Category: tasmania

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Ironstone via Smoko Creek 2017 Feb

Mt Ironstone via Smoko Creek, Feb 2017.


There are myriad different reasons for needing to get into the wilderness, but a large number of us seem to feel this urge to some extent or other, whatever our driving force or motivation. I have a very strong and oft repeated need, and luckily, it is shared by my bushwalking buddy and good friend, Angela.


This summer has been filled with a large number of long expeditions, sometimes involving both of us together, and yet we hadn’t got out, just as a duo, to explore something new, climb something different – seulement nous deux – for several months. Angela knew that my days in the ICU watching over my husband had left me feeling cooped up and agitated, and suggested a daywalk this weekend. What a wonderful idea. I needed the wilderness; I didn’t just want it. Mt Ironstone was the solution.


I last climbed Mt Ironstone in 1988 (with skis on my back, that got tangled in almost every myrtle tree), reaching the summit on a glide. I wanted to return under conditions that offered something to see, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. The last time we’d used Syds track; Angela too. I had decided that when I returned to take photos, it should be via Smoko Creek. Luckily, Angela had also not tried that route, so it was settled. Now we had something new to do.


We parked near the collapsed bridge and proceeded along the ex road (now picturesque track) to the former parking area, reaching it in 20 minutes. This area offers a turn to the right to Mother Cummings Peak and Smoko Falls, and one to the left to Chasm Falls and Mt Ironstone. Funnily, we chose left. In a further 22 minutes, our narrow pad with metal markers and sometimes pink tape diverged, with one route (left) leading down to the creek, and another (right) up the spur. We took the spur route (neither direction was labelled) and continued climbing, soon crossing Smoko Creek by a log with wires to stop us plummeting to our combined deaths. I would not take children near this log unless they were exceptionally responsible.


The forest had already been wonderful, but from here on its perfection seemed to reach new heights. If you want to believe in fairies and goblins and elves and ents, just come here and witness the weeping King Billy Pines and lush myrtles, the moss, clear pools and abundant small cascades. I was desperate to photograph some of these scenes, but we were intent on reaching the summit. Photos (mainly for me) and swimming in one of those holes (Angela) could come later. I eyed up scenes I wanted to shoot, and Angela tried to choose the perfect swimming hole as we climbed, past mossy caves and ledges, exclaiming about the beauty as we rose.


Eventually we emerged from this wonderland into drier bush, but it didn’t last too long. At first the track was still discernible, albeit with difficulty, but later – in the flatter area near a saddle-zone – it became downright vague, so we just followed our noses to the scree area, and climbed up it to the plateau on top. Once there, it took us about half an hour, at a guess, to reach the summit. Again, it was a “choose your own path” area. We were at the summit three and a quarter hours after crossing the river at the start. Oddly, perhaps, the downhill journey took us ten minutes longer than the climb – but maybe that’s just because we both love climbing, so proceed somewhat excitedly upwards, but are never in any particular hurry to leave our idyll. The extra time to come down does not include the time for photography, swimming, or for gazing while we had a snack beside a pool.


We pulled out of the carpark at 5pm, thus timetabled out of our usual cake and coffee at the Raspberry Farm, which is sad, but it will be there for next time, and the forest and mountain had had a stronger call on our attention.

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Bridal Veil Falls 2017 Feb

Bridal Veil Falls, Feb 2017


We had time and inclination to visit these fall for (alas) the first time in February this year. Whilst we may have had time and inclination, the weather did not. Anyone with any knowledge of Tasmania at all knows that February is definitely not a good month to go waterfall bagging. But, my husband had Parkinson’s disease, and a lot of places were no longer possible to him. He enjoyed waterfall bagging, with or without water, so off we set. I think he liked the Raspberry Farm reward at the end better than the bushwalking, but, what the heck. As you can see from the picture below, the flow was less than exciting, but the falls were still pretty, even with a thin veil. For the full day’s jaunt, see the blog link:
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/champagne-falls-…il-no-name-falls/ ‎
As is sensible, we took in Bridal Veil along with Champagne and No Name (which was also No Water) Falls.

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Horseshoe Falls 2017 Feb


The location for this photo is perhaps a tad less than original, but there’s a very good reason visitors love to photograph the three main falls in the Mt Field National Park. Of course, one of those reasons is that people don’t have to go too far from their cars, and that there’s a big, smooth path with sign posts: not everyone relishes a good bushbash.  But the other, and the reason for carparks and smooth tracks and signs, is that the falls are just plain gorgeous. Here is my take on what captured my attention. I stayed here the night, as we were to leave for the Western Arthurs in the morning at a time that would have necessitated a 3.30 a.m. departure from my home in Launceston, had I left from there. Much nicer to camp in a National Park with the sound of the Tyenna River passing by and the feeling of deep nature all around me. A 7 a.m. meeting time also seemed highly preferable.
One of the reasons I particularly wanted to photograph these falls on this visit was that in tidying up my files, I realised I didn’t have one single shot of my own of these particular ones. I must have had a grand deleting session some other time, or just never labelled my other efforts. The omission is now rectified.

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Western Arthurs 2017 Jan. More rain + snow


Most of us who love bushwalking do so because we love nature, and one of the things we love about nature is its ephemerality, and its unpredictability. We can never count on a repetition of a beautiful moment. Its adventitious arrival thrills us precisely because it cannot be arranged or designed by us.


We always feel ourselves particularly blessed to have been allowed to see such a spectacle. But equally, and because we do not get to boss nature around, it sometimes throws weather or events at us that are perhaps not what we would have ordered had we been allowed to do so. We have to accept this aspect of nature as well as the parts we revel in – and, in fact, many of us take a perverse delight in the wild side of nature anyway, knowing it’s part of the whole package that we adore.


Those of us on the recent HWC expedition to the Western Arthurs had to take this on board. Our intention had been to traverse the whole range. For several of us, this was not the first, or even the second, attempt at doing this. First, we had to delay our start by two days because it was snowing and freezing up there, making it unpleasant and even dangerous in spots. And then, while we were up there, new weather reports promised a repetition of this, combined with howling winds. This was not a week to be doing tricky climbing, or to be camping up high. We put our tails between our legs, and retreated, yet again thwarted by the conditions. I don’t mind being out-trumped by nature. I like to think humans are demonstrably not as grand and in control as we presume ourselves to be. Perhaps a little more (and helpful) respect for forces greater than ourselves can emerge from such encounters.


So, what are some results emerging from this weather, other than our turning around and doing yet another descent of Moraine A? Well, all the rain preceding our trip meant that the notoriously muddy Port Davey track was in fine form, with excellent depths of black squelch to be fallen into by the unsuspecting walker, thinking that he or she was stepping onto a piece of ground (wet, black, sodden) like all the other bits of ground. Plomp. In they go. Boots, gaiters, pants all became coated in a thick layer of ooze. I couldn’t pull my overpants off when I got hot as mud filled the zip and it wouldn’t move. Oh well. The positive side of this is that carrying water was unnecessary: it was readily available at almost every step of the journey. (Despite this, tent sites were not too squelchy.)


One had to be very careful about where one pitched one’s tent, as the howling winds announced their presence in rowdy terms. The winds changed direction and force during the night too, catching out certain walkers that we met. Everything became just a little bit more difficult.


It was pretty cold for summer. The lakes did not score swimmers. In fact, my beanie was on my head for almost the whole time – day and night. My coat never came off once, and most of every day I wore both my padded coat and my Event Anorak to keep out the wind. I also wore an icebreaker the entire trip.


I would like to say that a positive aspect of this weather was moody mist and dark, interesting clouds. However, I must say that I found the sky difficult to photograph this trip: it was just a little bit too light, and, as I was on a supposedly long expedition, I hadn’t brought my full frame camera with GND filters to darken things down. I struggled to avoid washed out areas.


I didn’t get to climb any new mountains or tread any new paths, but, hey, a party that only has people you know is not a bad party. I reclimbed things, and explored areas that I knew more thoroughly. I also got to meet new people – both in our group, and amongst the others who happened to be camped near us, or whom we met on the track. Some along the track that I met wanted to complain about the mud, but, really, it is not such a bad thing, as it helps keep the numbers down, and to deter many of the people who couldn’t actually cope with the real Western Arthurs, the high, ferocious, untamed bit “up there”. (The severity of Moraine A also helps in this regard). Take away that mud, attract even larger droves of people in there, and the place will be ruined. It’s already overcrowded to a disturbing degree.


In the course of our trip, we encountered a walker without a map, one without any kind of a rain jacket, people using a kind of tarp-shelter rather than a tent, many people who didn’t own thermal or woollen gear but were relying on cotton garments to keep them warm, people who didn’t own down bags, and many, many people who had no idea of the weather reports. This area is too popular for some of its users’ own good, I fear. If you want to visit the Western Arthurs, do yourself a favour and go to a reputable bushwalking shop to discuss your gear, and please also consult the excellent website run by the Bureau of Meteorology, both before you leave, and in high places when up there, so you can get an update. Knowing what to expect, and reacting appropriately to bad reports, is very important. It goes without saying that a map and compass are essential. This is not continental Europe: there are no cute yellow signs up there, and there are no splashes of red and white paint on rocks. When the mist closes in, it is very easy to get totally disoriented, even with a compass! And once the bad weather arrives, you may not even meet anyone who can help you, as they will be either sheltering in a tent somewhere, or they will have cleared out, to try again another time.

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Barrow Falls 2017 Feb

Barrow Falls, Feb 2017.


When researching available information to learn how to get to Barrow falls, and to see what I could expect, I noted that the material made them sound a little formidable. We thus wore our full bush battle gear for the journey, and were not actually confident of reaching our goal: “Don’t worry”, said my husband as we drove towards where I wanted to park and eyed up the rather thick bush to left and right, “we have six hours until dinner.”


I drove down the orange track on the map that I wanted to use for my approach, not quite knowing what would be at the far end. Hm. A house to the left, with furiously barking dogs, and one at the end of the track, kind of opposite, that did not look exactly used. I knocked just in case, anyway. By the time I was back near the car, I could see a lady striding towards her gate from the house above. We smiled at each other as I explained that I had come to ask permission to try to get to the waterfall from here.


“Yes, this is my property. Go and enjoy yourselves. Head down here until you see pink tape and follow the tape to the falls.” What? THAT easy?
“Oh”, I laughed. “We have maps and compasses and a gps system. I thought it would be challenging.”
“Oh well, it’s always handy to have such things,” she chuckled.
Next question: “We have a dog in the car. If we keep her on a lead, can she come too?”
“Don’t bother about the lead”, was the reply.
As a result, all three of us (two humans and a dog) had a fabulous time. Tessa was soon joined by the owner’s retriever, so even made a new friend. The dogs had a lovely swim in the creek when we arrived. The retriever seemed to know his way around very well, and took over leadership of the group pretty soon into the expedition.


Hoorah. A dog friendly walk in Tasmania!!!
Our gps, map and compass did come into use on the way back! There was another lot of pink tape going to a different destination, and I followed it at first, without realising that it wasn’t the original tape of our entrance. Luckily I sensed that things were not as familiar as they should be, and checked our position with the gps – no, we were now well off the old track. I righted it with a compass, and soon enough we were back where we wanted to be. I am also very happy we both wore boots. It was VERY steep in the final descent to the river, and equally steep – and slippery as well – trying to get from the top of the falls to the base. Huge, loose rocks became easily dislodged, vegetation was slimy: boots felt nice and secure.


After all that exercise (16 minutes in each direction to the top of the falls – ha ha) we, of course, needed to refuel our tanks, so stocked up on delectable goodies on the way home to have a celebration afternoon tea. That was a great waterfall.