mountain | Natureloverswalks

December 10, 2021December 20, 2021

Snowy South 2021

It was my daughter’s birthday, and a friend had suggested she climb the Abel Mt Snowy South on this momentous occasion. An invitation was extended to Gussy and me, and so it transpired that six of us set out for Snowy South on World Mountain Day.

Abby elected to stay at home and play with her father, and, considering the fact that Snowy South is quite demanding, this was a good move, even if pretty sad for Keith, who would normally have loved to join in. It probably would have been even sadder, however, to carry a reluctant and possibly complaining 15 kg daughter on a walk advertised as lasting six hours, if that’s how things worked out. No one wants her to hate bushwalking / mountain climbing, and as a result, all her walks are entirely voluntary.

We started quite late, and then celebrated with excellent pastries in Ranelagh before we began our pleasant way through the lush green rainforest, up to our first break at Lake Skinner, after 1 hour 15 mins walking.

After more climbing, I announced I was very hungry. I know we had had a late morning tea, but I am an animal that constantly needs feeding, so I spotted a little tarn and requested that we at least had lunch number one there. It was 2.10 pm after all – waaaay past my lunch time.

This water was in a flat section before the last climb, which proved to be rather good fun. This is not a mountain you stroll up. Young Gus is only in fourth class, and some of the hauls to the next level required quite an effort from him. I could hear him grunting on several occasions. At his height (he is very tall for his age, but still lacks the reach of an adult, especially his orangutang nana), he has to be quite creative about how he can enable the next level, as often the route we take is not one that’s suitable for him. The day before, he had raced the individual event of the Primary Inter-Schools’ Triathlon in the morning, and in the afternoon had raced the run leg for his relay team in the same event. In addition, he had been in his primary school’s mountain bike race the day before that. He did well in all three races. I was impressed that he even wanted to come, let alone cope as well as he was now doing, and do it all with such enthusiasm.

Five of us (including him) reached the summit, where we discovered it was freezing cold that high in the sky, so descended without eating. Once more, I was starving in the flat bit under all the rocks, so pleaded for lunch number two, it now being something near 4 pm, or was it 4.30? Either way, Gussy and I needed food! We sat together by the tarn, finishing off our salad rolls.

On the way home, a plaintive voice sounded from the back of the car: “If I fall asleep on the way home, will daddy carry me into bed?” Poor darling. He didn’t fall asleep, but on arrival home, he cleaned his teeth and tumbled straight into bed without dinner. When I later added up the distance and height factors of the day’s effort, he had covered twenty kilometre equivalents in a time of just under six hours. Next morning at breakfast, he piled six Weetbix into his bowl, before he even thought about the next course.

November 2, 2019August 30, 2022

Hartz Peak 2019

It seems to be a recently established tradition that we climb Hartz Peak the day after we return to Creekton Falls to have a family ‘Bruce memorial’. That is, we did it last year, and again this year. Hartz Peak is near our base of Driftwood Cottages at Dover (nearer still to Geeveston), and is doable for the children. Traditions are good things to have, as long as you don’t become their slave.

Some wet, muddy bits, that convinced Abby she needs bush boots.

I recently read a book by Katherine Abetz (An Obstinate Love) set in the Federation era, in which they took three days to climb Hartz Peak (and wore long frocks and high heels shoes). Abby wore a tutu, as you do if you’re three, and strapped leather shoes, and we were back by early afternoon of the day we set out. Gussy had his proper bush shoes on, and Abby agrees that she needs a pair. She got her feet very muddy, and a little bit wet. Unlike the characters in Katherine’s book, the children elected to run most of the way, despite Abby’s tender age. We adults, more burdened down with gear, went at a more measured pace. Gussy pressed on the accelerator between Ladies Lake and the top, so I left the group to keep him company, tucking in behind him to let him keep his nose in front. I rather think that next year, when he will be in third class, I will have no choice in the being behind bit. This year I was comfortable, but aware that the pace was verging on the “not so”. Soon I would be puffing. He is getting very fit, and already has a fantastic beep test score.

Keithy braved a swim in Ladies Lake, to “have one for Bruce”, who, for most of his life until Parkinson’s got a good grip, swam any season, any weather, any altitude. I have pictures of him and our daughter swimming with icebergs in the Alps. Keith was a delicate shade of blue at the end. The rest of us watched.

On the way back, the tutu hit the rucksack.

Predictably, Abby was very prepared to examine insects and other interesting features on the way down. She is a diminutive three, and her running on the outbound journey must have been pretty exhausting.

January 19, 2019

Tim Shea 2019 Jan

Mt Tim Shea: a sad substitute for the Denison Ranges 2019 Jan

It is really hard for me to get away these days, but I had booked my dog into a kennel for four days and was ready to climb onto the Denison Range, sleeping on Great Dome night one, climbing Bonds Craig and more day two, and maybe out or maybe more climbing for the remainder. I had Tessie booked in for the extra in case I was out late or felt like an extra day. The web said the Rhona track was open. Off I set.

It’s a long drive down south to the start beyond Maydena, and just as I neared my goal, keen to be underway at last, I got turned around. Fires had become reinvigorated near Lake Rhona, so I couldn’t proceed further. It was, by this time, about 3.30. So, I had driven all this way; what was I to do? I had never been up Mt Tim Shea (opposite The Needles) before, and it was nearby. I had had enough of driving: decision made. I repacked my bag, and up I went.

The map didn’t indicate that any water would be available, so I took plenty, and, as it wasn’t all that far, I lugged my heaviest tripod. Luckily I was on top in less than an hour. I was, nonetheless, very hot indeed, and glad to be finished.

Although the views were excellent, it was heartbreaking to see how very close the fires were to Bonds Craig and Lake Rhona. I could smell the smoke from where I was, and could see it billowing from the mountains all too close to the fragile area of my original destination.

My darling second-born daughter phoned while I was in range on top to check up on me, and was most anxious as to my well-being, but I promised her the wind was not blowing in exactly my direction (I tested that one at regular intervals), and that if I felt in any danger at all, I would rush down (much faster than I’d ascended, as I’d throw the water out first).

Despite the fires, I had a fabulous time photographing, given that clouds of a delicate pink were floating all around. I pondered the next few nights: I still had two remaining after this one, so was wondering how to spend them. It has been a very long time since I have visited Mt Field West, and I have never slept actually on this mountain (only on nearby k-col), so I decided to check in at Mt Field NP next morning to find out the state of play for my new plan B. I was told there that almost everything I wanted to do was either out of bounds or “not advised”, as they feared, for example, that if I went to Mt Anne (Plan C) or the Western Arthurs (Plan D), I’d need to be evacuated. They’d prefer to save themselves the bother.

Plan E it was; I decided I had little choice but to drive the long haul to Lake St Clair, and sleep on the Mt Hugel shelf. As it turned out, I was so hot and bothered I just camped at Shadow Lake. A total fire ban meant I couldn’t cook dinner; the wind was unpleasantly strong, and temperatures were uncomfortable. Next morning I gave up and returned home a day early. Tessa was delighted.

July 30, 2018August 20, 2018

Cuvier 2014, 2015

Mt Cuvier 2014, 2015

Arriving at dusk
Mt Cuvier is so remote that it is usually climbed in conjunction with other peaks, I have climbed it twice: once on the way to Tramontane, and once on the way back from Goulds Sugarloaf. Both times I slept on its shelf. I love it there so much I will go back just to sleep in that spot again, even if I don’t climb anything else. Probably the worst part of getting there is just before you enter the saddle between Byron and Cuvier on the Byron side of things. This saddle is watched over by a highly protective band of scoparia. It poses a mild delaying factor while one searches for a route through. It is not by any means the worst patch of this darling bush that one will find on any trip. The 2015 trip was in partial snow, and that made it really special.

Summitting at the end of a long day in which we climbed many mountains, the furthest peak being Goulds Sugarloaf.

This is from a different trip, when Angela and I climbed Pyramid Mountain. Here Angela is looking at Mt Cuvier from way out west in even more remote wilderness: from Rocky Hill in the Eldons. When I look at a photo like this, I realise with an almost overwhelming emotion what an incredibly privileged person I am to have been to these remote places while they are still wild. What will be left for the next generation? It seems no government cares.
Yet the need to be in truly remote places and lose ourselves in the grandeur of the natural world, to expose ourselves to the infinite nature of a realm beyond our tiny concerns is healthy for our souls and for the way we relate to other people and our planet. The ones who will cause harm are the ones who don’t understand our place in the wider scheme of things. If you listen to the Liberal government, you’d think there is no greater goal for a human than a full pocket at the expense of every other human on the planet, present or future. The only language spoken is that of economics. They know no higher goals or deeper meaning. Intangibles like beauty or sublimity – or goodness – are beyond their grasp. Honesty never was in their dictionary. Responsibility is a word for others. The problem is that Labor is no better, and the greens have decided to keep their battles tiny so as to claim a few minor skirmishes, and they seem to have lost sight of how they got their colour.

February 5, 2018August 20, 2018

Eldon Peak 2018 Jan

Eldon Peak, Jan 2018

Several times on the Eldon Peak adventure, I was reminded of an earlier trip I did to Mt Emmett. The two trips may well seem worlds apart, as one (this) was done in extremely hot temperatures, while the other (Emmett) was done in a blizzard. On the Emmett trip, only four turned up, so Bruce and I comprised half the number. We didn’t make the summit on that day, but it was one of the prettiest outings of my life, and we spent the whole time yelping like little dogs: “Wow, wow, wow”, as we wended our way through the white witch’s wonderland, taking myriad photos. Steve, who is ever fond of quoting an adage, noted, correctly: “You’ve got to be in it to win it”. We four had braved the elements, taken the chance, and had won. If you don’t turn up, you can’t luck in on wonder. Of course, you can be in it and not win it, like the time we took a friend to sleep on Walled Mountain and received nothing for our efforts but a view of close-range, very thick mist. But if you’re not there, you won’t ever luck in on the times nature grants you – sometimes unexpectedly, of you are a reader of forecasts – a magic evening. (And even on the Walled incident, Elin kept saying she could feel she was on a summit, and she was exhilarated by the sense of space she could feel.)

Fun times chatting and chilling out on this trip.
And as I sat on the pebbly beach beside the Eldon River, enjoying the fact that I was greatly refreshed from a wonderful swim in one of nature’s magic gifts – a three-metre deep, crystal-clear waterhole – and enjoying chatting to my fellow walkers, Steve’s words came back to me. All of us present were prepared to get out in the bush, not really knowing what it would bring on this scorching weekend, yet just being there brought rewards that filled us with joie de vivre. Not for the first time, I was so happy down there by that river that I didn’t care at all whether we made the summit – which was naughty of me, as this trip was a promise by Paul to help get me to that very summit. The year before I was supposed to be on the boat, bouncing my way to the end of Lake Burbury with the others when, literally as I was about to quit the house (all my gear was in the car), Bruce started acting very strangely and I had to call an ambulance. He had a temperature of 42 degrees, and had sudden onset pneumonia. (Not a single cough did he make). He was in intensive care for the next six days and we were very lucky not to lose him in that episode. In the wilderness eight months later, doing what he loved doing, was a far, far kinder way to go. His whole body was failing him, but he fought on valiantly. Thanks so much Paul for keeping your promise. It means heaps to me. Without a boat, this mountain becomes a formidable task.

Half way up.
And so, the trip to the summit began with a journey by boat up Lake Burbury to its northern end, followed by a walk along an old road that was pure bliss, as this former route for wheels is now a bed of spongy moss that traverses an area that could be parkland. It reminded me of the Blue Gum Forest as it was when we all loved it, with pale-trunked silver wattles instead of blue gums.

As we had no intention of climbing that first day – this day was all about getting to the startline to be ready for an early departure the next morn – the rest of our time was spent swimming in the glorious pool mentioned and pictured above, or sitting around on the pebbly shore (or in the rainforest, for some) chatting and eating. It was a wonderful time to savour being in the wilderness.

Day Two, summit day, was scheduled to be very hot, so we were ready with our packs at 6.30 for a departure that would give us plenty of climbing time before the heat advanced. There were a lot of contours to get through this day. Although this mountain has a huge climb, it seemed to me that most of it was in wonderful rainforest that was a sheer delight to traverse. The patch of scrub above this line didn’t last long, and then the rocky final ascent was pretty quickly dispensed with. The three earliest to the top were there before midday.
I had the fastest “touch and race away” of my life (something I normally never do) at this summit, as it was aswarm with a black cloud of galvanised, flying Jack Jumpers, and I was terrified. There is no point telling me they’re not interested in me. I am very interested in them, and I don’t like pursuing that interest at such close range. (For mainlanders and foreigners, these ants sting with a mighty punch. It is impossible to be bitten and not yell violently with pain.) They do not always swarm this or any other summit; it just happens to be mating season right now, and they like a good view while they select their partners and secure the next generation. At least they have good taste.)

Standing near the summit of Eldon Peak, it seemed I was on a huge monster of a mountain that totally dwarfed surrounding, otherwise-impressive peaks. Mount Lyell, Marble Bluff, and Mount Owen all seemed quite dominating down at lake level, but were transformed into silly pimples from the top of this giant. Even in midday glare and with Jack Jumpers for company, it was a great place to be.
That said, it was so hot and glary up there I was pleased when we started our descent. A swim at the bottom was calling. Unfortunately, by the time we got back to camp, hunger was stronger than the need for a dip, so cooking dinner on the beach and paddling had superior claim on my priorities.

The boat trip back on the final day was magic, but unfortunately I can’t show my own photos, as my camera refused to open. I fear the heat of the day may have cooked it. (Because of the heat and climb and boat trip, I didn’t have my normal full frame DSLR). Once more we had an early start, so walked out in golden light. The water at that hour was pure mirror. I felt very lucky to have been part of the group.

Jonny’s photo; my edit. The walk out.