Tag: bushwalk

Posted on

Cradle Mountain 2014 Feb. Sleeping on.

Sleeping on Cradle

Barn Bluff and the Du Cane Range in evening light
I have been planning to sleep on Cradle Mt for a very long time – so much so that I’d even bought a second little solo tent for the expedition. My plan was that I would go with my husband as far as Kitchen hut, and that we would then have to separate, because there’s no way that a man with Parkinson’s disease could get up that rocky jumble with a heavy overnight pack and lots of water needed for eating at the top. I’d watched too many tourists without packs struggling with the slopes to imagine that he could conquer them weighed down with overnight gear. I had no qualms for myself, as the one point where i had had to summon a special oomph push to get up a rock that was a bit too big for me (after the saddle) I thought I could evade. Otherwise, I’d push my pack up the slope ahead of me and do that single effort packless. I hoped I could get around it by climbing to the right. Time would tell.
Fury Gorge
My husband, however, had other thoughts on this matter, and told me he reckoned he could do it. I believed him. Saturday was to be the day. Sunday was going to be much too hot for climbing anything, so I suggested leaving Launceston mid-afternoon Saturday, climbing after five, sleeping at the top and coming straight home after breakfast, before the day got uncomfortably hot. It was a deal. 
Because it was latish when we arrived at the park, there was no trouble getting through the boom gates and right in to Dove Lake. We were ready to roll in mountains already emptied of the madding crowds. 
As I feared, water was low. I’ve never seen it so dry up there, actually; every tarn was empty, every stream but one, dry. We drank at the one stream and filled our bottles up, taking 3.2 litres for two, which turned out to be more than we needed, but better more than not enough. Perhaps the climb would be thirsty work. We tipped some out before descending next morning. 

 

Rock curtains unveiling a scene of beauty
So much for my misgivings about my husband’s ability to cope. I was the one who had to take her pack off to do some manoeuvres – three times on the way up and twice coming down. I think this was partly because when my pack is on, I stare too much downwards rather than outwards, so failed to choose the kind of routes that I choose when unencumbered. My taller husband passed my pack up to me, and then did the same trick with no help at all. I hadn’t even noticed that these potential problems existed when prancing around packless, but it’s surprising the difference a weight like that makes to a climb.
 
Celmisia saxifraga providing extra colour on top 
I love the way that Cradle, like so many of Tassie’s peaks, hides its summit until the last second. You climb and climb (having huge fun while you’re at it) with your face into the rock. If you do stop to look around (which I am loath to do, as I love climbing too much, but I do stop to make sure my husband is fine somewhere down there) then you only see at best a partial view. Mostly you see shapely and colourful rocks, which are marvellous in their own right, but the view itself remains hidden. Up you go, wondering exactly where the summit is, and suddenly you’re there, and the whole world of view opens magically out before you. When you’ve climbed in the evening light, this opening of the curtains to a land of wonder is all the more special. 
 
We didn’t just have that glorious mountain to ourselves: it felt as if we had the whole world. Everything felt especially spacious and grand as we perched ourselves on a rock and gazed out to an infinitude of mountains, most of which are now old friends. 
 

 

Somehow or other we took our eyes off the scenery long enough to pitch our tent between rocks and cook dinner, but mostly we just sat and watched nature’s performance.
Valentine’s Peak rising out of the mist 
There is really not much in life that beats sleeping on the summit of a mountain. I just never become inured to the pleasure of being up high at the close and opening of a day, of dining on high as the sky changes colour and the stars come out and the mountains become a series of mystical silhouettes enhanced with the warm colours of the setting sun. 
Dawn. Mt Arthur can be seen swimming above the low mist centre back. Western Bluff is nearer, and to the right. 

Later, as dark advanced and the stars made their appearances and the last pink of the sky faded, we sang together, as is our habit on mountains.

Dawn arrives at Mt Roland

The cliffs that were around us offered nasty plunges to the valley way below, offering certain death to anyone accidentally stepping over an edge. My husband was on strict instructions not to go out of reach of the tent if he needed to get up during the night. We both got up around 3 a.m., actually. It was a moonless night and the stars were particularly wonderful. For me, seeing the stars in the middle of the night is one of the many pleasures of tenting.

The same gazing in wonder procedure was on the programme from 5.45 next morning to watch the day begin, and then it was time for breakfast, descent, and a swim in the lake for my husband.
Posted on

Thetis 2014 Jan

Mt Thetis, Jan 2014.

Mt Thetis and Paddys Nut from below.
Mt Thetis is a mighty mountain, and, like many mountains in this area, has a name whose provenance rests in Greek mythology. For there, Thetis was a female immortal and the mother of the famous warrior, Achilles.

Thetis and more from Urquarts Messa
Thetis must have been rather lovely, as both Zeus and Poseidon (gods) courted her, but they backed away when they heard that there was a prophecy predicting that Thetis would bear a son that would be greater than his father. These gods were a little insecure, and couldn’t cope with the notion of having a son who would outshine the paternal glory.

Thetis (et al) from Mount Massif
Luckily for Thetis, King Peleus didn’t seem to have such ego issues, and was content to father such a son (named Achilles, once born). Why am I telling you this? Because I find it very sweet that the mountains Thetis and Achilles are next to each other. I find it very interesting that the mother is bigger and more important than her son (with respect to mountains). The mountain Achilles has a heel, so I guess that explains the name there, and so the neighbour was going to be Thetis whatever its size.

Thetis from Mt Achilles
I wonder if the real Thetis was as unapproachable as this mountain. It’s obviously not impossible to climb – we got up – but we had to think and plan our route, past the many palisades protecting the summit area, and we needed to negotiate thick scrub below, and cliffy obstacles up high. Sometimes you felt you were in a bit of a maze and wondered if you were going to find a lead to the summit area.

Thetis from below (Leonards Tarn – zoom)
Once we saw the gully we wanted, we knew we had succeeded. By the time we got there, it was already too glary for nice photos. The photos here are a selection from that summit day, and from other days on which I looked back at Thetis with pleasure, knowing I had summited her. I will go back one day and do it again. I’d actually like to camp on top and see the sunset views. Lugging a pack up there, however, would be one awesome task. Some of the cliffs require a huge oomph factor, which I am not sure I could do with a full pack on.

Thetis: summit view
To get the climb in the context of the expedition, on which we climbed Perrins Bluff, Achilles and Thetis, see:
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/perrins-bluff-mt-achilles-mt-thetis/


Detail of route up and down Thetis from Leonards Tarn.

Posted on

Achilles 2014 Jan

Mount Achilles January 2014


Near the summit of Mount Achilles
I climbed Mount Achilles on the rebound after summitting Perrins Bluff. In fact, we wasted so much time that afternoon waiting for two people who were not actually with us that I feared we had timed ourselves out of this climb, and I was full of a combination of impatience and disappointment. I felt a particular attainment to Mount Achilles – perhaps because  the name Achilles is so well known from Greek mythology and I greatly enjoy the whole story, and additionally because it is so very visible from the Overland Track at Frog Flats. I love the fact that Achilles’s Heel is so prominent; after all, you couldn’t call a mountain Achilles if it didn’t have an attractive heel. Achilles without his heel is almost nobody. I also like it the Achilles is next to his mother, Thetis. I wanted to climb this mountain full of mythology and connotations.

View down to the heel.
But, we let the sun drop and drop as we waited for these people and I gazed out at Achilles, wishing myself there but giving up on her as a possibility. At last the two arrived from the mountain they’d climbed and chatted with the people I was with, and finally, we got to move on in my desired direction.

The heel on the way down.
And yes, when we reached the base, there was definitely time for an ascent. Full of desire and impatience, I scrambled quickly up the nearest possible chute, which was definitely not the best possible option, and was, in retrospect, quite dangerous, but I was so full of summit angst by this stage, I cared for nothing else, and forged on, soothing my frustration in purposeful movement up the very loose slope.


Achilles from our tents below.
Once on top, I was very glad the sun was in its current position, as that meant the light had a golden tinge to it, and interesting shadows were starting to fall. I was at peace at last, and the small group I was with lingered there until practical considerations (like light and dinner) forced a descent. We did not descend via the self-destructing chute of our way up, but used the bushes to retard our progress down the very steep slope to camp.


Mount Achilles, as seen from afar, along with Barn Bluff and Pelion West.
For  description of many aspects of the full trip, see
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/perrins-bluff-mt-achilles-mt-thetis/

Posted on

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. 
Posted on

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/