Victoria Valley Falls are very near a place on the map called Victoria Valley, in the middle of nowhere, somewhat near Osterley (which is also in the middle of nowhere). So much is Victoria Valley in the middle of nowhere, that I am not sure which house constituted the mark on the map; at least Google Maps will take you there. There were no shops or post office, pubs or public buildings, … or maybe I blinked at the wrong moment. Osterley (north of Ouse) was “there”. Insignificant in the general scheme of things though Victoria Valley may be, I nonetheless did not take it kindly when ‘Google maps’ told me on my first attempt that I need a fifteen-hour journey across the Big Waters to reach it. I eventually forced it to be a tiny bit sensible, and got a version that quoted 2 hrs and 02 minutes from Launceston. Problem 1 solved.
Bauera along the path
Problem 2 is that Victoria Valley is kind of out on a limb, which I guess is in tandem with being in the middle of nowhere. It’s a jolly long drive for very little reward whichever way you look at things, and very difficult to combine with anything interesting. Hm. Why do I have to be so curious, always wanting to see falls that are just a name on a map? At least there is another waterfall, unnamed, on Kenmore Ck, just to the north of Victoria Valley Falls, so I can add that to the day’s agenda. I decided I wasn’t going to get much exercise, so went running before I set out. Good move!!
Waddamana was possibly the ugliest place I have ever seen on this entire planet, but once past it (heading south), the road got narrow, the ground less barren and greenery started growing, so I started to enjoy it. If you are coming from the south, your trip is MUCH prettier!! By the time I reached the road intersection just north of the falls, and turned onto Victoria Valley Road, I was enjoying the view out the window. I drove down that road until I reached the sign below (only truly visible for people coming from the south. If coming from the north, you get its rear end).
Oh Joy. And in 200 ms, I found this:
sign
I was off, on a path that looked like this:
And the falls that I found, you have seen above. It was a lovely little walk – although only five minutes in each direction – and could be combined with something at Lake St Clair if you got an earlier start than I did. I combined it with going to nearby Kenmere Falls (see my blog: http://www.natureloverswalks.com/kenmere-falls/
I am not normally an admirer of fat bellies, but the bulging belly of Mt Olympus is an expanse of great glory. In the folds of lurid green rainforest, with rich brown and orange rotting wood, you can find weeping waterfalls in abundance.
I noticed how especially glorious everything was looking on my way back from our Nereus trip last week, when we got snowed out of our deadlines. Because my mission regarding Nereus was the climb, I only had my phone with me, and phone-photos of waterfalls do NOT do it for me. When I look at a waterfall with my naked eye, my brain sees glorious lines of flow, gossamer threads adorning basal rocks. The phone gives me frozen, often blown-out droplets or odd streaks and blotches that fail to give any indication of the magic that attracted me in the first place. I needed to come back with a real camera to do the area justice. Saturday was the day.
I had time to get home, have a tiny bit of rest, attend to my animals and plants, try to patch my very damaged and infected feet and return. My boots were still sopping, and, as it was constantly wet feet that had caused the foot damage from Thursday, I had bandaged my wounds and wore a different pair of boots. I like to have 3 pairs of boots in use at once, so that two pairs can be drying out slowly and I still have something to wear. It’s not good for the leather to force the issue of drying.
On the day I had chosen, the forecast was for rain all day – hoorah; that’s actually why I chose that day – and I set out on the ferry in the middle of a little deluge. By the time I alighted, it was only scattering tiny droplets, most of which the canopy absorbed. You guessed it; the sun came out by the time I had all my gear ready for shooting some time later. That said, I never had to wait more than a few minutes for the sun to hide again, and the heavier falls of rain occurred at times when I was ready to move on … mostly. Other times I had to contend with rain while I was shooting, but it wasn’t too bad.
After the first series of falls, it was raining quite heavily, so I decided it would be good to drop down to Echo Point Hut and have some food inside in the dry before moving on. There were five of us sheltering and snacking in there, three of whom were were landscape photographers. I had fun meeting them (they were from VIC and SA, and were adoring the forest), and stayed far too long considering my goals, but, oh well, that’s the way it was.
It was a very sociable day, as, at the end, when I arrived at the lodge just before kitchen closure, two lovely people invited me to join them at their table, and we had a fun time chatting while I waited for, and then ate, my dinner. Even on the ferry I’d had a great time chatting, as several people on board recognised me, waving enthusiastically as I hopped over the gunnel, so, after I explained to the driver that I was not going to “chuck” my bag containing several thousand dollars worth of glass in the corner, we talked the whole way. I have decided that people who are prepared to get out and climb mountains or explore forests on a day forecast to be sodden all day, must be very nice. The rain is a kind of sieve.
There are no routes for this blog. I didn’t track anything. I just wandered and shot where I found beauty. The falls have names in my files for my own records to distinguish them from one another, but I have not named them here; they are not official. At the official level, these are unnamed and unmapped falls on unnamed and unmapped creeks. Perhaps their shy obscurity is part of their allure.
Tasmania’s Devils Cauldron (in Lees Paddocks, Cradle Mountain National Park) is well named, and certainly on Sunday it resembled its namesake in Africa rather well … except for the snow that decked all the surrounding mountains. If you don’t conjure up myths like Faust’s (well, Goethe’s) Walpurgisnacht (or Shakespeare’s hags in Macbeth) with devilish witches stirring bubbling pots of fuming brew, doubtless noxious, and wish to turn to river metaphors named after the idea of satan with a spumous pot, then you will need to look to the original African version, in which the Nile squeezes its way through a gorge of approximately 7 meters width, to burst with a thunderous roar into the “pot” below. The Wurragarra River had only what seemed like three metres width in which to force its flooded way through, and it was carrying all the melted snow and runoff from the many mountains above. Its force was impressive!
Devils Cauldron
One begins one’s journey to this spectacle in a humble carpark, fit for maybe five cars, advances through an open green boom gate, and encounters the first swimming pool in the track not too far down. In the end, I was to clock up 20 kms today, so was in no mood for wetting my feet so early. I found a way around through the bush. I was to repeat this little chassé dance many times. After 8 or so minutes, one reaches a swinging bridge, and gets a first glimpse of how the Mersey is faring today. Big, wide, had a bad night’s sleep and is not in the best of moods. Treat with caution.
Cauldron environs
On the other side, the creeks come thick and fast. I spent a while at each one searching out two poles to balance myself on the slippery submerged rocks. Sometimes there was a wood option, but I don’t trust wet wood, so sought out other alternatives. My feet were dry at the end of the day, thanks to quality Scarpa leather, and dodgy pussyfooting (and, probably, the poles, which I refused to cross without).
Devils Cauldron
Forty-four minutes after beginning my journey, I was at the turnoff to Oxley Falls (having passed the Lewis turnoff a bit before). This section of the forest had been beautiful, as was the early paddocked area beside the river, with white mountains closing in to left and right, and light drizzle falling. I was not to be tempted sidewards right now, however. On I pressed.
Gorge of the Devils Cauldron
The moss, myrtle and sassafras not only looked wonderful in its lush greens, it also formed a protective canopy which soaked up the rain before it hit me. It did, however, rob the surroundings of light, so that 9 a.m. had the feel and look of 7.30 p,m.: gloomy, dour, no lighthearted jokes tolerated.
An hour after I left the car, the forest opens up a bit, letting in light (and rain), and allowing the growth of bracken and lower ferns for a while until it closed back in. Not knowing the area, I thought I’d reached Lees Paddocks, but I had to wait another 30 minutes before I was reading a sign announcing I was there, and that I was to close the gate. I climbed it instead. I am light and it was heavy. (Ie, 1 hr 32 to this sign from the car, in case you want that feedback).
Playing upstream
The button grass of the paddocks was the slowest part of the hike (isn’t it always?). I was just negotiating my way from lump to lump as I approached the Wurragarra River, when I heard a non-owl call my name. I turned to see Shane, a web friend and fellow waterfalls aficionado. He had started 10 minutes after me and caught me from behind. How lovely. We walked over the lumpy clumps together, wending our way to the forest edge, and proceeding together to our infernal pot.
(Google SEO: that = Devils Cauldron. Is there anyone else in the world who cares about the fact that google’s search engines are ruining good style by demanding the relentless repetition of words for the dumb, mindless SEO rather than encouraging pleasant-to-read and stimulating good writing, which avoids boring repetition. I refuse to succumb to American notions of what I should be doing with my language, which means the myopic search-engines have trouble locating me. I treasure good writing over being found).
Devils Cauldron from above
Together we climbed up the creek until the lion’s roar warned us that the devil was cooking his stew, and he must be nearby. The pot was blasting over. Neither of us had any information on how to actually reach the base of the falls, and in conditions like today, any suggestions would have probably been drowned anyway. We went as far as we could at river level, delighted in what we saw of the high, striated cliffs and rumbling, foaming water, the dripping ferns and singing moss, and then tried other creative ways to reach our goal. Success. Kind of. There was so much spume that my lens misted over before the 2-second self-timer had set off the start button of my camera. Long exposures produced a nice shot of the innards of a cloud. Furious wiping, cut exposures down to 10 seconds, change the angles … I got something, but not the shots I came for. I’ll be back.
Forest scene
What with setting up my tripod and filters and so on, I was taking a lot longer than Shane. Besides, I wanted to stay and play for a few more hours, and explore the river up higher, whilst he had to get back, so we parted, although I climbed back to safety before he left, and he kindly stayed to see that I had emerged alive before we went our separate ways. It’s amazing how you can flit away several hours, just moseying around and exploring. Well, I can.
Oxley Falls
On the rebound, I had time for Oxley and Lewis Falls. It was only early afternoon. I made my way towards the first, being shocked that I could feel the ground vibrating before I heard the sonic booms of the voluminous water rushing over the edge and slamming into the territory below. I could see the river in the distance, so walked beside it, waiting for the actual falls to happen, and noting the the Upper Oxley Falls were just swallowed up into insignificance in a context like today’s.
Lewis Falls
I didn’t return to the track after Oxley, but chose to remain by the river and proceed pathless to the next waterfall (Lewis). From there, it was a mere 2 minutes back to the track, and a further 32 minutes to the car.
Lewis Falls
My photos don’t indicate the shape of Oxley falls. The fat lady had eaten too much dinner for any shape to be evident. Besides, my photos are not “record shots” to show what something looks like. They are my artistic response to the beauty I have witnessed in that place. Sometimes that shows what it looks like as a side perk, but that is not my objective in shooting, whether we are talking waterfalls or mountains. Nature is amazing, beautiful and various. Each waterfall and mountain evokes a different mood and response, which, of course, relates to the stimulus, but it is not all about the fact of the object that is there, but the personal and creative response to that object. Mostly, I am taking photos of the same thing, every location, every time, and I have been doing so for as long as I remember: Light. Goethe’s “reines, einfaches, helles Licht”. How he loved it. And how do I!!!
I never expected to have so much fun in Cataract Gorge. After all, I run there every day, so it holds few secrets, and it is becoming alarmingly popular of late. So why was I there in a role other than “daily runner”? Haven’t I had enough of the place? (No, is the short answer).
My Camera Club, NTCC, is having a ‘fun afternoon’ there later this month; however, I can’t attend as I will be climbing a truly horrible mountain on that day. But I wanted to play the party game, even if I can’t attend the party, so here I was. It was raining this morning, precluding many other duties: today was to be the day. And what was this game? I had an 8-letter word, (mine was “tomorrow”) and I had to find something to photograph for each letter of my word.
O. Orifice (oral one) of opalescent peacock (yelling)
While I did my post-breakfast run, eyes left and right for inspiration, I considered my lot. The consonants were easy, but three Os. Oh dear. As I ran, I hoped I would happen upon an Olearia; that would make life easier. Yes, I caught it on the rebound up towards the Power Station. Phew. That was one O dispensed with. I have never seen an orchid in the gorge, and the only fungus specimen I know beginning with O (Oudemansiella gigaspora), I had only seen on Mt Wellington, so I’d have to think outside the botanical square for two more. I ran and dreamed. You will see in the photos my solutions to my problem.
Mollis azalea (Macro)
My only other issue was selection, as my mind was working overtime, coming up with far too many fun alternatives. Oh well. I’d shoot anything and everything, and decide later which ones would be in the final cut.
I grabbed my camera backpack, and swapped my running shoes for walking boots and gaiters, as I was about to follow one of the South Esk River’s tributaries upstream for my W shot. That was fun. As I dived over the edge of the railing, I heard a father steer his curious son away; I think he decided I was someone suspicious, or, at the least, very strange. I am sure I am thought to be Very Strange quite often, so this only caused a smile.
O. Olearia (overhanging)
W well and truly covered (with a bit of beautiful M thrown in for good measure), I transferred location to the Rotunda with its Rhododendrons (ignoring the Runners, Rain and Rocks). While I was photographing the path with its colourful overhang, there, beautifully framed by the crimson arch, was a Tourist, who signalled to me that he’d move. What? A considerate tourist? Is that not an Oxymoron? I didn’t think I needed T for tourist, but thought this Oxymoron could be an Obnoxious Oggling Obstruction. However, I then met him – he was not just a tourist; he was also a fellow photographer; of course he had manners. He was even a bit of an Ornithological cognoscente. However, after all those fine Os, I decided I would like him as my T, despite my myriad tree photos, including a double-up of Tilia.
R. A roo, who is actually a wallaby, but so much cuter than the Rotunda, and even better than all my beautiful Rhododendron photos.
We chatted for about an hour, laughing together about some of the possibilities for my letters, and touching on the paradigm shift between the seventeen and eighteen hundreds, David Caspar Friedrich’s influence on the Romantic artists (and our mutual admiration of his work), the embracement of chaos as part of the enlightenment and more. It was so, so very relaxing to talk to someone about topics like this. Part of my ache for Bruce is that such conversations are now a rarity for me. Greg, btw, is a beautiful photographer. You can check him out on his web: www.gregsoandso.com.au.
R. Regal Royal blue, with Reckoning eye (with further apology to the Rotunda and Rhodies).
I went up and changed lenses from wide angled to zoom. Soon enough I yelled out excitedly to Greg who reappeared that I’d found another O; I had just photographed the quintessence of Opalescence. This game was such fun.
O. Orifices – but wallaby ones this time. And you can concentrate on the ear to make it different.
A female came running by. I already had too many Rs, and didn’t need an F, but shot the Runner just in case. Satisfied, I began my journey back to the car, but bumped into a bushwalking friend, and had a chat, by the end of which this game had occupied nearly four hours! I was, predictably, starving. Just a bit more Moss in case I decided I needed it, and an appealing Rock, again, just in case, and I was away. … But not quite. On a different visit, I had taken a photo of a possum whose Orifices were quite prominent. I wanted a good marsupial orifice. I would come back in the evening to try my luck on a repetition. Otherwise, I’d use a rather cheeky one taken this morning. I like games.
W. Come on, it wouldn’t have been me not to find an excuse to sneak a Waterfall in somehow. You only know about things like this if you explore the gorge’s secret places. T might be for tomorrow, but the gorge is a Treasure chest for its many lovers.
