Category: tasmania

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Taroona 2017 Oct

Taroona sunrise Oct 2017.


On the morning of this sunrise, Bruce and I eyed Taroona up as a possible settling place for some time in the future, as we figured we’d need to move to Hobart one day when our current house would be too much work for me, and, of course, neither of us knew that this would be his last full day on earth. We decided Taroona, with beach walks and sunrise over the ocean, was just the place for us. Who would ever believe what lay ahead of us and that such a conversation was superfluous? It seems surreal to look back on all these tiny events, so incidental at the time, and yet so crammed with importance for me later (like now). Mostly, you only know when something is the “last time” in retrospect.


I guess losing your partner makes you sentimental, as I find myself clinging to all these “last things”, hanging onto them, as if doing so will help me somehow hang on to Bruce. But, meanwhile, his sudden disappearance and death reinforce for me the lesson I have known since I was a child, when my father had a heart attack (I was eight) and my mother got cancer (I was twelve): namely, that I shouldn’t take relationships for granted. What walks and talks today can be gone tomorrow. I learned not to assume that anything I loved would be there for ever. Knowing that helps one live life to the fullest.


Because of my parents, I never wasted time with Bruce, even insisting that he come to Europe for three weeks each year to watch me compete, wanting to use time together wisely while we had it, for you never know what the future holds. We lived life fully right to his end, and so, although I am devastated to lose him, I have lost him without a sense of regret that we could have done better, that we wasted our precious time together, or that we should have done this or that thing while we could. It would have been hard to eek out more than we did from life without dying (even earlier) from exhaustion.  I think it was a marriage well lived.

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Fairy Falls 2017 Oct

Fairy Falls. Friday 13th October, 2017

I had read about Fairy Falls near Geeveston in the web and was keen to see them on this southern waterfall-bagging spree. I must say, I found the web instructions a little ambiguous, as one is merely told to follow Fairy Falls Rd, which is cute, but one has to find it. Feeling not entirely confident, we turned out of Geeveston down the road signed to the Tahune Airwalk, and fairly shortly afterwards, took a right turn onto Fourfoot Rd. Fairy Falls Rd forks off this road after a few kilometres. At last we had a quasi sign to the falls.

Once found, Fairy Falls Rd is followed to a big, almost u-bend where it crosses O’Hallorans Creek (unnamed). It is possible to leave one’s car at this bend (I did). Our small adventure was about to begin. Almost unbelievably, the phone rang. We don’t expect that to happen while fall bagging in the wilderness. It was our second-born daughter, full of excited news, so we walked along chatting to her while dodging branches, ducking under and climbing over obstacles until we got to the base of the falls.

Once we’d parked at that corner, we’d followed an unsigned pad going up the hill to the left, next to an electric fence, the other side of which is a clear paddock. To our right, and all too close, were blackberries, but they didn’t bite.  At the first corner, maybe 50 ms up, it was time to leave the fence and follow the creek. Faint pads were present as we weaved our way through beautiful fern trees, a tanin-coloured creek below. Eventually, after maybe a total of ten minutes, the falls were reached, and it was time to stop talking to Lenie and start concentrating on photography.

We had actually made a little error on our way to that u-bend, as O’Halloran’s Creek is not named and we kept going, the map being a bit unclear. We ended up in the back yard of a man who informed us that these falls were misnamed; they were an insult to falldom, and no falls at all but a dribble of a cascade in snake-infested country and not worth the trouble. He added that they were an embarrassment to Geeveston and apologised to us that we had been sent on a wild goose chase. I guess this just goes to prove the relativity of concepts of beauty, as we, like whoever named them “Fairy”, found them idyllic, dainty and wonderful. For sure, they don’t compete in volume with Niagara, but I prefer grace and subtlety to a hammering thump on the head, so Bruce and I were perfectly happy with what we found, and not in need of any apologies from this man to whom, I guess, size is everything.

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Story 2017 Schouten Island, Oct

Mt Story, Schouten Island, Oct 2017


Mt Story summit looking to the Freycinet peninsula
Mt Story does not have a path to the top, but it does have a taped route (mostly pink) that is not too difficult to follow. This mountain is a much longer undertaking than Bear Hill, and we took about two hours’ walking to reach the top, with a break for snacks and another just for the heck of it added in.
The start of the walk was where the descending spur meets the track that exists between the two beaches to the north, i.e., between the beach on which the boat drops you (Moreys Bay), and the one where you camp if you want to camp right on the beach under the shade of casuarinas (Crocketts Bay).

If you compare the photos of this mountain worth points and Bear Hill, worth none, you’ll see that getting no points is more photographically pleasing on this occasion.
If you are wondering what the detour (on the map below) to the east after we’d been to the summit is, it was the beginning of a climb of Daedalus, but we soon decided we didn’t have enough time given the general energy levels prevailing in the group. One of our number didn’t think he was up to it, and really, I was not feeling one scrap energetic, and was glad of a pleasant meander back to where we’d come from rather than a desperate race against the clock to complete the circuit. I had a strong feeling that the salmon I’d had the night before, and again, for an early lunch, was not quite in the kind of condition that salmon should be in when meant for human consumption. I think my salmon  pate needs to wait until the cooler weather of next autumn before it’s allowed on any more overnight bushwalks.

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Arve Falls 2017 Oct

Arve Falls 13 Oct 2017


We parked in the designated Arve Falls carpark, but, despite the fact that it was mid-October, and thus halfway through Spring, it was snowing lightly. Being a wussy duo, we sat in the car and read, gazing out between page turns at the swirling flakes and listening to the howling wind. Eventually the precipitation eased, although the wind continued. This was not going to be a pleasant jaunt.
“Do you want to come Brou?”
He gazed out at the grey mist and listened to the angry howls and said he thought he’d read instead, but as soon as he saw I really was heading off into that stuff, he bounced out of the car to join me. If you know what happened to us the next day, that Bruce would accidentally wander off the track and die from a complication of his Parkinson’s disease, you will agree with me that this was an incredibly important decision, but at the time, I was unaware of its poignancy. I was about to do my last ever bushwalk with the man who has been by my side for 10/13 of my life – a smidgeon more than 3/4s. I was a tiny, insecure teenager when he met me. I grew up with him beside me, sharing and shaping, but Life was about to take him away.


Not knowing the future, we did not walk arm in arm. Instead, we buried ourselves in our Anoraks, shoulders closed in on our chests, but this strategy provided little defence from the blast that was so noisy we couldn’t hear each other. We scurried along the track, eager to get to where the land dropped, figuring we might gain better sanctuary there. I did have time within this scuttling to notice the glistening moisture on the rocks with their blotched lichen.
The falls are not far along the track. Soon enough, I was photographing in a relatively protected spot (although I have noticed the bushes are not in nice focus due to the wind; I was reluctant in those conditions to be fancy and do a short and long exposure for later combination – sorry). As ever, Bruce gazed out at nature and the falls, meditating while I shot.


When we got to the lookout, I of course did a bit of fancy work to get a better angle while my mother-hen husband clucked in angst as he watched his wife climb barriers and perch on ledges. He didn’t find my antics to be a relaxing or pleasurable spectator sport. He was very fearful of heights himself, and didn’t like me being in danger. From the safety of the viewing platform, he enjoyed the deep drop of the falls to a base that couldn’t be seen, way below. (I want to return and get to that place).
Photos finished, we returned to the car, and headed for Dover, Bruce’s choice amongst the possible options for that night. A helpful lady at the Geeveston Tourist Centre booked us into Driftwood Cottages, a bit further south, into a little bungalow on the waterfront. The incredibly kind lady who greeted us at Driftwood was to later take us under her wing and offer us a place where we could “relax” – well, none of that got done – after dark and before 7 a.m. as we continued day after day in our fruitless search for a wandered Bruce, but that is another story. (See www.natureloverswalks.com/creekton-falls/ ).

 

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Philosopher Falls 2017 Oct

Philosopher Falls 2017 Oct


Can you feel the magic?
You would think that my trip to the base of Philosopher Falls would be totally marred by the fact that tripod number two (that is, the second tripod in two successive days) broke in my hands as I lined up for my first photo; however, Carrie and I had had such fun getting there, and the place was so magical, that it almost seemed as if photos didn’t matter. I felt as if I were in a holy spot, that I should use hushed whispers in a place that aroused such a spiritual feeling. It is a stunningly beautiful place, with its dramatic drop and white lines of flow, its mossy trees dripping with lichen and its shining rocks; this beauty is then further enhanced by the knowledge that not too many people manage to come that way; it is a kind of secret spot. Waterfalls of Tasmania says where we were standing is “inaccessible”. I like defying challenges like that.


The reason not too many people come that way is that it’s actually quite difficult getting there. The navigation, even if you own, and are competent at using, a gps is quite tricky, as the dense canopy interferes with the satellite signals. My gps, for example, said that we climbed half way up the side opposite the falls, which we did not. Because the ground is so dense, it is hard to see exactly what the contours are doing; your vision is obstructed by piles of giant fallen trees (which you have to clamber over, or under, or try somehow to get around). And then, there is the problem that this is an ancient and decaying forest, so it is possible (Carrie tried it a few times) for you to tread on a log that disintegrates under your weight, however diminutive that might be, so you can easily fall. I’ve seen a guy break his leg that way. This is not country to be in alone. One early explorer noted that if he trod on a log and it collapsed and he broke his leg, he would probably die, as no one would find him. One treats this land with respect.


And so, it took us far longer than we thought it would to reach a point where I excitedly announced to Carrie that we had done it, and we only had to climb up and over this spur in front of us and drop down the steep other side and we would be there. We were jubilant at the bottom. I didn’t look at my watch, as I didn’t want to feel guilty about my husband waiting wherever it was that he was waiting. I wanted to enjoy the moment. I only snuck a peak when we’d finished enjoying ourselves with our cameras and were ready to set out on our return journey.
Things were much faster on the way back, and we were at the car in time for lunch. I settled into a nook in the forest and devoured my salad roll with gusto. I had worked up quite an appetite. Even in the carpark, the forest has a wonderful feel to it. Viva Tarkanya.