mountain - Natureloverswalks

January 19, 2020January 31, 2020

Seagers Lookout Mt Field NP Jan 2020

We were faced with a quandary on the final day of our short holiday at Mt Field National Park, as we were there with a four and an eight year old, and had already been to the three well-known waterfalls (Russell, Horseshoe and Lady Barron) the day before. On this day, we only had a pitiably short amount of time, and we wanted to go high. We decided to go as far as we could along the Mt Field East path, and just turn around after forty-five minutes. However, after a time that was not very long, and well before we needed to turn around, we reached the turn-off to Seagers Lookout, and decided it would be our destination. Little Abby was coping much better than the previous day, enjoying the challenge of this rocky path where you had to think before you put your foot down, and where you could play jumping and bouncing games while you went.

Gussy and I played other games on rocks, climbing this and that while we waited for Abby. Luckily, our turn-around time came just as we rounded the corner that promised our goal. We figured we’d wasted a lot of time balancing on the dam wall at Lake Fenton, so weren’t too worried. Abby and her mum settled down to enjoy the obligatory lollies that one has when one reaches one’s goal bushwalking, while Gussy and I climbed the rocks to touch the summit cairn.

Climbing this and that while waiting for his sister

I have seen in the web that this is called an easy walk. Perhaps the writer is a 6 ft tall male aged maybe 20. If you are an eight year old boy, this is NOT an easy climb. I showed Gussy how to use pressure on each side of the chimney to work his way up it. I was delighted to hear him grunt with effort, as I respect anyone who is prepared to work for his or her goals. Laziness annoys me. Gussy concentrated hard, and was thrilled to rise to the challenge of the rocks and take the final couple of easy steps to the cairn.

Surrounded by boulders. About to attempt the final climb

I realised that coming down would be harder for him, so once more went first, and found it challenging myself until my right foot found a ledge it could use. Somehow it was hard to get into a position where one could prevent falling by pressing on each side. Gussy’s mum heard that I was needing to help him more, as this was the most challenging descent he has ever done, so came around to help coach him. I hope he doesn’t mind my saying here, but I could tell he was afraid, so I am very proud that he didn’t freeze, but pushed through his fear, trusted our instructions, and managed to climb down. In case you have children and want to do this walk, it is a totally delightful walk without touching the actual cairn. That is just icing on the cake. Abby doesn’t feel she’s missed out on anything (especially as she used the time to imbibe more lollies than her brother).

Kirsten touched the summit herself, and then it was time to start back down, with a need now for great haste; we were rushing, as Gussy had been invited to play tennis (hot shot tennis) on centre court at the Hobart International before the semi-finals started. We were terribly proud of him for being thus selected, and certainly did not want him to arrive late. I am happy to announce that he also did not arrive maimed from his climb. When Abby’s pace threatened our timetable, Kirsten popped her on her back, and virtually jogged down the mountain with her on board. I stopped to put something in my pack, and had to run to catch up.

With its mild challenges, its variety of natural amusements for children, and its perfect length, I highly recommend this as a walk for families. As said, touching the actual cairn is not obligatory to enjoyment.

The previous day, Abby had been far more fractious, as the wide, smooth paths offered little variety or interest for young children. We had had a tantrum or two (or more) on the way to Lady Barron Falls. Abby survived Lady Barron by joining Gussy in a game of Ned Kelly, hiding under bridges or behind trees to shout “Boo” at us as we went by. The other two falls were enjoyed not so much for their water falling, but for the opportunity I gave them to get off the predictable track and into the real forest, which gave them scope to use their imagination and test their little muscles. I watched them play, thrilled that they were interacting with nature rather than being in a plastic playground.
On this little holiday, we saw my first ever bandicoot up close (1 m), a quoll (which seems to be rare these days), bats, glow worms, a very close and obliging echidna, and many paddymelons. We tried for a platypus, but failed.

January 3, 2020

Walls of Jerusalem 2020 Jan

New Year’s Eve was upon me, but what should I do? Mope at home, mourning the gaping hole left in my life by Bruce’s death, or go into the wilderness, where although I may well be alone, I am never lonely? The latter, of course. The wilderness revives and refreshes me, filling me with joy and taking me right out of myself with its infinite beauty. I can be miserably lonely in my home city with its people who aren’t there for me, but I am never lonely in the putatively empty wilderness, with beauty, freedom and space as my companions.

I decided the Walls of Jerusalem would be the right place to be, so phoned the kennel to see if they had any room. Luckily, a cancellation meant the answer was “Yes”, so, despite the fact that Tessie thought this was a shocking idea, and that the two of us should have a mother and doggy night at home, I deposited her mid-afternoon and drove on to the Walls, arriving later than I wanted, but, hey, this is summer and nights are pretty endless, so what did it matter?

The weather forecast, checked to be certain just before I left home, was for mild weather and no rain, so I chose my light three-season tent, and left my bivvy bag, heavy night coat and more at home. Seeing’s I carry my tripod, filters and heavy camera on such a trip, I appreciate the offer of a lightened pack in other respects. Ha ha. The weather had the last laugh.

As I rounded the corner into Herods Gate, I was knocked over by a blast of icy wind that roared all around and turned my hands to frozen blocks. I couldn’t wait to set up camp and shelter from its pummelling. Pity about the three-season tent that lets in way too much air for those conditions. Pity also about the fact that it was raining and that I didn’t have my bivvy bag or warmest coat to pamper myself with.

At sunset, I was too cold to concentrate on good photography. I took all my gear to my chosen position, but just wasn’t in the mood to use it, so just took a few hand-held shots. Luckily, after yet another sleepless night in the wilderness doing bed exercises all night to stay warm, I was up at 4.50 and in the mood for photographing pre-dawn and sunrise, dancing on the spot to raise my metabolism. Later, cappuccino at Deloraine was sure appreciated. … And, because the scoparia was not quite in flower yet, the good or bad news is that I will need to return for another night in the not too distant future.

January 3, 2020January 3, 2020

Western Arthurs Traverse K-A Dec 2019

I have lost count of the number of times I have set out (or wanted to set out) to do the Western Arthurs Traverse, and been weathered out of my mission – by fires, floods, blizzards. You name it, the weather won each time. This time I fooled the weather by not acknowledging what I was doing. I pretended I was just going to play at the Eastern end of the Western Arthurs, and by the time this morphed into a traverse K-A, the weather hadn’t had time to work up its normal fury, like a snake you surprise so it doesn’t have time to summon up all its poison. Off I set. I couldn’t believe it was really happening. And I was so glad to be doing it the tougher K-A rather than the normal A-K. I like climbing.

The first day was merely a half day, and thus didn’t begin until after lunch, so we only had time to get as far as Two Mile Creek. This was actually great for me, as it’s been far too long since I’ve carried a Big Expedition pack, so it let me ease myself into the task. The next day, of course, brought in the absolutely massive task of climbing Kappa Moraine to the top (nearly) of Mt Scorpio (which we climbed, of course), before ascending some more out of Lake Sirona, and finally dropping to Hanging Lake, where platform space was scarce, and where it was yet again proven that wretched platforms and gorgeous Hilleberg tents are not good companions. My tent is not free standing, and needs more than the usual number of anchor points. Grr.

We began full Day 2 by going backwards, to climb Aldebaran, for me for a second time. As this is one of my very favourite mountains, I don’t mind how many ascents I tally up. It was beautiful to reach the summit with the clouds still in the valleys below.

“Mt Taurus” does not look all that foreboding from Haven Lake, but climbing it was the most taxing part of the whole traverse for me. It seemed to go on forever, and I guess I hadn’t found my so-called second wind yet, so it felt formidable. I couldn’t wait to drop the packs and go touch the summit. I am confused, actually, as everyone calls what we climbed Mt Taurus, but Listmaps has the much more dramatically interesting, more “bullish” rock to the NE labelled Taurus. Is everyone quoting Chapman who got it wrong? Or has Listmaps got it wrong? I don’t know the answer.

After that, the Dragon Spine of four … or was it seven??? … bumps (one lost count after a while) was not too bad. And awaiting us were the famous Beggary Bumps with the bad-street cred’d Tilted Chasm which had to be negotiated before we reached the also-much-talked-about High Moor. For me, it was a dream to at last be seeing these wonders, having read so much about them, and seen so many pictures (mainly David Noble’s inspiring ones).

On the Dragon Spine, staring at the formidable Beggary Bumps

We climbed up a chasm that seemed pretty steep with loose sections, and I thought it was fine, but was starting to wonder about how bad the Chasm that everyone spoke about with fear in their voices was. I then got told I had just done it. I laughed with pleasure. The same happened with some sloping rock with small ledges that didn’t worry me in the slightest, but which one of our four was fearing. I was surprised to find that I’d just completed the dreaded object.

There was one moment in the day when I looked down and told myself that had been an idea less well-advised than most, but I just turned my attention to the task at hand and didn’t look down again until I had a bit more terra firma underfoot. Soon enough we were choosing our spots at High Moor. A group of ten camped there made life a bit tricky, as there was no space for my tent, but I managed.

That night, during the night, a mighty wind whipped up, ripping John’s tent along its top as it broke his pole. He and his gear were in a less than ideal state in the morning, which dawned wet, grey and windy. We spent this day catching up on the sleep we didn’t get during the night, and then climbing a few thises and thats. I had already climbed Columba the previous evening, but did it again to kill time, adding in a few other lumps and bumps to keep myself amused.

Capricorn view, looking back. I climbed both bumps.

The next day’s walking took us out of High Moor, up Capricorn (packs dumped to summit), up the much harder Mt Pegasus, which I had already climbed from Cygnus with just a daypack. Climbing it with a full pack was somewhat more strenuous, to say the least. The views from the top remain fantastic. This day was pretty hot, which was rather welcome, but even more welcome was the little nameless tarn between Pegasus and Oberon, where we stopped to dip our faces in the water to cool down and drink.

The next stop after that was at the outlet to Square Lake, where we took out about half an hour to rest up before the final slog to Lake Cygnus. High Moor to Cygnus was a pretty long day. That evening, the air was balmy, and it was so nice to sit outside and chat and enjoy the temperature. I went along to say “Hi” to the only other people at the lake, and discovered it was Ben the Skier, whom I had met the night before he did his amazing ski down the chute of the Ducane Range the month before. Small world. (At High Moor, a guy had come in and pitched next to me late in the evening: we worked out I had given him a lift just two weeks before as he headed in to the King William Range while I was bound for my Rufus waterfall adventure.)

The final day turned on mist and howling winds for us. It took round about an hour to reach the top of Morain A. In this time I was blown off the track every third step, and was absolutely exhausted from trying to stabilise myself in the presence of forces so much more powerful than I was. My core even started to cramp due to the hard work. It was a blessed relief to get out of the main wrath as we descended, and begin the easy part of the trip to Junction Creek and out.

This traverse will remain in my mind as a highlight, if not THE highlight of my bushwalking “career”. It was not as remote or ‘different’ as many of the extended walks I have done, but I adore a physical challenge and this trip offers that in extremis. I felt like I was in the most dramatically beautiful fun park I have ever entered.

November 2, 2019August 30, 2022

Hartz Peak 2019

It seems to be a recently established tradition that we climb Hartz Peak the day after we return to Creekton Falls to have a family ‘Bruce memorial’. That is, we did it last year, and again this year. Hartz Peak is near our base of Driftwood Cottages at Dover (nearer still to Geeveston), and is doable for the children. Traditions are good things to have, as long as you don’t become their slave.

Some wet, muddy bits, that convinced Abby she needs bush boots.

I recently read a book by Katherine Abetz (An Obstinate Love) set in the Federation era, in which they took three days to climb Hartz Peak (and wore long frocks and high heels shoes). Abby wore a tutu, as you do if you’re three, and strapped leather shoes, and we were back by early afternoon of the day we set out. Gussy had his proper bush shoes on, and Abby agrees that she needs a pair. She got her feet very muddy, and a little bit wet. Unlike the characters in Katherine’s book, the children elected to run most of the way, despite Abby’s tender age. We adults, more burdened down with gear, went at a more measured pace. Gussy pressed on the accelerator between Ladies Lake and the top, so I left the group to keep him company, tucking in behind him to let him keep his nose in front. I rather think that next year, when he will be in third class, I will have no choice in the being behind bit. This year I was comfortable, but aware that the pace was verging on the “not so”. Soon I would be puffing. He is getting very fit, and already has a fantastic beep test score.

Keithy braved a swim in Ladies Lake, to “have one for Bruce”, who, for most of his life until Parkinson’s got a good grip, swam any season, any weather, any altitude. I have pictures of him and our daughter swimming with icebergs in the Alps. Keith was a delicate shade of blue at the end. The rest of us watched.

On the way back, the tutu hit the rucksack.

Predictably, Abby was very prepared to examine insects and other interesting features on the way down. She is a diminutive three, and her running on the outbound journey must have been pretty exhausting.

October 18, 2019May 26, 2022

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).

Enjoying a bit of a climb on the beach of the Cape Queen Elizabeth walk

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.