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Philosopher Falls 2017 Oct

Philosopher Falls 2017 Oct


Can you feel the magic?
You would think that my trip to the base of Philosopher Falls would be totally marred by the fact that tripod number two (that is, the second tripod in two successive days) broke in my hands as I lined up for my first photo; however, Carrie and I had had such fun getting there, and the place was so magical, that it almost seemed as if photos didn’t matter. I felt as if I were in a holy spot, that I should use hushed whispers in a place that aroused such a spiritual feeling. It is a stunningly beautiful place, with its dramatic drop and white lines of flow, its mossy trees dripping with lichen and its shining rocks; this beauty is then further enhanced by the knowledge that not too many people manage to come that way; it is a kind of secret spot. Waterfalls of Tasmania says where we were standing is “inaccessible”. I like defying challenges like that.


The reason not too many people come that way is that it’s actually quite difficult getting there. The navigation, even if you own, and are competent at using, a gps is quite tricky, as the dense canopy interferes with the satellite signals. My gps, for example, said that we climbed half way up the side opposite the falls, which we did not. Because the ground is so dense, it is hard to see exactly what the contours are doing; your vision is obstructed by piles of giant fallen trees (which you have to clamber over, or under, or try somehow to get around). And then, there is the problem that this is an ancient and decaying forest, so it is possible (Carrie tried it a few times) for you to tread on a log that disintegrates under your weight, however diminutive that might be, so you can easily fall. I’ve seen a guy break his leg that way. This is not country to be in alone. One early explorer noted that if he trod on a log and it collapsed and he broke his leg, he would probably die, as no one would find him. One treats this land with respect.


And so, it took us far longer than we thought it would to reach a point where I excitedly announced to Carrie that we had done it, and we only had to climb up and over this spur in front of us and drop down the steep other side and we would be there. We were jubilant at the bottom. I didn’t look at my watch, as I didn’t want to feel guilty about my husband waiting wherever it was that he was waiting. I wanted to enjoy the moment. I only snuck a peak when we’d finished enjoying ourselves with our cameras and were ready to set out on our return journey.
Things were much faster on the way back, and we were at the car in time for lunch. I settled into a nook in the forest and devoured my salad roll with gusto. I had worked up quite an appetite. Even in the carpark, the forest has a wonderful feel to it. Viva Tarkanya.

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Philosopher Falls 2016 ii Apr

Philosopher Falls 2016 ii Apr

We set out from home late, not reaching Waratah until a bit after lunchtime. We were now in a rush. In the Tourist Bureau, a man overhears that I’m on my way to the bottom of Philosopher Falls and asks if he can join in. He’s already had a failed attempt. I size up his physique for the likelihood of rapid movement. No obvious problems. Jeans. Confident enough to have at least made a failed attempt (the average tourist stays on the track).
“Yeah. Sure, as long as you can keep pace.” (I have driven several hours to be here. I don’t want my attempt scuppered if he can’t keep up with us. He is a total stranger, after all).
“Are you certain?”
“Yeah, that’ll be fine as long as you can keep pace,” I repeat.
He joins us in the carpark at the falls. He’s changed, out of jeans and into boots (good) … and pants that you’d wear out to dinner. Hm.


Off we set, me in the lead, hubby and Man following obediently, down the track to the point where we depart and go bush, from whence I head off on contour along the gps’d track I made last time. Man follows Gretel and Hansel through the forest, repeating oft that he could never do this by himself, and neither could he find his own way back. I stop after 7 minutes to check on how closely the tapes that have now appeared are sticking to the route I marked in last time. He is panting heavily. From exertion or fear? I decide both. Should I take him back and lose time that I don’t have? Not time to give up yet. He makes strongly panicky noises to my husband while I sort things out on the next short stop. Bruce is unsure what to say. What if he encourages him only to find out I’ve decided to take him back? Or if he agrees with the man (that we should turn around) when I’ve decided I can get him there despite the panic? Bruce makes equivocating mumbles. (He’s expert at that).


For the present I continue, believing I still have enough light to get them down. Coming back up will be tricky, but I think things are still OK (apart from the obvious angst) for now. Terror noises grow in volume and frequency. After 20 mins I head back in the direction from whence we came, ending back on the precious path. Man is overjoyed to see it. He totally ignores the fact that we have failed to reach our destination and celebrates his safety. No one gets to see Philosopher Falls (bottom) that day.


I photograph some pretty cascades elsewhere on the Arthur River, still accompanied by Happy Man, who is effervescent now we are near a navigational handrail he can relate to (flowing water). We then part, he returning to Waratah, while we continue on to Corinna. He tells us the road is shocking and will take us two and a half hours. We take this with a grain of salt, and do it in one. We have no booking and are very hungry on arrival. Luckily, this story has a happy ending today (unmitigated pathos is hard to endure). There is room for us at the inn, and we even get to eat a hot dinner.

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Philosopher Falls 2016 i Mar

Philosopher Falls 2016 i Mar

The beautiful path to the falls
It was raining. We were in no particular hurry to dash up to the Tyndalls, our ultimate objective for the day (and only a one and a half hour jaunt), so we decided it was perfect weather for visiting the Philosopher Falls, which were kind of en route.

The track unfortunately eschews the Arthur River for most of the way, but you do get to cross it at this point. 

The Tarkine here was beautiful and, to my delight, the first of the autumn fungi were starting to appear, set in a context of lush green ferns, moss and lichens. We were excited, but this was marred somewhat by our arrival at the end of the track, which dumped us at the TOP of the falls. Who wants to see a gaping hole with a bit of white splash, hinting at the real thing below? Not me, and not any of the other tourists we met. All reported disappointment.

Being a little more obstinate than your average, I decided to rectify this matter by climbing down the very steep cliff below me (so steep you couldn’t actually see where it went), despite the fact that my camera gear was around my neck, swaying and banging and not in a rucksack, and that I was only wearing runners. Bruce at least had on boots, but is not exactly equipped for such Tarzan acts these days. Down we plummeted, hoping for a controlled landing, and not a death-inducing lurch should one of the branches decay in our hands. (Sorry reader. They’ll no doubt now put up one of those huge ugly notices warning you that this is dangerous, as if you didn’t have the brains to work that out for yourself.)

Landing down by the Arthur River (and still alive at this stage), we still couldn’t reach the falls – or not dressed in the clothes we had on, and not with Bruce, whose capabilities had already been more than tested by this stage; I don’t think too many able-bodied people have lowered themselves down that cliff. I made a tactical withdrawal, and returned to the top, so tense with the responsibility of choosing a route suitable for my husband that I didn’t even photograph the magic fairyland through which we moiled. If you have information on how to get to a spot where you can actually see these falls, I would be most appreciative.

To add insult to defeat, the sun came out, so it was totally useless taking a photo of the tiny bit of splash you were allowed to see. I departed empty handed, but with some fungi shots that I rather love. Hope you do too.