I have never seen a photo of these falls before, and so needed a name so I could refer to them. I decided, whilst crouched in an astonishingly contorted position, perched on and under a log, and half in a metre of water, that I should dub them “Awkward Falls” so we can refer to them. They are one of the countless treasures held on the slopes of Mt Wellington, available to the adventurous who go searching off track.
Awkward Falls, Mt Wellington
I didn’t have my gps on this excursion, so I can’t even tell you if this creek is mapped. Does it really matter? It’s nice to have some treasures left for those of us who don’t want life so dumbed down there’s no discovery left.
I have wanted to visit Lovers Falls – on an unnamed tributary of the Pieman River, 5.3 kms downstream from Corinna – for years, but I lacked confidence in my ability to debut kayak 10.6 kms. I also lacked someone to go with and I was reluctant to do it solo.
Mossy myrtle
Why did I phone Corinna and discuss the matter? I’m not quite sure, but I did so in January, and the very nice guy who spoke to me on the phone assured me that it was not a difficult river and that all sorts of people managed to do the kayak. He told me, however, to wait a bit, as the water was not flowing enough at present to justify the effort. I appreciated both his encouragement and his honesty. Here began a saga.
Armillaria novae zelandiae
Two more phone calls followed, one to discuss the problem of my dog, who would more than probably be in the car with me. The guy solved this by saying she could be in the car while I kayaked, as long as I didn’t actually sleep in the Reserve. Brilliant. That was a HUGE load off my mind. I could easily camp near, but not in, the reserve with my faithful adventure buddy who hates me going off without her.
Although it is only March, there were a pleasing number of fungi about
The next two were to line up an actual time. This is a long story, the short of which was that I was told I was on a waiting list for the morning, and confirmed for the afternoon (which I really didn’t want). However, the night before, the guy at the desk encouraged me to try my luck at 9 a.m. prompt, as maybe someone would see my plight and magnanimously elect for a double kayak, leaving me free to have a single. My persistence paid off.
Pieman reflections. This is not my shot, but it is very much what I saw, so I wanted to include it. My camera was carefully sealed in my bag and I was too scared of damaging it to use it en route.
There was a kayak spare. The guy talked me through the safety spiel and helped launch me into the river. I was so relieved. Now I would have de facto company – at least one of the others on the water might observe if I capsized. Also, it was cloudy, which is perfect for photography. Who knows how wretchedly sunny the afternoon might be? I needed to be on the water now. Also, if I was very bad at this, I might need all day. Much better to start early!
Launched on the water, I began paddling downstream. The river had perfect reflections. The silence was palpable. It was utterly peaceful as I sat there, rhythmically going plash, plash with my oars. Surge, surge. It reminded me of the stroke, stroke of swimming in bygone days, except the view was incomparably better. Would I get tired? It seemed a long way to go.
Lovers Falls. My prize
As it turned out, I was not bad at all. I quickly left the other three kayaks behind, and after about thirty minutes, passed another two who had started fifteen minutes ahead. All up, I took forty eight minutes to do the distance, which I had been told would take one and a half hours. (Although this was my first kayak like this, and I was very worried about the boat-handling side of things, I have represented Australia at triathlon, so I guess my swimming arms haven’t forgotten how to exercise.) This was very reassuring, as it would give me oodles of time for photography, so I took fifty minutes shooting. So far, this was an excellent exercise: photography ratio.
Lovers Falls area
I had been ridiculously clumsy trying to exit my kayak on arrival at the landing stairs: I was terrified of accidentally toppling into the water with thousands of dollars’ worth of camera equipment. Now it was time to try to get back in without sinking my precious gear in the process. That ended up easier than getting out. And how would my arms be? Can you go from nothing to one hour forty and still have arms that cooperate? My forearms fatigued a little, but my hands felt the strain the most. I was pushing with one while I pulled with the other. I haven’t a clue if that’s what I was supposed to do, but that’s what came naturally. I was very glad to see Corinna pop up around the corner. I was timing it, so I knew it should be appearing soon if I was maintaining pace. It was nonetheless a relief to know I’d done it.
Myrtle, Savage River
I exited my kayak a drenched rat. Every time I lifted my limbs to stroke, water poured down the raised one, wetting my coat. Splashes meant that my legs and shoes got wet. I was soaked, but so happy to have done it that I couldn’t care at all. I am now hooked on kayaking!!
Psathyrella candolleana
Because I got a morning spot, that left me free to drive home after a forest walk in the early afternoon. Now my only question is: Will my arms function tomorrow, or will I be unbearably stiff????
And I have to say in conclusion, I am very impressed with how patient, friendly and helpful the staff members at Corinna were. I drove home with a very positive feeling.
PS. Arms had no stiffness the next day. It seems that all the offtrack bushwalking I do keeps both upper and lower body nicely fit. Bushwalking is SO much better than doing a gym session! 🙂
I was munching on my delicious burger with the lot in Waratah with time on my hands, and out of the dim recesses of my brain came the awareness that there is a waterfall somewhere here called Ringtail Falls that I haven’t yet visited.
I did some asking, and got rather evasive replies and the information that the track was now officially closed, but if I headed for the old power station, I would find what I needed.
My map was no help at all, as I wanted it to have a “Power Station” indication, but it was silent. I already knew the waterfall was not on the map.
Ringtail Falls
I scouted around, exploring several ridges and streams and eventually, quite by fluke, happened upon a pad, just as I had given up and turned for home. (I was climbing back up yet another spur at the time.) I didn’t have a clue if this pad was something made by neighbourhood kids leading to a secret place for smoking, or whether it was going to where I wanted, but I followed it and hoped. I followed it for nearly thirty minutes, telling myself the whole way that this was magic forest and a nice workout, and it didn’t really matter if the pad lead to nowhere.
It didn’t. It lead to somewhere, viz. the falls that I wanted, and an interesting old ex-power station as well. The workout back up the hill afterwards was even better: thirty minutes up to the car. It took fifty minutes down, as I was climbing up and down everything in sight hoping to hear a waterfall, but failing. It seems that it pays to be persistent.
There are six waterfalls out behind Mt Campbell to be found by those who are prepared to fight for their victories, to persevere through hardship and endure a long day of goose-stepping and bushthrasing, with the very occasional easy bit thrown in. The easiest part of my day, actually, was the 320 m climb up Mt Campbell. For those who like stats, the route was 18.6 km equivalents long (12.6 horizontal and 600 vertical). For me, that meant five and a half hours of very heavy labour. I barely took time out even for lunch – munching during long-exposure shots.
Slopes of Campbell. Things seem easy here
What a delight that initial climb was. I didn’t know what lay in store for me. In fact, that feeling of ease lasted a little while – all along the broad top of Campbell before I descended through fagus into the valley – and I was wondering what on earth I would do with all the time left over at the end … I pondered the other waterfalls I could bag after I’d knocked off these easy catches. Ha ha.
Boronia citriodora
The fagus was not too bad for fagus – I was lucky and found a way through it that didn’t slow me down too much, so was feeling fine at my first big saddle as I headed along on the ridge above the Campbell River. Below me lay the tranquil strip of water that I hoped housed my treasure (I wondered if there would be enough for a flow). It looked utterly benign down there, so I was cozened into descending to river level for an easy ramble by the Campbell.
Lichenomphalina chromacea
Well, yes; maybe that lasted ten minutes. Then I began to encounter bands of scoparia, innocuous at first, but which quickly became increasingly impenetrable. The change was gradual, so by the time I realised I was in to the point of being out of my depth, it was too late to escape. I had no alternative but to bulldoze my way out – not easy with my build. I crossed and recrossed the river, trying for an easier passage, but soon became enmeshed in head high junk. Push, shove. I decided to just get in the river and go downstream with sodden feet, but not even that worked: the entanglement of overhanging branches meant that even a wombat would not have an easy time of it. Only the tiger snake I met could move. Luckily he didn’t like me.
One and a quarter hours after beginning my descent I felt completely demoralised. I was also hungry, but told myself the waterfall was ‘just around the corner’, and I had no permission to eat until I had found it. I know the time gap, as I took photos before the descent, and at this point in time being discussed: I gave myself the small treat of being allowed to photograph an alpine fungus (Lichenomphalina chromacea above), and a boronia citriodora. From deciding the waterfall was due any minute now (using my gps) to actually sighting it took a further 53 minutes!!! But I was determined. I had spent so very much energy getting this far that, tempting though it was, I was not prepared to give up.
Campbell River Falls 1
When I found a waterfall, I was full of glee at the victory, and joy at its beauty. This was such a remote spot, a battle hard-won, but here I was, perched in a bed of bauera, feet over the water (prevented from soaking by the same bauera) enjoying the moss, the palpable silence, the colour of the tannined water, the white streaks of its flow and the total absence of intruding human infrastructure. And now I could have a bite to eat. Hoorah. I didn’t care at all that this delicate beauty was only 5 or so metres high. It was mine, and I loved it.
Campbell River Falls 2
Finished with all I wanted to do with my camera, and having already spent two and a half hours getting there (which meant a five hours’ walking day if the return was as slow as the arrival), I packed up and decided to leave. The other waterfalls could wait. I consulted my gps. Oh no. The falls were marked as being 50 ms further downstream. I knew I’d be disappointed if the ones I had were not the real ones, so decided to do the extra 50 ms. That took me 7 minutes! But OH WOW. I found two waterfalls, the second of which was huge.
Campbell River Falls 3
The trouble is, I was exhausted, and now worried about the return journey. That said, I decided that climbing straight up the ridge opposite could offer the best exit from this prison (surely the guards didn’t man that direction), so thought that if the climb went well, maybe I could continue after all. The climb went well – a mere 30 minutes – so I decided to take a peek at what was now Campbell River Falls 4, and also take in properly, 5 and 6.
Campbell River Falls 5
As I hoped, the going was much easier on this next part of the trip, which is why I was able to take in the extra falls before exhaustion set in.
Campbell River Falls 6. A blending of f/22 for the flow, with f/11 for rock detail.
It took an hour and a half from Falls 5 and 6 to get back to the summit of Mt Campbell. My fuel tank was pretty empty by this stage, and as I tried to raise my leg high for each step up Campbell (required by the knee-length shrubbery), I was very, very glad that I didn’t do any more than I did. It took willpower to omit a proper view of Falls 4, and to skip the base of Falls 3, but I was at the end of the energy bottle now, and glad I hadn’t run out sooner. I still had to reach the summit of Campbell, and then get back to the car. (The descent was slower than my earlier ascent, testimony to how I was feeling.) The drive home scarred me. I had had to get up at 4.50 this morning in order to evade the guards of the road to Dove Lake before 8 a.m. I needed this just in case my mission finished after 6 pm. If it had done so, I would be stranded for the night. When is a National Park not a National Park? When it has been so given over to tourists that bushwalkers no longer count. Funnily, their rules don’t let us take a car in if we need to finish late, and yet we are also not allowed to camp. Catch 22, stupid bushwalkers.
(Please note that if you are an interstate or overseas bushwalker, I count you as bushwalker and not tourist. Tourists are people who come in without regard to the land or the people, who litter, and who are interested in getting a quick overview of a few icons to announce to their friends that they have been there. If you are a Tasmanian who drives in, takes a quick pic and drives off, then you are, in my mind, a tourist. Tourism is an attitude, not a state of being. If you love the land and care for it; if you want to know it intimately and appreciate its arcane secrets, and seek to leave as little trace as is possible, then you are not a tourist.)
These mossy falls are beautiful because no one knows where they are. Alas, long may it remain so, for publicity seems to lead all too quickly to destruction, in a one to one correlation. Keep Tassie Wild; keep Tassie beautiful. This post is for those who are inspired by how beautiful nature can be.
