Posted on

Evercreech Falls REAL 2019 Feb

Evercreech Falls REAL 2019 Feb

Visitors to the Falls named “Evercreech Falls” (on the map, and in the web), must, surely, have wondered at the ‘much ado about nothing’ of what they found. The labelled tumble is a tiny trickle of a thing, moseying its way quietly and with no shape down a fault in a cliff. It has no form, no substance, and is not particularly photogenic.

But, just around the corner, and not connected by a track, and with no hype, signage or anything other than a little blue line on some maps to signify its existence, lies another waterfall, which HAS to be the REAL Evercreech Falls. How and why did that little trickle get to take on the name of the master lies hidden in the mystery of history. (A clerk’s error? A transcription folly? A deliberate ploy to keep the almighty tourist safe as the real one is too tricky? Who knows?)

But, as the Ugly Duckling is to the Real Beauty, so is that prelude of a thing called officially Evercreech Falls (which does not even lie on the Evercreech Rivulet) to the one I am calling Evercreech Falls REAL, to emphasise the false claims of the imposter. Last year, I investigated several other blue lines on the map in that area, and came up with not much for my reward. But this one … this one is a beauty. There is no track to it, and you are bound to fall in the drink as you boulder hop and slide your way upstream (many boulders are decked with slippery black moss. I felt myself sliding quietly backwards and didn’t put up a fight. To fall slowly was better than to fight and crash and break a bone).

My photos are – sorry – sub-standard. The capricious sun is entirely to blame. I was only here by accident, passing by with time on my hands, so decided to do a recce to see if I could actually reach them. I began at 9 a.m., and took an hour to arrive at the base from the car, by which time there was far too much contrast on the rocks and a greater dynamic range than my camera could handle. My shots are hints of what is to come when I return on a better day.
PS Be careful of Tigers. A resident sunning himself did NOT appreciate my visit, and rose to attack me. I crossed the river rather than sort out which of us could win that battle.

On my return, I stayed high and out of the river for as long as possible, just to see if, in winter when the water is stronger and colder, it would be possible to keep my tootsies dry. I stayed mostly out, but I would not count on dry feet if you are going to do this one.

At the end, with feet already wet, I just marched down the stream rather than pick my way. That was quicker and easier. As I approached the actual track going to the labelled falls, a group of Asian tourists saw me and thought I must be hopelessly lost, trying to find the falls they were about to reach – but, hey, they had a guide and so knew the way. Magnanimously, they all wanted to help me out of the water (which, surely, I did not want or mean to be in), and a mass of sweet, generous hands reached down to aid me. I kind of swung and hopped out, earning their surprise and laughter. We came from very different worlds, but it was a fun intersection at that moment.

Posted on

Trickle Falls and Dry Falls 2018

Trickle Falls and Dry Falls 2018 Sept


With an inauspicious name like “Trickle Falls”, don’t expect too much. If you use a powerful magnifier, you might find the trickle that elevated its name from “Nothing Falls”.
Trickle Falls and Dry Falls. Do these names excite you in a waterfall? No? Well, I guess the falls didn’t excite us much either, but one visits waterfalls for many reasons. I think all three modes of waterfall visiting have their place, either to please three different kinds of people and capabilities and desires, or even one person in three different moods. Sometimes you go just to see something beautiful to photograph, but that involves no adventure at all (Russell, Nelson, Horseshoe, Liffey, Lillydale and more). Sometimes, you visit something that has a little bit of an adventure, and a beautiful waterfall at the end as well, like Machinery Creek Falls, or Tin Spur Falls or McGowan Falls, to name just a few of Tasmania’s many treasures in this realm. These falls usually have a pad of sorts, so the adventure aspect is minimal, but you still feel a certain sense of reward for having got there, despite the prevalence of seemingly ubiquitous pink tape that you possibly try to avoid in order to have the adventure you feel like having that day. Other days you don’t feel like thinking, you are in zombie mode, and the pink tape means you can zone out for a while.


Hygrocybe cheerli, I believe (near the later visited, Evercreech Falls.
But if you are up for a real adventure – if you wish to satisfy that primaeval spirit of ‘the explorer’  that still lurks inside some of us, and which, being the lucky, lucky denizens of a place like Tasmania that still has places that remain essentially wild (whether called wilderness or not), then you can get a map, spot a little line on it, and navigate yourself off to that waterfall, not having a clue what you will find. Such was the case for Carrie and me – and Tessa – on Sunday, when I decided our waterfalls for the day (well, the first two of our seven) would be two marks on the map in between Mathinna Falls and Evercreech Falls, up on a ridge to the east of Evercreech Road (and Evercreech Rivulet).


And of course, to be dubbed Dry Falls gives you no chance, ever.
We both imagined beautiful rainforest like the forest surrounding the two falls of the big names. Not so. This forest was as dry as a bone, with fallen timber everywhere, and not at all appealing. Oh well, luck of the draw. We also expected falling water at such a mark on the map. Wrong again. As you can tell by the names we have given these falls so we can talk about them, the first had barely enough to get wet if you needed a wash, and the second would leave you utterly parched if you were thirsty.


The consolation prize for the morning: Evercreech Falls.
But we are not sad. We took photos for the heck of it, but rejoiced in the adventure we’d had playing at being explorers. It’s a fun adventure, a fun life. However, we then moved on to our consolation prizes of Evercreech Falls and Mathinna Falls, which Carrie, living as she does way to the west on the NW coast, hadn’t yet seen. Evercreech and the first three tiers of Mathinna were repeats for me, but I never mind that.


Fallen sassafras blossoms litered the ground and settled on the moss, like confetti at a wedding. It was wonderful.
The real adventure of the day turned out to be waterfall number seven, which was Mathinna Tier 4, a fun climb – a little scary – and a real feeling of triumph when we looked across at them. Omg, they are absolutely HUGE. We had that wonderulfly spooky feeling that very few humans on the planet today can have – the feeling that perhaps you are standing where maybe no humans have ever stood. The bush was very thick; the climb had been very steep on quite loose ground; we had pushed through rubbish to be where we were (with me breaking down several dead shrubs to enable our progress), and the view was not utterly brilliant, but we were seeing something very special, and it thrilled us. (For photos and report, see the blog on this that will be posted within the next day or so).


To get there, we hung a right (east) off Evercreech Road, climbing up to the left of the ridge of the knobble there. The road was dodgy. I was grateful that we were in my Subaru Forester and not in a 2WD. … And then the road became even dodgier, but we pressed on, and parked up the top. The cyan route is the walking part. You can see where we dropped down to the two falls concerned. They are “waterfall baggers only” type falls.

Posted on

Evercreech Falls 2017 Apr

Evercreech Falls.


The Evercreech Falls were the second part of the walk I was leading yesterday. (See natureloverswalks.com/mt-blackboy/ for part one) I would never normally have gone to the Evercreech Falls at this time of year. I knew it was too dry for both a decent flow and for the fungi that I so love seeing, but the club wanted me to do it, so I agreed; I like to give back as well as to take when it comes to club bushwalks. I intended, however, to do it when the waters were running and the fungi were out, which is not early April. Predictably, the fungi were desiccated and the falls offered only a moderate flow. These photos are what I managed to see under the club-type conditions. Thankfully my charges didn’t mind waiting while I took a couple of thirty-second exposures. (Setting up actually takes an inordinately long time – especially when you know you’re holding others up.) I’ll redo the long drive some time in late May after enough  rain has fallen to reawaken the forest and invigorate the falls. Until then, this is the best I can give you.


When you arrive at the forest reserve, there is a big shelter to your right, and an ugly metal bridge to your left. The loop, if you choose to do it, begins at the far end of the road if you go anticlockwise, or at the ugly bridge if you go clockwise. You can go up and back on the western side (i.e., using the bridge), and thereby avoid the creek crossing pictured above. Two out of five of us fell in negotiating this rope (only up to their knees). The group I led took 18 minutes going on the right hand side of the loop (eastern, over the creek as above) and 18 minutes back on the other side, so the forty minutes is, if anything, a bit of an underestimation, as it allows for only a couple of quick snaps at the falls. Of course, I wanted longer than that. (One starts at the southern end of the track, if that isn’t clear).
The route we took in cyan below is not on the map, and before going, I could not find any information on exactly where the track went. I hope this information helps.