Tag: bushwalk

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Scott 2014 May

Mt Scott, May 2014

Darling mycena interrupta were in abundance here.
I continue to marvel at the number of times I can be introduced to a mountain whose name I have never heard of, just because it’s on the peak baggers’ list. So it was this week, when I received an invitation from friends who wanted to climb Mt Scott. I had to search to find it on the map, but yes, of course I wanted to come to add to my peak collection and to experience a new mountain; my friends had all gained the point for this mountain long ago, so were more interested in picking wild berries than in summitting, but that suited me fine. It gave me the opportunity to summit using my own devices while they picked berries, and I very much like to do my own navigating. My work obligations could be accommodated into the expected timetable for the venture. We were off.
A huge old myrtle (nothofagus cunninghamii)
We drove along roads that (at the end stage) are on none of my maps, and parked the car in what appears to be (map-wise) in the middle of nowhere. Because of this, I’ve given very thorough instructions on how to drive there at the end.
Native pepperberry bush, Tasmannia lanceolata

At the start of the walk, there is actually a little wooden sign with pink ribbon. From the sign, you head off into wet forest thick with lush ferns of many varieties, but there is a taped pad the whole way – albeit one that is sometimes hard to find. We lost it on a few occasions, but it is there. You just need to be vigilant, and to backtrack to the last tape if they run out in some direction.

Tasmannia lanceolata covered in moss and lichen

Somewhere around the 950 ms asl mark, the forest began to clear, and the vegetation became quite open. Some huge examples of ancient myrtles occurred in this more open section (nothofagus cunninghamii). This ceded to the next vegetation phase, a mass of wild native pepperberry bushes (Tasmannia lanceolata). I was entranced by the clumps of moss and thick coating lichen on each bush, endowing them with a sense of ancient mystery.

I gathered a few berries, but was more interested in seeing the summit, even though thick mist was going to prevent any view. David, who can’t eat berries, said that he wanted to get moving too, so the two of us set out along the logical route from there to the summit, chatting away whilst I kept us on the highest path between where we were and the top. We walked past a log book which is almost at the top of the very first rising, and I have heard it implied that that is the summit, but it is neither the summit on the map, nor the ground. It is nothing other than a visitors’ book and possible lookout point (I’d need to check that theory out in better weather). The summit (black spot on map) is at least 1.5 kms away. The highest point is actually on the knoll before that, but I wanted to touch the mapped and named summit.

Panellus longinquus Thanks Dr David Ratkowsky for helping with that one

Once the top, broad ridge line was reached (very shortly after the pepperberries and log book), we had over a kilometre of magnificent walking through almost park-like (non-taped, non-tracked) forest, which later became primarily comprised of thin-trunked melaleucas, pursuing the light. As I gazed at their tall, straight yet spindly trunks, I thought of Nietzsche’s question in his book,Will to Power (Der Wille zur Macht) where he asks: Why do trees fight to reach for the light? Is it for survival? No, he claims, it is because of a will to power (a will to dominate that goes beyond mere survival). These words have always fascinated me, partly, but not exclusively, because Nietzsche denies the idea of a soul, and yet implicitly attributes will to a tree.

We went over the rising that was not the official summit, but which my gps said was higher than the summit, down into a broad saddle, and up the other side, sadly leaving the forest for the final 100 ms or so to enter the first waist-high scrub for the day. It was very easily traversed, and there we were at the summit trig.

David, striding out in the parklike forest, discussing with me Einstein’s assumption that c was always constant. I like stimulating discussions on bushwalks.
There we ate half our lunch, waiting to see if the others were going to remain trapped by the spell of the berries, or whether they were going to join us on top. When they failed to appear, we set out back, but encountered them when beginning on the climb to the non-summit knoll in the forest. They were smug with their full containers of booty. We finished lunch together in the forested section as it was far more pleasant than the open, windy summit point, returned to the trig so they could touch it too, and then turned our venture into a circle by heading straight down the hill to intersect with the road far below and going along it to the car. This involved 17 minutes of road, with log trucks sometimes appearing. When I take my husband back there to show him, we’ll go out and back the same way, as that was the way of most beauty.
 
Entoloma sp
I arrived at work some minutes late to find my students deep in discussion about the budget that the government released the day before. They looked up and saw me in my boots and gaiters and outlandish walking gear (I had had no time to change) and smiled. I think they quite enjoy having a bizarre coach. They weren’t even fazed when I did a quick leech check on my calves while we went on with the next topic of discussion.
 
Below is a description of how to drive to Mt Scott.
I am greatly indebted to my friends, not only for showing me a beautiful mountain, for for negotiating the oddities of Tasmaps that fail to show roads. I have scoured our whole map of Tasmania, as well as  1:100,000 maps – both the one on which Mt Scott lies (useless, as it is right on the edge) and the map next door (St Patricks). Not one of those maps makes the road journey to this mountain clear. According to my gps, we had parked in the middle of bushland rather than on a road. If you look at the map above, the waypoint to the NW is where we parked the car. Because the road was not on the map, I also tracked our route as we drove out in purple so I could try to figure it all out later. But first, I will also tell you that the waypoint that is lower and mid-image is where we hit a road (unmapped as well – of course?). The dark blue line heading north and then weaving is the unmapped road on which we walked to return to the car.
After a great deal of screen staring and other map poring, this is what I believe to be the directions of how to get there. From Launceston, drive to Targa, and take the Camden Hill Rd. Turn left on the Diddleum Rd and join East Diddleum Rd, as described in the Abels I volume for Mt Maurice.
This road crosses St Patricks River. Now you need to pay attention. You’re getting near. After the river, keep heading north, and turn right at the third opportunity, now heading eastish. After about 1.5 kms,  swing right. If you look at the image above, you will see the change in the purple line from north to right (east). If you look very hard, you will see an orange darker line continuing north. That is East Diddleum Rd which you no longer want. After about 200 ms you can also see if you look above there is another road heading north which you also don’t want. You’re now very near. About 200 ms past this point you will (if you’re lucky) notice a small wooden sign that points to Mt Scott that has pink ribbon tied to it. If you miss it (we did) you’ll reach the remnants of a boom gate. Turn around and retrace steps for about 150 or so metres. The sign heads off on the northern side of the road. There are, of course, lots of other logging tracks – newly made pseudo-roads – to confuse. That’s my best shot at guiding you in. Good luck. It’s worth it.
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Minnow Falls 2014 April

Minnow Falls April 2014.


Some time ago, I used to watch a TV show with my daughters called It’s a Knockout, in which the contestants had to race up rope ladders, negotiate tricky objects, and slither through tunnels. I always wanted to have a go, thinking it looked like great fun.
This week at Minnow Falls, I got to do a similar obstacle course, only in the lush green of natural rainforest rather than the sterile environment of a TV studio. And it was, as I knew it would be, enormous fun.


Rod emerging from a small cave


Phil squeezing himself up through a hole in the rocks. This was not a trail for the overweight.
The location of this natural amusement-park – Minnow Falls – is beyond Mole Creek (see end for more detail). There was formerly a track up to the falls and back, but thanks to Bill Shepherd, this has been extended to become a complete circuit, in which, after an initial climb on an old road cum track, one heads into the bush following Bill’s (mostly) pink markers, ever climbing.


David descends one of the rope ladders
The TASTrack comments about the old route seem appropriate at this stage: “This steep, rough-cut track climbs the eastern side of Mt Roland, [gaining] 545 ms in 3.5 kms.” In fact, our route climbed even more: 600ms according to my gps.


Descending a roped section
At times our noses nearly touched the slope we were ascending. It was a great all-body work out, as arms and hands pulled on trees to haul ourselves upwards, or as we oomphed our way up rock ledges, pulling on tiny handholds to gain the next bit of height. Occasionally we found metal ladders, or rope for hauling on to avoid sliding backwards when there were no footholds possible. Sometimes we had to squeeze through narrow holes between huge boulders, or proceed along caves and rock tunnels.


On the way back down, there were a couple of rope ladders hanging from trees to keep us alive as we descended slimy rock slabs. I had a ball. In order to hoist ourselves upwards or to stay high between two walls of rock, we had to push our packs up first so we could wedge our backs against the rocks for pressure.


Minnow Falls. This was the best view I could get. Perhaps I need to come back to see the real thing under better conditions.
Not only was the physical side of the adventure engaging, but the forest itself was magnificent. Recent rains had been lapped up by the mossy banks and ledges so that rocks and trees were coated in a lush covering of bright green. The mountain laurels shone as in moonlight. Fungi were also responding to the recent rains and cooler weather, and I saw many varieties, both large and delicate (Russula persanguinea, several camarophyllopsis yellow and more). Invertebrate life was also out and about, with the advantage that I saw many “land planarians” (bright yellow members of the flatworm class [Turbellaria]). The negative aspect of this response to moisture was that the leeches were also present, and hungry after a long, dry summer.


Leucoagaricus or Lepiota sp. (Thanks Dr Genevieve Gates).


Camarophyllopsis yellow


Atmospheric forest at the end

 If you look at the gps route above, it looks as if I never made it back to the car, as you will see a small gap in the blue track bottom right. I left it like that intentionally so that you could see exactly where we parked. A continuous circle would have confused that issue. (We did the route clockwise). I would not drive to where we parked without a 4WD (just abandon car earlier and walk a bit more). I would also, of course, not undertake a pad like this without being a confident navigator, as pink ribbons can dump you in the middle of nowhere if you don’t know exactly what you’re doing.


So. How do you get to the start? If coming from Launceston, go through Mole Creek and head up towards Paradise. If coming from the north, turn off the Claude Rd (C138) onto the Paradise Rd (C137). Follow until its intersection with  a road that heads east (L) to Lower Beulah. You go south continuing on the C137. Turn right after a short distance towards Paradise Plantation. After a river, turn first lefthand drive very steeply up Rising Road. This is the one that I would not go the whole way up if driving myself. At the top, the forest track and tapes begin. Good luck.

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Stormont 2014 Apr

Mt Stormont, Apr 2014

Climbing after the rainforest has ended

Like so many mountains I end up climbing, I had never heard of this one until I saw it on the peak baggers’ guide. A friend told me that a group she belongs to was going to climb it, and that it normally had access difficulties, being situated on private land. This seemed like an excellent opportunity to have someone else make phone calls and arrangements on my behalf, so we signed up. The land owner was most obliging and welcoming, and we were soon parking the cars in squelching mud up to the top of my boots, and then ‘swimming’ through the red ooze to the forest which was fortunately only across the road and down a bit. 

View from ‘fake summit 2
The forest that begins the walk is the wonderful, lush rainforest that I love so much, and I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that I saw at least eight different fungi genera in the first two minutes. I longed to photograph the delicate colourful forms, but didn’t want to hold people up, so said hurried greetings in passing and strode on. Mt Stormont is 1007 ms high, and my gps says we begin at 450 ms asl, so I guess we climbed a bit, but I can’t say I noticed, as I was mostly intent on trying to spot more fungi. The forest dried out as we climbed, but then we approached the best part of the ascent – a “dragon’s spine” section, which was more knife-edged than the famous Striding Edge of England. I was proud of my Parkinson’s-affected husband negotiating it with aplomb. It was fun. 

From summit 2 (Mt Roland in the background)

Unfortunately, I dropped my lens hood whilst photographing, and watched it roll about 20 metres down the almost vertical cliff-face to an invisible place below. That seems most unfortunate given the expense of such items, but in fact the story ends happily in that two of us came back after lunch and the summits, faster, on a route that could enable finding it, and, as part of the search I got to re-climb the dragon spine from a new angle to indicate to my friend below exactly where the fall had taken place. The permissible speed and the fun of the hunt were the best part of the day for me. The fact that our search met with success was a bonus.

Cortinarius archeri

Stormont has two summits: a real one at 1007 ms, where one can find, if one searches, the scabs of an old trig marker (sawn off iron at ground level, and the remains of concrete), and a false one at 1005 ms, over 500 ms away, where there is a beautiful old cairn – an historic relic presumably built by early explorer Henry Hellyer, who also erected the nearby cairn on the Black Bluff Range. That cairn is recognised as the oldest intact piece of evidence of European colonisation in the western half of Tasmania.

Entoloma panniculum

The Monument Australia website says that at the time of building (1831), the half of Tasmania west of the meridian that passes through Port Sorell was uninhabited by Europeans except for small settlements. (Those doomed to live in crowded cities would probably say that that is still the case, but I merely report what was said). I must say that if you are only chasing a peak-bagging point, and stop at the first, real summit, then you will be missing the better of the two views. I took no photos at the first one, but five or six at the second. Does that not say it all?

laccaria sp
And my fungi were there at the end waiting for me. Below is a gps reading of our route.

 
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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.)