Not everybody knows, but if you don’t mind unheated huts with no pampering, Mt Field has Government huts that can be hired by families (or other groups) for a very reasonable sum. Our family made a three-day booking for the school holidays just gone by. To say it was cold is an interesting and inadequate summary, but not something that would ruin a holiday: in fact, it probably made it more memorable and enjoyable.
When you wake up to this, you decide you weren’t so cold after all. Beauty is exhilarating.
It didn’t help that we arrived in the dark, a few hours after work, and were not particularly successful in getting the fire going strongly at that hour. I can do “being cold” in my tent, as I warm up the space quickly enough, especially if I have jut been exercising, but a hut with “big space” and no preceding exercise is different. Luckily we were prepared with blankets as well as sleeping bags.
Close of day up highPlaying up high
I was cold enough during the night to think that this holiday was not such a good idea and maybe I had urgent business at home that I had forgotten about, but when I saw the beautiful white frost out the window on awakening, I decided this was worth a little discomfort, and I couldn’t remember the urgent business.
Wandering along Broad River Flats in shortsIce Queen
The children were also excited by all the ice, and had fun trying to walk on tarns and seeing if they would fall in. I tried to go for a training run, and did get as far as Lake Dobson, but once I’d had a free skating run on an icy slope there, I decided I wouldn’t go any further in that direction. I got in my exercise down a bit lower on the Lady Barron Falls track instead.
Throwing ice at iceBack up high
That afternoon, after games in the now-warm hut, my daughter and l set out for the snow on Tarn Shelf. It was very slippery and icy, but we took care, and it was superbly beautiful.
Tranquility
The next day was even colder, (minus 5 in the valley, so, less where we were), and the tarns were even more alluring. That day the children were also keen to go up high and have a snow fight and a general play, so we all climbed up and had lunch in the snow.
Climbing around Lake Seal LookoutLake Seal Lookout
Snow fights don’t amuse me, so I climbed higher, onto the Mawson shelf to check out things there, and then dropped back down to join the others at the Lake Seal Lookout, for round X of the snow war. Eventually the children were prepared to move on further, to the hut just past the Rodway Range intersection in the track. Funnily, we bumped into another family from the children’s primary school, also exploring the snow up there. I am so pleased to have grandchildren who are prepared to get out into the environment and enjoy what it has to offer rather than sitting inside staring at and swiping screens all day.
Time to go back down … alas.Final morning – the best frost of all
On the final day, Gussy, his dad and I climbed Mt Field East, which had very thick icicles on all the rock sections. Gussy is 9 and that is his ninth Abel. There is something quite neat about that. The days when I had to slow down and wait for Gus are now behind us. These days, he has a very tidy pace indeed, and was faster than I was over the ice cubes. I preferred four points of contact while he was content to dance on ice – a much faster way to move.
In an earlier blog, I wrote about climbing The Needles with children in mind, to assess the suitability of taking young children up.
(http://www.natureloverswalks.com/cullin-twelvetree-range/)
I was not exactly expecting to test my theory (that this was, indeed, a suitable climb) in conditions that had nearly every self-respecting citizen of the state safely inside by the fire.
Hygrocybe firma near the start
But so it was. One makes bookings to be in a place at a certain date, and then arranges everything else around that, and, well, if the weather turns cranky you either have to sit inside, or go out and take what comes. We set out to take what came, and go as far as was pleasant, and turn around when things became impossible, unbearable, or both.
The Needles, climbing
We had booked a cottage near the Mt Field National Park, with the intention of “fagus hunting” up high. We had indeed hunted for the wonderful Nothofagus gunnii (dubbed affectionately simply “fagus”), noted for its marvellous autumn colours that tend to conveniently peak around Anzac day. However, up high where it likes to be, the wind was exceptionally strong, and the rain prohibitive with respect to photography, so we had enjoyed the workout up to Tarn Shelf, but hadn’t stayed up there for long. That – and some fungi hunting at Growling Swallet (a mud bath on this day) – was Saturday’s exercise.
The Needles, climbing
On Sunday, Abby took Kirsten and me to Junee cave (which she felt very clever doing, being all of five years old). In the afternoon, Gus, Kirsten and I climbed the Needles.
The Needles, climbing
We could see almost nothing, and even less than that, as our heads were truly “tucked in” out of the wind; we saw our feet. Visibility was only about ten metres anyway. The wind raged. The climb was steep and entertaining, and we all enjoyed the exercise with the hints of rocks and drama to tantalise.
The Needles summit
In the final saddle, the wind was particularly strong, and the summit, for those who don’t know it, looked extremely forbidding, poking its blurry yet jagged outlines into the mist above, so that Kirsten was thinking turning around would be a very good idea, happening to love her gorgeous son and not wishing to see him disappear off the edge of this mountain.
The Needles. Alpine garden just below the summit
Gus, however, had summit lust, and wanted to keep going. I assured Kirsten that the mountain’s bark was worse than its bite, and that he wouldn’t blow off some precipitous edge, even if it did look as if that were possible from where we stood. On we went. I adore this little boy too!!
The Needles. Leisurely descent.
Gus said it was because of the hundreds of fungi we saw at the start that he named it the favourite mountain of his life so far (9 years), but I think it was also because of the exhilarating climb, made sweeter by the tinge of danger and the doubt about pulling off a summit victory. Where there is uncertainty and a tolerable sense of danger, final victory always feels more jubilant.
Stylidium dilatatum. (Trigger plant).
He had climbed well, making the summit in 46 minutes. Downhill was a couple of minutes slower, as more care was needed, and we felt at liberty on the descent to admire more of the fungi and the few straggling Stylidiums that were hanging around nearer to the start.
Having been rather effectively grounded by my broken wrist for two weeks now (which means I can’t handle a rucksack or tent), I was starting to get worried about losing long-haul type fitness, so I decided it would be good for me to undertake a long day, and visit Mt Field West, going over the Rodway Range, popping up Naturalist Peak whilst I was in the vicinity, and returning via the Newdegate Pass near the Watcher, and dropping down to Tarn Shelf to complete that circuit as well as doing the Big Fella. It looked nice and long on the map, but I didn’t know how long until my gps told me at the end. Using the rule that adds a km for every hundred vertical metres climbed, the route ended up being 32 km equivalents.
Looking to The Watcher from K-col
My dog was excessively jealous as she watched my preparations for leaving, so I had to begin the day by taking her for a walk (not counted in the overall tally, obviously). It isn’t fair to lock her up all day while I have fun without her. This meant that the carpark was nearly full when I arrived at Lake Dobson. Oh dear. “Everybody else” was already up enjoying the mist and clouds that were swirling around the lake, and I was only just setting out. I hoped there’d be some mist left up high for me if I hurried.
Clemes Tarn
As I trod the path beside the lake, I couldn’t help but greet the plants by name as I passed, happy that these friends were on close enough terms with me that they did have names and were not at the “Hey you bush” level. Many years ago I read a brilliant book by Anna Pavord, The Naming of Names, in which she points out that if you don’t know the names, you can’t differentiate, and you are just looking at bush or forest, an amorphous green mass, but once you know the names, individuality and the fascinating differences of each genus and its species become evident, a whole new world is opened to you. And naming, she argues, helps us feel less adrift in a world that can otherwise be hard to interpret or understand.
Hoorah. I wasn’t too late to catch some mist
Ursula le Guin is a writer who looks at this in an interpersonal level: once we know someone’s name, we have a certain power over them (and vice versa). She depicts the power of naming in a wonderful fantasy: The Wizard of Earthsea. Teachers try to learn the names of their students as quickly as possible, partly for this reason. Farmers don’t name the animals they intend to eat, as eating “Harriet” or “Daisy” is all but impossible. Naming connects the namer to the named. Maybe fewer deaths in war would take place if the enemy were personalised with names. The Nazis depersonalised the Jews by giving them numbers rather than using their names; it’s easier to gas a number.
Celmisia saxifraga near Mt Field West
I once rescued plants from death by being able to name them. I heard a machine bulldozing every plant in our beautiful laneway. I grabbed my baby and ran with her on my hip down the road to plant us in front of the destructive machine. They told me they were just bulldozing weeds. I said: “They’re native plants that we in this lane treasure; that’s Hardenbergia violacea; that, a Hibbertia stricta”, and on I went. “God”, they said, “she knows the names of the weeds”; eventually they agreed to negotiate with me and the residents who cared enough about the plants to know what they were. It was fortunate that they didn’t kill us, really; that baby has grown into a beautiful person who studied botany at university amongst other subjects and who adores plants of all kinds.
Cushionplants and tarns; Mt Field West
And so, thinking of Anna Pavord, Ursula le Guin and others who care about naming things (Theophrastus, 300BC, is another such, who intuited that the chaotic world of plants had an order to it, not just of function but also of structure, if only he could crack the code. He went a long way to developing the system of classification that Linnaeus eventually adopted two thousand years later), I worked my way up the hill, completing that relatively uninteresting section (I am not a fan of roads) in a much shorter time than when I have a full rucksack. Today I only had 5 kgs – enough to give me a little work, but not overburden me as I nurse this arm.
Astelia alpina Pineapple grass in abundance
At last I was on the Tarn shelf track, smaller stuff, which one enjoys for about a quarter of an hour before peeling off and heading upwards to cross the rocky Rodway Range. That would test this one-handed, single-armed animal. I was clumsy and hesitant, but got there. The way down the other side to K-col was similar. I felt like a wooden toy. This trip was supposed to give me back a little confidence but, so far, it wasn’t happening.
Mt Field West
Two hours after starting I was having my first break, a drink by Clemes tarn and a bite to eat. Another hour and I was on the summit of Mt Field West, which interested me far less than the beautiful basin just below full of alpine plants, so I chose to have lunch down there rather than on high with its smudgy views in midday glare. Now that my main mission was accomplished, I could relax and enjoy the alpine plants for a while. This area is magic.
Gentianella diemensis Naturalist Peak
I did have a time limit, as I had agreed to have dinner with the ex-baby referred to above, and to babysit her children in Hobart, so I couldn’t do what I wanted to, and just stay up there, lingering until sunset. I did, however, have time to go home the long way.
Naturalist Peak from The Watcher
By the time I was back in the vicinity of K-col, and quite eager to photograph flowers, the wind was strong enough to have all of them waving merrily in the breeze, and the glare was enormous. Hardly conducive to good photography, so on I pressed, rather disappointed, especially at all the exemplars of Craspedia alpina = C. macrocephalia that nodded their greeting as I came by, but which were far too mobile for me to be bothered with – and far too white at this hour, as well.
Dracophyllum milliganii Tarn shelf
It was similar around the Newdegate Pass and over the other side. Once down on Tarn Shelf, out of the worst of the breeze and with the sun slightly lower, I began my search anew. I only found one at this altitude, right near the end of the shelf, which I stopped for. By now, I was actually rather tired, and had enormous trouble unbuckling my rucksack to extract my camera.
Craspedia alpina = Craspedia macrocephalia (new name)
The rest of the trip was rather uneventful, as long as you don’t count meting a very pleasant Ranger right near the end; he was setting out to sleep on high so as to photograph the dawn next day, and, despite my dinner-in-Hobart deadline, we chatted for what felt like fifteen minutes. Anyway, surely I needed a break before undertaking that driving!
Today seemed like a pretty good day to visit Upper Marriotts Falls, which, like mama bear’s soup or chair was neither too big an undertaking, nor too small. It was a middle-sized adventure, which suited my time constraints. The drive from Launceston is not formidable, and the walking time commitment was a lot less than anticipated.
(For the walking route to the lower falls, named Marriotts Falls, see my blog http://www.natureloverswalks.com/marriotts-falls/).
I was expecting these falls to be very easy, as the WoT site mentioned tapes, so didn’t bother telling anyone what I was doing. Hm. However, AFTER I left Marriotts Falls proper, I had been in the forest for thirty minutes before I ever saw a tape. This did not hassle me in the slightest, as I know what I’m doing in the forest; however, if you want a taped route or a pad, please stay away from these falls, as they are not fully taped, and kindly do not tape them.
Tyenna R, which is followed for the first part of this walk, before it is departed to begin climbing up the tributary that contains the falls.
Can those of us who like to have the fun of finding our own way please be allowed one or two waterfalls left over? There are many of us who like to combine beauty with that special sublime sense that we are in a very remote place.
Tourist paths 1 m wide, viewing platforms, fake-material bridges and the like remove all sense of enjoyment for some of us who want our nature wild. Wilderness is by definition no longer wilderness when you build paths, bridges, platforms and other infrastructure to remove its wildness: when you dumb it down and defang it of its very nature. Our government departments seem hell-bent on de-wilding every square metre of our formerly beautiful bushland and forest.
Upper Marriotts Falls
Those of us who like hiking away from the ubiquitous tourists are being shoved further and further from our homes, like the bears and wolves of Canada. Tourists now have enough places that have been destroyed on their behalf. Please leave this and other still-wild falls as you find them.
We have to earn the right to visit some places. I would possibly like to see the view from Mt Everest. I do not demand of the Nepalese government that they build me a tourist way to get there. If I want that view, then I must earn it by increasing my climbing and general alpine skills. Otherwise, I do not have the right to demand that view. Why does our government think that every living human has the right to see what is otherwise to be earned? – that people should be helicoptered or cable carried in to places that they lack the skill or knowledge to otherwise reach? If you gain the skills to reach such places, you will, at the same time, learn respect for them and become aware of the need to preserve them in their original, untouched state.
We were faced with a quandary on the final day of our short holiday at Mt Field National Park, as we were there with a four and an eight year old, and had already been to the three well-known waterfalls (Russell, Horseshoe and Lady Barron) the day before. On this day, we only had a pitiably short amount of time, and we wanted to go high. We decided to go as far as we could along the Mt Field East path, and just turn around after forty-five minutes. However, after a time that was not very long, and well before we needed to turn around, we reached the turn-off to Seagers Lookout, and decided it would be our destination. Little Abby was coping much better than the previous day, enjoying the challenge of this rocky path where you had to think before you put your foot down, and where you could play jumping and bouncing games while you went.
Abby enjoying the rocky track
Gussy and I played other games on rocks, climbing this and that while we waited for Abby. Luckily, our turn-around time came just as we rounded the corner that promised our goal. We figured we’d wasted a lot of time balancing on the dam wall at Lake Fenton, so weren’t too worried. Abby and her mum settled down to enjoy the obligatory lollies that one has when one reaches one’s goal bushwalking, while Gussy and I climbed the rocks to touch the summit cairn.
Climbing this and that while waiting for his sisterClimbing this and that while waiting for his sister
I have seen in the web that this is called an easy walk. Perhaps the writer is a 6 ft tall male aged maybe 20. If you are an eight year old boy, this is NOT an easy climb. I showed Gussy how to use pressure on each side of the chimney to work his way up it. I was delighted to hear him grunt with effort, as I respect anyone who is prepared to work for his or her goals. Laziness annoys me. Gussy concentrated hard, and was thrilled to rise to the challenge of the rocks and take the final couple of easy steps to the cairn.
Surrounded by boulders. About to attempt the final climbThe last pull before the summit cairn
I realised that coming down would be harder for him, so once more went first, and found it challenging myself until my right foot found a ledge it could use. Somehow it was hard to get into a position where one could prevent falling by pressing on each side. Gussy’s mum heard that I was needing to help him more, as this was the most challenging descent he has ever done, so came around to help coach him. I hope he doesn’t mind my saying here, but I could tell he was afraid, so I am very proud that he didn’t freeze, but pushed through his fear, trusted our instructions, and managed to climb down. In case you have children and want to do this walk, it is a totally delightful walk without touching the actual cairn. That is just icing on the cake. Abby doesn’t feel she’s missed out on anything (especially as she used the time to imbibe more lollies than her brother).
Abby practises climbing down lowerFree play in the forest
Kirsten touched the summit herself, and then it was time to start back down, with a need now for great haste; we were rushing, as Gussy had been invited to play tennis (hot shot tennis) on centre court at the Hobart International before the semi-finals started. We were terribly proud of him for being thus selected, and certainly did not want him to arrive late. I am happy to announce that he also did not arrive maimed from his climb. When Abby’s pace threatened our timetable, Kirsten popped her on her back, and virtually jogged down the mountain with her on board. I stopped to put something in my pack, and had to run to catch up.
Fearsome Ned Kelly ambushes victims
With its mild challenges, its variety of natural amusements for children, and its perfect length, I highly recommend this as a walk for families. As said, touching the actual cairn is not obligatory to enjoyment.
Fly princess, fly
The previous day, Abby had been far more fractious, as the wide, smooth paths offered little variety or interest for young children. We had had a tantrum or two (or more) on the way to Lady Barron Falls. Abby survived Lady Barron by joining Gussy in a game of Ned Kelly, hiding under bridges or behind trees to shout “Boo” at us as we went by. The other two falls were enjoyed not so much for their water falling, but for the opportunity I gave them to get off the predictable track and into the real forest, which gave them scope to use their imagination and test their little muscles. I watched them play, thrilled that they were interacting with nature rather than being in a plastic playground.
On this little holiday, we saw my first ever bandicoot up close (1 m), a quoll (which seems to be rare these days), bats, glow worms, a very close and obliging echidna, and many paddymelons. We tried for a platypus, but failed.
