Cathedral Rock 2018 Nov

Cathedral Rock Nov 2018

A good stride-out up Cathedral Rock is a very pleasant slice of exercise, and I decided to indulge. I was down south for two days, so thought I would use my location to see what could be seen from the top of this vantage point. I chose the Betts Track, starting from near Neika.

As my heavy camera equipment was bulging my backpack, I had to walk briskly rather than run. And because I didn’t take all that long to reach the top (1 hr 07 from the carpark to the base of the rock, via Betts Track; 18 more minutes from there to the top, i.e., 1 hr 25 from carpark to top), I added on a return journey to the Mountain River end of the track, which made an excellent diversion, and turned it into a three and three quarter hour ramble. I loved the flat, broad valley after Betts Head, although I didn’t like the way that the Melaleucas were taller than I was, so I walked for quite some time in a tunnel with no view and close walls.

Richea dracophylla up high
The day was murky, so my views were not to die for, and the wind at the top was rather unpleasant, which is why I elected not to progress on to Mt Montague along the tops. I nonetheless felt I’d earned all the wicked things I ate for lunch afterwards at my favourite Daci and Daci. In fact, I seem to have worked up a good appetite, as I also needed pastries from Jackman and McRoss a couple of hours later. In the afternoon, Tessa and I did rounds of the streets of Battery Point, having a wonderful time smelling the roses in other people’s gardens, wafting on clouds of magnificent perfume – quite a civilised end to a wilderness morning.


Cathedral Rock – the route down. STEEP.

Bastion Bluff 2018 Nov

Bastion Bluff Nov 2018

Sue and I sat together on the rocks just over the edge of Bastion Bluff, looking out at the world beyond – a world that encompassed Quamby Bluff and Mother Cummings Peak, although not contained merely by those two peaks; rather, we gazed at infinity. We both felt extremely contented: she had hurt herself crossing a swollen creek and was in pain; I was in a different kind of pain, still mourning the death of my husband, and yet we both felt an inner peace and happiness arising from being in an infinite place. “You know”, she said, ” there’s nowhere else on earth that I would rather be right now.” I knew exactly what she meant.

We had had a good day, full of adventure and beauty: a day marked – as is so often the case in Tasmania – by the presence of all four seasons in the space of about ten minutes, repeated several times over. We had crossed very full rivers, witnessed countless cascades and waterfalls, traversed areas of lush moss, myrtles and King Billy pines, emerged into the open to be hit by a snow squall that developed into a blizzard, enjoyed intermittent sunshine, climbed up and down a mountain over 1400 metres in height, and enjoyed the fellowship and companionship of likeminded bushies.

Our route began with a crossing of a disturbingly effervescent Mother Cummings Rivulet, which had all of us assessing pretty exactly which of the shining, most likely slippery, rocks in jumping distance from the last one we were going to commit to. Lucky, we all got across unscathed: a dunking at that early hour of a long day would have been rather tragic.

When I exercise, I seem to burn through all my supplies of blood sugar rather rapidly, and found I was very hungry by 10.30; positively ravenous by 11.30. Luckily for me, lunch number one of two was called as we emerged from the wonderful rainforest and found a sheltered spot in the now gently falling snow in the saddle before the rocky scramble up Bastion Bluff itself. Beautiful, thick, delicate flakes tickled our noses while we ate, but grew more intense once we began the climb proper and we came into the stronger winds. Now they were horizontally scurrying flakes. We turned our backs to them like a group of penguins any time we had to wait. Be that as it may, the conditions were very tolerable, and I felt snug in my gear, despite wind and snow. Later, when my feet got wet in the very soggy ground on top, I got much colder.

On the plateau on top, you would certainly not die of thirst. An army could have camped up there, and each tent had its own private pond. Slosh, slosh we went, heading for the summit area and the opening to the descent route, being intermittently gusted by driving snow, and then, suddenly and unexpectedly, walking in sunshine. Repeat many times over. Surrounding mountains appeared and vanished as the mist played its games.

See the snow on the backpack?
Back down in the rainforest, I received a shock. I had been in this area only a couple of weeks ago when Carrie and I went to Bastion Cascades and walked the Bastion circuit. This time, however, there were countless huge trees, freshly blown over (I suspect in Thursday night’s storm),  lying across the track and obliterating all signs of the previous track. Each giant had caused an amazing amount of collateral damage as it tumbled. Rubble abounded.

My dismay has nothing to do with the obstacle course that has replaced the track: rather, it is because these fallings have already allowed a large amount of extra light into the forest. This will damage many fungi, mosses and lichens, and will allow weeds to colonise. The open spaces will also allow winds to build up more momentum next storm, which means even more damage will take place. I fear this marks the beginning of this section of the forest’s decay. However, the forest has been compromised, not destroyed. We finished our day with a sense of how extremely privileged we are to live in a place where such beauty and adventures are so easily obtained. They keep me sane and balanced; they refresh me in a way that non-natural things cannot.

Pelverata and Slippery Falls 2018 Nov

Pelverata and Slippery Falls Nov 2018


Pelverata Falls flowing uphill due to the gale
Pelverata and Slippery Falls seem to have been on my radar forever. At last, this weekend gone by, I turned the wish into reality. It was blowing a gale and snowing on the mountain I was supposed to be climbing (Ossa South), so I elected something lower instead, namely, these two waterfalls.

I got an early start from Launceston, picked up coffee, cakes and something mildly healthy as I passed through Hobart, and arrived at the carpark (directions below) eager to get going. I was rather disappointed that the bush seemed rather dry (I have been spoiled by the lush rainforest of most northern waterfalls), and that I could see cleared land and private property through the thin strip of trees, but marched along happily enough nonetheless. The day was grey and my mood felt a little to match. Perhaps the very early start wasn’t good for joie de vivre.
I strode out purposefully, although with great confusion, as the signs gave two completely contradictory and equally nonsensical estimates of how long all this would take (discussed later).  I got from the car to the Pelverata platform, the terminus for most visitors, in 44 minutes, if you want to know a different estimate from the signs. I was carrying about 7-8kgs (5kgs camera gear, lunch, wet weather gear etc), but was walking quickly, as the track was wide and easy.

Well, that was the fast part. Photography didn’t take long, either, as the falls were boring today. I was tempted not to bother with Slippery, as I had already seen them, and the water was not flowing, but it seemed a shame to have packed my bag for so little, so I decided to go down and cross the river, and then climb a little, contour a bit, and climb some more to the base of Slippery. 45 minutes of that got me not very far. It was slow, slow work indeed, and I knew the prize at the end was minimal. I thus made the radical decision to climb the towering cliffs above to get a view from there and then turn around. Up I climbed, which was much more fun than contouring through thick scrub. Lots of the cliffs were hard to get around, and I had to backtrack quite often, but eventually I got up. From my eerie I got a good view of the falls (which were barely falling), and then climbed a bit higher, knowing I must eventually intersect with the taped pad up the top. I did.


Tessie surveys our progress in a rare break in the scrub. When your dog is the most attractive thing to photograph, perhaps this is s sign of trouble.
I followed them in the direction of Pelverata, being quite finished with Slippery. It was nice to be on a pad after all that bashing, and the wildflowers up there were wonderful. The smells were even better. Pelverata Falls from the top were amazing today. The gales were not restricted to Mt Ossa South. It was wild up the top, and Pelverata was actually flowing upwards, high into the sky. In order to cross the creek, Tessa and I had to wait quite some time, even at about 20 metres behind the falls, as the spray was high and long and enormous.

This was only a mild upwards splash. When the really drenching blasts came, we ducked for cover.
The route down the other side was very steep in quite loose rock, but well cairned, and then at last I was back on the main track. It was nice to be on the easy, smooth path. Now, in all this time, we had been alone without a hint of another person. I thought: “These falls are under-used and unappreciated.” However, on the rebound between the platform and the car, we encountered fifteen other people, and four other dogs. I was glad to be wrong. Ten cars were in the carpark. Tess and I chatted to most of the people we met, so it turned into a nice sociable outing. Tessa had fun with the other dogs, sniffing and playing. Dogs love waterfall bagging too.


My solace and company in the bush, darling Tessa.
Just a word on the signs before I sign out:  the official signs to these falls gave me a great deal of confusion, and I remained uncertain about what was happening and what to expect the whole way there.  How long would this expedition last? At least I had enough food for the long haul,  should it be necessary. The confusion begins in the carpark. The sign says “Pelverata Falls 3 hours”. One way or two? Top or bottom? Blank. Oh well, I guessed I’d find out. I didn’t actually. After nineteen minutes, I came to a sign that said “Pelverata Falls 3 hours return”. Now, this was worse. If the first sign meant “3 hrs return”, then I had just taken nineteen minutes to do absolutely nothing, which is abominably slow and very sad. If, however, the first one meant 3 hrs one way. i.e. 6 hrs return, then I had taken 19 minutes to do 1 hr 30’s walking, which is ludicrous. Obviously, one of these signs is absurd. My advice to local council is to allow the first sign a kind of worst case scenario status, put in the word “return” so people have a clue what you’re talking about, and remove the second sign. The problem with signs like that is that people can be put off doing the walk, as they form false expectations of the time needed for the task, and that is a shame. Even on a horrid, blustery day like today, the falls make an excellent outing and a different destination for people who want a walk in nature. Everyone we met was very happy to be there.


This is my (anti-clockwise) circuit – but, given the amount of rather serious bushbashing involved, I would not recommend it as a fun way to pass the time of day – but at least it’s a circuit, which I find more fun than an out and back route.
Directions from Hobart: I headed for Huonville, having taken the southern outlet. At about 10kms past that big Kingston roundabout (still heading for Huonville), I came to a hamlet called Sandfly. Here, one turns left on the C622 for Margate, and immediately right (well, after 150 ms) on the road to Pelverata. There, turn left at Crosswells Rd to the falls. There is even a blue sign here that says you are going there, and another sign that alerts you to the presence of the carpark, such as it is. Welcome. Have fun.

Norman Bluff 2018 Oct

Norman Bluff 31 Oct 2018


Norman Bluff is a pretty perfect daywalk if you are relatively fit and know how to navigate. It involves glorious off-track, yet easy, alpine walking over the tops of Battle Ridge past Mt King William I. Even with the drive from Launceston (as we had) or Hobart, it is attainable. I am lucky enough to have a group of friends who are sensible enough to clear Wednesdays from their work schedules to go to places like Norman Bluff in the middle of the week. Off we set.
Above: King William I view from near the top to Lake George and the Guelph Basin

Guelph Lump, Phil, to Lake George, Guelph Basin, Norman Bluff
Our route took us over Mt King William I (steep climb) and “Guelph Lump” (what else are you supposed to call an interesting looking lump that is just before the beginnings of the Guelph River?) to a lump that I dubbed Deposit Lump (as we “deposited” several from our party there, to be picked up on the rebound) and on to our lunch spot, some delightful alpine tarns just before the climb (minimal) to our goal for the day, Norman Bluff itself.

Climbing to Deposit Bluff, Diane (King William I and Mt Pitt behind)
Norman Bluff was actually, truth be told, a bit of an anticlimax. Das Gehen war das Ziel (The ‘going’ was the goal). Not only was Norman Bluff not the ‘enjoyment highpoint’ of the day, it was also not the physical highpoint. Both King William I and the Battle Ridge Highpoint (visited on the rebound) were higher.

Deposit Bluff to Mt Harold and Milligans Peak. Frenchmans Cap behind left
I am not a lake or tarn bagger. There are just too many in Tasmania, but if I were, I could have ticked off Wessex Tarn, Odo Tarn, Lake George, Lake Vincent, Lake Eva, Lakes Adella and Arlet and the Guelph Basin of Lake King William. I could see Mt Ida, but I don’t think I got a glimpse of Lake St Clair – it was a bit hazy in that direction, or perhaps I wasn’t high enough. I am a waterfall bagger, and Saxon Creek Falls were very clearly visible, but that was not a first-time bag. I nearly died at the hands of that waterfall on our first encounter (2012), when the rock I was standing on shot out from underneath me as I scaled the falls, and I was left dangling uselessly from a tree root with a three-day pack on my back, drenching wet but with nothing for my feet to use, and arms losing their strength with each passing second. Luckily I had just written my will before I left home. The drop below did not bear contemplation. Fortunately, a fast-reacting Rod got my arms and somehow disconnected pack from girl so that I could pull up my own body weight. Phew. I will not forget Saxon Creek Falls in a hurry. Please do not try to tell me they are insignificant just because they don’t have a little blue line over the creek on the map. These matters are utterly arbitrary, and dependent on the will of a bureaucrat in an office somewhere. The drop would have killed me. The climbers below were too small for comfort, with horror written in their bulging eyes. How odd that I had time to notice that detail in what might have been my last few seconds. But this trip was a happier one. I could just wave a jaunty “Hi” across the valley and greet them from a safe distance.

Lunchspot tarns. Norman shelf
The day was a little hazy, but mountain views of the many, many Tassie peaks in our purview were also enjoyable, as was the alpine walking around tiny tarns and intricate pools of pure, clear water, with flowering cushion plants and fruiting pineapple grass at our feet. How lucky we are to live in a place where such thrills are there for a day walk.

Hartz Peak 2018 Oct

Hartz Peak 2018 Oct

Abby surveys the view from Hartz Mountain.
It has been six years since I last climbed Hartz Peak: certainly time for a revisit, and what fun to be able to share it with the family. This would be Abby’s first Abel, Gussy’s second.

Hartz summit in view
Of course, with young children, the going is slower, and most unusually, our ascent was punctuated with a swim in Ladies Tarn. In fact, some of us swam there in both directions. Even Abby got brave enough to strip off all her clothes, but changed her mind about immersion once her toes felt the gelid water.  I didn’t even think about it.


Ladies Tarn
Hartz Peak has a track the whole way, so is very easy for fit children to accomplish. Gussy, aged seven, fair bounced up the mount. Abby, aged two, took longer, and had to hitch a ride for part of the way. Porters and children needed a break at the tarn.

Both children took great pleasure in touching the summit cairn, and in having lunch on top of a mountain. Here are some photos of the journey to the top to give you an idea of what it’s like if you haven’t yet had the pleasure of doing this one. The actual walking time was about half an hour to the tarn, and a further half to the top (Gussy times, not Abby ones). The return was actually a little slower than the ascent. Gussy shares his nan’s summit fever (the two of us went on ahead of the others together) and is cautious on the downhill. I actually went on ahead on the rebound in order to check out Keoghs Falls – but they were a huge disappointment, and I didn’t even bother photographing them.


Hartz Peak summit area Gussy


Hartz Peak summit area Abby