tasmania - Natureloverswalks

March 2, 2026March 2, 2026

Norold Ra return visit

I nearly didn’t survive to write this blog, but thanks to superb Swedish textile craftsmanship, plus their insistence on high-quality tent poles and good luck with getting the pegs into the ground sufficiently well, I live to tell the tale. Thanks also, to having two really good friends who suffered it all with me, and who helped just by being there, and also when I needed (twice) to change tent position. Having them there gave me hope and confidence that it could all work out.

It all began so nicely: a very late start which meant we camped on a hill with a great view only 1 3/4 hrs after setting out. We thus pitched our tents at 6.45, and collected our gear to eat together outside, looking at our amazing scenery.

It was when collecting gear that the first bit went wrong for me. We had been stuffed around by Par Avion and I hadn’t had time to rearrange my bags properly. I thought I had, but oh no!! I was on a 6-day hike in the mountains before returning to base, and I had not brought any dinners, and all my porridge for breakfast was also back at base. However, the good news is I had 10 lunches, 5 soups, 10 days worth of snacks, coffee and 5 breakfast biscuits. That was going to have to do. It was about to be a lean walk. Could I cope?

Time would tell. I didn’t want to tell my friends, as they are such lovely people they would immediately share with me and go without themselves, and I didn’t see why they should suffer because of my stupidity, so I just spun out the soup and pretended that was a perfectly satisfying dinner. A few days later I fessed up, as I was coping fine, so didn’t need their meals. I did accept some Deb potato from Leandra, which made the soups more hearty. I told nobody about the lack of porridge until we were back at Melaleuca, when I dived for my porridge as the first thing when back.

The next day was hideously hot. We got an early start, and went well for the first two hours, getting near the base of our first mountain, Wilson. It was just ahead. However it took 3 x stints of 50, 40 and 30 mins to cover a pretty short distance and at last reach the summit cairn where we had a very late lunch. Our liquid came from yabby holes. There were no streams.
Adrian was thus ecstatic when the creek that I promised would have water actually did. It was really hard for us to pitch our tents that night, as the ground was either sloping, really, really rocky, or full of bushes that wouldn’t let the pegs go in. We also knew a front was coming in next day, so we needed firm pegging and protection from the NW and W. It took us an hour to settle on semi-suitable spots.

Day 3 began with a glorious misty pink dawn, and we only had to saunter up the next mountain (Norold), as we’d already done most of the climbing the previous day. We loved it, although we could see the clouds beginning to assemble. Nearly at the summit, we discovered a truly magnificent alpine garden, and took lots of flower photos. On top, we were blown away – not by the view, but by the winds that had no resistance up there. I got literally blown off my feet several times. We found shelter among rocks for a snack (obligatory on any and every summit) and, having been blown over a few more times, I said I’d done enough climbing for the day. Leandra agreed, so we two returned to the tents. Adrian followed a bit later having done a tad more exploring, but eventually agreeing that to go further on to other glories beyond was not a good idea that day.

So strong was the wind now that we realised our putatively protected spots were not so very good at their job. The front was only forming at this stage – much worse was to come – so we decided to pack our tents up and drop 100 or so meters and try for more protection lower.
The other two had tents that didn’t need the many requirements of a Hilleberg pitch, so they found spots that suited. Every spot I tried, the pegs just wouldn’t go in due to the mass of bushes, so I settled for a kind of sandy area. I knew it was sandy for a reason but I really needed to get my tent up, so just hoped. Great. Next morning, my air mattress was floating in a cute tarn inside my tent, which was nestled in an even bigger tarn externally. The other two kindly helped me find somewhere else to go, with Adrian pulling out bushes for me to clear enough ground to peg out my scaffolding. We then hung all my stuff from a tree while the others held my tent base and other important items, letting the fury of the wind dry them.

We all then went exploring until lunch time, when rain returned. Leandra and I bagged some sweet cascades and climbed some interesting knobs and bobs. Adrian bagged the far more adventurous Wilson Falls. And then the furore began. With each blast, the tent was blown almost flat by the gust. It was really unnerving. The blasts hit you in the face as the fabric was pushed horizontally. I heard the others talking, so thought maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe they were out socialising while I wussed it inside, so I went out to join them. They weren’t socialising: they were collecting Leandra’s stuff as her pole had snapped, tearing the fly. The tent was a write-off. Adrian’s was officially a 2-man tent (but hideously cramped for two, actually) so she was moving in there. I helped before we all dashed for cover as the next round of chaos began. We have now had it confirmed: gusts were 130 km/hr.

The next storm lasted 4 hours. I lay there, waiting for my own shelter to bust, or for the others to come knocking on my tent flap because Adrian’s had broken. His fabric did start to leak due to the pressure, but they stayed put. My Hilleberg did not let me down, although some poles now have a curious bend and I can see my own fabric has spots where it has become thin due to the pressure. It did not leak, and the pegs fortunately stayed tight. Adrian’s tent is now pronouncedly skewed. Nobody had dinner that night. Cooking was of course out of the question, but you couldn’t even sit up to find or eat food. Anxiety stole hunger anyway.

Arriving at Wilson summit on the rebound

And that’s not all. All this was a rehearsal by the weather for the real storm that was to hit next morning. I was not as anxious in this one, even though it was the worst. I didn’t feel my faith in Hilleberg was misplaced, and I just willed it to last this one out too. It did. We were being picked up next morning at the base of by a boat we couldn’t contact. There are no telecommunications of any sort in this wilderness. If you get into trouble, you have to solve it yourself or die. No helicopter would or should go out in a storm like that. As Greg the skipper later said: “There’s nowhere to hide up there.”

Luckily, the fury began to be spent. We packed up and moved camp to a spot not far from the end, but still high enough for wonderful views. By the time we pitched at the end of the day, we could actually enjoy being outside. We sat out there together, having a fun celebration of our new safety. There’s nothing like a brush with possible death to make you triple rejoice in being alive. That night I did accept Adrian’s offer of a real (dehydrated) meal. It was the final night before Melaleuca, and he said it was spare. There was so much food I felt quite sick. My stomach had shrunk. All would now go well. On the morrow, we would get the boat and return to base, eat stacks, and then set out for part 2 of our adventure for the remaining 5 days, to the beaches to the SW of Melaleuca.

During my time at base, I took 905 photos of a little bird that is critically endangered. In 2016, there were only 3 females left on the planet, and 14 males. The govt has funded a project which is going OK. There are now about 86 birds. The problem is genetic diversity, as they stem from too narrow a genetic source. Most of the birds are from ones bred in captivity and then released. There was thus great rejoicing when the first WILD juvenile for the year turned up the day before we left. We have to hope that more wild breeding takes place, and that we have more time before something hits that would wipe them out before a mutation here or there could enable survival. These are my favourite birds in the whole world (puffins 2nd). They’re called Orange-bellied parrots. They’re the size of a budgie and have just the sweetest little faces. My 500m telephoto lens meant I could see the crumbs on their little beaks, the expressions on their faces, and could see tiny insects hovering around them.

AI has offered to give me truly genuine ‘original’ material for my blog. Have you ever heard of anything more stupid?

April 10, 2025April 10, 2025

Birthday wish mountain

My first-born daughter traditionally gives me a birthday wish to celebrate the fact that I was born. It’s always my favourite present, time and company being so much more important to me than things and possessions. My wish is always to sleep on a mountain.

Luckily, Gus was able to come too, so the three of us slept in a tent big enough for all. That was interesting, actually, as it was very cold up there – a thick layer of frost decorated the ground in the morning. I discovered that being one person in a good solo tent is warmer than being ‘piggy in the middle’ in a generous three-man one. The large tent had too much free space for the three of us to warm up as effectively.

The wind raged all night, making the tent fly flap wildly, and with each blast, bouncing the rocks we used to stabilise the guys. It was not a restful night for any of us. However, as I ate my rehydrated, formerly dehydrated meal in the company of my family, listening to said wind and feeling the nip in the air, it was with total sincerity that I exclaimed: “Ah. This is the life.”

As you can see from the pictures, sunset was magic. I had lugged my tripod up there for dawn shots, but the morning was solid grey. I was so exhausted from failing to sleep that I was actually pleased to be freed of the obligation of getting up to photograph.

The wind had died down considerably after we had finished breakfast (my usual: porridge, coffee and biscuits), so packing up was no big trial. We somehow built up a big appetite on the descent, and started dreaming of lunch at the Possum Shed even before we were half way down. It did not disappoint. The trouble was, we had booked a Greek restaurant in town for all the family to enjoy dinner together, and I was going to have real trouble fitting that in.

December 20, 2024July 11, 2025

Ossa and Pelion Plains 2024

This trip to Mts Ossa and Oakleigh was a trip in which I didn’t do anything I was supposed to do, but ended up doing wonderful alternatives, seeing some absolutely magnificent scenery (including the best wildflower display ever), and meeting heaps of incredibly nice people.

The forest within several kilometres of Pelion is superb.

So, for starters, I left on the “wrong” day. Originally, we were to leave on the Monday, so I had booked my dog into the kennel, and even delivered her, before I got news we were now to leave on the Tuesday (due to bad weather coming). But my dog was already gone, and I had ants in my pants. I decided to just weather the weather and set off anyway, do my own thing for a day, and then meet the others. As it turned out, A and T had decided similarly, so three of us set out early.

A and T elected to sleep in Pelion hut, reached after a few hours’ walking, but I unctuously declared that I was bushwalking, so would sleep in my tent, not in a hut. Tent pitched, the rainforest in all directions from the hut thoroughly explored, and several streams followed, I went down to the hut to be sociable. There were some terrific people in the hut, and I had lots of pleasant and interesting conversations until it was time to depart for bed, for which I had to wait for a break in the deluge.

The phrase “bucketing down” gained new meaning that evening, as I waited for a pause in the tumultuous downpour to run the fair distance to my little isolated tent. I have never heard rain quite so loud, never seen sheets of rain quite so solid. Squadrons formed on the verandah to enjoy (and for many, to try to photograph) the wild display. Conversation while it was happening was impossible.

That night the mother of all storms rolled in. The thunder was roaring like a sick lion, the noise ricocheting from mountain wall to mountain wall in the audience of mountains surrounding us. The rain continued to flood the plain. I considered the fact that I was somewhat vulnerable lying there under trees should one of them get struck by the lightning that accompanied the noise, but, well, that is nature: threatening. I was aware of the danger, but also philosophical about its potential to harm. I have enormous respect for nature, so was not lying there like a fool thinking it could never affect me, or that I could somehow control it. What would be would be. Emanuel Kant would call the experience of us tenters “sublime”, as we were taken into the realm of fear and our own vulnerability, yet emerged safely out the other side. Those in the hut barely noticed what they were in the middle of. Most had ear plugs in, and were also locked away from the flashing lights of electrical power. I am glad to have experienced nature in such a wild frenzy.

During the night, whilst listening to the drama, I noticed that water was falling on my face. I reached for my torch and discovered it was sopping. In mild panic I rescued my beloved camera and gps device and put them as high as I could, but was not confident, as my face was still being splashed. I did my best. My sleeping bag was more than moist. An hour later, I noticed that my pillow – that is, all my emergency dry clothes, in a drysack – was now also wet. Somehow I fell asleep anyway.

Donatia novae-zelandia was enthusiastically flowering in the summit area.

In the morning I awoke to the sight of a lake in my tent. Other plans I had made for this day to be spent at my will were now cancelled, as drying my stuff in the hut became my primary objective. First, however, I wanted to do something for exercise, so went up Mt Oakleigh in the rain (third time). The lush, mossy myrtle forest was magnificent in the mist. On the top rocks, the wind was blowing furiously, and it was very cold. I had achieved my daily quota of exercise, so that was fine, and now I could try to dry things out to prevent hypothermia that night. High resolves cancelled, I moved into the hut. (No photos of Oakleigh; that might have killed my camera).

The next wave of Overland Trail walkers entered: another group of really nice people with new friends to be made. They were most solicitous about my gear, and many helped me turn and rearrange items to get them dry. We chatted around the heater meanwhile – hardly unpleasant. I was anxious to finish as quickly as possible, as these people were wet from the day as well, so we all needed to dry things. Amongst the smiling faces was a friend of my daughter’s from primary school in Canberra. It was fabulous to catch up with him and his family. I was really warmed to see so many children on the trail happily experiencing this initiation ceremony into distance bushwalking. They were happy, and loved to tell me about the birds and other aspects of nature they had seen. I loved meeting them.

Richea scoparia on the descent. To Cathedral Mountain.

The people we should have met passed through, sopping and freezing. Not one of the three of us joined them in the planned further hour and a half’s walking. I needed to get dry before I could get wet again. My tent was still a swimming pool. Two days down. No previous plans fulfilled.

Richea scoparia on the descent. To Mt Oakleigh.

On day three, the others were climbing Proteus. My tent needed attention, and Proteus hadn’t thrilled me the first time I climbed, so I wasn’t going to cry over that lost opportunity. I scooped NINE cups of water out of the tent and hoped that by the time I got back from Mt Ossa, which I had decided to climb as a shorter alternative, it would be dry, and I could join the others for Pelion West.

Richea scoparia; Ossa descent. To Oakleigh

I have never seen such a varied wildflower display on Ossa. I have climbed it seven times now but never have I seen it quite this colourful. I was floating on the wave of its beauty. Striated emu wrens flitted from bushtop to bushtop, and other birds I couldn’t see (or identify by their chirps) called to me and teased me. Apart from their twinkles and tweets, the bush was deliciously silent. I played on the summit, and on anything I could find on the way down. I didn’t want to leave the flanks of this mountain today. Luckily for me, my new friends from the hut were climbing up as I came down, so every twenty or so paces, I got to have another chat with people whose faces I now knew. It was a very sociable descent. Back at the saddle, I was still reluctant to leave, so walked in the opposite direction to prolong the excursion into flower heaven. I got back to Pelion Hut for lunch after 4 pm, feeling just a little tired. I needed lunch, quickly followed by dinner. I was in no mood to carry out my plan of packing up and walking two hours to join the others. “I can do that early in the morning”, I said to myself.

That night (after a third wave of OT walkers had arrived and befriended me), all of us were … er … “blessed”?.. with the booming thunder of a snorer, trying to compete with the recent storm. His noise lasted much longer, with a regularity that was utterly unnerving. I did a Lazarus, and moved my bed to the kitchen. In the morning I observed that four others had done likewise, We could still hear him through the closed door, of course, but at least the sound as a little muted.

I was so lucky in the morning, as somebody bumped me, and I thus got to witness a superb dawn. The bumper later sheepishly apologised, but I pointed out that I would be forever grateful. If she hadn’t accidentally disturbed me, I would have missed that wonderful dawn. I had wanted to wake up for it, but was so tired after the many disturbances during the night that without her assistance, I would have missed it.

Melaleuca squamea had come into full profusion while I was watching rain. It likes the bog under Mt Pillinger.

Exhausted from lack of sleep, and perhaps having picked up a bug, I started feeling sick. I set out to join the others, as planned, but decided that I really didn’t have such a long day in me. It was time to get out. I turned around and returned to the hut. Yet another action that was not according to the original plan. My dog, picked up a day early, was thrilled at the unexpected day’s reprieve from the kennel. (It’s a great kennel, but she loves being home with me.) She sang with delight at my appearance, almost dislocating the shoulder of the carer fetching her.

March 1, 2024March 1, 2024

Walford Peak and Marble Bluff 2024 Feb

I have often stared at Walford Peak and wanted to climb it. Last year I organised to do so, but problems cropped up at the last minute. And for some reason, Marble Bluff seems to have bad street cred (it is rather a scrubby beast), so it has also been on the to do list, but to no avail. I looked down on it from the summit of Eldon Peak in 2018 and very much wanted to see its view, but was told it was very hard to reach. Well, it wasn’t a piece of cake, but neither was it overly taxing. Let the actual adventure begin ….

Spicer Track crossing Anthony R, a bit over an hour into the trip.

Here we were, all keen for time in the wilderness and these two mountains in particular. It was to be a five-day trip, as we were also going to explore the Sticht Range. I knew I was running-fit, but last week in the Jubilee Ranges made me question whether I was also pack-carrying fit. That ingredient was gong to be rather essential on this expedition. I set out with uncertainty.

The plan for day 1 (begun after lunch because of driving time) was to walk along Lake Spicer Track until we arrived at just the right place to camp for the first night. The aim was not to go all the way to the lake itself, as we were expecting rather a hefty storm the next night, and the level of the lake might rise enough to turn tents into cute islands in the lake, if the strong winds didn’t blow them down first. We needed a sheltered spot that neither wind nor rain could mar.

Walford Peak view to Mt Murchison, Lake Plimsoll and Lake Rolleston

There was no sign right now of the storm to come. The sky was blue; the day was glorious. Crossing the many creeks and puddles was picturesque and enjoyable, and gave plenty of drinking opportunities. Thus, when we reached the high point on the track just below Walford Peak in just a tad over two hours’ walking time (on the agenda for a later day on the rebound), it was decided not to waste such beautiful weather, and climb it right now. I was thrilled. We dumped our packs and up we went. The bush was pretty thick, but it yielded to energetic shoves, and in a shade under forty minutes, we were at the top. Everything looked glorious from up there. The many lakes in our purview shone with sparkling blue iridescence; countless well-loved peaks towered above with clarity.

Walford Peak view to the Sticht Range (Right) and Lake Plimsoll and Mr Murchison (Left).

Back down on the track once more, descending to our eventual campsite was fun, as said track turned into a creek with cascades that were rather pretty. Soon enough we were beside Lake Dora, and agreed that a point on the road that was a bit of a knoll would be a great place to stop. We had been on the track for about three hours, and had also done eighty minutes without packs to climb Walford Peak, but for some reason that wasn’t quite enough for me, so I went and explored the track further after dinner, and climbed a small bluff for kicks. The view was excellent. Maybe my problem was that I had just eaten the worst dehydrated meal I can remember. The packet said it was vegetarian shepherd’s pie, but it was sickly sweet and made me feel very dissatisfied.

Descending back to the track. Lakes Rolleston and Plimsoll, and Mt Murchison behind.

By the dawn of day two, you could tell that the weather was changing. The air had mood and attitude, and clouds were assembling. We finished off the Lake Spicer track quickly enough, and then began the somewhat long climb up onto Unconformity Ridge. That ascent contained probably the thickest scrub of the day. Once we reached the ridge itself, the terrain varied from patches of thick scrub to long areas of smaller bushes with button grass, both knee to waist high. Only the very last bit was easy going. The actual moving time (ie, breaks not included) was around 3 hours 40 minutes total in each direction, from tent to summit and back (3 hrs 10 off-track). On top of that time, we had a few breaks so everyone could be comfortable, often eating, or just chatting and looking at the view.

Lake Spicer Track. Yes, this water is the track.

Another watery view of Lake Spicer Track

Luckily, we got to inhabit the summit area without rain, but the wind was so strong that hats went flying, and we all huddled for shelter on the leeward side of rocks to have our lunch. The view was disappointingly hazy, not just from approaching bad weather, but also from fires in the Central Highlands. I didn’t take many photos.

We reach Lake Spicer. From here on, it’s all bushbashing

Half an hour after summitting, we were off on the descent, trying, but failing, to beat the oncoming rain. By the time we hit the track, it was raining properly. I was pretty wet on arrival back at the tent. We tried to dry wet garments in the breeze while we had dinner, but things remained quite damp, although no longer dripping.

Marble Bluff view to the north. Eldon Peak towers behind

That night, as I lay in bed, I enjoyed the sound of very angry wind howling above me, often lifting me off the ground as if I were on a magic carpet. It was rather fun. However, a toothache that had been brewing over the preceding days was particularly painful, so I didn’t get much sleep.

Marble Bluff view to the to south: Lake Burbury, Mts Lyell, Owen, Huxley and Jukes

On day three, the rain had settled in. I decided I needed to attend to my tooth as soon as possible, so bailed out of the rest of the agenda, and dashed back to the car. I made it in under three hours, not bothering with any breaks seeing’s I was alone, and find no particular pleasure in sitting in the rain to rest. I drove to where I had reception, made an appointment to see my dentist and bought the strongest pain killers I was allowed (I don’t usually use such things). Right now, it is the middle of the night, but my pain is so great I can’t sleep. I sure made the right decision to come home. The Sticht Range, object of today’s agenda, will just have to wait for another day. My gear was saturated when I reached the car, but I arrived home to a desperately dry Launceston.
Next day (today as I write) I had to have my wisdom tooth extracted. Leaving early was more than a good idea!

July 3, 2023July 3, 2023

Orienteering Women’s training weekend

I had read that there was an orienteering women’s training weekend happening at St Helens, but entries had closed when I went to join in. On the Friday, however, I got the bright idea of seeing if there’d been any cancellations. Weee. I was in.

First session was in 3 hours, but I had made dough and needed to bake the bread or my efforts would be wasted; I had to pack, of course, and drive 90 minutes to the venue in the Fingal valley. Hm. Rush rush. I threw gear into a bag (without a great deal of thought) while the bread was cooking, threw food with equal haste down my gullet, and set out for the location, Rajah Rocks.

Dawn Bay of Fires. I decided I didn’t want inside accomodation.

Here we practised a Middle distance course in a fabulously rocky area. I had already been training that morning, not realising I would be accepted into the camp, so was pretty tired as I drew near to the finish. As I headed further east to the coast, I witnessed the most wonderful sunset, but needed to keep driving, so hoped there would be more over the next two days. After a fun activity after dinner where we had to build a tower made out of spaghetti and string (and perch a marshmallow on top), I left the 32 or so others to their warm, comfortable accomodation and went to the coast to pitch my tent in the dark.

I wanted to camp, and near the coast, as I love the sound of waves lapping against the shore while I lie in my sleeping bag. It’s a pity I packed my old 1980s bag in my haste: it wasn’t very warm, but I survived, and the beauty of dawn next morning drove away any thoughts about relocating to standard-type accomodation.

Orienteering day 2. Waiting for things to get underway.

The Saturday contained lots of training sessions and even more camaraderie than that. Our fabulous coach, Francesca, had to design courses for total beginners through to former international representatives, from people who struggled to run to people who were very fit, and with ages from 14 to over 80, and she pleased the lot of us. Perhaps her biggest problem was to get us to stop chatting and laughing, and get the next session started. We did relocation in pairs, compass only (HELP – I decided I was actually a shocking orienteer in this session), and contour only courses, where I was allowed to slightly revise my opinion of myself.

On the final day we did a longish course practising long legs. I was stunned that I still had legs left to do this, but once I’d got going, somehow all was fine. It was very lonely out the far end of the long course; I think most took the shorter option for this session.

I was too busy orienteering (or chatting or eating) to photograph orienteering in action, but I did want to share the beauty side of our weekend, so here it is. As it is a post about orienteering, I will finish with a shot of one of my very favourite orienteers taken recently rather than this weekend. She’s not quite a woman yet, but I’m sure she’ll join in such a camp one day.