Tag: bushwalking

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Rocky Cape National Park 2017 Mar

Rocky Cape National Park 2017 Mar

So near and yet so far … it is perhaps a mini travesty that we have lived in north Tasmania for as long as we have done, and yet have never put a foot inside Rocky Cape National Park. I must say, the fact that camping is not permitted there has had a huge amount to do with our absence. I am not a day-tripper sort of person.

However, on the final morning of our Tarkine adventure (on the fifth and final day), our leader had scheduled a short visit to this spot. I was most curious to see what I had been missing out on all these years. We drove in as far as we could before a final turnoff, when we chose right, following a sign that pointed to the beach, rather than left to boat launches, a day picnic area, and other such wonders. From our parking spot, we had a lovely hour-long wander around the coast, sometimes bushbashing (there was no track here) and other times following the rocky shore. I enjoyed the little coves of turbulent water, especially as the sky was still steely grey after the rain of the previous night.

After the others had departed on the way back to Hobart, we had a quick explore of the left-hand fork that we had rejected earlier. Here, I was amazed and not entirely pleased to find houses in a national park. I can understand that if they were there first, this creates an obvious problem. I did not, however, appreciate the fact that they were there with their dogs, whilst we were not only not allowed to camp, but were not even allowed to let our car wheels go past a certain turnoff, and yet their dogs roamed the waters of the nearest beach. When is a National Park not a National Park? Perhaps here. There seemed to be a reversal of expected values. I have nothing against dogs on beaches. My dog loves beaches. But when dogs are allowed but I am restricted, now that I object to. We didn’t stay long at Rocky Cape. One day I will disobey these inconsistent instructions and camp here to see early morning light at this place.

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Balfour Track, Trowutta Arch 2017 Mar

Balfour Track and Trowutta Arch, Tarkine Day 4.


Sadly, we turned our back on the coast – but not before I’d got up in the dark and wended my way down to the ocean to capture moonset, long before the sun had risen. The shot here is a very long exposure.


To reach our goal, we headed from the coast on the road running east from Couta Rocks – the C214 – until signs directed us to our destination. The track runs parallel to the road, rejoining it after about an hour’s walking (plus any stops you might have). Our group did an out and back route, probably taking us the three hours recommended. The extra half hour in each direction beyond walking was used in taking copious photos of fungi and forest, and in snack time beside the beautiful Stephens Rivulet.


Of all the tracks we walked this trip, this one was my favourite. The path was narrow and non-invasive; the forest was lush and green with plentiful tree ferns and moss. I thought it would be way too dry and warm for fungi, and that there would not be much to photograph, but I was mistaken. The quaint, tiny ones were not yet out, but there were still plenty of others. Luckily for me, the other walkers had gone on ahead, so I was supposedly giving chase. However, I ended up rolling in dirt every ten paces or so at the discovery of each new delightful specimen. The fact that the others were ahead meant I didn’t have to feel guilty about holding anyone up. If and when all these marvellous sights stopped, I could keep my promise about giving chase, and if not, I’d just meet them on the rebound. I rolled in a little more humus and thoroughly enjoyed myself. (Map at end of this page)



In the afternoon, we visited the Trowutta Arch. The arch itself was spectacular, but the way to it quite ruined it for me. I hated the hard, wide, unnatural path that has been built that scars the landscape. The forest also appears to be most suspiciously “tidy”. If the bureaucrats who designed this have wheelchairs in mind, I am most curious to know how they intend getting such chairs down the steep drop to the actual arch. Are they going to pop in a lift? Stairs will hardly help. The only section I enjoyed was the part they haven’t yet attacked. I hope this is the only route they decide to tame and manicure for tourists. I wonder why it is assumed that visitors are incapable of walking on any surface other than the artificially even one they normally use for shopping. This is a sad reflection on our society if it is correct. It contradicts what is actually good for our brains – a little challenge – a matter pursued by the excellent Austrian architect, Hundertwasser, in his deliberate planning of crooked, uneven paths and walls in anything he designed. I seemed to be the only one in the group who felt this way, but for me, the sight and feel of that city-style pavement in what had once been pristine rainforest, completely jarred, and detracted markedly from any delight I might have felt in the beauty that was there. Significantly, with the forest so “clean”, there were no fungi to be seen. There was nothing much for them to decompose.


Balfour Track instructions: The orange road to the left with 17 beside it is the C214. As you can see, you turn right off it (if going up from the coast) and travel 700 ms to the start. After your one hour (plus stops) walking, you will reach the C214 again, where you either retrace your steps (NOT boring at all) or, if you have arranged a car shuffle, a car will return you to the start. As the forest is always new in a different direction, the former method is both easier and more enjoyable. The track itself is the dashed line that basically follows the Stephens Rivulet. The other dashed, very straight line to the right (east) is presumably a boundary of some sort.

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Donaldson 2017 Mar

Mt Donaldson, Mar 2017. Tarkine Trip Day 2.


With the floating feelings brought on by last night’s magnificent performance at Zeehan’s Gaiety Theatre (Ode to Nellie Melba, with Opera Australia’s Lorina Gore), our merry band of eight walkers from HWC (don’t all walking clubs do opera??) set out to drive to Corinna, where one member would go on a boat cruise, and the remaining seven would climb Mt Donaldson, only about ten minutes’ drive from the lodge. It was going to be another hot day, so we set out as early as was practicable, and didn’t bother pitching our tents until our return.


The walk began across the road from the parking space at the Savage River bridge, a beautifully shady place to park. As per yesterday, the leader didn’t mind my odd little ways, so I was not required to stay with the group, but permitted to climb at my own ‘happy pace’. I felt very free and light.


Sometimes it’s great to be alone and just enjoy nature, moving at a pace that pleases. There’d be plenty of time for socialising as a group later. Because I was allowed to move at workout pace, I arrived at the top in light that had not turned to glare. The world seemed fresh and beautiful in the still-golden tint. The early rainforest part had been wonderfully lush and green; the higher woodland section, an interesting contrast; and the button grass part offered excellent views of the river snaking below, and of other mountains in the distance. I sang as I walked. Life had been stressful last week, but walking and singing and enjoying the wide open scenes with the narrowed world to myself was a perfect antidote to calm me down.


As with Mt Zeehan, we could see the ocean from up there. Poor Mt Donaldson is not only not worth any peak baggers’ points, it is not even considered an official “point of interest” or a “high place”. This is an absurdity, as it was both interesting and high enough (437 ms) to offer a wonderful view in the early light.  It is neither an Abelette, nor a Bob Brown. It is just nothing – but it is most worthy of a visit. The 4.3 kms from car to summit took less than an hour, but most groups are not chasing a workout, and would probably want to linger on top longer than this restless jitterbug. I was having fun dancing in the breeze, and returned quite quickly to the car where I got in several glorious chapters of my book, once more enjoying tossing off my other responsibilities for a while.  My husband was having a wonderful time with the group.
We had lunch under the canopy of myrtles beside the river in a cool and shady spot before returning to Corinna to pitch our tents and enjoy the environs there.

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Zeehan 2017 Mar

Mt Zeehan, Mar 2017. Tarkine trip, day 1.
We drove 3 hours 15 mins from Launceston (plus a petrol stop), to reach the start of the Mt Zeehan track, which lies 3 kms south of Zeehan, on the Zeehan-Strahan road. It begins on 4WD track which is on the right (western) side of the road travelling in the direction of Strahan. After that quite long drive, I was itching to do the enticing-looking climb. The 4WD track that one follows – on foot; it is pretty rough – continues as far as a kind of dug-up, worked-over area, after which it morphs into a narrow path. Just before a cleared area, which could be confusing due to all the mess of “roads” and worked-over ground, the “road” you have been following forks. There is, at this stage of writing, a somewhat faded pink tape on the left of this Y. Take the right-hand option, into the mess and out the other side. Your path is the one heading for the mountain, which (on a fine day) is very clearly visible in front of you, slightly right.


Once the narrow track begins, the climb is quite satisfyingly steep (for those who love a good climb), through – as the picture above indicates – fairly open ground, until a saddle is reached. Although it is, indeed, fairly open, my husband succeeded in “mislaying” the track about a third of the way up. He just sat where he was and waited. Because it was so open, I could see his bright red T-shirt from near the top, so knew where to start looking for him. He knew I’d rescue him, so ate his lunch and dreamed a bit.
If he hadn’t lost the track there, he would have lost it in the saddle, for sure, as the flat area there is rather indistinct in terms of the track, and the vegetation gets a little taller. I’m glad he got mislaid in an area in which it was easy to spot him. Meanwhile, I was having fun getting in a bit of a workout, so just went up and down fairly quickly in order to both have some decent exercise for the day, and to return to him. The top was very, very windy, and most unpleasant – not worth a photo at all, the sea just being a hazy blur on this particular day. I’m sure that on other days, the vista would be marvellous. It never pays to climb a mountain in midday glare. I was the servant of another agenda on this day, so had no choice.
In its current state, I would not recommend this track for families, which is sad, as about 1-2 hours of secateur work would make it far more user friendly. Without that, however, any child under about twelve would have bush in its face for most of the second half of the climb, as the bushes have grown together over the track, and are at about the height of a primary school child. One climbs 600 ms in around 3kms (one way), so this is definitely a steep track.
The three hours return which is recommended is more than likely to be a good estimate for most people.

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Western Arthurs 2017 Jan. More rain + snow


Most of us who love bushwalking do so because we love nature, and one of the things we love about nature is its ephemerality, and its unpredictability. We can never count on a repetition of a beautiful moment. Its adventitious arrival thrills us precisely because it cannot be arranged or designed by us.


We always feel ourselves particularly blessed to have been allowed to see such a spectacle. But equally, and because we do not get to boss nature around, it sometimes throws weather or events at us that are perhaps not what we would have ordered had we been allowed to do so. We have to accept this aspect of nature as well as the parts we revel in – and, in fact, many of us take a perverse delight in the wild side of nature anyway, knowing it’s part of the whole package that we adore.


Those of us on the recent HWC expedition to the Western Arthurs had to take this on board. Our intention had been to traverse the whole range. For several of us, this was not the first, or even the second, attempt at doing this. First, we had to delay our start by two days because it was snowing and freezing up there, making it unpleasant and even dangerous in spots. And then, while we were up there, new weather reports promised a repetition of this, combined with howling winds. This was not a week to be doing tricky climbing, or to be camping up high. We put our tails between our legs, and retreated, yet again thwarted by the conditions. I don’t mind being out-trumped by nature. I like to think humans are demonstrably not as grand and in control as we presume ourselves to be. Perhaps a little more (and helpful) respect for forces greater than ourselves can emerge from such encounters.


So, what are some results emerging from this weather, other than our turning around and doing yet another descent of Moraine A? Well, all the rain preceding our trip meant that the notoriously muddy Port Davey track was in fine form, with excellent depths of black squelch to be fallen into by the unsuspecting walker, thinking that he or she was stepping onto a piece of ground (wet, black, sodden) like all the other bits of ground. Plomp. In they go. Boots, gaiters, pants all became coated in a thick layer of ooze. I couldn’t pull my overpants off when I got hot as mud filled the zip and it wouldn’t move. Oh well. The positive side of this is that carrying water was unnecessary: it was readily available at almost every step of the journey. (Despite this, tent sites were not too squelchy.)


One had to be very careful about where one pitched one’s tent, as the howling winds announced their presence in rowdy terms. The winds changed direction and force during the night too, catching out certain walkers that we met. Everything became just a little bit more difficult.


It was pretty cold for summer. The lakes did not score swimmers. In fact, my beanie was on my head for almost the whole time – day and night. My coat never came off once, and most of every day I wore both my padded coat and my Event Anorak to keep out the wind. I also wore an icebreaker the entire trip.


I would like to say that a positive aspect of this weather was moody mist and dark, interesting clouds. However, I must say that I found the sky difficult to photograph this trip: it was just a little bit too light, and, as I was on a supposedly long expedition, I hadn’t brought my full frame camera with GND filters to darken things down. I struggled to avoid washed out areas.


I didn’t get to climb any new mountains or tread any new paths, but, hey, a party that only has people you know is not a bad party. I reclimbed things, and explored areas that I knew more thoroughly. I also got to meet new people – both in our group, and amongst the others who happened to be camped near us, or whom we met on the track. Some along the track that I met wanted to complain about the mud, but, really, it is not such a bad thing, as it helps keep the numbers down, and to deter many of the people who couldn’t actually cope with the real Western Arthurs, the high, ferocious, untamed bit “up there”. (The severity of Moraine A also helps in this regard). Take away that mud, attract even larger droves of people in there, and the place will be ruined. It’s already overcrowded to a disturbing degree.


In the course of our trip, we encountered a walker without a map, one without any kind of a rain jacket, people using a kind of tarp-shelter rather than a tent, many people who didn’t own thermal or woollen gear but were relying on cotton garments to keep them warm, people who didn’t own down bags, and many, many people who had no idea of the weather reports. This area is too popular for some of its users’ own good, I fear. If you want to visit the Western Arthurs, do yourself a favour and go to a reputable bushwalking shop to discuss your gear, and please also consult the excellent website run by the Bureau of Meteorology, both before you leave, and in high places when up there, so you can get an update. Knowing what to expect, and reacting appropriately to bad reports, is very important. It goes without saying that a map and compass are essential. This is not continental Europe: there are no cute yellow signs up there, and there are no splashes of red and white paint on rocks. When the mist closes in, it is very easy to get totally disoriented, even with a compass! And once the bad weather arrives, you may not even meet anyone who can help you, as they will be either sheltering in a tent somewhere, or they will have cleared out, to try again another time.