For information on these falls, please turn to
Oxley Falls
Meribah Falls 2019 Oct
Meribah Falls pose a challenge to their would-be visitors at many levels. In terms of beauty, the entire area is a literal, mossy “walk in the park”; however, in terms of the usual usage of that phrase, it is no parky walk, for not only does one have to navigate one’s own way for most of the journey, but one has to traverse fairly challenging terrain, which is very steep in the final sections.
If you have the bush skills to reach the falls, you are then faced with other challenges:
(i) Given the 2+ hour car trip (if you come from Launceston) and the roughly 2 hour walk from the car, you will probably arrive in the middle of the day, when the sun is at its glariest, and the dynamic range, a curse. This can be the case even if you leave in gentle rain, as we did. By the time we arrived, the sky was blue and the sun was shining brightly. It was a glorious day if you didn’t want to photograph waterfalls.
(ii) The Upper Falls pose a massive access problem due to the severity of the terrain, and the cunning ability of trees to grow out of tiny cracks in a cliff, which means they obscure your view. A good angle is an insurmountable problem unless you have wings.
(iii) So, you say, you’ll resort to words … but how does one describe this beauty, so tantalising, so full of gurgling cascades set in a context of lush moss and lichen? How do you accurately convey the sense of peace and of time standing still? Is it enough to say you just forgot who and where you were, so much had you just become part of the environment in this place that embraced all? Words, being finite, when trying to deal with an experience that transcends finitude, are hopelessly inadequate.
(iv) And the final problem: how on earth do you discipline yourself to leave? That required a massive yank of the will.
Anyway, at the outset, these difficulties had not presented themselves. I had just had a really tough bushbash two days previous and was not seeking any hint of physical hardship today; I remembered the spur that needed to be crossed on my way to Horeb with displeasure (storms had toppled a nasty pile of trees, making for an obstacle course, and, worse still, letting light into the area so that opportunistic weeds had filled the gap), and so thought I might try a higher tack. A friend, Stephen, was with me today, and he was happy to let me have the lead in our route choice.
We crossed Jacksons Creek (14 mins) and then the next creek (another 15), and followed the track out of that, steeply up the hill until the climb was all but finished, after which we headed across an open area of vague, broad spur to drop to a truly delightful stream at the edge of the forest. We could see Premier Peak, and I pointed out that it was in a direct line with Horeb Falls, so set my compass to the peak, as I knew she would not be visible once we entered the forest.
I waymarked the point at which we crossed the stream, as I loved it so much I wanted to return to it on our way back. We had a brief drink and bite there, as I also thought there would be no water before Horeb Falls, and maybe we’d get thirsty. Off we set on compass into the deep dark, luscious forest. What a marvellous place. Up we climbed, delighting in the scenery until we had gained the same height as Horeb, and then contoured around the slope. Being this high this time, we avoided the storm damage of my previous visit. Any time I saw a wattle ahead, I veered uphill away from it, as I knew it sniffed of light and new growth that I didn’t want. Forty six minutes after leaving the second creek, we were above Horeb Falls. (∑ 1 hr 16 so far).
From Horeb to Meribah, the route is taped, but that does not mean you can pop your brain in your back pocket, as you need to follow the logic of the route if you’re going to continue to see tapes. Sometimes we had to correct ourselves, but they did go the whole way if you used your tracking sense. This section is very, very steep, with massive and dangerous drop-offs down to the river. The tapes serve a safety function if nothing else!
I was very pleased to arrive at Meribah, as I had worked up an appetite by then. (That section took 40 minutes.) I kept saying how starving I was, but I knew perfectly well that the second I arrived, my camera would have priority over my hunger. And it did. I took a few shots, noted that it was a bit too early for official lunchtime, and ate anyway. After all, I had had a very early breakfast.
We decided to go to cascades we knew were above the main falls first, and then work our way backwards. There was an unbelievable amount of beauty to try to capture, as well as lunch parts one and two to eat. We ate, photographed, just sat and enjoyed, and worked our way down the stream, past cascades and falls until we reached a fall dubbed by Stephen Tumultuous Cascades. The water was too glary; shadows posed a problem, as did trees …. as did the rather treacherous slopes, so often quite a bit of time was taken just getting into position. It was unbelievably helpful having Stephen there, as I could climb to spots and then get handed my tripod instead of having to clumsily climb one-handed. It was too dangerous for that.
I think we arrived at the top cascades at about 11.50. All of a sudden Stephen was telling me that it was 2.30 and maybe we should actually set out for home now. Unbelievable!!! Where did all that time go?? How did that happen? I was / we were so very lost in the moment that over two and a half hours had just been gobbled up unnoticed. Off we set.
On the way back, Stephen steered from behind, letting me know if my homeward route was diverging from our outward one to keep us in line seeing’s the outbound route had been so pleasant and untroubled. We stopped for a drink and snack at the waymarked creek crossing, and were soon enough relaxing, just walking on the track that felt like a super-highway after being in pristine untouched wilderness up until then. Meribah is one of my very favourite waterfalls, even though its shape is unprepossessing, and I have no wonderful photos; today, one of my very favourite waterfall-bagging days. I can go back for better photos in cloudy weather some other day. It was great to see it all on a glorious day like today; so lovely to be in untracked wilderness but not have to bash my body up to bits. My soul sang all the way home.
For the photos of the falls and cascades further downstream, see my blog on Horeb Falls: http://www.natureloverswalks.com/horeb-falls/
Cataract Falls, Hoorah Falls, Snug 2019 Oct
Why on earth was I so apprehensive as I almost reluctantly picked my way down the path to Snug Falls, my first base for the bigger catch of the day: Cataract Falls, higher up? Was it just because Caedence had said it was the toughest hike he’d ever done, or was it some sub-conscious misgiving about my health following the latest virus? Certainly, also, with the warm weather arriving, I was worried about snakes in bush that thick, and about the fact that I was diving solo into unwelcoming scrub where the ground would not be visible, and the opportunities for mishap, many. Oh well. Here I was at Snug Falls. Easy part finished. Now it was time for business.
En route to my courtesy pop-in to Snug F, I eyed up potential “dive in” points for my initial climb to the top of the falls, stage one of my venture. I saw an interesting cave with a possible route to continue higher beside it, so returned to that point, and headed up. It worked. I climbed happily, and 19 minutes after leaving Snug Falls, I was at a high point, looking down to my right on the yawning gap that shaped the falls, and the land that sloped to the Snug River straight ahead. Sad to lose my precious height, but the direction I needed was down, dropping to the creek. After a further 11 minutes, I’d reached the first intersection of two creeks above the falls. Now, I had actually been going pretty well (30 mins since the falls, plus 20 to get to the first falls). However, the fact that my watch said “50” and I’d only kind of just begun on my quest disheartened me for some reason. I guess ’cause I knew the hard work had only just begun. The bush had not thus far been exactly friendly, and had a reputation for hostility. Better get on with it.
I didn’t even stop for a drink. After all, I’d be now working my way upstream, and Caedence advised to keep in the river. But Caedence: the river is slippery as ice, and blocked by countless trees of various sizes. Moving up it was not possible (besides, I now had to climb a small cascade with steeply sloping sides). No. I’d need to backtrack and use the bush. It shoved me up the hill as I tried to get around huge fallen trunks. I played this game of being forced up, traversing a bit, making my way back to water level only to be repelled by choked and cluttered conditions for what seemed like an eternity. I should add, though, that there were some sections of forest that were more open and thus very beautiful, and some magic pools along the way. However, I was feeling so much “goal angst” that I didn’t even get out my tripod for photography, but used trunks and logs for stability. I was lugging, as ever, my usual heavy tripod, filters, and even cleaning liquid and materials today.
I started to become mentally tired: this felt like a university exam, where maximum, uninterrupted concentration for a prolonged period of time was required. I was on edge. It was all so blocked, slippery and difficult I couldn’t relax my guard for a second. I felt the strain of having to rely solely on my own mental reserves. Having someone else there somehow takes the pressure off and shares the load. Doubtless this was character building.
After about 35 minutes, but possibly only 6-700 metres progress, I arrived at a pool that was pretty, so decided to photograph it to give me a break. A further 35 mins, and similar distance again, (so I had now been going 1 hr 40 since Snug Falls), I saw a 6-metre-high waterfall. “Hoorah” I yelled in my head. Somehow I didn’t feel like actually yelling; I was already too subdued for that. This must be the bottom tier of Cascade Falls. At last!! I checked my gps.
Oh no. I am not nearly there. The falls are still maybe 300 metres or even more away, and in this terrain, that could take me half an hour. Things were violently junky here, so it could even be an hour. I sighed and continued, but when I hit a wood and rock wall that completely defeated me after 30 minutes, when the distance I had made since Hoorah Falls was to be measured in double rather than triple figures, I felt I’d lost the battle. I had now been going 2 hrs 10 mins since the falls. If I quit now, I might get back to the car in reasonable shape; if I continued, I may or may not get my grail, but I might be so spent it would be a pyrrhic victory, won at too great a cost to my own general good. I didn’t actually debate this out with myself, or consciously decide to give up: merely, one minute I was struggling against the rubble upstream, and the next, I had done a cute 180 degree pirouette and was jauntily making my way downstream, light of heart.
I covered the 30 mins upstream since Hoorah Falls in 14 down, and stopped for a drink and a snack and a map stare at a pool before the water cascaded over the lip. High, high above me was a 4W-D track on the map. My map is very old; would it still be there? At least where it used to be should be visible. I’d risk it. It was a long way around, but I had had enough battling with the creek. 28 minutes was all it took to reach the end of the road. Oh joy. I climbed like a pussy cat, so happy to be going up rather than along. 52 minutes later, I was at my car. The track was also impassible (you couldn’t walk on it at all, there was so much storm fall), but it was still better than what I had been enduring. Eventually it turned into Snug Tier Rd, which offers fantastic views out over the harbour to Bruny Island on the right, with views of the Wellington Range ahead and left. And you could walk, just walk; oh it was great.
Back at the car, the wildflowers nodded their colourful heads in the quickening breeze. I hadn’t seen one snake all day, hadn’t injured myself, and had found Hoorah Falls. Hoorah. I’ll try Cataract again later, in a better frame of mind, and hopefully with some company to offer moral support.
Kermandie Falls 2019 Nov
Kermandie Falls are not a sanctuary for those seeking beauty, or who want a pleasant day’s excursion … and certainly not for those who want to take a sweeping landscape picture that will do well in competitions. I fear it is only for the very curious: those of us who want to see what every waterfall looks like, at least once, and then return to the favourites … which is not this one. Unfortunately the base is utterly cluttered with fallen timber, which, today, was covered in masses of spray due to the high winds and voluminous amounts of water around. Crawling all over the giant fiddle-sticks game to get a front-on shot was entirely out of the question. I can’t even say that the walk in was vaguely enjoyable, especially not the way I did it. Perhaps if you started down the bottom and followed the stream up (although I have heard that that is an irksome obstacle course), maybe it would be more attractive. I never saw a parking spot, and I did see a sign to the falls, so took it, wondering where it would take me.
My route featured burnt-out trees, about a quarter of which had toppled over in an untidy mess that I had to find a way around.
I added to my own problems by not having my head in the right space. I knew I had left my PLB and compass at home, thinking they were in the car, but alas they were missing when the battle drew nigh. But I consoled myself that at least I had my gps.
I drove up the Kermandie Falls Rd, which was even signed at the base, so I thought I’d see how it went. I was especially curious to know whether there was still a boom gate across the road. Answer: No. Instead, there was a newly fallen tree, but it was further on than the now-open boom gate. I went to get out my gps to see how far it was to where I wanted to be, and, oh no. Search and search as I might, I couldn’t find it anywhere. How could that be???? I distinctly remember putting it in something (I thought, my silva bag), but it was not to be found. This meant I not only had no tracking device (and no compass) but also no map, and, as said, no PLB to get help if I became unstuck. I began to feel very anxious about this jaunt.
Well, luckily I had had a really good map stare before leaving home, so the necessity of going on map memory was not too bad. I seemed to be high and to have swung around, so I hoped the corner I wanted was coming up soon. I decided that if it came up in the next 20 minutes walking, I’d then proceed to try to find the falls by hearing; otherwise, I was a girl who had driven a long way for no dinner.
In six minutes I arrived at the corner I wanted. But was it the right one? How many corners were there? I couldn’t remember. Certainly there were neither tracks nor signs in evidence. (I sussed around further for confirmation). I decided I was only comfortable fluffing around for about half an hour, so if I got the falls in that time, good; if not, I would need to give up. I would have to commit every single step and feature of my journey to memory so as to be able to retrace my steps without a map. Full of concentration, I set out gingerly. If a burned tree toppled in the gale raging above, I was gone. (One fell quite near). If I failed to remember properly, I could be out overnight. This was not good, and I felt that ‘Fairfax’ had used up its good will in the Geeveston area with Bruce’s disappearance. What would the Geeveston police say if they were told Louise Fairfax was missing? I didn’t want to find out.
Luckily, by 30 minutes, the sound of the falls indicated they were extremely close, so I made it near enough to my cut. Right near the falls there was some pink tape, and a bit of a temporary track, so I thought I’d follow it down for a tiny way, and then hope I could wing it on instinct back to the car. I was very, very happy to see that metallic grey through the trees. Phew.
I went and celebrated my success at my favourite cakeshop in the whole world: Geeveston’s Old Bank cafe. YUM!!!! I think the lady there was rather surprised at the volume of food I bought, but she decided I looked sporty enough to consume it without too much damage.
Bruny Island 2019
My daughter and I only had a day and a half on Bruny in which to enjoy the light, but managed to squeeze in quite a lot of walks, including bagging the only waterfall on the island (Mavista Falls) as well as the only mountain worth points (Mt Mangana), plus doing a couple of other popular walks, like Fluted Cape and Cape Queen Elizabeth. I love exercise, so enjoyed the walking. Lena had work to do, so combined sitting at the dining table of our fabulous air bnb (Baywatch) editing, with joining me for most of the walks.
Much as I love walking, however, I think my favourite part of being on Bruny was shooting the dawn. I really do love the early hours of the day: the light and colours thrill me; I like having the landscape to myself; and I love hearing the dawn chorus, which is far too early for actual sunrise, but I like to arrive about 40 minutes or so before the sun comes up, so I get to hear the ornithological choir practising.
As I really love seeing waterfalls, whilst Lenie prefers other types of walks (she doesn’t enjoy bushbashing), I visited Mavista Falls alone, whilst she used my absence to knock off some of her work that was pressing. I find that each waterfall I visit engenders a certain feeling connected uniquely to it. And what is the lingering aura connected to my short walk to Mavista Falls? As usual, I guess, part of what resonates is the actual process of movement through place, of negotiating my way through that particular environment of lush greens and rich, muddy browns – similar in type to many such places in Tasmania, and yet with its own individual characteristics that make it different: under, over, around fallen logs; through the creek many times as this side, then that side was easier; trying hard to leave no trace, as the moss was so beautiful yet greatly and noticeably compromised by people who were careless of where they trod, and did not respect the place or the right of others to see it in its pristine condition.
The creek was wonderfully clear as it ran its course under the mossy logs. This should have aroused sheer pleasure, but I couldn’t help being disappointed at the way moss had been trodden on unnecessarily, and I was rather alarmed at the amount of mud under foot. It looked as if a pack of elephants had been to see Mavista Falls. Perhaps some teacher had taken in a school group? Why do these people have to tread on rather than over a log that is a mere 30 cms high? Why do they have to tread on mossy rocks when other options are available? And why on earth do they go to such a beautiful place – hallowed ground – and leave behind drink bottles, tissues and pink plastic? Is it really so very hard to treat nature with respect?
The falls themselves teased me. The map said I was there, as did my gps, and the 7 metre drop in front of me was the right height; however, the October output was significantly less than that of the only photo I have seen of the falls, taken in enthusiastic winter flow, and I became uncertain that I was really there. One thing is sure, however: I must return when Bruny has had some really good rain. What I saw was still lovely, but I know it can look even more wonderful in the right conditions.
Besides, I need to return for other reasons. Bruny was fabulous, and I have not nearly tasted all she has to offer. I actually did rather a lot of the other kind of tasting: enjoying coffee and scones at the Penguin and Pardalote Cafe in Adventure Bay, oysters at Get Shucked and dinner at the Bruny Hotel, where the whisky mouse was maybe even better than the fish. But … er … I wasn’t really there to eat. That was just to fund the exercise.
Before I went to the waterfall, we “climbed” Mt Mangana, which was a nice little excursion (30 minutes exactly in each direction), although not much of a workout, as you drove almost to the top, and so just enjoyed a fairly flat walk along a quaint path through very lovely green and mossy forest until we arrived at the rather non-event of a summit, the only unappealing part of the walk. The forest had been cleared and a tower erected, but there was no view, and you were not allowed to climb the tower (and were prevented physically from doing so). I longingly eyed up the kind of short trunks going up the pole, but there were none at my kind of height. I guess workers bring a ladder.
Two walks that did have a view were (i) Truganini’s Lookout near The Neck, a fun little climb for an expansive glance over a large length of beach, although it takes no time at all to reach the highest point; and (ii) the Fluted Cape circuit.
I did both of these with Lena. The Fluted Cape walk begins with a flat 23 minutes to Grass Point, before climbing nice and steeply for another 32 minutes to reach the summit of the cape (272 ms asl). The views along the way are very dramatic, even on a day like the one on offer, which was rather dull and flat. I thoroughly recommend doing this clockwise, as I think that makes for the best views and drama. (It took 34 minutes to get back from the summit to the car, making for a round trip of nearly 1 hr 30).
The other walk we did on this 1.5 day visit to the island was to the beach at Cape Queen Elisabeth. There were fabulous rock crevices and caves that were fun to explore. We took 30 minutes in each direction to the beach, and then spent maybe 20 minutes exploring rock formations. We haven’t nearly explored all the possibilities of this walk, or of Bruny Island. I can’t wait to go back.
Please note: not one of the places mentioned here knew who I was, or that I have a blog. My good opinion is not bought, but I like to support small businesses, so when I have enjoyed what they have to offer, I try to give them a good word.
The red dot on Waterfall Creek (centre, above) is the location of Mavista Falls, which you approach from Adventure Bay. Google maps will take you to the start anyway. After that, follow a nature trail for a while, and then either call it quits, or follow the creek to the falls. Mt Mangana is also on this map, and you will see you also approach it from Adventure Bay (just north thereof). Again, Google maps will take you to the car park, where you will see the start of the walk.