mountain - Natureloverswalks

July 25, 2022

Mother Cummings Peak 2022

I’m getting quite good at climbing mountains when the forecast is for rain, but what else are you supposed to do? Sure, if it were pelting I’d have cancelled out, but it looked like the sort of rain that would yield lovely misty photos and would not overly drench me, or, more importantly, my camera. And I’m a big girl. If I’m too wet, I can turn around any time I want.

Western Creek, a bit before where the track starts.

Have you ever noticed that very few praised photos are taken on days with blue skies and dark shadows from a cosy sun? Bad days are great for good photos, so off I set. Good photographers are tough when it comes to weather, so it was time to toughen up. Who wants to sit on a mountain with heat haze spoiling the view? I had no view to be spoilt in that manner – much better to have moody mist.

The trip there was slow, as I kept finding beautiful old sheds or barns to photograph, and … perhaps I was procrastinating? Maybe I wasn’t as keen as I was pretending to be to climb a mountain in thick mist?

Mother Cummings Peak from near the last pinch. It is there. You just can’t find it.

I was actually doing a recce for a different reason, and just in case it did start pelting, I chose the short, sharp route from Westrope Road. It rose over 350 ms in 1.4 kms. That’s steep!! I was (of course) wearing my Scarpa boots, but still kept sliding backwards with every second step. There was a lot of very wet leaf litter on the ground, and the slope is toe against shin steep. When I say straight up, I mean it. Coming down was going to be interesting.

Mother Cummings Peak track (on my way back down).

I was happy to start topping out after 35 minutes. The forest cleared and I was now in a flat marshy area. There were some cairns, but visibility was so low that they were lost in the mist. I decided it was easier to just bushbash my way up. The bush became bushier, which would have been fine, but I started to get very wet. The wind picked up. I headed to my left, to where the rocks would be rockier, but there would be less thick bush. It seemed to take forever to get across to said rocks over and under all the obstacles, and once I reached my goal, and cleared myself of all trees, I was able to perceive how cold it was being wet in this wind, and how potentially dangerous it was on very slippery rock where the edge was not visible. I said “Good bye” to this old friend with no ceremony at all and retreated down to safety.

The trip down wasn’t nearly as bad as I feared. I think I had maybe only two skates, neither of which harmed me. Unfortunately, I had gone up in order to find a flat spot near the top for a later visit, but as I could see nothing at all, I did not find a suitable spot. But really, the recce was only an excuse to climb this lovely mountain again. Good mountains are like good books: once is never enough, and each visit reveals new insights and delights.

July 20, 2022

Wellington / kunanyi snow climb 2022

Sometimes we think we need to travel huge distances to have an adventure, but if you’re lucky enough to live in Hobart, you can have an adventure within minutes of home.

Wellington. Some snowballs got pretty big.

Gussy and my adventure – of a snow and ice climb of Wellington / kunanyi – began literally minutes from home as we parked the car at Fern Tree to begin our assault on a very white kunanyi (Mt Wellington).
The news report said snow was down to 200 metres a.s.l., but Fern Tree is more like 450, and as we began, the ferns were green, but were nestled in pockets of white. No foliage carried the little white nests of higher up, but it didn’t take too much climbing before first snow nests and then just a white coating on every leaf and needle, every twig and branch came into play. Shrubs heavy with their burden leant wearily over the path, so we got rather snowy as we proceeded higher. We would bump a branch, and it would unleash its load. The ground was soft and delicate underfoot – real powder.

I would have become rather snowy with or without the bumps of branches, as, well, if you take a ten-year-old boy up a snowy mountain and don’t expect a few snowballs to land on you, you’re not very experienced in the matter of ten-year-old boys. Gussy delighted in building a mass of snowbombs, a veritable chain snowball maker and thrower, and would unleash them either on my back or just in front of me. We laughed together.

He tried to avoid my front, as he knows how much I love the camera perched there. Although its price probably has no real meaning to a primary school child, he knows it is valuable, and the aim of the game is to have fun, not to irritate. Snow fights are especially fun for the maker and thrower of the missiles. Some of his balls were huge, and he would walk carrying them for a while before unleashing them. I’m not sure how he managed. When they were particularly large, he kicked them like a soccer ball and delighted to watch how they scattered. He liked the ones that stayed whole for a while. (Needless to say, progress was not at race pace).

View out over the city near where we stopped for a bite to eat before braving the wind on top.

At The Springs we had stopped to put on our yaks (kind of alternative mini crampons) and had met two workmen as we did so. They seemed taken aback by our plans for the day, but once they saw we were well equiped, they relaxed entirely.

Can you spot the summit cairn hiding behind the boulders?

About two hours from the car, we were very near the top, where I knew it would be windy and cold, so I spread my survival sports blanket and we had a quick picnic in the snow before emerging into the blast. It seemed rather perverse to be sitting in the snow eating salad rolls, looking out through the swirling mist on a dark grey city 1200 ms far below, the other side of white pencils of ice, but, there it was. The water hurt my insides it was so cold. Gussy just drank snow the whole time, pulling off crystal swords and sucking them; he claimed it was warmer that way.

The break and food gave him strength, and within maybe fifteen minutes he was climbing the last of the icy rocks leading to the summit. Thanks to the yaks, it was not too treacherous.

We then did a bit of “snow bashing”. I thought it would be fun to show him a secret hut I know about up there, even if that would involve sinking in quite a bit of fresh snow. We had fun, but did arrive at our destination with very wet hands and slightly wet legs. That called for a quick bite in the protection from the wind before we retraced our steps back up to the summit.

Can you find the wallaby in the snow near the summit?

Before we left the tops, I had my wish and we saw three wallabies (singly, not grouped) mooching around in the snow. The smallest one looked freezing. Perhaps it was a bit too young to be out of the pouch. It seemed very skinny.

Back at the car, I looked up our track data: we had covered 13.62 horizontal kilometres, with 920 ms vertical, which yields 22.82 kilometre equivalents. Gus says that climb is his favourite so far. He has a dozen Abels and a few other mountains in his “collection”, so that says emphatically that it was a great day.

July 15, 2022

Arthur 2022

Although I live on the opposite side of the river to Mt Arthur, and look out at it rather than out from it, there is another sense in which I feel I almost live on this mountain, I snoop around its slopes so often. Some people who don’t know me call me a peak bagger, but actually, I only rarely touch the summit of this mountain, and if ticking lists and gaining points were my object, then I would go off and do that instead of going up Arthur yet again.

For me, what is important is not ticking a box, but rather the journey to my destination, and the enjoyment of the delights along the way. On Arthur, I love the forest with its cloak of moss and colourful fungi on the lower slopes. Up higher, there are some rocks to clamour over, some scoparia to avoid and, sure, a summit cairn of gigantic proportions to touch. You climb 630 ms in 4.25 kms, which is quite steep, and another reason I enjoy it. The return journey plus the height yields 14.8 km equivalents, which is yet another reason to enjoy it: a good amount of exercise with very little driving if you live in Launceston..

Perhaps oddly, Sunday was only the third time I have bothered to touch the summit cairn of this mountain that I lie in bed of a morning and watch at sunrise, and that I see in my peripheral vision of an evening as I wander my garden at sunset, collecting the last of my wood or pulling the final handful of onion weed, admiring the flowers in evening light and the river going pearly, or taking the goats a branch or two to please them.

Sunday was a special day, as my daughter and Gussy were coming for the weekend, and we were going to climb Mt Arthur. Gus’s arm is only just out of plaster, so we would need to be careful. Also, he has lost some fitness with eight weeks of not playing his normal sport. It will take him a while to catch up to where he was two months ago.

Clitocybe clitocyboides = Singerocybe clitocyboides Mt Arthur

My daughter has been utterly hectic at work, so was not in the mood for a racing start, choosing to sip tea by the fire at a leisurely pace before we set out. I had earlier decided not to pack lunch, but just to have snacks on the summit, and lunch itself at The Bean Barrow in Lilydale, which I love.

At last we were ready to head up the mountain. We donned our daypacks. Hm. Where is my camera bag? OH NO. Not here. The substitute Fuji, kept in the car for emergencies? Gone. The car had been repaired recently, and I had emptied it out. Oh well. Resort to iPhone. Na. It was in the camera bag that had been left behind. So very sad. Oh well. We would at least take a summit shot with Kirsten’s phone. (Ahem Her battery died somewhere on the way up, so we had no phone at all, but we weren’t to know that yet.)

The absence of a camera did not detract from our enjoyment of a good climb, and no doubt made us faster. We had two stops for water for Gus on the way up, and a change of clothes once we emerged out of the protection of the forest into the icy wind on top. It was not going to be a day for hanging around the summit area, with or without a camera. We were running late for our lunch booking, however, but there was nothing we could do about it to let the cafe know. (So, if I had no camera, why are you getting photos? These are a combo of others I have taken on this mountain where I nearly live, and I also went back today to take some more to make the blog authentic 🙂 ) .

The other two belted down the mountain once we had cleared the rocks, with me trotting behind. It was a fun workout. Once back at the car, we connected Kirsten’s phone to some energy and called The Bean Barrow. Yes; they were still open; yes, they would forgive us for running late. Nonetheless, we had no time to lose, as they close at 3, and it was after half past two. Gussy’s meal had his eyes rolling in ecstasy; Kirsten and I made little noises of appreciation as we ate. Not much conversation went on.

I was worried about them driving back to Hobart with full stomachs, especially as we had all had a very disturbed night thanks to the long and victorious match of the Matties in the Wimbledon men’s doubles final. I have had two car accidents following Wimbledon in my life, so was anxious, but they got home safely.

For my part, I just had to hang around home, allowing the happiness of the climb to resonate while I did my evening tasks. One thing I sure realised was: no matter how much I enjoy forests and streams, waterfalls and fungi, there is just nothing like being in the infinite space at the top of a mountain with people you love and sharing the thrill of a climb with them.

Mt Arthur walking track route (which begins at the end of Mountain Road).

June 27, 2022June 27, 2022

Albert: an unplanned adventure

By the time I pulled into the ‘space’ for cars below Mt Albert I was already seriously questioning the sanity of climbing the mountain this late. It had been a ridiculously slow trip, not helped in the slightest by my decision to indulge in cake and coffee in Lilydale, … but the German apple cake from The Bean Barrow is so good, and they are only open a few days a week. How can you go past without having some? No idea. I always stop.
It was 4.10 and I wasn’t yet in my bushwalking clothes (that would push it to nearer 4.25 before I was ready to get going). Ah well. Let’s get out of the car and go to the toilet and then think about whether there was any point in climbing this late.

OH NO!!!!! My back left tyre was flatter than flat. I must have had a blow out. Whoah. How can that happen on a road that is not in bad condition? OK. Now I was in almost panic mode. All of a sudden I had no choice in whether or not I would climb this mountain. I had to climb it in order to get phone reception to call the RACT to help me change the tyre. Sorry folks, but tyres feel like they weigh almost as much as I do so that I can’t even pull them out of the boot, let alone place them in position on the axel. Also, even when jumping on the lever to undo the screws, I do not exert enough force to budge the fulcrum to move the screws to undo them. I needed help and urgently. It would go well below freezing overnight, and my dog was locked outside back at home.
First job: put on walking clothes. I was still in my running gear from earlier in the day, and already the temperature was nearing zero. The air had a stinging nip to it.
Stuff grabbed, off I set. Now 4.22, on one of the shortest days of the year, and at this time of year, Tassie’s beautiful long twilights do not take place. Darkness very quickly follows sunset. I had to hurry. I remembered Albert as being a quick climb. I hoped my memory was good. First memory fault: almost as soon as I began the walk, I entered a huge patch of ferns where the fronds met each other across the pad that presumably lay beneath. That was going to be impossible to detect in the dark that would accompany my return. Problem for later. On I pressed. I needed help and that meant I needed to be on top of this mountain.
There were pink tapes to guide a bit but they would also be invisible once darkness set in. No one had done work on maintenance in this area for a long time. Of course there were fallen trees to climb over. Would I find them in the dark? Who knew? Not I. On I went. Up up, climbing as quickly as I could.
Then there were confusing bits where even in this light I had to scout around for the best route. What on earth would I do on the way back? Maybe it would be easier when I couldn’t see. Ha.

Albert summit taken back in 2013. I was hoping to arrive early enough to take 2022 photos, but that didn’t happen.

Then I came to a bit that really scared me. There had been small sections where the rocks were steep and slippery, but this was different. The rock was very wet, had little grip, no footholds and only the most meagre of twiglets for my hands to grab on the right hand side; nothing further over on the left. I took this bit really slowly. Below me was a three or four metre drop onto jagged rocks: not enough to kill me unless I fell very badly, but enough to break a bone if I found myself travelling downwards out of control, and if I slipped or the twiglets broke, that would be my fate. I would not do this bit on the way back. Somehow I’d have to find a way around it.
Up up. At last I had topped out enough to try for phone reception. Hallelujah. There was a bar. Would it be enough? I googled RACT roadside assistance, and yes, google worked. Well, that is, google fed me with stuff, but the stuff was just an endless series of adds for how I could buy assistance … or insurance if I would prefer. I scrolled and scrolled, but never got a phone number. I tried out my memory. I was obviously close, as I got NRMA, the NSW equivalent. They put me through the endless series of loops and hoops that I just didn’t have time for in this emergency. The sky was a pretty red; the sun was now below the horizon. I had very little light left already to fund my return journey, and I couldn’t afford the luxury of dealing with stupid computer systems. I needed a human. I phoned my daughter, usually busy and more than often nowhere near her phone. Luck was there. She answered. Hoorah. I told her my situation as briefly as possible and asked her to find the number of RACT and get them to me as quickly as possible. I needed to start down the mountain while the going was good.
She must have been very successful, as the RACT called me whilst I was still in range. The very nice girl, however, didn’t seem to understand the word “emergency” and wanted to know the car number (totally irrelevant; I was the only fool in my location), whether the car was automatic or manual and other questions that came across to me as a terrible waste of time in what was becoming a crisis. The climbing was too tricky to do with one hand instead of two, so I was losing precious light, a commodity I could not regain. At last I got my urgency through to her, and she let me keep climbing down.
I had to get past the really dangerous bit. I stared at it. Nope, I just couldn’t do, not even with hardly any light so that many of the dangers were no longer visible (and thus less confronting). I decided to bushbash off to the side rather than risk a fall.
Down lower and back on track, every time I lost it and later refound it by accident, I marvelled that I had done so, and gave thanks. Being on the pad was going to be more efficient than bashing, and I would be less likely to hit something and hurt myself if I were on the pad.
And thus it was that with my admix of bashing and somehow remaining on the pad, losing and then finding a more traversed section of land than otherwise, the ribbon of light that was the final section of my journey – made so by the fact that it was under 10 cms or so of water – came into view.
I was back at the car, and now just had to wait another hour and a half to be rescued. At this stage, I became very glad I had indulged at Lilydale. I pulled the final third of my German apple cake from the serviette in which I’d wrapped it, and ate it slowly, savouring the juicy taste while I watched the Milky Way above take a more defined shape as light vanished from the night sky. The temperature dropped some more.
When my children were aged 1 and 3, we used to bushwalk with dear friends from Armidale every weekend, and on these walks we never ever made it back to the car in the light. It always added to the sense of adventure. I wonder if the children have any memories of those grand days of feeling our way through the bush in the dark, laughing our way through the wilderness.
Sorry for the lack of usual photos dear Reader (and for the very old photo used as the “featured image”. I’ll renew it as soon as I can, which will no doubt be a few weeks). As you can tell from the story, I was kind of too busy to think about such things. I will have to visit Albert yet again to take some more photos. However, I have no wish to ever climb down it in the dark again – or, not solo and in mid winter. I do love an adventure, but there are limits.
The RACT guy said: “You went up THERE at sunset?”
“I had to, to get reception. ”
“I took my teenage son up there and he came home with his knee dashed to pieces. I took another group up there and they never made it. There is a reason the track notes say it’s very dangerous.”
Yeah. I get it.

June 19, 2022

Quamby Bluff 2022

The first time I climbed Quamby Bluff (Jan 2013), I thought it was a disgrace that I lived so near, yet had not climbed it before. Today I climbed it for the second time, and this time thought it was a disgrace that this was only my second summitting. It seems I am easily disgraced by Quamby.

Now you might be reading this at a totally different time of year (it is mid winter here), or you might be sitting in some other country where it is summer and nice weather right now, so I had better tell you that the day I chose for my second summitting was forecast to start raining at about 9 a.m (although this got moved back whilst I ate a hurried breakfast). BoM said the rain would continue for the rest of the day. There would thus be no view, but I thought the forest should be beautiful, so off I set.

Cortinarius austrovenetus (old) Quamby forest

We have had brilliant dumps of snow in the last two weeks, but the day was mild (about 9 degrees while I drove), so I thought the snow would probably have melted by now. I was right. There were only two patches of skating rink. I had my mini crampons on board, just in case.

I didn’t bother taking lunch, as it is only a short climb, even if I was intentionally going to allow myself to be distracted by beauty along the way. My camera was strapped to my chest as usual.I was very restrained in the matter of fungi, stopping only once the whole way, but the beautiful thick coatings of moss on the trees and the rich brown humus were another matter, and I gave them due attention as I climbed.

Down the base of the mountain there was a stunning amount of fallen timber – trees lying everywhere thanks to the recent high winds. Branches, trunks, trees leaning on trees that were themselves broken. The path was all but impossible to find under the gigantic piles of rubble. Progress was slow, and I hoped there’d be less devastation up higher. Those hopes were realised. Once I’d climbed out of the valley, the trees were looking like trees, and beautiful ones at that. The moss couldn’t have been healthier or happier. Most fungi were brown and past their prime.

Up on the flat top of the mountain, the wind picked up and the clouds rolled around me. It got very dark, and even a little spooky. Visibility was about ten metres or so, but I was never there to see the view. I touched the summit cairn and turned around to get back into the protection of the forest down lower. Given how many trees were lying on the ground, I was happy to finish the walk and go to the Raspberry Farm for a small lunch before having a bigger one back home. And I now have a kilo of strawberries to have with pancakes over the next week.

3.25 kms x 2 with 507 ms vertical climb yields 11.57 km equivalents.