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McGowans Falls 2018 May

McGowan Falls, May 2018.

I had for some reason expected McGowans Falls to be a little like Lillydale or Liffey Falls, with signs, paths, picnic tables and so on. I was thus rather  surprised to discover that there was not one single direction post to the falls, no road names to give you a clue where you were, just in case you had doubts, and no “arrival status” save for a little cairn with some adorning pink tape. (Not necessarily complaining: just noting. I neither want nor like infrastructure at my falls). If you look down the track, you can see some orange tapes for variety, and even two discarded beer cans hanging in trees in the first three metres to alert you to the fact that you are there.

Russula persanguinea
The fact that these falls are not “maintained” means that the pad is an aesthetically-pleasing bush route; there are no metre-wide, levelled-out paths of fake material so you don’t slip; no handrails, and, oh joy, no bridges made out of that plastic stuff Parks now favours – and no viewing platforms to ruin the place. There was not even any rubbish. Weee. It had a magic feel to it.

Off you set down a track wide enough for cars for a couple of metres, and then you hang a left (taped) and your track becomes a narrow and appealing route through a rain-forested fairyland along to the top of the falls, and then down a steep climb to the bottom if that’s what you want. It’s not a big walk: it took Carrie and I twelve minutes to get from the car to the base of the falls. It took a LOT longer to come back up – not, as you might think, primarily because we were going upwards, but rather because we had agreed that we would go straight to the falls and then shoot fungi on the way back out. That took a VERY long time.


Cortinarius rotundisporus

Cortinarius austroviolaceus I think. If you know better, please advise.
And how do you find the magic cairn that begins this mini-adventure? Turn down the road immediately to the west of the Cam Bridge (A10. W of Burnie), and travel on it to Yolla. There, turn right heading for Takone on what is, or at least becomes, Farquhar Road (not named as such). Stay on this as it goes through “West Takone” (nothing there) and on for a few more kilometres. Ignore the (right hand), northern-pointing Pruana (unnamed / unsigned) Road, and drive until you reach an intersection that is the shape of a fairly narrow Y. Now you turn right to join Relapse Creek Road, not that there is a sign that informs you that this is the case. I marked this intersection on my gps to be doubly sure that I was where I wanted to be and turning right off Farquhar Rd at the right spot. Once you are on Relapse Creek Road, you don’t have too far to go (maybe about a kilometre) until you see the cairn and tapes on your right. The waterfall is on Relapse Creek, downhill to your right. The route from the top of the falls to the base is not for the faint of heart. There’s one “delicate and interesting” ledge section that should be avoided by people not used to negotiating such things.

Boletellus obscurecoccineus

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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.