The forecast was good. I found a kind neighbour to mind my dog. I was off. I was excited … until I found myself at a locked barricade at the start of the Dove Lake Road. I had heard rumours of this, but my head has been in the sand this year. Bang. Reality hit me: We northern Tasmanians have now been officially locked out of our play area. The tourists have priority (although we are the ones whose taxes go to Sparks and Wildfire). I have had so many fun times in this playground – times when Bruce and I would dash up after work, have a picnic tea by the Lake, and then proceed to Waterfall Valley Hut for the night, doing most of the trip in the dark. We loved it: a bygone era, when Tasmanians were allowed to play in their own National Parks. They were also days when the paths were not littered with toilet paper, and our eyes were not assaulted by signs that assume the reader has an IQ of about 50, informing the intruder to hang on, to be careful, to walk in a single direction … pointing out that if we step over a huge cliff, we will surely fall. 
I sat near the barricade for an hour, after which time the precious tourists had finished being shuffled, so many sheep going baa (one guy [unprompted] complained to me that he felt like he was in a factory on a conveyor belt) to the lake, and I was allowed in, hotly pursued by others who wanted access for the evening. Unfortunately, I had camping in mind, so set off at a trot over the hills and far away, over the back of Cradle. Having been locked out, I had to speedwalk in the dark, but that doesn’t matter, as I’m just a local, a faceless nuisance whose needs don’t register on the great desks of the money makers. I also, of course, got to choose my tent spot and to pitch in the dark.
Despite my swearing at Sparks and Wildfire and the government, I did enjoy my evening in the mountains. It was a mild night, and I had fun with a spot of astro photography. Next morning, the scenery made me forget the travesty of the loss of my playground and I delighted in nature’s wonder (lots of photos here) before downing a quick breakfast and getting back out before the busloads began. The Wilderness runs to timetables now. If that is “wilderness”, we need a new word for the real thing that is being denied to us. What a pity these bureaucrats use words they don’t understand. How is it that the fate of all that beauty is in the hands of people who have no personal acquaintance with the object of their edacious decisions?
Pencil Pine Falls 2018 Dec
The Pencil Pine Falls are a tiny walk (just a few minutes) from the Cradle Mountain Lodge and Visitor Information Centre. As with the Knyvet Falls, I had never spent the time getting a good shot of these falls, as their closeness meant my attention was always wrested by attractions further afield. These were being saved for a rainy day, and that’s exactly what I got today. For my post on nearby Knyvet Falls, see my blog http://www.natureloverswalks.com/knyvet-falls/
Knyvet Falls 2018 Dec
Knyvet Falls 2018 Dec
On this very stormy and dangerous day in December, I set my alarm and drove in the dark to Cradle Mountain, all mentally prepared to go canyoning with a commercial group. Fifteen minutes before arriving, I got a message to say that regrettably, the adventure had been cancelled. Anyone who participates in outdoor activities should know that it is wise and sensible to call it quits before someone gets seriously hurt. The canyons will stay exactly where they are.
But here I was at Cradle. What should I do, given that it was dangerous to go up high on a day like this? I decided that this was the perfect occasion to photograph Knyvet Falls and their nearby neighbour, Pencil Pine Falls. Normally, I am all eagerness to get higher and further than this, so did not have any good photos of either falls.
The walk to the falls was minimal (7 mins 30 from the Visitor Information Centre – signed), but I then spent the next three hours immersed in nature, photographing and having this beautiful area all to myself (thanks, no doubt, to the weather): just water, trees and Louise … perfect. (Pencil Pine Falls will get their own blog, viz. www.natureloverswalks.com/pencil-pine-falls/).
Hidden Falls (Meander) 2018
Hidden Falls (Meander) 2018 Nov / Dec
It took me three tries to get there with all my equipment to offer you these shots:
Time A
I never found Hidden Falls. They were true to their name. What fun. I must come back and search more effectively next time.
Time B
Now I was back with more information, and found them very quickly. (This time I knew which bump in the contours contained the falls.) Being allowed to navigate my own way to the falls was as much fun as orienteering. There are so few places remaining these days that retain a little challenge for the more adventurous – and I love a challenge. I also love the freedom to make mistakes. I don’t want to be a robot or a puppet. I go to the bush for freedom.
The few people who have seen these falls said they were special, but as I gazed with wonder, and tried to analyse what made them special – and compared them to other, similar falls where you have a shower effect (such as Bridal Veil Falls) – it seemed to me that it was not so very much the pretty shower, the height or even the kind of amphitheatre structure that gave this place its primary allure; rather, it was its unspoiled nature, unblemished by human infrastructure, rubbish and trappings … and the intrigue of the search.
In bygone days, I would have told you how to get to these falls, trusting you to be a proper bushwalker who could navigate to the place if given basic directions, and presuming you would leave it exactly as you found it, as real bushwalkers do. But nowadays, I won’t, as if I did, the pink tape bandits would march in, put tape every two metres to guide the people who don’t have enough bushcraft to get there by themselves, and all sanctity will be lost. So much of our bush is being dumbed down, but not this tiny bit, so I will leave it its allure.
I feel we need to leave some holy places; somewhere like this is far more special than a human made church building, and yet, we who love nature in this way are having all our spiritual places stolen by people who do not share our reverence, and yet who demand to see all these places. Lots of falls have aesthetically pleasing and tiny paths to them for people who can’t navigate, and yet these pretty paths are being rubbished with unnecessary and ugly strips of pink plastic.
After I had sat and enjoyed the spiritual nature of this pristine place, I got out my camera to photograph it, for I love to interact with nature photographically; it is my artistic response to the beauty I am witnessing. I perched on a slippery log and got out my tripod and the other trappings needed for this task, and set up the first shot. Now, before I continue, let it be stressed: before I left home, I checked the state of my battery (and for its presence in my camera) and I deleted all the photos from the memory card to keep it clear. But now, my camera was telling me there was no memory card. It seems that it’s possible to carry out the function “delete all photos on card” without actually having a card present. Oh swear, swear.
Time C.
This time I had my camera, complete with memory card and battery. And the above photos show what Hidden Falls look like.
Scoparia hunting 2018
Scoparia hunting 2018 Dec
My photo collection for 2018 has a disproportionate number of images of beautiful waterfalls, and a sad shortage of mountains. As I love mountains even more than waterfalls, I decided I’d better use my single chance before Christmas to get myself high and hunt for scoparia while I was at it.
It is now very hard for me to get into the mountains, as Tessa (my dog) misses Bruce as much as I do, so I feel terribly guilty any time I leave her, and most mountains are in National Parks, so she has to miss out. Into the kennel she went in the early afternoon on Monday, and I promised her I’d be back before twenty-four hours had elapsed.
By mid-afternoon I’d parked at the Meander Falls carpark, and was ready to do the climb. Hm. All this waterfall bagging, even though I do it with an 8 kg pack of camera gear, is still no apt practice for a real pack. I guess it doesn’t help that I’ve been laid low with a virus in the last three or more weeks. Every time I run, I take several steps backwards in overall recovery …. and I keep on running.
And so the walk into the actual falls felt unusually steep and lasted far longer than I expected (1 hr 48 instead of under 1 hr 20). I feared the climb up high would take double my 30 minutes of last time (packless), but luckily I was wrong, and it took the same. I was pitching my tent by 5.30, with plenty of time to sort out shooting locations.
Actually, I took far longer to choose a tent site than to choose anything else. The wind was fierce up there, and I only had my light three-season tent, so I wanted shelter from the west. I keep ducking to the leeward side of scoparia shrubs of a decent size, but the wind just dashed around them. I needed a big clump, or a rock. On and on I went , searching but not finding. In the end, I got a spot bang in the middle of a multi-coloured scoparia thicket, almost completely surrounded by water, and, well, the shelter was about as good as it was going to get. And now that it was time to pitch, it started raining lightly. The wind picked up. The clouds amassed. So much for photography.
Pitching was a challenge in that wind. I haven’t pitched this little tent before in anything but ideal conditions. Every time I attached the fly to one side and dashed around to attach it to the other, the wind whipped it up and threatened to send it back down to Meander Falls. I decided it was lucky it was only 5.30. If that happened, I could still easily retreat with safety, even if not with dignity. Somehow I broke the rotten cycle, and she was up, and the inside hadn’t got too wet with all my bumbling.
It was not good lighting for photography, but I feared it was as good as it was going to get, and I had carried my pack for two and a half hours to be here. I wanted some bang for my buck, so went out and shot anyway. Hm. Problem. The ground was so spongy that the tripod moved during long exposures. Hand held it was, which made using GND filters challenging (as they require longer exposures), so all the early ones have skies that are too light. I thought that was “it” for the night, so retreated to my tent for “dinner”. (The food was NOT a highlight of the trip.)
Once when I was in the Western Arthurs and had grey, drizzling weather, I was sitting in my tent sulking at the injustice of it all, facing east, and nearly missed one of the most beautiful sunsets of my entire life. It lasted only maybe five minutes, but the sun found a spot to pierce through the heavy cloud, and illuminated the whole world in pinks and purples of a wonderful hue. I wasn’t going to make that mistake again, so kept checking for the possibility of a sunset. Proper sulks are not a good idea. Luck was with my vigilance. For about five minutes, the sky cleared enough to allow golden shafts of light to streak across my field and turn the distant clouds pink. I was almost panicking, as I knew it wouldn’t last. Some shots were hand held, just in case, with monster ISOs, and then I risked long exposures on wobbling, unstable terrain.
Next day, I was very tired, as I had set my alarm for 4.40 to get the beautiful dawn I’d planned on. The world was dark, dull, fuscous. Reset the alarm for 5.10. The world was still utterly uninviting. Set the alarm for 5.30. As you can see, i was scared of dozing off and missing out should something eventuate. It didn’t. At 6 o’clock I breakfasted in the rain, on a day on which BoM had promised none, and then depitched my home, trying not to get things too wet. I am much faster and more efficient using my Hilleberg in the rain, but I had been promised none, so brought the lighter MSR. Oh well. Climbing down the steep rock scree now that the moss was slippery and my pack heavier was slow, careful work. I will be well-practised if I get to be a crab at some stage in my future.
I wasn’t going to photograph Meander Falls, having already done so several times (and not finding it life’s most photogenic waterfall), but it was flowing so much stronger than I have ever seen it do that I decided I needed to. Besides, my arms were actually weary from all the four-points-of-contact work I’d just done lowering myself down the cliffs. The waterfall made a nice excuse to rest a bit before I continued on the wide tourist track to the car. I picked Tessa up before lunch, as promised. She yelped and danced and sang and bounced. What a greeting. I promised them I wouldn’t stay away three years next time.
Meander Falls.