Leeawuleena | Natureloverswalks

September 25, 2022September 25, 2022

De Cane Range 2022

I love the Du Cane Range, and seek any excuse at all to go there. I have been planning a night’s sleep at its high point for a very long time, so when I saw its name on an HWC list, I was excited. It wasn’t the trip I have been mentally planning for myself, but it can wait until summer, and meanwhile, it would be fun to just be there again and climb a few mountains. As it turned out, I ended up going there with only two others, and the snow was so deep we didn’t complete our original plan of three mountains, but we sure did get to see some beauty.

I broke two ribs a couple of weeks ago, and this was my first pack carry since then, so I decided to catch the ferry to Narcissus, and meet the others, who were walking in, at Pine Valley Hut. That would give me plenty of time to see how the ribs were coping with the heavy pack, and the afternoon to do some packless exploring after I’d arrived. The ribs were fine, and in the afternoon I took some shots of the flooded valley and then went up onto the Acropolis plateau where the wind howled and light rain fell. Valley and heights were ankle to calf deep with water from the recent rain. It was going to be an “interesting” trip.

Du Cane Range near Lake Elysia, climbing

Three of us set out next morning for the heights, and I was excited to see the first snow before we’d topped out at the Parthenon saddle. Flippers would have been better than boots for getting around Lakes Cyane and Ophion, and, despite the forecast for just cloud today, light rain continued to fall, as it had done the day before. Lake Elysia looked magical in the watery mist, alternatively (and tantalisingly) hiding and revealing Geryon and The Acropolis. We stopped there for a snack and some photos before moving on.

Du Cane Range snowy scenes. Gould peeps out behind.

At some point in there, the force of the wind coming in from the west hit us, and I started to wonder about the sense of camping up high in the snow in this wind (our plan). Luckily Paul was thinking the same thing, and Phil agreed. Our new plan would be to camp at the Pool of Memories down lower and in a sheltered spot, and then try for our goal of Hyperion with only daypacks, returning to the gentle harbour before nightfall. We were already thinking that Eros would probably be omitted.

Geryon looking ravishing today. Paul and Phil

Thus, when we reached the Pool, we dumped the heavy packs, pitched our tents in readiness for our later return, had an early lunch and then began climbing through the snow. This part of the day was absolutely magic. I took heaps of photos: the tale is one of beauty and vistas.

Paul climbing towards Hyoerion, Du Cane Ra

For me as photographer, plenty of action was required, as I had to run to catch up after each shot – kind of interval training – which is fun, but I did note the truth of the words that a photographer of this type needs to be a fit person. I enjoy the challenge: I mostly shot from behind and caught up; every now and then I went up ahead to get a front-on shot.

The third day was Walled Mountain day. This would be my ninth summitting of Walled, done this time in boring daylight hours, so I was tempted to skip it and just move on. However, I decided the exercise would be good for my fitness, so stayed with the other two. I am so glad I did!! It was absolutely wonderful up there, and nothing like the boring dull-light summiting I was anticipating. Descending, glissading through the snow, was a blast.

Walled summit to Du Cane HP, Geryon, Acropolis

On we went and then down to Pine Valley for a late lunch, and finally on to Narcissus for dinner and to sleep the night. I pitched my tent by the river, and listened to its soft flow as I fell asleep. Already by this stage, my feet, having been pretty soaked for all of every day, were starting to blister up. Day four would be agony.

It was. I slowly trudged the distance, taking nearly as long as the advertised time I was so slow, but that pace gave me plenty of time to appreciate the extreme beauty of the forest, clothed in thick layers of moss, with a sparkling blue leeawuleena (Lake St Clair) beside me. I am writing this two days later, and my feet are still red, raw and swollen, although the blisters are starting to form a crust. I hope I can try running today. Putting shoes on my newly huge feet is a bit of a struggle.

July 15, 2020July 30, 2020

Pine Valley with children 2020 Jul

Deciding to take two young children on a three-day venture into relatively remote wilderness in the middle of winter seemed to me like a pretty daring proposition, given the weight of the parental packs and the distance to be covered; and yet, I felt it had a strong enough chance of success to be excited by the idea, and, hey, if it didn’t quite work, at least we’d all be together in the beautiful mountains doing something, and maybe I could be of help. I was excited.

Abby outside Narcissus Hut, getting ready to begin

Why was this task so enormous? Because (i) four-year-old children should not walk monster distances, and the track to Pine Valley was probably beyond the limits of what would normally be advised for that age, and (ii) young children need more clothes that we do: they can get their gear wet more readily than an adult does, and do not tolerate being too cold. They also eat a lot, especially Gussy, who, although only eight, is growing rapidly and seems to be an eating machine. Bruce and I stopped overnight bushwalking with the girls when they were 3 and 1. We stopped on the day that I fell over face first, not strong enough to stabilise myself with both a baby and all the normal gear on my back. (Bruce also had a huge pack, and carried the three-year old when she got tired.) That was on the South West Coast Trail. Hm.

But here I was, back at the starting line, my “three-year old” now a mum of two delightful children, doing for them what we did for her, or, in this case, more, as she is stronger than I ever was. Gussy (8) carried his own clothes and sleeping bag; Abby (4) carried her lollies (and even they were given up after a short time. Two hands are nice). The parents’ packs were ginormous. My pack was heavy enough for me, as winter packs always weigh quite a bit, and I also had in my camera, tripod and filters, all of which total about 6 kgs before you begin on the other items. But we were travelling at four-year-old pace, so it was more weight bearing than furious exercise that was going to test us.

Our goal (or our high hope?) was to reach Pine Valley Hut by the end of the day. It didn’t matter if we didn’t get there, as we were camping anyway, but it’s a nice flat area, and a good base for going up the Acropolis on day 2. We took a very long time to reach the half-way mark, as there were lots of deep puddles that posed problems for both children. Abby “flew” (courtesy of dad or mum) over most of the big ones, but Gussy, being heavier, had to negotiate his way around, which took time. I was so glad about the real bushwalker boots I had purchased for him, and so was he. His pack weighed about 6 kgs, which was heavy for his young frame, and I could see that his shoulders were a little sore by the way he was carrying it (just like I sometimes do – pulling the straps forward to take the weight off the shoulders for a while), but he never muttered even a quarter of a murmur of complaint.

Track turnoff. Abby no doubt negotiating lolly intake.

On we progressed, over the swinging bridge near the turnoff to the valley, and I feared we would be arriving in the dark. (There had been no normal 9 a.m. ferry, so we had fewer hours to fit the journey in than most). Abby was offered a piggy back or huggle-carry, but wanted to walk the whole way, so on the train moved at that pace. It gave us time to enjoy the magnificent forest.

About a kilometre before the end, the scotch-mist became more of an intent drizzle, and the day was getting threateningly dark. We agreed that I would set out a bit faster with Gussy, to at least get him in relatively dry, while the other two worked on Abby to persuade her to allow help. She really wanted to do it all herself.

Gussy and I arrived, and I began with tasks like water collection to make everyone some hot soup. In very little time, Kirsten and Abby (carried) arrived, which meant Keith was still out in the forest carrying two huge packs. Kirsten deposited Abbs and hurried back to help him while I minded the children. I thought they would whinge about being cold or wet or hungry, but when I said I was working on making some soup, they were delighted, and sat quietly while I got the gear and nudged in the direction of soup. Abby was delighted that it was to be “Two Minute Nudel soup”; no complaints about the menu there! I think each child ate two packets of that, and then progressed to pasta for main course. Again, squeals of excitement at getting their favourite food were the cheerful noise that filled the night sky.

Frosty environment when out of the forest

Dinner eaten, we pitched the tents. The others played cards, but I was fixated on warming up my tent space on what was already a very cold night (it went to minus 3), so just listened to the game across the fabric.

The next day, we wanted to rest Abby, so Keith stayed at base, playing with her and Gussy. Kirsten set out up the Acropolis, to do as much of it as possible in the time allocation (she needed to be back for a midday lunch), and I set off with my camera gear, having a wonderful time. It would have been nice to also go up the Acropolis in the snow, but there wasn’t time for everything, and we decided we needed to do some of the homeward journey in the afternoon to take the pressure off making the 1 pm ferry the next day.

Frosty berries of Leptecophylla juniperina

And that was the activity for the afternoon. The scenery was as beautiful as ever, and we made our goal of the half-way mark. There was a perfect camping spot there, and plenty of water. The only problem was that it was raining, but (to save weight) I had only brought my 3-season tent, which is pretty open until you get the fly on. Pitching in rain means water gets in until you have the fly up. Panic, panic. I did not want a wet “bedroom”. The children remained cheerful; I was the grumpy one, trying to race to get my tent up so I wouldn’t freeze overnight. This night would be minus 4.

Day 3 dawned clear, with a thick white frost: so thick my boots in the vestibule were covered in a sheet of ice. The rain droplets from the night before had frozen to become myriad little ice balls, set in a context of frozen condensation. I didn’t care much, however, as the scenery was so beautiful I had to hurry out into it. I dashed off with my camera equipment, returning with hands that were dropping off. Crunch, crunch I went on the ice of the boardwalk.

And Abby, too, finishes running. (Narcissus Hut).

When I returned, the excited children wanted to show me this and that beautiful object covered in ice. Gussy and I went and inspected the river to see if mist would be rising off it. The campsite looked glorious in the shafts of golden light, all the blonde heads of hair making wonderful halos.

And soon enough we were all crunch crunching on the ice for the final section, a walk punctuated by stops for lollies for the children, photos of plants covered in ice for me. The kids were positively jubilant on arrival at Narcissus hut, with oodles of time spare to wait for the ferry.

That night we had “normal person” accommodation. The children were so excited to have beds, switches, BEDLAMPS and a BOX OF TISSUES each – signs of decadent luxury – that I found it quite funny. It is wonderful to see such simple pleasures providing that degree of enjoyment. Paddy Pallin used to say he loved the way that bushwalking and its privations made him enjoy the normal things of life so much more, and this was certainly happening here.

The next day, we would do a snow climb of Mt King William 1, which you can read about in http://www.natureloverswalks.com/mt-king-william-1/

November 25, 2019November 29, 2019

Olympus waterfalls 2019

I am not normally an admirer of fat bellies, but the bulging belly of Mt Olympus is an expanse of great glory. In the folds of lurid green rainforest, with rich brown and orange rotting wood, you can find weeping waterfalls in abundance.

I noticed how especially glorious everything was looking on my way back from our Nereus trip last week, when we got snowed out of our deadlines. Because my mission regarding Nereus was the climb, I only had my phone with me, and phone-photos of waterfalls do NOT do it for me. When I look at a waterfall with my naked eye, my brain sees glorious lines of flow, gossamer threads adorning basal rocks. The phone gives me frozen, often blown-out droplets or odd streaks and blotches that fail to give any indication of the magic that attracted me in the first place. I needed to come back with a real camera to do the area justice. Saturday was the day.

I had time to get home, have a tiny bit of rest, attend to my animals and plants, try to patch my very damaged and infected feet and return. My boots were still sopping, and, as it was constantly wet feet that had caused the foot damage from Thursday, I had bandaged my wounds and wore a different pair of boots. I like to have 3 pairs of boots in use at once, so that two pairs can be drying out slowly and I still have something to wear. It’s not good for the leather to force the issue of drying.

On the day I had chosen, the forecast was for rain all day – hoorah; that’s actually why I chose that day – and I set out on the ferry in the middle of a little deluge. By the time I alighted, it was only scattering tiny droplets, most of which the canopy absorbed. You guessed it; the sun came out by the time I had all my gear ready for shooting some time later. That said, I never had to wait more than a few minutes for the sun to hide again, and the heavier falls of rain occurred at times when I was ready to move on … mostly. Other times I had to contend with rain while I was shooting, but it wasn’t too bad.

After the first series of falls, it was raining quite heavily, so I decided it would be good to drop down to Echo Point Hut and have some food inside in the dry before moving on. There were five of us sheltering and snacking in there, three of whom were were landscape photographers. I had fun meeting them (they were from VIC and SA, and were adoring the forest), and stayed far too long considering my goals, but, oh well, that’s the way it was.

It was a very sociable day, as, at the end, when I arrived at the lodge just before kitchen closure, two lovely people invited me to join them at their table, and we had a fun time chatting while I waited for, and then ate, my dinner. Even on the ferry I’d had a great time chatting, as several people on board recognised me, waving enthusiastically as I hopped over the gunnel, so, after I explained to the driver that I was not going to “chuck” my bag containing several thousand dollars worth of glass in the corner, we talked the whole way. I have decided that people who are prepared to get out and climb mountains or explore forests on a day forecast to be sodden all day, must be very nice. The rain is a kind of sieve.

There are no routes for this blog. I didn’t track anything. I just wandered and shot where I found beauty. The falls have names in my files for my own records to distinguish them from one another, but I have not named them here; they are not official. At the official level, these are unnamed and unmapped falls on unnamed and unmapped creeks. Perhaps their shy obscurity is part of their allure.

May 26, 2017August 20, 2018

Fungi fest Lake St Clair 2017 May

Fungi fest Lake St Clair: round two. 2017

Cortinarius apricosa
Ever since our first highly successful venture in 2014, I have always wanted to return to Leeawuleena (Lake St Clair) to see the fungi. At last, this year, we succeeded, checking out the little darlings both at the lakeside, and also at the Franklin River reserve. Both spots yielded wonderful specimens to photograph. Oh, I get so frustrated trying to identify them. So many don’t seem to quite match any of the images on the wonderful FungiFlip (A pictorial guide to Tasmanian Fungi) or in the more comprehensive and excellent book on Fungi of Tasmania by Genevieve Gates and David Ratkowsky. The problem lies in me and not in their book or Flip. I fear I inconsistently sometimes want nature to be a lot simpler than it is for my convenience, but then it wouldn’t be nature, and I wouldn’t love it so much. Part of her allure is that she eludes our best efforts to tame her, or to comprehend fully her manifold secrets, or to reduce her to a simple set of rules or equations. There is always a complexity that lies beyond us.

Hygrocybe lewellinae
I don’t photograph anything for scientific purposes, or even as a record of “what I’ve seen” or “where I’ve been”. My photography is my creative interaction with the beauty I see around me, and my attempt to portray that beauty in my way. I love light, and the fungi I love are specimens that themselves play with light and allow me to represent my perspective on their play. Here is a small selection of what I saw last weekend.

Mycena interrupta playing cancan girl and showing us what’s under her skirt – nice gills, that’s what.

Alas, no idea

Mycena epipterygia

Mycena kuurkacea I presume

I would sure love to know this!!!

Yet another that has to go in my files as “unidentified”. Perhaps it’s a cute little coprinellus, or yet another mycena. If anyone can help me, please do in the comments. I’d be MOST appreciative.

March 21, 2016June 23, 2022

Othrys 2016 Mar

Mt Othrys Mar 2016

Leeawuleena spread out before us
Mt Othrys has one of my favourite summits. Leeawuleena (Isn’t that the prettiest name imaginable? It is the Aboriginal moniker for what white people labelled Lake St Clair, and means Sleeping Water) sparkles below, and the broken dolerite pillars jut and thrust their way in odd but attractive directions, making for a jagged and interesting framing of the scene and a dragon-spine skyline.

Blue and green should always be seen

I could have spent an hour up there, or more, but will have to do that next time. On this occasion, we were in a hurry. Angela had been on call, so we could only begin our exploits at 11 a.m., and she needed us to keep to the book’s estimated 7 hours for the climb. That sounds like plenty of time for a 25 km equivalent exercise, and it was – just – but only by keeping up a pretty smart pace throughout the day, and allocating a mere 25 minutes for lunch and photographs at the top, for, you see, this beauty is rather inhospitable to visitors, and the mountain has grown a rather nasty patch of protection to prevent all but the most handsome of princes from entering. We are neither handsome nor princes, but did manage to find a way through. Othrys has a bad reputation amongst bush gossipers, and for quite a good reason.

We lost a bit of time on the way there trying to find the track amongst the button grass plains, but as we figured this was faster than making our own way, persisted in searching for it. We left the pad at a rock with a cairn on top, which fell a bit short of my intended point where the summit-to-path projected line intersected perpendicularly with the path. To put us back on the route I wanted, we headed for a waypoint I had made on this imaginary line, and found an excellent route through the melaleuca scrub hugging the creek at this point. Our route through the forest for at least half the journey was also relatively easy, much better than reputation has it. However, in the upper reaches we struck a band of young, dense melaleucas that left me exhausted by the time they’d finished their sport with me, but we did win through, and from that point, headed straight up rocks for the summit, which was reached without much difficulty.

Different view of Olympus
On the descent, we were able to stay on the rocky nose for longer, it now being visible from above, and had a trip down that was an hour faster than the ascent of four hours.

Summit dragon spine

Unfortunately I cannot give you my normal jpeg version of the screen image of our route, as about 200ms from the top I checked the gps to see how we were going, and undid “screen lock” and then bumped something (I know not what), with the result that my machine stopped recording, not only for the route up, but also refused to cooperate on the way down. It wouldn’t even show me my gps position. This morning it seems in better health, so I have no idea what I did, but there is no track for the remainder of our climb, or for our good descent route, alas.

Should this interest you: The mountain offers a fascinating angle on Mt Olympus and the shapely Mt Ida is directly opposite. In the distance lie many other mountain friends from this much-loved region, while directly below to the other side, the Cuvier Valley spreads out for display, with Lake Petrarch adding more blue sparkle to the scene. Particularly interesting for Angela and me, as we had climbed there only a week before, was a new perspective on Hugel and Little Hugel, with the Cheyne Range clearly visible behind. So many loved places visible at once; it was grand.