Category: mountain

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Stormont 2014 Apr

Mt Stormont, Apr 2014

Climbing after the rainforest has ended

Like so many mountains I end up climbing, I had never heard of this one until I saw it on the peak baggers’ guide. A friend told me that a group she belongs to was going to climb it, and that it normally had access difficulties, being situated on private land. This seemed like an excellent opportunity to have someone else make phone calls and arrangements on my behalf, so we signed up. The land owner was most obliging and welcoming, and we were soon parking the cars in squelching mud up to the top of my boots, and then ‘swimming’ through the red ooze to the forest which was fortunately only across the road and down a bit. 

View from ‘fake summit 2
The forest that begins the walk is the wonderful, lush rainforest that I love so much, and I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that I saw at least eight different fungi genera in the first two minutes. I longed to photograph the delicate colourful forms, but didn’t want to hold people up, so said hurried greetings in passing and strode on. Mt Stormont is 1007 ms high, and my gps says we begin at 450 ms asl, so I guess we climbed a bit, but I can’t say I noticed, as I was mostly intent on trying to spot more fungi. The forest dried out as we climbed, but then we approached the best part of the ascent – a “dragon’s spine” section, which was more knife-edged than the famous Striding Edge of England. I was proud of my Parkinson’s-affected husband negotiating it with aplomb. It was fun. 

From summit 2 (Mt Roland in the background)

Unfortunately, I dropped my lens hood whilst photographing, and watched it roll about 20 metres down the almost vertical cliff-face to an invisible place below. That seems most unfortunate given the expense of such items, but in fact the story ends happily in that two of us came back after lunch and the summits, faster, on a route that could enable finding it, and, as part of the search I got to re-climb the dragon spine from a new angle to indicate to my friend below exactly where the fall had taken place. The permissible speed and the fun of the hunt were the best part of the day for me. The fact that our search met with success was a bonus.

Cortinarius archeri

Stormont has two summits: a real one at 1007 ms, where one can find, if one searches, the scabs of an old trig marker (sawn off iron at ground level, and the remains of concrete), and a false one at 1005 ms, over 500 ms away, where there is a beautiful old cairn – an historic relic presumably built by early explorer Henry Hellyer, who also erected the nearby cairn on the Black Bluff Range. That cairn is recognised as the oldest intact piece of evidence of European colonisation in the western half of Tasmania.

Entoloma panniculum

The Monument Australia website says that at the time of building (1831), the half of Tasmania west of the meridian that passes through Port Sorell was uninhabited by Europeans except for small settlements. (Those doomed to live in crowded cities would probably say that that is still the case, but I merely report what was said). I must say that if you are only chasing a peak-bagging point, and stop at the first, real summit, then you will be missing the better of the two views. I took no photos at the first one, but five or six at the second. Does that not say it all?

laccaria sp
And my fungi were there at the end waiting for me. Below is a gps reading of our route.

 
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Hazards Traverse 2014 Mar

Hazards Traverse March 2014
In a former life, when I was an athlete and orienteer, I used to run reps up Mt Amos. I would sit on the summit at the end and gaze at the other Hazard mountains and want to go up them too – obviously not running as I did up Amos, as there was no track, but I wanted to get to know those mountains as well as the one I was on.

Then, one day I heard the magical words “Hazards’ Traverse” and they captured my imagination immediately. Friends talked about doing it, and I was insanely jealous: what a fantastic thing to undertake. At last an opportunity for me to do it too came up, as the name that held so much allure appeared on the HWC programme. I phoned the leader, David, and all was right to go. He talked about ropes and slippery slopes – I know all too well what granite is like in the wet – but that just served to excite me more. Ropes? Fantastic! A real climb. I just couldn’t wait for the appointed day.

Under way at last, climbing Mt Parsons. I was very excited!
It came, along with inclement weather. Knowing how treacherous granite can be in the rain, I was thrilled that we were at least going to give it a go, but was well aware that we may not complete it if things got too hairy. Granite operates like well-polished marble when wet, and not even good boots can prevent you sliding.

 

 
Trees are easier to climb than granite

The first mountain (Mt Parson) had a cairned route, which we dispensed with successfully and then began on the challenging part of the untracked slabs between Mts Parson and Baudin (and more). Sometimes we had to use rope; sometimes we had to climb trees in order to bypass the granite. Sometimes we walked through narrow chasms – at other times we needed to climb like a spider, high above the ground with one side of our body pushing against one rocky wall and the other side on the other, using the outward pressure to prevent us dropping down several metres to the bottom.

The rain continued falling and the granite increased its slip factor. Slopes that could be danced up at the beginning suddenly became “rope affairs” which slowed progress down. Then the clouds came in so thickly that we were robbed of all visibility so that our expert leader lost confidence about his necessary sightings to line up the best route.

As we sheltered from the rain under a cave to eat our lunch, David voiced his doubts, and everyone did their maths on time taken, time still needed to complete the task, and it was decided by mutual consent that we should bail out before we began climbing Mt Dove.

As I was an orienteer, I was asked to lead us down through the thick gully full of giant boulders the size of large buildings. I enjoyed the challenge, and found us a pretty doable path that I was pleased with. Everyone seemed happy to be doing a path that was not the “fight” they were expecting, and we reached the road down the bottom in good spirits. It felt very good to sit in the Coles Bay café in dry clothes and enjoy a hot cappuccino before embarking on the drive home. Thanks to David for a fabulous day, and for his expertise on this traverse that made even beginning it possible.

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Recondite Knob 2014 Mar

Recondite Knob Mar 2014.

My husband cleared himself from work for the day so I could have a(n early) birthday wish. I chose for us to spend the day climbing Recondite Knob. Web reports had it as being a very long day indeed, so this time I warned the dogs we’d be quite late. Probably because I’d taken that precaution, we were back in time for dinner, surprising them by being early for a change.

This reticent, elusive Knob sat there quietly, just a brown ellipse on the map, one of many nameless shapes, until Bill Wilkinson, editor of the Abels book, did his research and found that it satisfied the requirements to be what he called an Abel (inter alia, a peak over 1100 metres) and in 1994 presented a submission for his chosen name to the Nomenclature Board. He dubbed her Recondite because of her property of being something that only those with specialised knowledge would know about – a mountain for the cognoscenti. And indeed, only those in the know would be aware she existed or desire to go out that way to climb her. She is still unnamed on maps, and her paucity of visitors is indicated by the very few names in the log book at the start of the track. We were the second visitors for the year, and it is now pushing April. Even the wombats seemed surprised to find humans in their otherwise undisturbed territory.

Drink spot.
We delighted in the sense of space and room as we wandered freely along the broad ridge tops with their views to many mountains of the Cradle Valley, and in the totally different perspective of Cradle and Barn gained from this new angle. We could see as far as Pelion West to the south, to Murchison and Farrell more to the west, and to St Valentines Peak in a more northerly direction – and that’s despite its being a pretty murky day. Not a sound was to be heard. It felt like we were the only people on earth today, increasing the sense of wilderness.

The summit – most appealing!
Our route began just out the back of Cradle Lodge where blue signs at the bottom of the dam point you to Speelers Track and Reynolds Falls (and more). At this stage you are on board walk, and are on the delightful King Billy Track which leads through an enchanted forest of ancient myrtles and King Billy Pines, with thick moss and lichen adorning the trees.
After a short distance (and after the narrow track crosses a small road, part of the lodge) the track we needed to follow hives off from the main King Billy track, and points still to Speelers Track, staying closer to the river than the King Billy one. It is the next sign that causes confusion among most bloggers (perhaps 10-12 minutes after leaving the lodge). One piece of information we read said to turn right here. The map agreed, but indicated we should turn left pretty quickly after that to connect with an E-W route. This route never appeared so we backtracked to the junction and this time noticed that three directions were possible, not just two as seemed the case at first. The middle one, which we took, was not represented on the map, but was going roughly where I wanted it to go, so we followed it. After 600 metres, it joined the E-W route that I had been trying for earlier. After this, it was plain sailing for the rest of the day.
I never tire of this forest.

We had to leave the magic forest, but climbed onto golden moorland with views described earlier and an exhilarating vastness. We wandered wild and free across the tops. 35 minutes after leaving the lodge, this track intersected very clearly with a N-S old mining exploration route, clearly visible on map and ground. Walking along this was very easy, but after 7 minutes, it dumped us into the button grass, after which we had to fend for ourselves for many kilometres.

An obliging fungus colours the forest (Austropaxillus muelleri)
My husband doesn’t cope very well with button grass bogs, so I made no attempt to follow the remains of the route and chose instead a path that minimised button grass mounds and ditches and maximised lines of pineapple grass and low coral vegetation. After nearly an hour from the lodge, I headed us down to a flowing creek with pencil pine grove, perfect place for a drink of cool mountain water and a muesli bar (where my blue path intersects with the creek).
 

The next kilometre was the slowest, as my husband struggled with the combination of gaining height and long, flourishing button grass with deep, hidden channels beneath. (He has Parkinson’s disease, so these conditions are particularly bad for him). After we passed the one contour knob to the left of our line, things picked up for him, as the vegetation changed, and meanwhile the old route reappeared. It was especially easy travelling once we’d climbed around the base of Back Peak. 2 hrs 30 walking time after leaving the lodge we were on the summit and eating our lunch, enjoying the plentiful mountains in our vista, even if the view was grey, hazy and unclear, with flat lighting.
Looking towards Recondite from Back Peak, but what you see here is not quite Recondite – it’s hiding behind this lump. You go up what you can see here, and then down and then up again and you’re there.
I was a bit worried about the weather, and the fact that the return journey would perhaps take longer, both due to my husband’s fatigue and the fact that I wanted to go up Back Peak. I hurried us away from this spot, promising my husband a rest while I climbed the peak. It was a fun little climb, but took me only a few minutes in each direction, so the promised rest was rather short. I called out from the top to make contact, and woke the poor guy up.

Summit cairn, Back Peak
Nonetheless, he went really well on the downhill journey, only faltering when we had a few rises to do. The good progress meant we could relax a bit more at the lovely drinking spot of the way out and just sit back in the grass, drink, snack on treats and listen to the sounds of nature, admiring little things like the lichen on the pines and the different shades of green.
 
Austropaxillus muelleri
What a perfect ending to that walk the last bit of forest is with its cool, refreshing, intense greenness. I even found some wonderful fungi to thrill me. And then it was off to ETC for a delicious afternoon tea, and home to Launceston to surprise the dogs with unusual punctuality for dinner.
(Warning, if you are planning to do this mountain, consult the Abels book and google the other bloggers who report on this peak to get an overall view of times. I was in a fast mood, part of my own expression of freedom and independence, and my times are probably not what you would fancy for yourself. They suggest one of many possibilities.)
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West Tower, East Tower 2014 Mar

Bush in the early stages of the walk
Contouring around Tower Hill

William Buckland, a delightfully eccentric Oxford Don of the early-mid 1800s (born 1784), not only poked around seashores for fossils dressed in his academic gown, but also decided to eat his way through the animal kingdom, often working his way through it in alphabetical order. Thus students visiting him for dinner not only had to negotiate their way through an untidy array of often gigantic fossils, but also were treated to such delicacies as bluebottle, mole or mouse for the evening meal. Buckland’s devotion to completing his collection of eaten animals was as thorough as it was outlandish.

Bellendena montana lined much of the way, adding a splash of colour
Lichen detail is always fun
How much more tame – how very plebeian – it is to collect mountains one has climbed, and to tick mountains climbed rather than animals eaten on a list. Possibly the only characteristic I share with Buckland is the devotion of a good collector to get the next item even if it might be distasteful. And thus it was that I set out to climb West Tower, an Abel that does not have good street cred; in fact, rumour and gossip have it that West Tower is unbearably scrubby, has negligible view and is barely worth the effort for the point. As with most gossip and rumour, this is based on hasty generalisations with only a modicum of truth, I found. I was expecting a scrub fight, but only encountered a tiny patch of scrub which had enough leads through it to make progress quite bearable. I didn’t even bother to put on my scrub gloves. I think I only had to push and shove once, and that for only a metre. However, the view from the top was very ordinary, and I am happy to put a tick in that box and move on to more glorious mountains. 

With regard to the route, we walked uphill from the locked boom gate for 12 mins before finding the remains of an old road to the left. A cairn marks the intersection. This old route travels in a rough arc, not changing height much until dropping four contours as it curves around the picturesque Tower Hill cliffs before meeting the main spur heading down from East Tower (which travels at this point a bit west of north). On joining this ridge (still on the “road”) a further six contours are lost until a broad saddle connecting the two towers is reached. After a couple of hundred metres along this saddle, there is a rusty stake with two horizontal bits at the top, and the road becomes much narrower. Time to say thanks for the lift and leave it, heading NW, keeping at first slightly left of the main turning point of the broad spur you’re climbing, but swinging further right. Ribbons magically appear at this point, and guide you up over the cliffs and down the other side, where you lose quite a lot of contours before beginning a traverse along the northern side of the cliffs, along a route that sometimes has cairns, sometimes old, and at other times new, ribbons. Mostly the path is on the border between rocks and bush, but don’t just take that for granted, and don’t go into this area if you can’t navigate without the aid of cairns, assuming the path will get you there. You need to know what you’re doing for the guides to be of assistance. The fastest route is to stay below the cliffs until the last minute, although getting onto the ridge line earlier and following it is possible, but is a prickly option.

East Tower from West
I didn’t expect to find any enjoyment in East Tower (done at the end, after the return from West), with its steps and ugly infrastructure, but I actually enjoyed it far more than its western mate. Climbing up and around the locked gate was particularly good fun – even got a grunt out of me – and the view from the top was much better than that offered by the western cousin.
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Nicholas 2014 Mar

Mt Nicholas, March 2014


Bruce in action on the climb.
We have just had a marvellous day trying to climb Mt Nicholas – but failing.

One of the things I adore about the peak bagging list is that it entices us to try totally different mountains and explore new areas. My husband and I feel that the list serves as an inspiration or stimulus, rather than a compulsion to collect points (although I do love collecting them, but that is a side benefit and not the purpose). Our motto is: “Das Gehen ist das Ziel” (literally: the going is the purpose) and so, as long as we have had a grand adventure, which indeed was the case today, we have satisfied the purpose of the exercise. Summiting would have been nice, but is not necessary – or even sufficient, for that matter.
Off we set this morning after breakfast, assuring the dogs we’d be home for lunch (ridiculously, they nodded wisely, trusting us to keep our word). Hardly for the first time, we enjoyed the not-as-early-as-it-should-have-been light in the Fingal valley, and just before St Mary’s (about 10 kms before), turned off to the north on the Mt Nicholas Rd, stopping at the first intersection – which happened to have a nice-looking spur from the mountain coming down to meet it. As there was also a fire-trail kind of thing, we decided to follow it for a while, to see where it was leading, even though it was heading more east and on contour. We needed to correct at some time or other and head due north and climb to hit the ridge, but I didn’t see the timing as being crucial, and it was giving us a free lift east while it lasted. The minute it began a slight descent (10 mins), we thanked it for its help and departed northwards, over stony, progressively steepening ground that was fun to climb, sometimes involving all fours to get there. The steepness was something we weren’t quite expecting, even though we were greatly enjoying it. I was already ruing giving my boots a rest this weekend and choosing absurd, soft soled, slippery runners. I had underestimated the demands of this journey rather badly, but then, I had looked for, but failed to find, information, so didn’t feel guilty as such.
This lump is typical of the monsters that guard the ridgeline
The nearer we got to the ridge, the more it appeared crowded out with huge hulks of monsters standing guard over the actual summit. Giant, giant forms lurking, louring over those who dare trespass on the magic mountain. (I read Beowulf yesterday, a story set in 5th century Denmark. My mind is full of mead halls and giants, monsters, dragons and caves with dangers and loot, and something to be overcome or conquered. I am no strong viking giant called Beowulf, but I love that world of valour and honour, so let it baptise my imagination and play itself out a little today).
Fifteen minutes after leaving the track, we found ourselves on the ridge proper, and up ahead we saw the summit. Yes, this was going to be another quickie. Excitedly, I dashed ahead, enchanted once more by the thrill of the climb, and this was a good one. Tiny holds, but enough. Difficulty increased by having the sun directly in my eyes and a very strong, gusty wind blasting me, sometimes dangerously, considering my precarious hold and unsuitable shoes. How was my husband going? I couldn’t see in these conditions and would hunt for him at the top. Ta da. Summit. No, not summit. Not even nearly summit. Where was Bruce? Ah yes, excitedly climbing a different “summit”.

 Along the ridge line ahead of us lay a marvellous maze of rock towers, each one humpy bumpy and monstrously high. (Perhaps this area could be touted as Tasmania’s version of the Czech paradise, Adršpašské skály). The summit was on one of them, and was well protected by its friends. It was not a matter of gaining height and then going to the summit. You had to guess from below which one was going to be the tallest before you began your climb. If you were wrong, you landed in a dead end – or, no, better than that, on top of yet another false summit. We tried a few false summits, and several gullies that were going well until they ended in a cul de sac. We really loved doing what we were doing, and did not regret the absence of the actual summit trig. I did regret my shoes, and I sure wouldn’t have minded a bit of rope for security on some of the things I did.

We had been at the top of false summit number 1 and in the rough area of the summit after 30 mins. My watch said we had now been going 1 hr 15, and my gps said we were at the black dot of the summit. The trouble is, we were at the base of a cliff and were 40 meters in height lower than the summit. We tried several gullies, but I was not comfortable with Bruce going up any of them, and I did not want us separated. I could not see any way of doing it today. The only way would be to come back with boots, a bit of rope just in case, and a friend who doesn’t have Parkinson’s disease. We gave it our best shot and failed, but we sure had a fantastic day. On the way back we reclimbed one of the false summits to have a snack and take in the view before plummeting down the gully (luckily all watercourses were dry, even though mossy, or the going would have been even more challenging).

Our view from underneath. One of these MUST be the summit. 

We treated ourselves to a burger with the lot by detouring to Zep’s in Campbeltown (I really wanted one of those on Monday after the Western Arthurs, but we went through too late. This was my “make up” burger).

Then again, one of these could be it ….

A screen shot of the gps record of our attempts on the summit. According to this we were there, but, alas, I cannot lie. We were very near yet a little too far. But you can see from the squiggles, we had fun.
What has kept this wonderful mountain off the radar for so long? It’s absolutely brilliant, with or without your summit points. I will be back to conquer it later.

(I did touch the parts of a trig, but it was one some angry giant had hurled to the valley below in his wrath.)