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Storys Falls Feb 2020

Rumour (the web) has it that Storys Falls are visible from the road (presumably, the bridge). It is true that Storys Creek, with its multitude of cascades merrily tumbling down the slope, is visible from the road, but the actual falls, according to the map, and also according to what I saw, are another few hundred metres upstream, and need to be walked to – and definitely NOT by a person with a disability. Such a person can delight in the scene from the bridge, indeed, but that is not the actual waterfall.

Storys Falls

However, hold your breath if you are wishing for a huge waterfall. This one is even smaller than Chasm Falls or Cephissus Falls, but it does FALL rather than cascade when you are at the exact spot on the map where it says “Storys Falls”. Note also, in accordance with the dictates of authorities that have acknowledged that Australians are no longer educated in their own language, the apostrophe which would otherwise be there is omitted.
As for your choices of reaching the falls: if conditions are suitable, it would be possible to do most of the short hike along the river bed, boulder hopping. I chose to stay in the bush a couple of metres away to keep my shoes dry. It was fine to negotiate. It took me 6 minutes in each direction to reach the falls, although I then went on further for a few minutes, just to make sure I hadn’t missed something exciting, and, well, maps aren’t always accurate, so I thought I’d check for something bigger and better higher up.\

Aristotelia peducularis

Storys Creek hamlet is not quite a ghost town, but almost, and feels interesting to visit. It is fabulous to look up to Stacks Bluff, which is rather imposing, high above where you are standing. In the late afternoon, when I was there, it forms a grand silhouette.
Photographic note: this is the fourth time I have accidentally managed to go photographing landscape with my macro lens for fungi attached to my camera rather than my wide-angle landscape lens. I thought I had both on board, but I was wrong. Hence the photos are of a different style to the norm.

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Stacks Bluff, Wilmot Bluff, Denison Crag 2015 Apr

Stacks Bluff, Wilmot Bluff, Denison Crag, all in Ben Lomond National Park. 2015 Apr

Climbing Wilmot, the second of our mountains
I could tell this was going to be a great day from the moment people emerged from their cars. Everyone seemed very jovial and keen to get going. This was a Hobart Walking Club walk, and I was leading, so, after chatting a bit to the guy who was setting the pace, I dropped back to the tail end, not that there was a big difference between the two, but I was taught a very long time ago by my husband, who imparted to me nearly all the bushcraft I know, to lead from the rear if the path is clear.
The view from Denison Crag back to Stacks, the first of our mountains.

Our first objective was Stacks Bluff, which involves quite a big climb (over 700 ms straight up over huge rocks). About half way through the steepest and trickiest section I offered them a break, but all agreed they wanted to get this steep part finished. I admired them. On we continued until we popped out onto the plateau at the top, the base from which the rest of Stacks would then rise. Although we had to climb to its summit, we had done the hard work by this stage. Up here, coats, gloves and beanies were needed, and off we set again, rising far more gently now, until the summit was reached. The wind was biting, but the summit has what I call a sheep pen on it: a place where you can climb inside and have shelter. We all got in and sat in a holy huddle to enjoy eating our own food and the shared food from others’ gardens that was offered around.

Peeps over the edge were a tad dangerous

There is no path to Wilmot, which makes it a bit more fun, and I enjoyed finding our own way through the rocky challenges, first off Stacks to the saddle below, and then following shelves of rock up to the top of Wilmot. We climbed it very quickly indeed, but still used being at the summit to celebrate in the normal way – by eating a bit more. Sweet stuff this time.

Denison Crag was fun! Just look at the scale of human to rock

People were now very relaxed, the hard work of the day was done, and we had ample time to get back to the car. I killed some of that time by offering a third mountain, and all but one opted to do it with me. This one was the highlight for me – partly because I hadn’t climbed it before, but also because I could tell from afar that its cliffs would offer very dramatic views, and I was right.

Dancing on the top

We rounded the day off beautifully by driving to Zeps for coffee and cakes before splitting into north and southbound cars to return home. Again, food sharing was the order of the day, which I totally approved of, as I got to taste not only my own yummy raspberry tart, but a cake called “Ivory” which came straight out of heaven.

Last view back
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Stacks Bluff Wilmot Bluff Jan 2014

Looking back from whence we had come: to Denison Crag and Storys Bluff (inter alia).

The doctor at the hospital who had operated on me frowned severely: “You’re not to do anything dangerous with this cast on. If you bump the pins holding the wires in your hand, the situation will be disastrous.”
“I’ll just be walking, ” I quipped in as meek and subservient a voice as I could muster under the circumstances.

Stacks Bluff from Wilmot Bluff.

I wasn’t totally foolhardy: I had backed out of my planned six-day venture onto the southern ranges and exchanged it for a tamer three-day bash to Mt Sorell, but this had been cancelled due to flooding of a river we needed to cross. What was I to do? The thought of another weekend cooped up without a mountain was unendurable. I was craving a mountain with a need as strong as that of a growing plant for water, but with a broken hand, I would prefer the security of company. Then I noticed that Boots ‘n All were going up Stacks and Wilmot Bluffs, neither of which I’ve climbed. Perfect. I was ridiculously excited, like a prisoner released from gaol after a false conviction. At last my January mountain-drought was to finish.

Kind of a selfie, as the mild exposure en route to where I was now standing was a little off-putting, I set the aperture and speed to what I wanted, went there myself and got a friend to go click.

As I boulder hopped and noted the drops below, I spared a thought for the poor anxious surgeon who would find my activity dangerous. “Dangerous” is a very relative term, but I could tell that that medico envisages it as absolute, and that he had acquired defining rights. I jumped over the next crack, landing with ease onto the waiting boulder and pondered the relativity of words like danger, safety, risk and health. At lunch we had had a talk about freedom and how we gain true freedom. Americans use this word a lot, and yet your freedom (to own a gun, for example) can mean my thraldom to death; one can be so obsessed with one kind of freedom that one becomes a slave to that notion and loses real freedom in the process – and so it is with safety. A timorous pursuit of safety can lead to a lifestyle that is unhealthy and, thereby, unsafe from a different perspective.

How I love the jagged drama of these rocks.

It was a grand day: glorious scenery, a fun climb and great company. I returned home physically and psychologically refreshed.

Two routes for the price of one here. Yesterday’s is the cyan route, partly obscured by the purple, but visible if you search.