Yet another secret treasure for those who want to explore deep dark unmapped and / or offtrack places on Mt Wellington.
Platypus Falls 2020
Kiernans Falls Jan 2020
My trip to Kiernans Falls was such a happy day. It was still school holidays, but Abby was in childcare, and Kirsten had the day off work, which meant that Gussy, Kirsten and I could have our first ever adventure à trois. I chose Kiernans Falls, even though the WoT website (quite rightly) made it sound quite difficult. Eight-year-old Gussy is agile and nimble, as well as very fit, and with his mum and me to guide him, I didn’t think he would have any problems. Kirsten is pretty faultless in the bush. I did warn them that I reckoned we would all get wet feet; just don’t bother about keeping the tootsies dry.
As it was, alas, our feet stayed very dry, as the creek bed up which we climbed was pretty devoid of water. This did not detract in the slightest from our enjoyment of this area. The moss was still lovely and green, and the climbing both in and out of the creek was fun, and appreciated by all. We climbed to the top of the falls, as I thought Caedence’s report had two tiers. Indeed it did, but the lower tier was actually below the big falls, not above. That didn’t matter; it was such a fun climb, and prolonged the pleasure. We have all vowed to return when there is more water. (Note, there is no path. Do not attempt unless you are very familiar with finding your own way in the bush. Don’t be fooled by the capable Gussy).
Ford Falls REAL Jan 2020
I was told that to get to the “real” Ford Falls, I “JUST” had to follow the Ford River down until I got to the falls. Now, if you know anything at all about this area, you will know that contours fill the map around these falls: it is very, very steep, and very rugged, with unmapped cliffs all over the place, and scoparia in between. I would personally find the word “just” to be inappropriate. But maybe this time I was mistaken. Perhaps it is not as formidable as it seems. Only one way of finding out. Hm. Maybe curiosity will one day kill this cat.
I was nervous going solo in such territory (which I treat with absolute respect), so made sure I not only had my PLB, but also lined up a friend who was primed to call SES should I not be out by 6.30. I didn’t trust my informant sufficiently to believe this would be a piece of cake, especially when his particular words mean that I doubt he has actually been there himself.
I set out from home at 2.30. I thought that meant about one hour driving in each direction, and one hour by foot to and back from the falls. Alas, the car trip took a tad longer than an hour, which then made me feel under time pressure for the foot part. Off I hurried. At first things went pretty well. The rocks were only mildly slippery, but I was not visible from the road, and the rocks are quite angled, with big drops between them, so I moved with enormous caution.
As I feared or suspected, after a few hundred metres, it became impossible to actually follow the river. Steep cliffs dropped into its waters from both sides, and I was forced back up the hill, and into swathes of thick scoparia as I wended my way forward. Higher and higher I went. Time went by. To my amazement, I then found a cairn. But where had it come from? Where was it going? I scouted around for the next cairn, but failed to find it. Its presence made me feel that I should try to go back down to the river at this stage. I tried a couple of options, but they were all too dangerous. My gps said I had arrived, so I hoped that the waterfall below me (pictured) that I was gazing at was Ford Falls REAL, photographed it, and cleared out. As you can see from my route, I just scaled the contours straight up, as I decided shorter was better at this stage of the afternoon. (It was much better, and faster!) I had been lower than this photo, as you can see from my route, but that spot gave the best view.
I drove home feeling utterly overdosed with adrenalin. I got in phone range on the way down Jacobs Ladder, so was able to let my backstop know I was out safely, even if I was drowning in an epinephrine bath.
Rufus and Navarre Falls
Rufus and Navarre Falls, Dec 2019
Off I set: my goal being mysterious blue lines on the map, lying on the flanks of Mt Rufus, on tributaries that would eventually flow into mighty rivers. Now, when you set out bushbashing in quest of a blue line on a map, you have no idea (i) whether there will actually be a waterfall at the end of your rainbow, and (ii), whether it will have been worth the effort in time, energy, petrol and scratches. Thus I have (in the past) been the questionably proud discoverer of Dry Falls and Trickle Falls, to name but two of my findings. Funnily, no one has been very excited about these, even though my documentation has, at the very least, told them what’s there and informed them that it’s probably not worth their while adding that to their list of immediately pressing activities.
HOWEVER, Sunday’s journey through knee-deep mud and then thigh-deep snow with shoulder-high scoparia thrown in – and a few magic, primaeval pencil-pine grovelets with brief sections of alpine grass – (plus one tiger snake), a journey that took seven and a quarter hours in total, was absolutely Worth The Effort. I could have called the falls Wonder Falls, Speechless Falls, Gaze or Delight Falls; however, even these names diminish them somehow, reducing the spiritual experience of being there to one aspect of the experience.
They need a name that will impart a sense of their particular place set in wilderness, a name that reaches out not in, and I think an aboriginal name is what they deserve, as it will add its own mystique, just as does the name Leeawuleena, lying not far away, “sleeping waters” … how beautiful. I have wasted hours trawling the web for a Tasmanian aboriginal dictionary, or for place names that could be vaguely related to the area, but my net remains empty. For now, English monikers will have to do: Rufus Falls, and Navarre Falls Upper and Lower. Although Rufus was a Roman poet of antiquity, whose poems none of us have heard of, and whose only claim to fame was that he was a friend of Virgil (is that not clutching at straws???), at least the name “Rufus” suggests to us Taswegians an area of wilderness with a certain feel to it. And Navarre is a former kingdom of SW Europe, established in the 9th century by the Basques. What has that got to do with us??????
Up there near the waterfalls, the views are expansive, looking out at Mt Gell, King William I, Pitt and Mulligan, and then Slatters Peak, and the King William Range, with Frenchmans Cap thrown in, and that’s before I begin to name the ones further to the south. On this day, all were decked in snow. For me, all these are old friends and I love seeing them. Gleaming and sparkling in the distance far below us was Lake King William.
It was not a fluke that this journey was undertaken with white peaks all around, and snow covering the route. I had been watching the weather maps very carefully, and chose accordingly. This was exactly what I had ordered, and I revelled in it.
I had brought along a friend who, I knew, would appreciate being there. She had never been in real wilderness before, and was floating with delight. We giggled our way through the snow drifts, which are actually quite hard work, forcing you to lift your legs very high each step, after which you’d sink to an unknown depth, depending on what lay underneath. And then, I kind of squealed with delight, for there was a real waterfall, and it was beautiful: an attractive drop of maybe ten metres of delicate white, attended by deep clumps of pristine snow, pandanis (richea pandanifolia), with a few pencil pines, and Pherosphaera hookeriana for colour, texture and form variety. It was set in a small sandstone, cliffy amphitheatre, with striations of warm hues. We photographed from the west and the east, from above, the side and below. It was fun.
Even so, I thought that my friend, unaccustomed to all I was doing, might have had enough, or been very tired by the physical effort of getting there, so I offered her the choice of turning around at this stage. To my excitement, she said she’d like to see the other two falls I had in mind. I pointed to where I expected them to lie, gave her a pessimistic time estimation and reminded her that there might nothing there (I hate overly positive promises; I would never make a politician), but still she agreed. Yippee. Off we set.
On this section, the snow was more of a challenge, with some very steep drops, and drifts of unknown depth to contend with. However, the final spur was sheer pleasure. Again I sort of squealed with shock and delight when I looked over the edge and saw what we had found. And just below, the water dropped yet again to another hidden treasure. Meanwhile, the cliffs on the way, and in the region of these falls, were marvellous in their own right. We were in heaven. We angled around to the side to inspect and photograph both, and then climbed back up for a snack beside the river and a relax, imbibing mountains, lakes and beauty, before beginning our reluctant journey homewards. Just to show off, I sent friends pictures of the frozen tarn where we also spent some time. Most of Australia is on fire at present. How amazing and fortunate to be in the snow!
My friend’s shoes were sopping, and her feet numb, parts of her were no doubt scratched, but still she was in love with being in the wilderness. Both of us felt our souls had been expanded and nurtured by being in this place.
If you think you know how to get these falls, will you kindly respect people who love their wilderness wild, and leave no plastic tape and no cairns. Let others feel the total freedom we felt in this place.
Kenmere Falls
Kenmere Falls lie just to the north of Victoria Valley Falls, so if you visit Victoria Valley Falls (see blog
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/victoria-valley-falls/) near Osterley, and IF you are happy bushbashing and reading a map, then you can add this little gem on Kenmere Creek to your agenda for the day. I used the same parking area for both falls. There is no track, and the dry bush has a lot of twigs that are intent on giving you a poke as you go by, so you need to be fine with that sort of defensive and unwelcoming behaviour. It doesn’t last long. The falls themselves felt like a very special place, and I stayed there for quite along while, just enjoying being, and imbibing all they had to offer. I made it into a circular route by going pretty straight on the way there, but following the creek down until it hit the road on the way back. The return was longer, but had less bush to negotiate, and was a couple of minutes faster.
The nearest coffee I could find on the way home that looked inviting was in Hamilton, at Jackson’s Emporium, which was quaint. When they offered me instant, I switched to tea, where I got weak T2 Chai, but at least it had leaves. One spoon of leaves cost me $5; the little biscuit cost me $4, but it was gluten free ginger, and tasty. I guess they need high prices to compensate for lack of customers. Hamilton itself is very cute.
