Mt Arthur | Natureloverswalks

July 15, 2022

Arthur 2022

Although I live on the opposite side of the river to Mt Arthur, and look out at it rather than out from it, there is another sense in which I feel I almost live on this mountain, I snoop around its slopes so often. Some people who don’t know me call me a peak bagger, but actually, I only rarely touch the summit of this mountain, and if ticking lists and gaining points were my object, then I would go off and do that instead of going up Arthur yet again.

For me, what is important is not ticking a box, but rather the journey to my destination, and the enjoyment of the delights along the way. On Arthur, I love the forest with its cloak of moss and colourful fungi on the lower slopes. Up higher, there are some rocks to clamour over, some scoparia to avoid and, sure, a summit cairn of gigantic proportions to touch. You climb 630 ms in 4.25 kms, which is quite steep, and another reason I enjoy it. The return journey plus the height yields 14.8 km equivalents, which is yet another reason to enjoy it: a good amount of exercise with very little driving if you live in Launceston..

Perhaps oddly, Sunday was only the third time I have bothered to touch the summit cairn of this mountain that I lie in bed of a morning and watch at sunrise, and that I see in my peripheral vision of an evening as I wander my garden at sunset, collecting the last of my wood or pulling the final handful of onion weed, admiring the flowers in evening light and the river going pearly, or taking the goats a branch or two to please them.

Sunday was a special day, as my daughter and Gussy were coming for the weekend, and we were going to climb Mt Arthur. Gus’s arm is only just out of plaster, so we would need to be careful. Also, he has lost some fitness with eight weeks of not playing his normal sport. It will take him a while to catch up to where he was two months ago.

Clitocybe clitocyboides = Singerocybe clitocyboides Mt Arthur

My daughter has been utterly hectic at work, so was not in the mood for a racing start, choosing to sip tea by the fire at a leisurely pace before we set out. I had earlier decided not to pack lunch, but just to have snacks on the summit, and lunch itself at The Bean Barrow in Lilydale, which I love.

At last we were ready to head up the mountain. We donned our daypacks. Hm. Where is my camera bag? OH NO. Not here. The substitute Fuji, kept in the car for emergencies? Gone. The car had been repaired recently, and I had emptied it out. Oh well. Resort to iPhone. Na. It was in the camera bag that had been left behind. So very sad. Oh well. We would at least take a summit shot with Kirsten’s phone. (Ahem Her battery died somewhere on the way up, so we had no phone at all, but we weren’t to know that yet.)

The absence of a camera did not detract from our enjoyment of a good climb, and no doubt made us faster. We had two stops for water for Gus on the way up, and a change of clothes once we emerged out of the protection of the forest into the icy wind on top. It was not going to be a day for hanging around the summit area, with or without a camera. We were running late for our lunch booking, however, but there was nothing we could do about it to let the cafe know. (So, if I had no camera, why are you getting photos? These are a combo of others I have taken on this mountain where I nearly live, and I also went back today to take some more to make the blog authentic 🙂 ) .

The other two belted down the mountain once we had cleared the rocks, with me trotting behind. It was a fun workout. Once back at the car, we connected Kirsten’s phone to some energy and called The Bean Barrow. Yes; they were still open; yes, they would forgive us for running late. Nonetheless, we had no time to lose, as they close at 3, and it was after half past two. Gussy’s meal had his eyes rolling in ecstasy; Kirsten and I made little noises of appreciation as we ate. Not much conversation went on.

I was worried about them driving back to Hobart with full stomachs, especially as we had all had a very disturbed night thanks to the long and victorious match of the Matties in the Wimbledon men’s doubles final. I have had two car accidents following Wimbledon in my life, so was anxious, but they got home safely.

For my part, I just had to hang around home, allowing the happiness of the climb to resonate while I did my evening tasks. One thing I sure realised was: no matter how much I enjoy forests and streams, waterfalls and fungi, there is just nothing like being in the infinite space at the top of a mountain with people you love and sharing the thrill of a climb with them.

Mt Arthur walking track route (which begins at the end of Mountain Road).

October 27, 2013May 23, 2020

Arthur 2013 Oct

Mt Arthur 27 Oct 2013

I have been sick in bed for two weeks, so just wanted to do something small today – but boy was I keen to do SOMETHING after so much hanging around in bed.

One of the many fantastic things about Tasmania is that at 2.30 pm you can make an announcement like: “Let’s go climb a mountain”, and it’s possible. Off we set to go up Arthur and take some photos. I had been up Arthur lots about 15-17 years ago, but hadn’t been up since, and had never actually been beyond the first of the many steel structures up there. I had also never seen the view, despite having done the climb on numerous occasions.

We were in a rush, and I knew Arthur well, so we packed nothing and off we set. On the way I thought it was a shame that I’d neglected to bring my instructions on how to get there. No problems. We found a sign pointing to the track on the main road, so took it, but everything seemed very different from the last time. I must be getting old. Memory fading ….

We parked in the car park, which I also did not remember, and off we set. WHAT? Up a road??? I remembered a sweet little track and a rockslide. Oh well. Must be getting very old. Memory fading …

We found the funny tin shed thing. Ah. I remembered that. At last we had a small attractive path. The views were wonderful, and it was fabulous to see them after all these years. We could see a huge stretch of coastline and expanses of countryside and other mountains. We loved it. My only regret was that the lighting was still too strong for nice photography, and I had forgotten my GND filter. Oh well.

Once on the summit, my daughter grew anxious, as she’d left her toddler in the car with my husband who was not well. She thus decided to run back down quickly, while Elin and I took more time enjoying the view and photographing. Now, in case you just think this mistake was made by someone who is not used to bushwalking, or not clever, I will stress without going into details that would involve bragging, that my daughter is very, very smart and she also a brilliant navigator. She was flustered that what I am about to describe happened, and was angry that there was no indication that the path was about to split, with each sub-path leading to an entirely different part of the mountain.
For, unbeknown to her (or us), and completely without signage, the path forks in an important manner, and my daughter took the wrong one, not even seeing the fork. I am detailing this here by way of a warning. The map that we had consulted had one track on it, so why should she question anything? Yes, she was hurrying to get back to her toddler, but she is not unobservant.

Meanwhile, Elin and I had finished photographing, and set off down the mountain. We came to the point of division in the track, not knowing that we had. It’s just that I went right around a rock, and Elin left. “The track’s here”, I called. “No, it’s here”, she called back.

“My track’s good and is well marked”, I insisted.

“So’s mine”, she responded.

Now, Elin is a top orienteer who hopes to make the Swedish junior team next season. I trust her judgement, but I also trust my own. I called out to maintain our tracks and see if they merged, or see what happened. We began to diverge, but were still in voice contact. Elin called out that her track had the hut on it, so I went to join her.

“My track must be the one I was remembering from yesteryear, but I have no guarantee that it goes to the new car park, so let’s take the road for speed”.

This we did, and found a very happy baby Gus with my homemade muesli bars kind of spilling out of his grinning, satisfied mouth. However, my stomach felt very ill, when my husband asked where our daughter was, and we realised she had not returned.

Had she twisted her ankle or injured herself right up the top, or was she on the “other” track? Probably the latter. Let’s sound the horn in case that can guide her in. It didn’t.
Frantic with worry as she ran downhill, she realised she was on the wrong track, but reasoned it must be going somewhere useful, so she might as well follow it to the bottom and find someone who would let her use their phone. After much horn bipping, with the sun getting lower in the sky and with me wondering whether we should think about calling Search and Rescue, the sound of her phone ringing was music to our ears. She had found a very nice lady and called her phone which was still in the car, knowing we’d answer. Her track ended up at a place that was 11 kms away by car. Toddler Gus kept munching his muesli slabs, unconcerned at the absence of his very worried mother. But now all was well. We drove to collect her.