I gazed out at infinty – a limitless vastness of space and shapely peaks, all different shades of blue in the late afternoon light. It had taken us 6 hours and 2 mins of walking to get here. (I had had no idea how long we might need, given my husband’s condition, or even if we really would make it. I never envisaged that the elusive view could be so marvellous.)

The remainder of the day was filled with peak staring, photographing, summitting, more peak staring and eating. Sunset and moonrise, it goes without saying, were a joy. We didn’t want to go to bed. We certainly didn’t want to waste such beauty sleeping. Elin resolved to stay up all night, just taking it all in. I settled for a slightly more conservative compromise of going to ‘bed’, but leaving all tent flaps open so that the view was not impeded and so I could lie in bed and gaze at beauty all night. The wind picked up after we’d turned in, so it was rather a noisy night, but who cares!

We all got up at 4.45 to see pre-dawn and sunrise itself, the other two perched on the leeward side of a rock; me right out in the open for the best photo opportunities. More WOW.

We all felt so very complete and happy as we tried to pack up the tents without having them blow off the moutain as we folded them, and reluctantly began our descent. We passed all three packs down at one point so as to climb unhindered by weight. The rest was no problem.

The rest of the journey we floated on a cloud of happy reverie, replaying in our minds the splendour of the time on top.

 I had ostensibly done Elin a favour, but it had bounced back as one of the most marvellous gifts I have ever had.

We also dashed up Pelion East (literally, as it was packless and thus very fast) en route home, but that will be a separate entry in the blog. All up, with two three-day trips in a week, we put in twenty-five and a half hours’ walking to which must be added lunch stops, choky stops, photography and more. My legs didn’t feel too flash trying to run today :-).

 
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Sandbanks Tier 2013 Dec

Sandbanks Tier 16 Dec 2013

Elin above the summit of Sandbanks Tier
We were a bit frustrated at having only climbed one mountain, and the weather had now cleared up to be a magnificent day, so, even though we were passing by Sandbanks at nearly five o’clock, Elin and I decided to bag it. One extra point for both of us. My husband found our pace over the uneven ground a bit hot, so read the newspaper in the bush instead.
 
Sandbanks from below

The mountain looked uninviting with its scree and dry wasteland, but a point is a point. We were also unsure as to exactly which peak would be the summit, but headed for the one that seemed indicated by the VERY rough sketch in the Abels book (pictured above). 

Summit view of high land nearby
We had huge fun clambering up, and I was delighted that my calf didn’t slow me down TOO much, although I was pretty cautious, still protecting the muscle that was no longer able to function properly. That said, we were on the summit in 36 mins, and took even less to get down as my confidence in my calf grew. Elin, being an orienteer, danced over the rocks.

The lake below was beautiful in the late afternoon light
The view from the top was stunning. I had never imagined that Sandbanks Tier could offer anything, but there stretched out before us was not ony a wondeful expanse of shining blue water, but we could see Geryon, Acropolis, Ossa, Pelion East, Olympus, Byron, Cuvier and, to really cap it all off (sorry), Frenchmans with no shelf, but definitely the cut-off head of Frenchmans was sticking up clearly. I used my big zoom to get the mountains so we could show my husband that night. Now we were far more satisfied. Our trip had yielded two mountains. Home we went for a late dinner.

This is one of the zoom shots I took for B. It shows the mountains that we looked at from the west, namely Acropolis, Geryon and more, and here we were seeing them from the east as part of the same trip. It was rather special.