This weekend had so very much packed into it, it is extremely challenging to select less than twenty photos, so I have had to omit a great deal. There were wombats, mountains, of course, waterfalls – one of which is a blue line on the map with no name on an unnamed creek, so for reference I have called it Kirsten Falls. (It empties into Crater Lake, but Crater Falls already exist, down lower, with their own upper and lower versions.)
There were sunsets and dawns, a visit to Sutton Tarn, which I have never previously sighted, a swim for my daughter Kirsten (in Crater Lake), and, perhaps ridiculously, I visited Wombat Pool for the first time, too. How can I have been in this area that used to be my almost weekly playground before the government handed it over to tourists and made it exceptionally difficult for Tasmanian residents to enjoy any more, and not been here?
Does anyone else remember the good old days when you could scoot up here after work, have a quick bite by Dove Lake and then go up into the mountains before it got too dark to see? We used to regularly pop in to Waterfall Valley Hut for the weekend. I used to park at the lake and run repetitions up Marions Lookout for training for my mountain running. And so much for astro, sunset or dawn photography by the lake: all just events in the memory of those of us who lived before the tourist invasion. Before the government turned natural beauty into a saleable commodity, sucking out its soul in the process.
The waterfall shots aren’t my favourites, but I do like documenting waterfalls I have visited, so you’ll have to humour me on that one. Only one fungus has made it into this small selection, although more were there to be seen.
It is a weekend present in my brain not in words, but rather in a series of images and feelings that I have not wanted to reify by reducing them to words. I will let the photographic images function as poetic images to hint to you at a wider whole that transcends its adumbrated representation here.
Our itinerary is as follows:
Friday evening: arrive; wait for the boom gate to open and then walk to our hut (almost in the dark).
Saturday: a loop that included Kirsten Falls, Sutton Tarn, Little Horn, Lake Wilks, Ballroom forest, Wombat Pool and Crater Lake.
16 horizontal kms + 600 ms climb which yields 22 km equivalents.
Sunday: unfortunately we only had half a day, so went towards Barn Bluff in freezing, fierce wind, and returned in beautiful sunshine with a crisp autumnal feel to the air. The light was beautiful. We rushed the first half, hoping to squeeze in the summit before our turn around time.
However, one of our trio was freezing and decided to turn back. Kirsten and I continued on, but we had lost too much time by then, so opted to give the summit a miss and just enjoy being up high on the Bluff Cirque and Cradle Plateau, and taking in the scenery at a more leisurely pace.
I have already climbed it three times, so didn’t really need a fourth – well, that will happen, but not today – and Kirsten summited it with me when we both ran up it several years ago. After lunch, she would have a huge drive to Hobart, needing to be back in time to have dinner with the children and get ready for work the next day, so it was better to have a relaxing morning than rush the summit.
19.1 horizontal kms + 230 ms climb yields 21.4 km equivalents.
What do you do when you’ve finished climbing all the Abels? Why, you go straight back to revisit your favourites, of course! Don’t you? Well, I did, and do.
I had already begun on this delightful mission, as some favourites were a lot easier to reach than some of the ones I hadn’t yet climbed. This week I continued with favourites, and reclimbed Mt Gould and The Guardians. For at least ten years I have wanted to sleep by the tarn near the summit of The Guardians, and also on Gould Plateau. This would be my third summiting of Gould, and my second of The Guardians. All previous climbs had been far too fast. This time, I wanted to linger up high.
These two mountains are rather close to each other. My bash buddy and I had two full days and nights at our disposal, with a booking on the 9 a.m. ferry on day 3. The way to organise this dream then was to have a very long day 1, a super-cool and relaxed day 2 and a dash for the splash on day 3.
I got to enjoy a beautiful dawn at leeawuleena (Lake St Clair) before day 1 officially began with the ferry ride, so I was already floating with beauty (and had already taken far too many photos) by the 9 a.m. journey to the end of the lake with other excited walkers – all except us from interstate.
The first two splits were nice and quick, and we were at Pine Valley Hut after only 2 hrs 6 mins’ walking.
By the time we climbed to the Parthenon saddle, the day had started to warm up. I was still in my famous pink (now maliciously torn) coat, and overheated terribly, but we were setting a great pace and still had heaps of distance before us, so I didn’t feel like breaking the rhythm by stopping. I like doing climbs without interruption, so I sweated a fury and just put up with the heat. I was glad to breast the final bump to the saddle, throw off my nuisance pack and have a welcome drink. Were we half way yet? I fear not.
The day got hotter, so the going got tougher. We carried a lot of water for the next section over the Minotaur, knowing there would be none until we reached a basin beyond the summit, near the Minotaur-Gould saddle.
As we approached said basin, we saw rather a lot of tents down there in the middle of nowhere. It was a bunch of Victorians, most of whom were recovering from what they described as a horrendous bush bash the previous day around the belly of Gould – a patch I have done twice already, so know what they were talking about. Their voices and faces said more than their words about how they felt about that section of their trip. It can certainly be an unforgiving area, as we would re-experience next day.
Most of them were lying in the sun, relaxing and enjoying the calm while two of them were climbing The Guardians. They were nice people and there was water there, so we tossed off our packs and spent at least half an hour chatting to them. My watch said we now had oodles of time. All need for haste had long-since vanished. We reckoned it would only take another hour or so to reach the summit of The Guardians from there, so forgot the watches and enjoyed the company of fellow walkers with similar interests.
Eventually we bid farewell and set off for the final section. Unfortunately this lasted a bit longer than expected, as my stomach started cramping and I felt very sick. Twice I needed to lie in the grass to alleviate the pain. We have decided the puddle in the Parthenon saddle wasn’t as pure as its clarity suggested. Anyway, I was sure glad to see the tarn, dump my pack, pitch my tent and be horizontal for long enough to soften the cramps. It all eased surprisingly quickly, so we decided to summit while the going was good, play around the cliff tops for a little and then have dinner as the final act of the day.
Of course, it wasn’t my final act, and after eating, I set back out to photograph, but I was glad our order of events had been what it was, as the temperature was already dropping to be near its promised minus one over night, and my hands were freezing; the wind was cold. Later, my tent would flap noisily for most of the night. I was too lazy and warm to go out and tighten the guy ropes until about 2 a.m., when I decided enough was enough, and left my warm and cosy aegis to attend to the noise.
We had no busy agenda for day 2, and I am not sure that I’ve ever had such a slow first half of a day. I observed sunrise mostly from the comfort of my tent (it wasn’t magic) and then had breakfast cooked in the vestibule, looking out my peep holes to see how the day was progressing. It was time to depitch, but my tent was sopping, and so was Andrew’s, so we went for an explore along the cliffs not yet visited to give the tents time to rid themselves of heavy water.
Well. That coped with the problem of what to do with a long day and not too many kilometres to fill it. We didn’t reach the pack dump point on Gould until 11.30. I hate going uphill slowly, so we didn’t loiter on the “straight-up” climb, where I was in my element doing what I call a pussycat climb – all four limbs working like a feline. The trip down was more like a huge slide at the playground. Loved it. Nice and quick!
We still had a huge number of hours to fill in and even less distance to cover, so strung out lunch. It would have made much more sense to continue on to Narcissus, but I had my heart set on sleeping up high. I told Andrew to feel free to go down and I would join him on the morrow, but I really did want to sleep high.
Well; I managed to fill in at least one of those spare hours by landing us in a shocking patch of absolute, unadulterated YUK. All was going just fine. I’d led us around the belly in the bushes very nicely, and then we’d dropped down right on cue to a beautiful mossy gully area. Then along. And then we found two random pink tapes running perpendicular to our line of travel. I checked my map. No, we weren’t to go up or down here, as suggested by the tapes, but we explored both up and down on the off chance. Both led to blockades of scoparia. But, … so did straight ahead. There seemed to be no nice way to go anywhere. And why on earth were there two tapes here in the middle of nowhere, with no beginning and no end? Where was the taper going? It was very confusing.
We to’d and fro’d and up’d and down’d and were irretrievably stuck. I got out the gps where I had tracked the route the last time I had done this. We were on it. Oh. Yuk. We shoved and pushed, we climbed over the top of bushes, grunting and heaving our way to nowhere much. But, if you shove for long enough you kind of get somewhere, so eventually we got to the plateau below.
I was absolutely exhausted in a way I don’t often experience. My hip flexors and glutes were aching even without taking a step. I was absolutely done in, and very glad that my planned bed for the night was only a shortish distance away. Any snail on the planet would have beaten me as I inched my way to the tarn.
Hoorah. There. Andrew didn’t like my tarn, so chose a spot that he felt was more sheltered and more comfortable and a tiny bit nearer to the next goal of the ferry. My spot was chosen for its photographic opportunities. I wandered and shot and had a lovely evening, singing seeing’s I had the freedom to do so.
The next morning involved an early start, as we still had what might possibly take two hours to do (it only took 1 hr 38, but you need to allow for emergencies). I passed Andrew’s tent spot, but he had left earlier (we had agreed to meet at the ferry and not at his spot), so it was a crisp business-like stride-out down the steep slope and along to the ferry. I only stopped for photos once, when a beautiful patch of Aurantiporus pulcherrimus specimens caught my eye. My legs seemed to have completely recovered from the previous day’s scoparia battle. I still have bruises and scratches to remind me that it wasn’t all easy, however.
Ever stuffed up arrangements for the start of a walk? What did you do?
Here’s what I did on this occasion.
As I explained in my previous blog*, I had been up most of the night worrying, getting only three hours’ sleep, before driving 2.5 hours north to pack my bag. There was then a 3.5 hours’ drive to reach my meeting place with the other bushwalkers of the group in the far SW of the state. Trouble is, with so much fatigue, so little sleep and so very much stress, despite setting out before the others, I didn’t quite make our rendez-vous, and when I tried to find them early next morning, they were neither where they said they’d sleep, nor where they would park at the start of the walk. I searched and drove to and fro for half a day. Had I found their car, I would have given chase, but there was no sign of it. Had they had an accident or been unexpectedly delayed? I drove back to the Needles saddle, where there is range, but there was no sign of a missed call or message. By an early lunchtime, I decided I now had what was left of three days to do my own thing. Oh the choices!!!! Such a wealth of them once one is down in the south west!
I had been going to climb to Pandani Shelf for photographic purposes (not using the out-of-bounds route), but the reality and the forecast proclaimed that clouds would dominate up there, so I decided for some lower joys that would nonetheless involve climbing.
I ate an early lunch, and settled on my first goal: The Needles, which I have climbed many times before, but never with small children in mind. Now was the time to climb specifically watching for aspects that might daunt pint-size people (like metre-high steps or huge mud baths). If all was well, then we could come here as a family in April. I have also never devoted time on the Needles to examining the flora of the region, and was interested to see if plants were recovering after the fires of two years ago.
My other question was, how long would it take: was it a good length for a diminutive five year old?
The pictures tell you that I found very beautiful flowers, and meanwhile, I decided that we can definitely bring the children, although Abby will need lifting (“flying”, she calls it) over some of the two-metre-long stretches of gooey mud, … and perhaps a hand up some of the steeper parts where sliding backwards is possible (very few of these).
The amount of burnt devastation is very sad, and yet the new growth brings hope, and many of the shrubs are recovering nicely. I even found a Geum talbotianum, which the web tells me is on the threatened species list.
Back in the carpark, I met two other very friendly plant enthusiasts, who recommended Tims Track to me, so that seemed like an excellent suggestion. My focus would switch to fungi.
The above fungi were the first to greet me. How could you miss that? They were huge and bold and cheery. I had met more lovely people in the carpark here, so was feeling generally cheerful. I might be alone on this trip, but I was certainly not lonely, and was enjoying meeting other like-minded souls.
The above fungus was part of a little cluster of canary yellow fungi, also pretty big and bold, yelling “Hello” to me as I involved myself with their world.
The Hygrocybe lewelliniae I happened upon was far more subtle. I don’t always require a siren to stop me in my tracks. This fungus has now changed its name, but I am sick of unlearning and learning anew, only to have the new one change – and of buying expensive books to have them out of date by the time I’ve brought them home. I express my discontent by using the names I have originally learned (mostly), and by not buying a $50 update which I know is already behind the times. Also, philosophically (and possibly more to the point), I am a joiner rather than a divider. Constantly splitting genera into smaller groups doesn’t suit my personality. Where we place dividing lines is a decision made by humans about nature; nature doesn’t necessitate that particular decision.
So, before I aggravate any more splitters, let us move on to my next goal, Mt Cullen, which had been on my bucket list for many years. It is the combination of the long drive and the problem of always needing to find a dog-sitter that has kept me away. Here was my golden opportunity. Having not planned to be here, I had no information, so just chose a starting point that looked appealing and climbed up.
I reached the first “summit” in 52 minutes; however, it was not the real summit. Now I was up high, I could see that the ridge led to a higher point, just across the way. However, the route was decorated with jagged rocks with a precipitous drop, and scrub in between. I battled the scrub rather than losing height (bad move), and eventually reached the summit with a bit of acrobatic work that I was not actually comfortable with, so chose an easier route for my exit / descent. It was not necessary to be so “daring”. Anyway, the twenty minutes that summit to summit took helped me kill some time: I had hoped I could spin the climb out for long enough to get sunset from a slightly raised perch, yet still get down with enough light to avoid an accident.
Once I was sure I could easily get down without trouble, I just sat and appreciated being there, waiting for colour. It was not a grand fanfare, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.
Back at the car, I had to decide which of all the thousands of possible spots to choose from, would be my piece of territory for the night. I chose a beach, parked the car, prepared it for sleeping and enjoyed the rest of the fading light while perched on a rock eating my dinner.
The menu for day two was pretty similar to that of day one: A mountain or two, some recce work, fungi, wildflowers and beautiful forest.
The recce work was on Mt Wedge, sussing it out for the possibility of sleeping on high – but tonight was not going to offer any views, so I’d bide my time. The new mountain was Twelvetrees Range, which I really loved. Its open ridge had a “Sound of Music” feel to it. I could easily have been on Skye, in the Lakes or in Iceland up there with no bush to bash through and big views of water and other mountains. It was great choose-your-own-route stuff, and I wandered happily all over the ridge top. Doing it like that meant the descent to the road at the end was VERY steep. (Under an hour up; more than, down, as I chose a longer, harder route).
I rewarded myself with food from the lodge, and then set about exploring the Lodge’s Forest Walk (no great finds there today), the Creepy Crawly Trail (this would be more correctly named The Ducky Weavy Trail) and revisiting Tims Track. The weather was far from photographically exciting, so I wended my way slowly east.
I love that cute, almost transparent Hygrocybe graminicolor . You may well be asking where the green is, but it can often be washed out like this. The form of its friends and neighbours enjoying the same moss close by indicates to me it was just bigger and more fragile then they were, but still part of the happy family.
I was going to sleep near the Needles, but the wind was howling and the dark clouds were swirling around me, and I decided that after all I have been through recently, I didn’t feel like moody but felt more like being beside a stream nearer the Mt Field National Park so headed even further east, arriving at my spot by the river after dark.
On my final day, my choice seemed to be between climbing Mt Mawson or more fungi hunting. The fungi had been so rewarding I opted for them, so explored the area around the Junee River, with some good finds.
And thus ends my weekend: a lot less strenuous than originally planned, but perhaps that was exactly what my body needed, and I certainly found some lovely jewels, and even met some friendly people in carparks – always a bonus.