Pine Valley | Natureloverswalks

September 25, 2022September 25, 2022

De Cane Range 2022

I love the Du Cane Range, and seek any excuse at all to go there. I have been planning a night’s sleep at its high point for a very long time, so when I saw its name on an HWC list, I was excited. It wasn’t the trip I have been mentally planning for myself, but it can wait until summer, and meanwhile, it would be fun to just be there again and climb a few mountains. As it turned out, I ended up going there with only two others, and the snow was so deep we didn’t complete our original plan of three mountains, but we sure did get to see some beauty.

I broke two ribs a couple of weeks ago, and this was my first pack carry since then, so I decided to catch the ferry to Narcissus, and meet the others, who were walking in, at Pine Valley Hut. That would give me plenty of time to see how the ribs were coping with the heavy pack, and the afternoon to do some packless exploring after I’d arrived. The ribs were fine, and in the afternoon I took some shots of the flooded valley and then went up onto the Acropolis plateau where the wind howled and light rain fell. Valley and heights were ankle to calf deep with water from the recent rain. It was going to be an “interesting” trip.

Du Cane Range near Lake Elysia, climbing

Three of us set out next morning for the heights, and I was excited to see the first snow before we’d topped out at the Parthenon saddle. Flippers would have been better than boots for getting around Lakes Cyane and Ophion, and, despite the forecast for just cloud today, light rain continued to fall, as it had done the day before. Lake Elysia looked magical in the watery mist, alternatively (and tantalisingly) hiding and revealing Geryon and The Acropolis. We stopped there for a snack and some photos before moving on.

Du Cane Range snowy scenes. Gould peeps out behind.

At some point in there, the force of the wind coming in from the west hit us, and I started to wonder about the sense of camping up high in the snow in this wind (our plan). Luckily Paul was thinking the same thing, and Phil agreed. Our new plan would be to camp at the Pool of Memories down lower and in a sheltered spot, and then try for our goal of Hyperion with only daypacks, returning to the gentle harbour before nightfall. We were already thinking that Eros would probably be omitted.

Geryon looking ravishing today. Paul and Phil

Thus, when we reached the Pool, we dumped the heavy packs, pitched our tents in readiness for our later return, had an early lunch and then began climbing through the snow. This part of the day was absolutely magic. I took heaps of photos: the tale is one of beauty and vistas.

Paul climbing towards Hyoerion, Du Cane Ra

For me as photographer, plenty of action was required, as I had to run to catch up after each shot – kind of interval training – which is fun, but I did note the truth of the words that a photographer of this type needs to be a fit person. I enjoy the challenge: I mostly shot from behind and caught up; every now and then I went up ahead to get a front-on shot.

The third day was Walled Mountain day. This would be my ninth summitting of Walled, done this time in boring daylight hours, so I was tempted to skip it and just move on. However, I decided the exercise would be good for my fitness, so stayed with the other two. I am so glad I did!! It was absolutely wonderful up there, and nothing like the boring dull-light summiting I was anticipating. Descending, glissading through the snow, was a blast.

Walled summit to Du Cane HP, Geryon, Acropolis

On we went and then down to Pine Valley for a late lunch, and finally on to Narcissus for dinner and to sleep the night. I pitched my tent by the river, and listened to its soft flow as I fell asleep. Already by this stage, my feet, having been pretty soaked for all of every day, were starting to blister up. Day four would be agony.

It was. I slowly trudged the distance, taking nearly as long as the advertised time I was so slow, but that pace gave me plenty of time to appreciate the extreme beauty of the forest, clothed in thick layers of moss, with a sparkling blue leeawuleena (Lake St Clair) beside me. I am writing this two days later, and my feet are still red, raw and swollen, although the blisters are starting to form a crust. I hope I can try running today. Putting shoes on my newly huge feet is a bit of a struggle.

February 28, 2022

Guardians, Gould 2022

What do you do when you’ve finished climbing all the Abels? Why, you go straight back to revisit your favourites, of course! Don’t you? Well, I did, and do.

I had already begun on this delightful mission, as some favourites were a lot easier to reach than some of the ones I hadn’t yet climbed. This week I continued with favourites, and reclimbed Mt Gould and The Guardians. For at least ten years I have wanted to sleep by the tarn near the summit of The Guardians, and also on Gould Plateau. This would be my third summiting of Gould, and my second of The Guardians. All previous climbs had been far too fast. This time, I wanted to linger up high.

Guardians summit to leeawuleena and Mt Olympus

These two mountains are rather close to each other. My bash buddy and I had two full days and nights at our disposal, with a booking on the 9 a.m. ferry on day 3. The way to organise this dream then was to have a very long day 1, a super-cool and relaxed day 2 and a dash for the splash on day 3.

I got to enjoy a beautiful dawn at leeawuleena (Lake St Clair) before day 1 officially began with the ferry ride, so I was already floating with beauty (and had already taken far too many photos) by the 9 a.m. journey to the end of the lake with other excited walkers – all except us from interstate.
The first two splits were nice and quick, and we were at Pine Valley Hut after only 2 hrs 6 mins’ walking.

By the time we climbed to the Parthenon saddle, the day had started to warm up. I was still in my famous pink (now maliciously torn) coat, and overheated terribly, but we were setting a great pace and still had heaps of distance before us, so I didn’t feel like breaking the rhythm by stopping. I like doing climbs without interruption, so I sweated a fury and just put up with the heat. I was glad to breast the final bump to the saddle, throw off my nuisance pack and have a welcome drink. Were we half way yet? I fear not.
The day got hotter, so the going got tougher. We carried a lot of water for the next section over the Minotaur, knowing there would be none until we reached a basin beyond the summit, near the Minotaur-Gould saddle.

As we approached said basin, we saw rather a lot of tents down there in the middle of nowhere. It was a bunch of Victorians, most of whom were recovering from what they described as a horrendous bush bash the previous day around the belly of Gould – a patch I have done twice already, so know what they were talking about. Their voices and faces said more than their words about how they felt about that section of their trip. It can certainly be an unforgiving area, as we would re-experience next day.

Most of them were lying in the sun, relaxing and enjoying the calm while two of them were climbing The Guardians. They were nice people and there was water there, so we tossed off our packs and spent at least half an hour chatting to them. My watch said we now had oodles of time. All need for haste had long-since vanished. We reckoned it would only take another hour or so to reach the summit of The Guardians from there, so forgot the watches and enjoyed the company of fellow walkers with similar interests.

Eventually we bid farewell and set off for the final section. Unfortunately this lasted a bit longer than expected, as my stomach started cramping and I felt very sick. Twice I needed to lie in the grass to alleviate the pain. We have decided the puddle in the Parthenon saddle wasn’t as pure as its clarity suggested. Anyway, I was sure glad to see the tarn, dump my pack, pitch my tent and be horizontal for long enough to soften the cramps. It all eased surprisingly quickly, so we decided to summit while the going was good, play around the cliff tops for a little and then have dinner as the final act of the day.

Of course, it wasn’t my final act, and after eating, I set back out to photograph, but I was glad our order of events had been what it was, as the temperature was already dropping to be near its promised minus one over night, and my hands were freezing; the wind was cold. Later, my tent would flap noisily for most of the night. I was too lazy and warm to go out and tighten the guy ropes until about 2 a.m., when I decided enough was enough, and left my warm and cosy aegis to attend to the noise.

We had no busy agenda for day 2, and I am not sure that I’ve ever had such a slow first half of a day. I observed sunrise mostly from the comfort of my tent (it wasn’t magic) and then had breakfast cooked in the vestibule, looking out my peep holes to see how the day was progressing. It was time to depitch, but my tent was sopping, and so was Andrew’s, so we went for an explore along the cliffs not yet visited to give the tents time to rid themselves of heavy water.

Well. That coped with the problem of what to do with a long day and not too many kilometres to fill it. We didn’t reach the pack dump point on Gould until 11.30. I hate going uphill slowly, so we didn’t loiter on the “straight-up” climb, where I was in my element doing what I call a pussycat climb – all four limbs working like a feline. The trip down was more like a huge slide at the playground. Loved it. Nice and quick!

We still had a huge number of hours to fill in and even less distance to cover, so strung out lunch. It would have made much more sense to continue on to Narcissus, but I had my heart set on sleeping up high. I told Andrew to feel free to go down and I would join him on the morrow, but I really did want to sleep high.

Well; I managed to fill in at least one of those spare hours by landing us in a shocking patch of absolute, unadulterated YUK. All was going just fine. I’d led us around the belly in the bushes very nicely, and then we’d dropped down right on cue to a beautiful mossy gully area. Then along. And then we found two random pink tapes running perpendicular to our line of travel. I checked my map. No, we weren’t to go up or down here, as suggested by the tapes, but we explored both up and down on the off chance. Both led to blockades of scoparia. But, … so did straight ahead. There seemed to be no nice way to go anywhere. And why on earth were there two tapes here in the middle of nowhere, with no beginning and no end? Where was the taper going? It was very confusing.

We to’d and fro’d and up’d and down’d and were irretrievably stuck. I got out the gps where I had tracked the route the last time I had done this. We were on it. Oh. Yuk. We shoved and pushed, we climbed over the top of bushes, grunting and heaving our way to nowhere much. But, if you shove for long enough you kind of get somewhere, so eventually we got to the plateau below.
I was absolutely exhausted in a way I don’t often experience. My hip flexors and glutes were aching even without taking a step. I was absolutely done in, and very glad that my planned bed for the night was only a shortish distance away. Any snail on the planet would have beaten me as I inched my way to the tarn.

Hoorah. There. Andrew didn’t like my tarn, so chose a spot that he felt was more sheltered and more comfortable and a tiny bit nearer to the next goal of the ferry. My spot was chosen for its photographic opportunities. I wandered and shot and had a lovely evening, singing seeing’s I had the freedom to do so.

The next morning involved an early start, as we still had what might possibly take two hours to do (it only took 1 hr 38, but you need to allow for emergencies). I passed Andrew’s tent spot, but he had left earlier (we had agreed to meet at the ferry and not at his spot), so it was a crisp business-like stride-out down the steep slope and along to the ferry. I only stopped for photos once, when a beautiful patch of Aurantiporus pulcherrimus specimens caught my eye. My legs seemed to have completely recovered from the previous day’s scoparia battle. I still have bruises and scratches to remind me that it wasn’t all easy, however.

July 15, 2020July 30, 2020

Pine Valley with children 2020 Jul

Deciding to take two young children on a three-day venture into relatively remote wilderness in the middle of winter seemed to me like a pretty daring proposition, given the weight of the parental packs and the distance to be covered; and yet, I felt it had a strong enough chance of success to be excited by the idea, and, hey, if it didn’t quite work, at least we’d all be together in the beautiful mountains doing something, and maybe I could be of help. I was excited.

Abby outside Narcissus Hut, getting ready to begin

Why was this task so enormous? Because (i) four-year-old children should not walk monster distances, and the track to Pine Valley was probably beyond the limits of what would normally be advised for that age, and (ii) young children need more clothes that we do: they can get their gear wet more readily than an adult does, and do not tolerate being too cold. They also eat a lot, especially Gussy, who, although only eight, is growing rapidly and seems to be an eating machine. Bruce and I stopped overnight bushwalking with the girls when they were 3 and 1. We stopped on the day that I fell over face first, not strong enough to stabilise myself with both a baby and all the normal gear on my back. (Bruce also had a huge pack, and carried the three-year old when she got tired.) That was on the South West Coast Trail. Hm.

But here I was, back at the starting line, my “three-year old” now a mum of two delightful children, doing for them what we did for her, or, in this case, more, as she is stronger than I ever was. Gussy (8) carried his own clothes and sleeping bag; Abby (4) carried her lollies (and even they were given up after a short time. Two hands are nice). The parents’ packs were ginormous. My pack was heavy enough for me, as winter packs always weigh quite a bit, and I also had in my camera, tripod and filters, all of which total about 6 kgs before you begin on the other items. But we were travelling at four-year-old pace, so it was more weight bearing than furious exercise that was going to test us.

Our goal (or our high hope?) was to reach Pine Valley Hut by the end of the day. It didn’t matter if we didn’t get there, as we were camping anyway, but it’s a nice flat area, and a good base for going up the Acropolis on day 2. We took a very long time to reach the half-way mark, as there were lots of deep puddles that posed problems for both children. Abby “flew” (courtesy of dad or mum) over most of the big ones, but Gussy, being heavier, had to negotiate his way around, which took time. I was so glad about the real bushwalker boots I had purchased for him, and so was he. His pack weighed about 6 kgs, which was heavy for his young frame, and I could see that his shoulders were a little sore by the way he was carrying it (just like I sometimes do – pulling the straps forward to take the weight off the shoulders for a while), but he never muttered even a quarter of a murmur of complaint.

Track turnoff. Abby no doubt negotiating lolly intake.

On we progressed, over the swinging bridge near the turnoff to the valley, and I feared we would be arriving in the dark. (There had been no normal 9 a.m. ferry, so we had fewer hours to fit the journey in than most). Abby was offered a piggy back or huggle-carry, but wanted to walk the whole way, so on the train moved at that pace. It gave us time to enjoy the magnificent forest.

About a kilometre before the end, the scotch-mist became more of an intent drizzle, and the day was getting threateningly dark. We agreed that I would set out a bit faster with Gussy, to at least get him in relatively dry, while the other two worked on Abby to persuade her to allow help. She really wanted to do it all herself.

Gussy and I arrived, and I began with tasks like water collection to make everyone some hot soup. In very little time, Kirsten and Abby (carried) arrived, which meant Keith was still out in the forest carrying two huge packs. Kirsten deposited Abbs and hurried back to help him while I minded the children. I thought they would whinge about being cold or wet or hungry, but when I said I was working on making some soup, they were delighted, and sat quietly while I got the gear and nudged in the direction of soup. Abby was delighted that it was to be “Two Minute Nudel soup”; no complaints about the menu there! I think each child ate two packets of that, and then progressed to pasta for main course. Again, squeals of excitement at getting their favourite food were the cheerful noise that filled the night sky.

Frosty environment when out of the forest

Dinner eaten, we pitched the tents. The others played cards, but I was fixated on warming up my tent space on what was already a very cold night (it went to minus 3), so just listened to the game across the fabric.

The next day, we wanted to rest Abby, so Keith stayed at base, playing with her and Gussy. Kirsten set out up the Acropolis, to do as much of it as possible in the time allocation (she needed to be back for a midday lunch), and I set off with my camera gear, having a wonderful time. It would have been nice to also go up the Acropolis in the snow, but there wasn’t time for everything, and we decided we needed to do some of the homeward journey in the afternoon to take the pressure off making the 1 pm ferry the next day.

Frosty berries of Leptecophylla juniperina

And that was the activity for the afternoon. The scenery was as beautiful as ever, and we made our goal of the half-way mark. There was a perfect camping spot there, and plenty of water. The only problem was that it was raining, but (to save weight) I had only brought my 3-season tent, which is pretty open until you get the fly on. Pitching in rain means water gets in until you have the fly up. Panic, panic. I did not want a wet “bedroom”. The children remained cheerful; I was the grumpy one, trying to race to get my tent up so I wouldn’t freeze overnight. This night would be minus 4.

Day 3 dawned clear, with a thick white frost: so thick my boots in the vestibule were covered in a sheet of ice. The rain droplets from the night before had frozen to become myriad little ice balls, set in a context of frozen condensation. I didn’t care much, however, as the scenery was so beautiful I had to hurry out into it. I dashed off with my camera equipment, returning with hands that were dropping off. Crunch, crunch I went on the ice of the boardwalk.

And Abby, too, finishes running. (Narcissus Hut).

When I returned, the excited children wanted to show me this and that beautiful object covered in ice. Gussy and I went and inspected the river to see if mist would be rising off it. The campsite looked glorious in the shafts of golden light, all the blonde heads of hair making wonderful halos.

And soon enough we were all crunch crunching on the ice for the final section, a walk punctuated by stops for lollies for the children, photos of plants covered in ice for me. The kids were positively jubilant on arrival at Narcissus hut, with oodles of time spare to wait for the ferry.

That night we had “normal person” accommodation. The children were so excited to have beds, switches, BEDLAMPS and a BOX OF TISSUES each – signs of decadent luxury – that I found it quite funny. It is wonderful to see such simple pleasures providing that degree of enjoyment. Paddy Pallin used to say he loved the way that bushwalking and its privations made him enjoy the normal things of life so much more, and this was certainly happening here.

The next day, we would do a snow climb of Mt King William 1, which you can read about in http://www.natureloverswalks.com/mt-king-william-1/

March 29, 2016November 14, 2018

Cephissus Falls 2016 Mar

Cephissus Falls and Creek 2016

Normally I am rushing past the Cephissus Falls on my way to higher ground, but in March 2016, when we were on our way to climb Hyperion, the weather was so horrid we stopped short of our goal, and used the comfort of the hut for the night, This meant that I could spend some time at this beautiful waterfall, get out my tripod and see what I could capture. Unfortunately, the flow was less than exciting, but the lushness of the greens in this area always thrill me.

However, I mourn for this area already. Strident voices with a certain twang are complaining that the “facilities” of the hut are not up to scratch. They want more beds and more of … well, who knows what. I love it simple, just how it is, with what it used to have – genuine bushwalkers with stories to tell having fun in a remote place. I don’t want brash tourists who are clocking up comodified experiences and totalling this and that conquered place from some insta check list, rather than just listening to nature and enjoying it. Guide books are sending tourists there, and my beautiful little haven is no doubt going to be ruined by the building of some monstrosity like the replacement of Windy Ridge Hut – Bert Nichols I think it is now called. I hate it so much I won’t even eat lunch there. It has no soul, like the people who need such places in what used to be wilderness. We have sold our soul to tourists. Who cares for earthly riches when you have nowhere left for your soul to soar?

March 29, 2016August 20, 2018

Hyperion 2016 Mar

Mt Hyperion March Long Weekend 2016

What is it about a mountain like Hyperion that demands our respect and makes it impossible for us to take it for granted? Sometimes it’s the shape, sharp and steep, where no easy way seems possible from afar. Other times, it may be the stories we are told of it, or warnings we are given. I had received plenty of these with regard to Hyperion: “Don’t do that one solo, Louise”; “Don’t climb it in mist. You want to be able to clearly see the dangerous drop-offs”; “It’s very airy up there”; “Hm. You and Angela are very short, I’m not sure you can do it. Maybe if you help each other you can”. Some people give a slight (very reassuring for me, the listener) shudder when they recall the exposure. I was certainly not going to take this one lightly.

It is now cool enough for fungi. Yippee.

If you want to see quaint, tasteful bridges like this in the Lake St Clair area, you’d better hurry. Pukes and Wildspite are ripping them out and replacing them with monsters made of synthetic material, a metre or more wide and giant handrails, of course, because if we fell into the water we might get our tootsies wet and sue them. I weep for the loss of the rustic, picturesque and natural. They are even thinking of replacing darling Pine Valley Hut with something bigger – perhaps something as utterly unsuitable, chilling and unwelcoming as the Bert Nichols Hut. Who knows? If they think it will get more tourist dollars, that’s what they’ll do.

I set out a little in awe of what might be my fate on this mountain of the stories and warnings, and rather anxious. Rock chutes, and reaches that are challenging do not scare me, but the possibility of toppling to my death from a ledge in a moment of carelessness does, and not just because of the recent accident of Feder. Ledges bother me. Could I summit this mountain? I don’t usually doubt my ability to get to the top, but with Hyperion, I was unsure, AND I certainly did not welcome the last-minute change in the weather forecast that now promised us rain and mist every day of our possible attempt.

En route. I have dubbed these “Geryon Base Camp Falls”

The first day was so wet and gloomy that we, a group from NWWC plus the Fairfaxes, stopped short at Pine Valley Hut, thus allowing us to keep our tents dry (and lighter) for a bit longer before the climb. Any excuse to spend time in this valley is a good one, and Bruce (my husband, still with us at this stage) and I enjoyed wandering and photographing in the light drizzle of the afternoon.

Russula sp coloured the forest

Next day, we climbed in mist and rain, up through glorious forest and onto the Du Cane Range, ultimately descending to Lake Helios for our campsite, pitching our tents shortly after 3pm. We all expressed astonishment and pleasure while we set up camp at the brief appearance of the sun. Our leader, Greg, announced that if we were to make a summit attempt, as soon as our tents were up was probably the best moment, as we did not know what the morrow would bring. This was a great call. The next day, we now know in hindsight, would not have been suitable.

Climbing to our base camp at Lake Helios.

The group gains height on the Du Cane Range

The beautiful Lake Helios, perched under Hyperion, our goal.

I didn’t find any particular moment of the climb itself (the manoeuvres involved) to be scary. What concerned me was the weather, which closed in and fogged us up so that good routes up the next stage were harder to sight. I feared the unknown that lay ahead, and I was anxious about the time, as it was getting later than I liked should we have trouble getting back down. I think we all probably harboured our own little anxieties as we forged on upwards, hoping it would work.

The final stage lies ahead. We can get there.

Six happy summiters. The group minus me. I was too cold, and in too much of a hurry, to use auto timer and find a rock to balance my camera on.

When anticipating summitting Hyperion, I always thought I would be joyous and whoop with delight when I reached the top. In fact, all I did was heave a sigh of relief, grab a few photos in the icy wind, and clear out of there, back down to safety. Tempered joy would come later. Relief is still the dominant emotion.

Clouds await us below.

An aspect of the ascent that interested me was that I was hit by (another) falling rock, this time on the thumb. I have always thought that if this happened, I would lift my hand in pain, lose my grip and possibly fall from my position. I am delighted to report that the worst that happened was pain and that I did not let go. This is quite a comforting thing to know. I had to keep moving so the pain didn’t overwhelm me, and the others understood. Movement took my thoughts away from my thumb onto things I could control, like making the next climbing step. I was fine for now.

Sunrise next day. I hope you like this shot. I had nearly as much hand pain taking this as I had from the falling rock. Temperatures were sub-zero while I took this tripod long exposure with no gloves on.

The next morning, it was so cold we had to wipe sheets of ice from the tents. Rocks were slippery. Climbing Hyperion would have been treacherous.

We exited through the Labyrinth, making an attractive circuit, and descended to my husband, who had climbed the Acropolis while we were away.

Mt Ossa and Pelion East from the northern end of the lake shortly after dawn.