Posted on

Nicholas 2014 Mar

Mt Nicholas, March 2014


Bruce in action on the climb.
We have just had a marvellous day trying to climb Mt Nicholas – but failing.

One of the things I adore about the peak bagging list is that it entices us to try totally different mountains and explore new areas. My husband and I feel that the list serves as an inspiration or stimulus, rather than a compulsion to collect points (although I do love collecting them, but that is a side benefit and not the purpose). Our motto is: “Das Gehen ist das Ziel” (literally: the going is the purpose) and so, as long as we have had a grand adventure, which indeed was the case today, we have satisfied the purpose of the exercise. Summiting would have been nice, but is not necessary – or even sufficient, for that matter.
Off we set this morning after breakfast, assuring the dogs we’d be home for lunch (ridiculously, they nodded wisely, trusting us to keep our word). Hardly for the first time, we enjoyed the not-as-early-as-it-should-have-been light in the Fingal valley, and just before St Mary’s (about 10 kms before), turned off to the north on the Mt Nicholas Rd, stopping at the first intersection – which happened to have a nice-looking spur from the mountain coming down to meet it. As there was also a fire-trail kind of thing, we decided to follow it for a while, to see where it was leading, even though it was heading more east and on contour. We needed to correct at some time or other and head due north and climb to hit the ridge, but I didn’t see the timing as being crucial, and it was giving us a free lift east while it lasted. The minute it began a slight descent (10 mins), we thanked it for its help and departed northwards, over stony, progressively steepening ground that was fun to climb, sometimes involving all fours to get there. The steepness was something we weren’t quite expecting, even though we were greatly enjoying it. I was already ruing giving my boots a rest this weekend and choosing absurd, soft soled, slippery runners. I had underestimated the demands of this journey rather badly, but then, I had looked for, but failed to find, information, so didn’t feel guilty as such.
This lump is typical of the monsters that guard the ridgeline
The nearer we got to the ridge, the more it appeared crowded out with huge hulks of monsters standing guard over the actual summit. Giant, giant forms lurking, louring over those who dare trespass on the magic mountain. (I read Beowulf yesterday, a story set in 5th century Denmark. My mind is full of mead halls and giants, monsters, dragons and caves with dangers and loot, and something to be overcome or conquered. I am no strong viking giant called Beowulf, but I love that world of valour and honour, so let it baptise my imagination and play itself out a little today).
Fifteen minutes after leaving the track, we found ourselves on the ridge proper, and up ahead we saw the summit. Yes, this was going to be another quickie. Excitedly, I dashed ahead, enchanted once more by the thrill of the climb, and this was a good one. Tiny holds, but enough. Difficulty increased by having the sun directly in my eyes and a very strong, gusty wind blasting me, sometimes dangerously, considering my precarious hold and unsuitable shoes. How was my husband going? I couldn’t see in these conditions and would hunt for him at the top. Ta da. Summit. No, not summit. Not even nearly summit. Where was Bruce? Ah yes, excitedly climbing a different “summit”.

 Along the ridge line ahead of us lay a marvellous maze of rock towers, each one humpy bumpy and monstrously high. (Perhaps this area could be touted as Tasmania’s version of the Czech paradise, Adršpašské skály). The summit was on one of them, and was well protected by its friends. It was not a matter of gaining height and then going to the summit. You had to guess from below which one was going to be the tallest before you began your climb. If you were wrong, you landed in a dead end – or, no, better than that, on top of yet another false summit. We tried a few false summits, and several gullies that were going well until they ended in a cul de sac. We really loved doing what we were doing, and did not regret the absence of the actual summit trig. I did regret my shoes, and I sure wouldn’t have minded a bit of rope for security on some of the things I did.

We had been at the top of false summit number 1 and in the rough area of the summit after 30 mins. My watch said we had now been going 1 hr 15, and my gps said we were at the black dot of the summit. The trouble is, we were at the base of a cliff and were 40 meters in height lower than the summit. We tried several gullies, but I was not comfortable with Bruce going up any of them, and I did not want us separated. I could not see any way of doing it today. The only way would be to come back with boots, a bit of rope just in case, and a friend who doesn’t have Parkinson’s disease. We gave it our best shot and failed, but we sure had a fantastic day. On the way back we reclimbed one of the false summits to have a snack and take in the view before plummeting down the gully (luckily all watercourses were dry, even though mossy, or the going would have been even more challenging).

Our view from underneath. One of these MUST be the summit. 

We treated ourselves to a burger with the lot by detouring to Zep’s in Campbeltown (I really wanted one of those on Monday after the Western Arthurs, but we went through too late. This was my “make up” burger).

Then again, one of these could be it ….

A screen shot of the gps record of our attempts on the summit. According to this we were there, but, alas, I cannot lie. We were very near yet a little too far. But you can see from the squiggles, we had fun.
What has kept this wonderful mountain off the radar for so long? It’s absolutely brilliant, with or without your summit points. I will be back to conquer it later.

(I did touch the parts of a trig, but it was one some angry giant had hurled to the valley below in his wrath.)

Posted on

St Patricks Head 2013 Dec

St Patricks Head 24 Dec, 2013

We had taken our Swedish friends, Elin and Frederik, down to the coast to spend the night and watch penguins, and were on our way home, happily filling ourselves with pancakes when I pointed out that if we made a tiny detour after St Mary’s, we could take in another mountain. We hadn’t done one for two days now, so were height deprived. Everyone jumped at the opportunity.


Although I had never been up this mountain, and knew absolutely nothing about it, I proclaimed it to be just a tiny dash to the top, perhaps 15 mins each way. This assumption was based on the fact that Pelion East had only taken us about 30 mins each direction, and this one looked about half the size.  Meanwhile, my daughter had read on the back of the toilet door in the pancake parlour that it boasted one of the top views in Tasmania according to some tourist brochure.

Because it was so little, and obviously intended for tourists, we didn’t do it the courtesy of dressing appropriately for the party. I was in a skirt,  and Elin in a pretty blouse. I did (luckily) advise Yelena, my second-born daughter, to swap her thongs for runners, just in case there were snakes. My husband volunteered to mind the toddler in the car, and we all set out:. “See you in about half an hour,” I called back in departure, as Elin and I set out together. We had colds and were walking. The others were running and were going to pass us at some point, it was assumed. The sign said “St Patrick’s Head. 2 hours”. We laughed at the tourist signs as we strode purposefully past.
The path was narrow and strewn with small rocks, bushes and stinging nettles encroached upon the limited space. The going wasn’t as fast as we anticipated, but we still seemed to be moving nice and quickly given the conditions. However, we took nearly as long to reach the top of this one as we did to climb Pelion East! The climbing at the end was quite tricky so that one of my daughters needed a little guidance, and Frederik gave the actual summit a miss, as his vertigo was making him uneasy. So much for our tourist pimple. The views were every bit as grand as promised, and we had a marvellous view of the part of the East coast that lay to the north. The cerulean waters below shone in the early afternoon glare. The white sand made an arresting narrow strip separating the blue from the green landscape behind.
My skirt did not make the most elegant of climbing gear, and the pretty blouse hit the wash at the end of the day, but luckily toddler Gussy and his granddad had had a fine time while waiting double the promised time for us all to appear.
Perhaps a skirt was not appropriate wear.

 Helichrysum milligani
Posted on

Jubilee 2013 Dec

Mt Jubilee Dec 2013

Richea scoparia from Mt Jubilee

Isophysis tasmanica
Having driven down from Launceston in a slow bus with several long stops, and having slightly misinterpreted instructions on how to get to the start of the walk (roads not being on the map), we were not ready to set out on our little trek until a fairly disastrous 11.25 – almost time for lunch, especially for this hungry person who had had breakfast at 5 a.m. This did not augur well for making our destination, and all my misgivings were realised as I saw how far we hadn’t got when we did have our midday meal.

 In fact, I feared that we weren’t even going to make Mt Jubilee, let alone the further high point of the Jubilee Range, the stated goal. Was a mass of dense melaleuca and bauera scrub to be our final destination? Would we get up to a view? Happily, the answer to the first question is “no”, and the second is “yes”. We did summit Mt Jubilee at least, and thereby gained a glorious vista. The club did not, however, do the times said in the book, and needed 2 hrs 30 mins plus breaks to get up (four hours in total), a bit less (and fewer breaks) to get down. Everybody adored the expansive views and the spacious feeling on the summit, to say nothing of the splendid scoparia in flower in numerous pockets up the top. I loved the rocky outcrops with their hippy lichen hair dangling as well. We stayed on top a lovely long time, absorbing this wonderful view, and having the names of the surrounding peaks pointed out for us by people who are far better than I am at recognising old friends from different angles. This mountain is not high enough to be an Abel; not even of enough interest to the point-allocation powers that be to be worth a single point, but it is a wonderful mountain, and one I would love to sleep on for the splendour of its views and for what my imagination can picture it must be like at sundown. Next time I want to be there with my proper pack and tent.

Getting nearer. Up on the high ridge with views at last.

 

Instructions on how to find the roads that are not on the map:
first take Jubilee Rd off Styx Rd (a right hand turn). Driving along this road, there is a left turn on offer, but with a clearly visible fallen tree only about 50 metres in. Obviously, don’t take that road. Then (and especially if your instructions say “Take a left turn”) you might be tempted to take the next left, which does go somewhere. We have thoroughly explored this one for you. It does not go where you want. The third offering to the left is a Y-shaped fork, where you may now take the left hand option, and, where it seems logical in terms of your final destination, look carefully for the “cairn” (a tiny gathering of dark grey rocks, very subtle, about 15-20 cms high at this time of writing) and a couple of rather faded ribbons. It is well worth the trouble of locating this starting point, as the pad (not track – you still have to use carefully-honed observation skills to stay on it) saves a lot of time that would otherwise be wasted finding the best route through the rather tightly-knit scrub. Do not undertake the route if you are not confident of navigating, as you can’t rely on seeing the pad, and I can guarantee there will be times you need to consult map and compass in order to get yourself to your destination.