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Bastion Bluff 2018 Nov

Bastion Bluff Nov 2018

Sue and I sat together on the rocks just over the edge of Bastion Bluff, looking out at the world beyond – a world that encompassed Quamby Bluff and Mother Cummings Peak, although not contained merely by those two peaks; rather, we gazed at infinity. We both felt extremely contented: she had hurt herself crossing a swollen creek and was in pain; I was in a different kind of pain, still mourning the death of my husband, and yet we both felt an inner peace and happiness arising from being in an infinite place. “You know”, she said, ” there’s nowhere else on earth that I would rather be right now.” I knew exactly what she meant.

We had had a good day, full of adventure and beauty: a day marked – as is so often the case in Tasmania – by the presence of all four seasons in the space of about ten minutes, repeated several times over. We had crossed very full rivers, witnessed countless cascades and waterfalls, traversed areas of lush moss, myrtles and King Billy pines, emerged into the open to be hit by a snow squall that developed into a blizzard, enjoyed intermittent sunshine, climbed up and down a mountain over 1400 metres in height, and enjoyed the fellowship and companionship of likeminded bushies.

Our route began with a crossing of a disturbingly effervescent Mother Cummings Rivulet, which had all of us assessing pretty exactly which of the shining, most likely slippery, rocks in jumping distance from the last one we were going to commit to. Lucky, we all got across unscathed: a dunking at that early hour of a long day would have been rather tragic.

When I exercise, I seem to burn through all my supplies of blood sugar rather rapidly, and found I was very hungry by 10.30; positively ravenous by 11.30. Luckily for me, lunch number one of two was called as we emerged from the wonderful rainforest and found a sheltered spot in the now gently falling snow in the saddle before the rocky scramble up Bastion Bluff itself. Beautiful, thick, delicate flakes tickled our noses while we ate, but grew more intense once we began the climb proper and we came into the stronger winds. Now they were horizontally scurrying flakes. We turned our backs to them like a group of penguins any time we had to wait. Be that as it may, the conditions were very tolerable, and I felt snug in my gear, despite wind and snow. Later, when my feet got wet in the very soggy ground on top, I got much colder.

On the plateau on top, you would certainly not die of thirst. An army could have camped up there, and each tent had its own private pond. Slosh, slosh we went, heading for the summit area and the opening to the descent route, being intermittently gusted by driving snow, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, walking in sunshine. Repeat many times over. Surrounding mountains appeared and vanished as the mist played its games.

See the snow on the backpack?
Back down in the rainforest, I received a shock. I had been in this area only a couple of weeks ago when Carrie and I went to Bastion Cascades and walked the Bastion circuit. This time, however, there were countless huge trees, freshly blown over (I suspect in Thursday night’s storm),  lying across the track and obliterating all signs of the previous track. Each giant had caused an amazing amount of collateral damage as it tumbled. Rubble abounded.

My dismay has nothing to do with the obstacle course that has replaced the track: rather, it is because these fallings have already allowed a large amount of extra light into the forest. This will damage many fungi, mosses and lichens, and will allow weeds to colonise. The open spaces will also allow winds to build up more momentum next storm, which means even more damage will take place. I fear this marks the beginning of this section of the forest’s decay. However, the forest has been compromised, not destroyed. We finished our day with a sense of how extremely privileged we are to live in a place where such beauty and adventures are so easily obtained. They keep me sane and balanced; they refresh me in a way that non-natural things cannot.

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Bastion Bluff 2012 Oct

Bastion Bluff    6-7 October 2012

J and I sat on a rocky outcrop in the sun waiting for the others to appear through the dry eucalypt scrub below. We couldn’t hear them yet. In fact, we couldn’t hear much at all. It was one of those still, silent days in the bush when even the insects seem to be sleeping. The sun was warm, but we knew if we took off our jackets we’d begin to freeze. There had been a snowstorm the previous day; we were only warm because we’d climbed. This outcrop was a great place to stop. We’d gained our height and the land was about to flatten out and moisten up. Dry sclerophyll forest would give way to scrubbier melaleucas very soon. Rock underfoot would cede to mud. We would lunch by a stream in that section. Both times I’ve been there we’ve lunched at that creek (in fact, both times I’ve sat in the middle of the creek to eat – seemed like the easiest and most picturesque way of getting water “on tap” so to speak). As we sat and gazed, on the other side of the broad drop below, we could see dark storm clouds. I willed them away. “Let us have lunch first”, I pleaded.


The morning had been beautiful – a case where the means are nearly as good as the end they enable. Over the Meander River to continue along the Smoko track for fifteen minutes to a clearing and track junction where the old road then becomes a tagged trail through pristine rainforest, heading (in our case) for Chasm Falls. There are several beautiful waterfalls here (complete with clear, beckoning pools offering fabulous swimming to the hardy in summer). These were followed by a brief upward slope to the rocks where we sat perched.


Later, while eating at a higher creek, we could look up to see where our pad would continue. In particular, the chimney of snow that led to the bluff itself looked exciting. Before that, we would need to negotiate the swampy scrub, with its tapes (old, faded) or tin cans on a post (heavily rusted), and up past rocky scree to the chimney that led to the bluff. The snow in the chimney was slippery, steep and unreliable, so we elected to climb the rocks at the side until we reached the flat summit. The Ironstone cairn could be seen across the expanse at the top. The views from the bluff itself were well worth seeing (as views tend to be). At about this time the snow started as we headed off across the flat, rocky top, rich with tiny tarns, to a shallow gully that would offer protection should the wind come up during the night. I am not of a practical nature, and put views ahead of little matters like not being blown away, so had been rather hoping for one of the exposed tarns near the bluff itself, which would have offered the best sunrise and sunset photos.


Be that as it may, the spot where we pitched was spectacular – next to a wall of iced snow that looked like a scene from Antarctica. Snow fell both as we pitched, and also while we boiled the trangia on our “kitchen rock” for a cup of soup to warm up. By the time we were drinking, B’s pack was already buried in snow. (He decided it would not fit in the vestibule. I hoped we could find it in the morning). Snow fell on us, mantling our heads in its light fluff as mugs obscured our faces. I decided it was a good idea to eat our main meal super early, as maybe the kitchen wouldn’t exist if we waited for real dinner time, and the others agreed. Some were so cold they didn’t finish dinner anyway and retreated to bed. B and I and some others went exploring the snowy fields until the light faded. It was beautiful in its white expanse, with some blue crevices for colour.


We had pitched right next to the creek, and I lay listening to the soothing sound of its trickle as I dozed off – a sound that diminished as the night wore on and the creek increasingly froze over. By morning, it was a strip of ice with interesting patterns and a glisten as the struggling sun caught its crystals.


The view from the Bluff was superb on the return journey. There was sparkling rime covering the boulders in the foreground, and the colours of the mountains seen through gaps in the boulders were more intense in the early light. The contrast of white ice and blue-green mountains on the horizon made it more special. It was sad to descend from our snowy kingdom, but at least we were heading down to superb rainforest and waterfalls.
This trip was done before I owned a gps. If you turn to my blog on Mt Ironstone ( http://www.natureloverswalks.com/mt-ironstone/ ‎) you will find the start of this route, which coincides with the Ironstone one until this route hives off, along the Dell Track, after Chasm Falls.