Wellington / kunanyi snow climb 2022

Sometimes we think we need to travel huge distances to have an adventure, but if you’re lucky enough to live in Hobart, you can have an adventure within minutes of home.

Wellington. Some snowballs got pretty big.

Gussy and my adventure – of a snow and ice climb of Wellington / kunanyi – began literally minutes from home as we parked the car at Fern Tree to begin our assault on a very white kunanyi (Mt Wellington).
The news report said snow was down to 200 metres a.s.l., but Fern Tree is more like 450, and as we began, the ferns were green, but were nestled in pockets of white. No foliage carried the little white nests of higher up, but it didn’t take too much climbing before first snow nests and then just a white coating on every leaf and needle, every twig and branch came into play. Shrubs heavy with their burden leant wearily over the path, so we got rather snowy as we proceeded higher. We would bump a branch, and it would unleash its load. The ground was soft and delicate underfoot – real powder.

Wellington, climbing in snow

I would have become rather snowy with or without the bumps of branches, as, well, if you take a ten-year-old boy up a snowy mountain and don’t expect a few snowballs to land on you, you’re not very experienced in the matter of ten-year-old boys. Gussy delighted in building a mass of snowbombs, a veritable chain snowball maker and thrower, and would unleash them either on my back or just in front of me. We laughed together.

Wellington snow climb: getting higher

He tried to avoid my front, as he knows how much I love the camera perched there. Although its price probably has no real meaning to a primary school child, he knows it is valuable, and the aim of the game is to have fun, not to irritate. Snow fights are especially fun for the maker and thrower of the missiles.  Some of his balls were huge, and he would walk carrying them for a while before unleashing them. I’m not sure how he managed. When they were particularly large, he kicked them like a soccer ball and delighted to watch how they scattered. He liked the ones that stayed whole for a while.  (Needless to say, progress was not at race pace).

View out over the city near where we stopped for a bite to eat before braving the wind on top.

At The Springs we had stopped to put on our yaks (kind of alternative mini crampons) and had met two workmen as we did so. They seemed taken aback by our plans for the day, but once they saw we were well equiped, they relaxed entirely.

Can you spot the summit cairn hiding behind the boulders?
The summit cairn gets more visible

About two hours from the car, we were very near the top, where I knew it would be windy and cold, so I spread my survival sports blanket and we had a quick picnic in the snow before emerging into the blast. It seemed rather perverse to be sitting in the snow eating salad rolls, looking out through the swirling mist on a dark grey city 1200 ms far below, the other side of white pencils of ice, but, there it was. The water hurt my insides it was so cold. Gussy just drank snow the whole time, pulling off crystal swords and sucking them; he claimed it was warmer that way.

Gussy summiting Wellington kunanyi

The break and food gave him strength, and within maybe fifteen minutes he was climbing the last of the icy rocks leading to the summit. Thanks to the yaks, it was not too treacherous.

Snow bashing
Snow bashing

We then did a bit of “snow bashing”. I thought it would be fun to show him a secret hut I know about up there, even if that would involve sinking in quite a bit of fresh snow. We had fun, but did arrive at our destination with very wet hands and slightly wet legs. That called for a quick bite in the protection from the wind before we retraced our steps back up to the summit.

Can you find the wallaby in the snow near the summit?

Before we left the tops, I had my wish and we saw three wallabies (singly, not grouped) mooching around in the snow. The smallest one looked freezing. Perhaps it was a bit too young to be out of the pouch. It seemed very skinny.

Time to descend and have some hot food.

Back at the car, I looked up our track data: we had covered 13.62 horizontal kilometres, with 920 ms vertical, which yields 22.82 kilometre equivalents. Gus says that climb is his favourite so far. He has a dozen Abels and a few other mountains in his “collection”, so that says emphatically that it was a great day.

Wellington / kunanyi falls and fungi 2021 June

It was a perfect day for fungi hunting – albeit a little cold – and, as I had been waterfall bagging cum bushbashing the day before, I decided to have a lovely relaxing day searching for treasures on the slopes of kunanyi / Mt Wellington. I also wanted to get my first ever photo of Myrtle Gully Falls with a decent flow, so headed in that direction.

Amillaria novae-zelandiae Myrtle Gully Falls

Silly me. I only brought my landscape lens. No matter. It meant I could return later with my macro one. I hate changing lenses in the forest anyway.

Crepidotus variabilis

Having set out early so as to ensure a parking spot, I had the entire forest to myself on the way out.

Mycena austrororida Myrtle Gully Falls

At the time, and having finished shooting landscape shots, I was cross at not having brought my macro, but once I’d resolved to return, I could just relax and select the specimens I wanted to photograph later.

Mycena epipterygia

One patch of fungi that intrigued me was a total gang of Hygrocybe firma in a kind of open mossy area. I resolved to also bring little Abby there later so she could play fairies. There must have been at least 50 specimens – all tiny – in a slightly scattered cluster.

Mycena sp – about 3mm across

On the second trip, I met heaps of people: some in family groups, lots walking their dogs (all on leads), some fungi hunting, like me. We all smiled as we passed each other in a general feeling of good will. Several commented on how lucky we are to have this mountain at the city’s doorstep, and they were not wrong. It made me really happy to see so many people out enjoying its beauty.

Anthrocophyllum archeri Myrtle Gully Falls

My joy, however, was quickly dispelled when I returned to the area of all the Hygrocybe firma. There I saw four females in their early twenties (probably) ducking down and gathering things from the ground. There were NO Hygrocybe firmas left! I was really cross. I asked them what they were doing, and they said with a kind of chuckle: “Oh, we’re just doing a little foraging.” Their hands were absolutely full of fungi! Fungi that belong to ALL the people of Hobart, and not just them. I was so cross I followed them back to the car, and took a photo of their number plate. They were in a car from NSW. Tourists, stealing our fungi. As if it isn’t bad enough that our government wants to rape and pillage everything called “National Park” to sell it as a commodity to tourists without said tourists also thinking they can come and destroy public space in this manner. I told the slowest of them (the others were scurrying away from me) that she should take up photography, as then she could “take” fungi without touching or destroying them for others. I pointed out that their piles of fungi were presumably going to land in a bin somewhere; they weren’t even of any use. One of them was videoing the caper (as I arrived). I’m sure it made a fantastic Insta story.

Mycena interrupta

So. I didn’t get to show Abby the red fairy bonnets growing on “her” mountain.

Wellington winter 2020

I had always wanted to climb Mt Wellington / kunanyi in the dark in winter with snow and photograph the dawn from on top, but never quite got around to it. I just needed a gentle shove.

This seemed to come in the form of my daughter giving me the encouragement I needed to set my alarm and just do it. I decided this was indeed the perfect opportunity: the snow was perfect; it was going to be a nice day. If I found an excuse this time, I would never do it.

It really helped that I’d climbed up the day before and had a glorious time on high. I knew the conditions of the track – I would definitely need my boot chains to prevent slipping on the ice. I knew the general layout, so felt confident. Once you’ve done it even one time, the rest is easy.

So, there I was an hour and a half before sunrise, headtorch in place, taking my first steps on the white, icy track. I felt exhilarated. Who knows what the temperature was – obviously below zero, but I neither knew nor cared how far below. The climb would keep me warm, and then the dawn would excite me, so I wouldn’t feel cold. I had three pairs of gloves on board just in case my fingers started dropping off while shooting.

My headtorch lit the tiny icicles, so that it was as if I were climbing into the stars: stars below and above and white-coated branches all around; just me and nature and serenity. I had no company, so could just go at my happy pace, which was a brisk and purposeful one.

One hour after setting out I took my first shots of the city twinkling below me, white snow in front, the sky still dark but with a very bright orange glow on the horizon. I was at this stage only about five minutes from the summit, so took a quick shot or few before moving on. I was in plenty of time for the first beautiful light (seen above), and with masses of time to spare before actual sunrise (which interests me less than the pre-appearance colours. Given that I had plenty of time at this stage, I also took a shot or two of  the full moon in the west, setting as the sun rose out the other side, before choosing my location for the main photos.

I had climbed alone, but there was another guy there who must have left earlier than I did. He was taking selfies off to my left, and apart from that, I had the world to myself.
And do you want to know something funny? I sent my two daughters a phone pic after I had done all the real shooting. It said: “My view, now”. I received back from my firstborn daughter a message that said “My view, now” – easily recognisable as the beautiful dolerite columns of South Wellington. We used our phones to meet each other and walk down the slope together.
That morning when she was running in the dark with friends, they said they’d drop her off if she wanted to run up the mountain and see if she could find me, so she took up their offer. This day is both a very happy and a poignantly sad day for me: it is young Gus’s birthday, but it is also Bruce and my wedding anniversary. Life and the memories of a beautiful marriage entwined in the same day. If Bruce were alive, he would be delighted that the morning was spent in this way, although he would not have tolerated being left out! He would have loved to climb up in the dark with me. We have climbed so many mountains together to watch the dawn from on top, but now I have to climb alone.

Wellington / kunanyi ski adventure 2020

Mt Wellington, the climb up

When a daughter says to come down south ’cause she’s free on Friday, and the two of you can ski on Mt Wellington, what quarter-sane mother would say: “No thanks”? Certainly not this one! I packed my skis and trappings and headed south on Thursday night, ready to begin nice and early on the Friday.

Mt Wellington, the top. Can you find the wallaby?

We dropped the children at school and drove straight to The Springs, where the road was (as expected) closed. With that nice early start, we had a good parking spot, right near the start of the climb. Let the fun begin.

Wellington views to the ocean below

We were carrying “boot chains” and spiders (mini crampons) – utterly necessary – but had not yet attached them. However, the need arose quite quickly, and at the second icy patch, we stopped to put them on, after which the going was a lot better. My daughter kept eying up the terrain for ski possibilities, but the track was far too steep to even think about it. There would be no skiing until we were on top. I slowed things down with a few photos on the way (I just couldn’t help myself), but soon enough we were on top, and deciding which direction we wanted to pursue.

Mt Wellington summit area

South Wellington looked very tempting, and it eventually won the day, but, for me, not before briefly exploring the other direction first. There I met with heavy, noisy machinery squirting snow everywhere and ruining the pristine look of the environment so that cars could drive up there on the approaching weekend. Heck, we couldn’t ask the population to exercise their muscles a bit in order to see fairyland, could we. No. Far better to destroy it so they can all drive quickly up, take their snap and rush away again. I love it when the road is closed.

Wellington skiing

I turned my back on destruction and noise, and gave chase to my daughter, who’d gone off in the direction of the unspoiled fields to the south. Funnily, only one of the other people who’d walked up that morning ventured south, which meant we had this whole huge playground to ourselves.

Wellington scenery

The pictures tell you of the extreme beauty we experienced that day. How incredible it was that right below us, admittedly nearly 1300 metres below, was the capital city of our state. We could see not only the city buildings and ocean, but even the sand of its beaches. But we were up above the clouds in a land of white (and blue). It felt like we’d accidentally arrived in heaven.

Wellington scenery

Deception Falls kunanyi

Our visit to Deception Falls on the Hobart Rivulet had not endured a long planning period. It was school holidays, and I offered 8-year-old Gussy an open choice of activities: whatever he wanted to do that day, we would do together. He chose to go waterfall bagging. This is also what he chose the previous day, on which we’d had a lovely time visiting O’Gradys and Betts Vale Falls, with a steep off-track descent to the top of Strickland Falls for a snack before finishing.

O’Grady’s Falls the day before

Towards the end of our time the day before, we saw, out of the corner of our combined eyes, the hint of a waterfall. We gazed at it from above, but I couldn’t see a ready way down, especially not with an eight year old in tow (and one merely wearing sneakers at that). The slopes leading into the Hobart Rivulet can be extraordinarily steep, and our angle of view was not promising. I told him I’d find a way of getting down to that waterfall, and then take him once I’d worked out a doable route.

Hobart Rivulet below Deception Falls

On this day, however, he said he wanted to do the exploratory work with me. I explained we might fail to get there, but he wanted to be part of the trying. On this day, he did the waterfall the courtesy of wearing proper boots. I think he’d been a little jealous the day before, when I stomped around the creek without problems, while he had to pick his way so as not to get his sneakers wet.
We parked below where the falls would be, and dropped steeply to the water level, Gussy leading the way for most of it. He selected good routes. Once in the creek bed, he was very happy with his choice of boots, and proudly walked up the creek itself. We didn’t have exactly the same path, even though, of course, we stuck together. That’s part of the fun of real bushwalking: freedom of choice. You are not a puppet fulfilling some role designed by someone else. This was a real adventure, and he was loving it. We still had no idea at this stage whether we would reach the waterfall we’d had our glimpse of the day before. There was still plenty of time for nature to win this game’s episode. That uncertainty is part of the fun, and makes success so much more enjoyable than just marching on a track, knowing you’d reach the goal even if you were a blind, lame nonagenarian walking backwards. You don’t need to be a million miles from home to have an adventure, but you do need “wild” bush.

Deception Falls

On we forged along our obstacle course, climbing over, under and around what came on our path. At one stage, we arrived in a huge kind of tree cave: a truly gigantic tree had fallen across the creek, and being under it felt as if we were in a cave, such were its dimensions.
Once we reached our goal, we could see that it could have been a lot faster and easier if we had chosen a different starting point, but I had chosen the one I did so as to create a proper adventure. The aim is to enjoy, not to break some speed record reaching the falls. The long way was the fun way. We enjoyed being there, and found some shell fossils and a marvellous specimen of Oudemansiella gigaspora (which I mistakenly thought was an Entoloma panniculum, not noticing the white stipe at first. Thanks to Herman Anderson from the Tasmanian Fungi group for the identification). There were also some wizened tiny fungi, perhaps mycena sp. As the pool at the falls’ base is chest deep, we agreed it would be a great swimming hole in summer.

Oudemansiella gigaspora

The road was now visible, but Gussy did not want the easy way of going there. Instead, we turned our back on the road, and chose the hardest way out: the approach route that we had rejected the day before, only this time, we were climbing up not down, which is safer. I stayed directly underneath him, watching his choices, which greatly pleased me. If he slipped, I could catch him and arrest his fall. This did mean that the odd rock came my way, but I knew the dangers. He is more important than I am. Meanwhile, he was learning great lessons about what you can and can’t rely on in the bush: what might give way, and what is sure to be stable. I watched with satisfaction while he chose living branches or roots and tested them before committing to them.

adventuring

We called this waterfall Deception Falls, as we felt it was somewhat deceitful, hiding itself away from view of its many passers by. We had never even noticed its existence before.

Secret Falls snacking

We hadn’t finished having fun, so I said I’d take him to Secret Falls. Off we set, walking and talking. Once we were there, I pointed out to him the beautiful moss, but also the fact that much of this wonderful lushness had been replaced by mud due to other people’s carelessness, selfishness and disregard for nature. He trod very carefully, and avoided all moss. Wearing the right shoes really helps in this regard. If you’re wearing boots, you can walk on the stones in the water a lot more easily. In the little canyon, we talked in hushed voices, as we could hear other people walking along the track above, and didn’t want to attract attention to this secret place. I think he found it very special to have been somewhere “not on general display”, even if it did bear, all too noticeably, the marks of the carelessness of others. Experiences like this help reinforce his growing respect for nature, and for its fragility if not protected against stupidity. That sentence read to me as contradictory in a sense, as nature is, in other ways, tough, very tough, and will outlive us stupid homo non-spapiens; however, in the face of the forces of destruction from the average tourist or greedy bureaucrat, desecrated features of nature’s beauty can take longer than a human lifetime to regenerate, and some beauty can be lost forever. How much of this glorious world that I am showing Gussy will still be here at the end of his life?
The vision of a dying world is vast before our eyes;
We feel the heartbeat of its need, we hear its feeble cries …” (Hymn. 1966).