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Six and Twenty Falls 2020

Six and Twenty Falls at St Marys were, for me, yet another tantalising blue line on a map that I could find no information on, with no hint of a photo or a story to indicate that anyone else had been there. Ah well, here goes for another adventure.

The beautiful bush through which I traversed

When map staring, I could see that they were just on the public land side of a public-private boundary, so I could navigate along the public land line and reach the falls without popping my tootsies onto someone else’s property. This was a nice idea. Little did I know that the bush would be so thick with a tangle of debris. I had to take on the role of living bulldozer to get through it. It was the sort of stuff you have to force your way through; it wasn’t a matter of climbing over or around: you just had to shove and keep shoving.

Sniffing possibilities

When I use the word “boundary”, that perhaps implies a clear mark on the ground, a fence or something. Na. It was just a line on the map, with no distinction between thick bush on each side. That said, I did feel a great longing to use farmed land in a longer route, but I had no idea who owned it, or whether they would mind someone using it to access the falls, so I persevered with the tough bush. What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger, they say. I think I was more psychologically than physically verging on being defeated.

This is what I thought the falls were, and where I ate, only later discovering it was a mere appetiser.

But from some hidden corner of my being I found the will to keep going, and at last after about 50 minutes of concerted shoving, I found what I assumed was the falls. Well, I found a pretty waterfall, and it was where the falls should be. I was relieved, and sat to eat and enjoy first; photograph second.

THIS is the real thing: Six and Twenty Falls. Sorry my camera was upstream.

Just as I was packing up, I noticed a sense of space further below me. With Knäckebröd in one hand and my drinking cup in the other, I continued down stream to check out my sense of vacuum. Climb; haul, snoop; OH!! Here was a bigger fall. But there was still a sense of space so on I went (my pack with camera is now well and truly behind me. I have a cup, plb and phone. C’est tout). This next time I discovered a humungous drop. I had eaten entree thinking it was dinner. Actually, it was only a pre-entree appetiser. And there I was with only my iPhone. My camera was back at the appetiser. I took a few snaps and went to retrieve my gear – much harder than might be imagined.

Hopefully this gives you a bit of an idea of the scale – and of why I will return under better lighting conditions now I know what’s there

I got it at last, but was nagged by the desire to get to the base of this massive drop. That I did, but by this stage was so mentally exhausted I didn’t feel like unpacking all my gear to set up for a photo, or with dealing with the fact that where I descended to water level, I was too short to see over the rocks to get a good view of the base. I really felt that I had no adrenalin left to do any more fancy climbing, so patted myself on the back for getting there, and turned for home. The way back was faster, as I didn’t have to check direction as often, was feeling more confident, and had already pushed down some of the resisting bush.

Pretty interlude

Would I go back? If I had a bash partner, definitely. There was great drama there, but I’d had enough for one day. This was only really a recce, done in sunshine. Clouds would yield much better images. Besides, it was time for a late lunch number two, and I have become addicted to the pleasure of lentil vegetable soup at the Purple Possum in St Marys, and the cake I follow up with is always amazing. Time to refuel!

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Webber Falls 2020

When map staring around the St Marys region, my eyes found two interesting little blue lines that needed exploring: one had a name, viz. Webber Falls; the other was on a tributary nearby, and was south of the named ones, so calling it Webber Falls South seemed appropriate. The “featured image” at the start of this article is a front-on shot of the actual Webber Falls, with three tiers. As you can see, the river kind of curls between tiers, so you need to be high to get all three in a shot.

Webber Falls from the side

I had heard they were extremely difficult to reach (my friends failing to do so), so set out without a great deal of confidence. I can now ascertain that the saplings that hug the creek area are very close to each other, which is easily overcome if you have my stature. Maybe it put my other, less-skinny friends off. I can also confirm that the ground is VERY steep, but, worse than that, it is unstable. I can count on one hand the number of times I have sent a rock flying, but these soccerball-sized rocks were in soil that was not well-glued, and it gave way very easily. The drops were humungous. I was a nervous wreck by the time I got to my chosen position for photographing the southern falls (having come via the actual falls). You couldn’t assume that the ground would stay put if you trod on it. I didn’t even put any trust in living trees, which are normally pretty reliable.

Webber Falls South

As if to prove my point, while I was slightly altering my camera’s orientation, my filter holder detached itself from its ring and dived overboard. I never heard it land. It had within its grasp my beloved CPL, as well as my much-used Little Stopper. So little did I trust the terra non firma on which I was crouched that I didn’t even dare lean out to see if it had found a shelf. I sort of tried around the side, but even if I had just had the displeasure of watching $1000 do a fancy dive, my life is worth more than that, so I sobbed at the extravagantly expensive but very brief show, but called it quits.

Webber Falls South. Bye bye gear.

I was not in a good mood driving home. Not only had I wasted a huge amount of money, but I was also now without my playtoys until new reinforcements can arrive. Waterfalls are flowing, and I don’t have what I need to make best use of it. But, hey, this is the person whose husband died in the wilderness. I am alive; my other family members are safe at home; my dog is alive. Much worse things can happen than watching your equipment dive over a cliff. Life and relationships are worth more than money or toys.

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Grey Mares Tail Falls 2020

How does a waterfall get the odd name “Grey Mares Tail Falls”? Especially one that is in wet sclerophyll forest in the middle of the steep slopes dropping to the East Coast of Tasmania after the giddy heights further west. I wouldn’t have thought there’d be too many grey mares above or below the falls to prompt a connection. However, there is a Grey Mare’s Falls in Scotland, (with perhaps even some grey mares floating around nearby), so I can only assume one terribly homesick Scot named the falls after his former abode.
One doesn’t see this waterfall in flow very often, so it is also difficult for most people to assess the extent to which it does or doesn’t remind one of any horse’s tail, let alone that of a grey mare. And why does the horse need to be female??
Anyway, if it has been raining quite a lot, and you are in luck, and happen to be driving from St Marys to the coast (or back), then at the very top of the pass on the northern side of the road  is a little reserve with a parking area and a finely made trail taking you to the falls. This trail is quite pleasant, albeit it very short, so even if there is no water falling, it is a good place to stretch your legs if you didn’t do so in St Marys. And if you missed the water, and are curious about what the falls look like, here is a photo to satisfy your curiosity. I do not recommend travelling a great distance solely for the purpose of photographing these falls. This is the first time I have ever seen them flowing! I popped in as I was in the area to photograph the nearby two Webber Falls. It was raining, so I thought I might as well try my luck, and after a day filled with anything but good fortune, I did at least strike some here.

Please excuse the lack of apostrophe, educated people, but in deference to those who can’t cope with correct grammar, Aussie place names no longer have them. The English do, although Brexit belies any assumption that this is based on superior education in the former Mother Country.