Legges Tor 2017 Aug

Legges Tor  20 August 2017.


Does going to a place at roughly the same time two years in a row turn it into an annual event? I hope so, ’cause I’d really like to think of our winter summit of  Ben Lomond (Legges Tor, as the particular high point on that massif is known) as a yearly occurrence.



It feels so high up there. You are on Tasmania’s second highest point, and you can somehow feel it – which is good, as each time we do it, we can see nothing much beyond the nearest boulder. You sense your height, your exposure to the elements, the fact that there is nothing of your height anywhere to the perceptible east or west. If you drew a line due west, the first point as high as you would be in Argentina. If you drew it east, it would be Chile. Directly south, there is nothing, and directly north, … well, I am still chasing that one.


Kosciusko is one degree further east, so you would bypass it, and proceed north, I can only assume until you hit New Guinea. You may have to get to Russia before you get something as high, and even then, I am not sure of exactly what. I am still trying to find out. Work in progress. If I get some knowledgeable information, I’ll update this post. I’d love to have this exact, as it greatly interests me. Google isn’t being very helpful. The point is not that Legges Tor is a whopper in terms of height, but that it is exposed to the elements up there, and the prevailing winds coming in from the west are unhindered in their path from America to us.



And the real point is that summitting it in winter is jolly good fun!

Walls of Jerusalem 2017 Aug Snow

Walls of Jerusalem in Snow. 19 August 2017


We have been to the Walls a few times in winter, in glorious snow, but never have we seen it as tantalisingly lovely as it was this time. We encountered snow well below Trappers Hut (which is normally our snowline), and were in a fairy-wonderland long before we reached that cute little rest point.


If you think that pack of his looks huge and I am a mean wife making him carry so much, please be reassured: my pack was much heavier than his, and I had the shared-type items for the two of us. I have taken huge measures to make myself stronger as he becomes weaker so we can both keep going.
My husband had indicated after last week’s successful foray into white wonder that he felt he was up to a weekend walk to the Walls, so we acted accordingly. However, Parkinson’s is a fickle disease: this week you can be fine (relatively speaking), yet next week, you’ve gone distressingly downhill. This week was not a good week, and he struggled badly. The further we penetrated into the white wilderness, the less coordinated he became. His pace slowed to a virtual halt.



I got very embarrassed, as we were holding the others up dreadfully, so, at lunchtime, I regrettably pulled the pin and took us out, waving wanly as the others headed off to Herods Gates and where I wanted to be.



We began our path downhill, the weather making my decision easier to bear, as the clouds were amassing. My husband’s spirits picked up considerably as we descended, and we had a happy afternoon, figuring we’d managed to be in the beautiful snow for the best part of the day anyway. However, as we walked before lunch, I knew I was looking at my husband climbing in snow with a proper pack on his back for the last time. We have had many sad “last times” since his illness has taken control of him, but this is one of the worst, even though it is not unexpected. At least he can still do daywalks in the snow. For now.