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Gould, Minotaur, Guardians 2013 Mar

Mt Gould, Minotaur and The Guardians  9-11 March 2013

Gould as seen form the Labyrinth
This was a trip with many highs and lows, but a definite high point, in both senses of the word, was summitting Mt Gould on the first day. This is a mountain I have long admired for its shapely triangulated peak, distinctive from many vantage points. It is the subject of many of my photos, but I had never been onto its bulk. I adored the view from the top, and stayed there a while, soaking it all in.

From Gould summit, looking towards Minotaur, Parthenon, Acropolis, Geryon At the end of the day, a campsite was chosen near the summit of the Minotaur. Sunset and sunrise yielded photos that were pretty nice, although not perfect. There were a few too many clouds for the sky to go pink, or rocks to go red as they sometimes do. The silhouettes were nonetheless grand, and we enjoyed eating and watching evening close in around us.


From Gould summit.
Day 2. The next day promised to be very hot, even though the clouds were building up, and it kept its promise. Sweat poured down our faces as we climbed The Guardians with their magnificent panorama. We were tiny ants on gargantuan cliffs dropping perilously several hundred metres to Lake Marion below.

 Photo from the Gould-Minotaur saddle
All around us were famous mountains, many of which we’d climbed, but were now seen from a new angle. It would be lovely to camp by the tarn rather than see the glory in the midday glare, but one can’t do everything, and Gould had won out this time. Everyone stripped off and had a swim. Some swims lasted longer than others. Being a wuss, mine was a stripped-down body wash, but I enjoyed having the cool water on my skin. It was just a bit too cold for me to dive in.

View of the campsite under Minotaur
We were back at our tents in time for an early lunch, and were soon off, over the summit of the Minotaur (marvellous views again, but these were not new to me, as I had been up when we first got there, and again at dawn), down to the saddle between it and the Parthenon, and thus into the Labyrinth.
 
Dawn from the flanks of the Minotaur, looking at Gould and Lake St Clair

On we went to Lake Eurynome, via a detour. Just as we arrived, the heavens opened with a bang. Gone was our much-desired swim. I didn’t know droplets of water could be so big and heavy. They were truly amazing, and I admired them while I tried to mix efficiency with speed in erecting our tent, trying to be calm but fast.

Bushwalker on Minotaur enjoys sunrise
There wasn’t much time for choosing, and not much space either, so most of us camped in a kind of yobs’ ghetto on top of each other, ropes overlapping, in a little flattish spot further along the shore from the leader’s spot (room for one tent only). We all pitched with a future view of lake and mountains in mind. As the storm continued, we disappeared one by one into our hastily erected cocoons to wait out the worst of it.
Climbing the Guardians, looking towards Geryon and Acropolis
What does one do in a situation like this? Somehow, one feels too antsy to read. What we always do when forced to wait impatiently for something (like the end of a storm) is sing. We sang all the tunes we know where we can harmonise together. Then we went through our repertoire of rounds and canons. Still the storm raged. Next I moved onto English folksongs to be sung in unison, and traversed from there to Gaelic tunes, German folk, through student drinking songs and on to old campfire tunes like “Michael row the boat ashore” and “Kumbaya”.
Tarn on the Guardians

The storm furied still. Thunder and lightning were separated by only a second at one point. (I grabbed Bruce, probably bruising him, as it crashed above us). Somewhere in all of that I did check on the state of play out the tent window, and I did notice at that time that a river was forming and running beneath the midpoint of our tent, but in such a storm, what could one do? Bruce in the background suggested I start bailing, so I got a pot and bailed and bailed but the river kept flowing, and I got tired, so gave up. We’d see what was what when the lightning stopped. The rain continued to plummet down.

View from Minotaur campsite
 After Kumbaya, and possibly because I was running out of songs in the next category, although we hadn’t begun on tunes from musicals yet, I decided to check on the view out the tent opening again and see how things were faring in our vestibule. I unzipped. My squeal was heard wide and far, although misinterpreted. C thought it was a squeal of terror, but actually it was one of surprise and a loud noise made in response to an absolutely hilarious situation.

Lake Marion from above (Lake St Clair in background)
Unbeknown to me, the others had all been sitting there watching the water rising, but felt immobilised by the deluge, and thought that if we were singing, then it must be OK. But we were singing because we didn’t know what was happening. I now saw that we were entirely surrounded by lake. We were a little Tent Island in the middle of the lake that had risen up 30 cms and swallowed us, and so were our friends. Luckily, unlike the victims of the floods in QLD etc, we could pick up our houses and move them whilst the waters rose into our bedrooms.
Tent Island, Lake Eurynome

 The storm had not stopped, but the lightning had eased and the thunder was less booming as I left our tent and began moving it to higher ground – of which, actually, there was none. That is, there was higher ground, but it was covered in sharp bushes. We tried to find enough bush-free area to make a bit of a go of it. I left Bruce to try to put pegs in the tent in the new spot and went off to help C who had no one to help her. First, I helped ferry her remaining dry gear into the dry spot enabled by our re-erected tent (thanks to B), and then C and I dug elbow deep in the water to retrieve her pegs, pull them out, and then four of us – C, B, Mike and I – picked up her tent and went wandering with it, in search of free space. I found her a tiny bit, but it had a stone in the middle. It was a choice between a stone and prickly scrub, so she chose stone.

Tent Island, Lake Eurynome 
Then it was back to help Mike, who was busy trying to bail massive quantities of water out of his tent … and then off to our own, where I also had a considerable bailing job to do. Somehow the process of moving had allowed water to enter (hardly surprising). At least all our gear – and most importantly, clothes and sleeping bags – were dry, so we were in a good position. Mike kept bailing, now helped by Rolfe, who had successfully moved. Mike was finished with bucketing, and was now ready to try the next stage, in which he used Rolfe’s towel to soak up water, passed it outside where Rolfe rang it out, and received it back inside to have another round of the same.
While I did the last of the above process on our tent, Bruce got the stove going on a rock, and boiled water both for our dinner, and for Mike, so that once he finished bailing he could get some warm food before the light completely went.
The next day, considering one thing and another, was fairly humdrum, almost boring. We didn’t get lost; we climbed no mountains; we made the ferry and we got home. And, believe it or not, I guess I’m just a weirdo, I enjoyed the walk immensely. Not only have I climbed several new peaks with brilliant views, not only has Bruce done an amazing job of traversing quite a wild part of Tasmania, but we have experienced a huge adventure, and one that we’ll laugh about together for years to come.



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Amos 2013 Mar

Mt Amos   2-3 Mar 2013

 

 

 

 

 
Mt Amos is not a high mountain. I used to run up it in 22 mins when I was an athlete. With a pack and walking, it takes longer, of course, but one can be fairly extravagant with weight and not feel the consequences, so as well as lugging up six litres of water and a tripod for my SLR, I even took along a musical instrument (and a book, of course).
We set out from home after lunch, and arrived in time to have a bit of a read before pitching the tent and cooking dinner, after which we sat on our rock and watched the glorious sunset for a very long time. When the whole landscape had gone dark, and we had enjoyed stargazing, we sang a bit, and then I played music in the dark until it was time for bed.
Sunrise and breakfast with such a view were also perfect. A magical overnighter.
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Acropolis 2013 Jan

Acropolis  12-13 January, 2013.

Summit view
“We’re going up the Acropolis this weekend.”
“Lucky you. The weather’s looking great.”
Yes, the forecast was pretty good. Some rain scheduled for Sunday afternoon, but the main action would be over by then. We’d probably be driving home.
It was hot as we packed. I not only threw in a bikini for Lake St Clair, but also a Speedo for good measure, in case it was a little cooler.
We went through our gear.
Gloves? Na, well, better take one pair, but not the usual three.
Don’t bother with spare Helly longs or top. Just the lightweight half-sleeping bag will do.
Sleeping sheet? Yeah, we might get pretty hot and smelly, so that will be needed.

 

Our plan was to camp up high on the shelf below the cliffs to get great sunset and sunrise photos. Even as we sat impatiently on the ferry listening to the driver and tour guide who said: “There are rainforest trees out there; don’t know their names” to the lucky tourists, the clouds were rolling in. The driver knew I was in a hurry to get started with all we had to do after the boat trip, -now running about 45 minutes late – and was enjoying dragging the journey out as much as possible to thwart me. He looked on bushwalkers with scorn. Adding to the delay, he stopped the motor in case anyone wished to photograph the featureless (in this light) blanket of green out there beyond the water.


Pine Valley – en route
Finally released from our boat prison, we raced up the track to Pine Valley, and at last embarked on the final stint through the glorious forest to the top. It was a shame to rush through such scenery, but the ferry driver had created our haste by squandering our time in approach. As we gained the shelf, we could hear the wind roar and we became encinctured in mist. The Acropolis was just a hint in the gloom of grey vapour. There would be no sunset tonight. There was no view tonight. It was raining as we pitched tent and cooked our meal. We began to regret the lack of spare gloves and normal bags. I wore almost every item of clothing in my bag to bed, with a spare pair of socks for a pillow. We lay in our cosy tent listening to the thunder of the wind outside and the light patter of rain. Hopefully the morning would bring a pleasant surprise. I love lying in the shelter of a tent and listening to the wild elements raging outside. We slept well.


Morning did not bring a pleasant surprise. Oh well. We didn’t need to get up early to catch the glorious first rays of sun on the surrounding mountains, or gain the summit while the peaks were still silhouettes in the early light. We didn’t bother getting up until nearly 7.  Up we went through the mist.


My husband doesn’t have reliable use of his hands, so regrettably, when we were only maybe ten minutes from the top, where there was a climb up the slippery rocks that was too challenging for a person with no fine motor control, he chose to stay perched on his ledge while I continued to the top. I called to him from the summit to let him know I was there, but he was too far away to hear that – and perhaps the thick mist swallowed my voice.


Coming down I was quite apprehensive, as the thick mist obscured all visibility, and I was mildly concerned about not finding the correct chimney that would lead me down. I realised that, as B could not get up to save me even if he did hear me yell, if I fell on the slippery rocks and broke something, I would be lying there in the rain for a very long time before anyone could help me. I was very cautious in my footing. THANK GOD (or, more correctly, thank you people, whoever you are, who put cairns out there!!!!)  for the cairns that appeared now and then in the otherwise  featureless environment, and a special thanks for the one with a stick on it. I had paid special attention to it on the way up, and was not going to attempt to go down until I sighted it again. There were two tricky sections on the slippery rock below the summit area on the way up, but fortunately they were fine on the way down. I would be interested to see someone with a beer belly doing one of the tight rock-hugging sections that had a drop below that could severely damage anyone who fell. I am pretty skinny and wanted every centimetre of the room my slender frame provided.


Back down at Pine Valley
So, we didn’t get sunrise or sunset or a swim (unless you count wading through water on the track), but we did have a fun adventure, and we loved the shining green of the forest, and the atmospheric mantel of mist that, despite obscuring all hint of a view, lent the rocks a special magic.

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Marriotts Falls 2012 Dec

Marriotts Falls 9 Dec 2012
These falls involve only a short detour from the road going past Mt Field National Park, and are near the tiny township of Tyenna. A signpost from the main road directs you to the carpark. It is 3 kms each way to the falls, which are on Marriotts Creek that flows into the Tyenna River. The walk is really beautiful, beginning beside the lovely Tyenna River with a few tiny cascades (This river looks perfect for liloing), passing briefly through a fairly clear paddock  with one of the hugest acacia melanoxylon trees I have ever seen in my life, and then returning to lush green forest with moss until the falls are reached. Both there and back took me a shade under thirty minutes. Unfortunately, there are quite a few fallen trees at the base of the falls.


I first visited the falls when I was passing by, having come from climbing Clear Hill and the Needles, and this did not happen to be waterfall season. I therefore haven’t yet done them justice. (I also own much better equipment these days). A return is necessary.

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Sentinels 2012 Dec

The Sentinels   8 Dec 2012



It had been a long drive down, and we were not in bed much before midnight. But for some reason, perhaps because I was excited to be there, I awoke nice and early, and decided to risk censure and dash up the Sentinels while the others slept. I had the excuse that I couldn’t wake them up to ask permission, and I couldn’t have known in advance that I was going to wake so early in order to ask in advance.

Off I set. I wondered if I would have got into trouble having a training run along the road without asking permission. As a six year old, I used to go and play in the bush without permission, so I am having trouble adapting to this level of supervision. I would not have made a good citizen in the former GDR and would have landed in jail, alas.


I didn’t actually set out to reach the summit (another excuse in my defence before the imaginary court later), but, well, one contour led to another, and suddenly there I was with the most amazing view spread out before me. When I saw the low sun making those glorious striations across the scene filling my purview, I suddenly didn’t care at all what my later punishment would be. Up there I was wild and free and as happy as it is possible to be.

It was only when I neared the campsite that I began to wonder what my reception would be. I was not late or anything. I had just gone down to the end of the town without consulting whomever. Anyway, there they all were around the barby, laughing happily, cooking up a treat – a merry, wonderful bunch. I was welcomed and began cooking my porridge. During the eating, the leader asked had I … er… been up the Sentinels by any chance? I confessed (I like her far too much to lie, and, besides, not being practised at lying, I believe myself to be lousy at it).

They said they thought so, and that was that. This leader was happy to trust me. How refreshing. She’s fantastic. I told them they’d find me much tamer as a result of my excursion, and they laughed.

I was utterly content, and didn’t care at all if they were a bit slow getting going, or a bit slow later. I had had the most glorious day imaginable before it had even struck 7a.m.