When we were walking Warners Track last week, I noticed a tantalising blue line across a neighbouring creek, and wanted to do a bushbash to see if that line actually represented a real waterfall, and, if yes, whether that waterfall was a worthy one. The contours certainly looked promising. In fact, it could be a huge drop, looking at the map. My friend Penny said she was also interested in this matter, so we agreed to give it a go this weekend.
We parked in the same spot as the week before, but went off in a different direction, up a pretty steep slope, over and under and through numerous fallen logs, around the odd patches of rather thick dogwood and regrowth of some nature, past serried tree ferns, and there was our promising cliff line.
Warners Creek Tributary Falls
My gps said we were closing in on our grail, and sure enough, it soon became visible. We haven’t had much rain lately, so it was a delicate drop today – a fine and flimsy tracery of water, dropping about thirty metres in three close stages.
It’s always very rewarding to find a waterfall that is only a possibility rather than a certainty, and to make our own unaided way there through virgin bush. How lucky we are to live in a place where this is still possible.
We chose to have a slightly different route on the rebound, exploring other areas of forest, to make a kind of circle by the time we arrived back at the car. It always feels good to have been off exploring. I knew I had missed it during lockdown, but today I realised how very much I had. Warners Track had been very nice, but making our own way through unchartered forest is far, far better.
I am the sort of person who is always in a rush, trying to squeeze as much life into every second as is possible, often multitasking and too often running late because of both the above.
Burnies Creek Falls 1
Now, because of trying to squash five lives into the space of one, I didn’t allow time for research on these falls: I had heard they were below “the” bridge over Burnies Creek, and that was the sum of my knowledge. Sounds easy enough. I parked beside such a bridge, but could find no waterfall. I thought I had to search harder.
I had received an invitation to join others on this day, and do a hike up Warners track to Adams Peak. These others had arrived, so I told them to set out without me; I would find and photograph these falls and give chase up the incline.
Burnies Creek Falls 3
That was a good idea, except that although I found areas of deep and interesting erosion, my search was devoid of waterfalls. I gave up and set out up the beautiful track, sidelined by fungi now and then, but I eventually caught the others.
Adams Peak summit
Right near the top, however, there was another bridge, and below it, both waterfalls and a cascade. I photographed three worthy falls plus the cascade.
summit views
Once past the top bridge, the track levelled right out, and the beautiful forest ceded to alpine scrub. Our goal of Adams Peak was clearly visible, and not far away. It was a fairly easy scramble up, and we were rewarded with views that were surprisingly vast. It was amazing what we could see from a climb that seemed inconsequential.
Burnies Creek Cascades
As it was winter with short days and a bit of a chill on top, we didn’t linger too long, and were soon rolling our way down the slope to the cars. It was a good length’s walk for a winter’s day; I was home in time to do a couple of outside jobs and collect wood for the fire before night descended.
Deciding to take two young children on a three-day venture into relatively remote wilderness in the middle of winter seemed to me like a pretty daring proposition, given the weight of the parental packs and the distance to be covered; and yet, I felt it had a strong enough chance of success to be excited by the idea, and, hey, if it didn’t quite work, at least we’d all be together in the beautiful mountains doing something, and maybe I could be of help. I was excited.
Abby outside Narcissus Hut, getting ready to begin
Why was this task so enormous? Because (i) four-year-old children should not walk monster distances, and the track to Pine Valley was probably beyond the limits of what would normally be advised for that age, and (ii) young children need more clothes that we do: they can get their gear wet more readily than an adult does, and do not tolerate being too cold. They also eat a lot, especially Gussy, who, although only eight, is growing rapidly and seems to be an eating machine. Bruce and I stopped overnight bushwalking with the girls when they were 3 and 1. We stopped on the day that I fell over face first, not strong enough to stabilise myself with both a baby and all the normal gear on my back. (Bruce also had a huge pack, and carried the three-year old when she got tired.) That was on the South West Coast Trail. Hm.
Bridge over the Narcissus River. Gussy.
But here I was, back at the starting line, my “three-year old” now a mum of two delightful children, doing for them what we did for her, or, in this case, more, as she is stronger than I ever was. Gussy (8) carried his own clothes and sleeping bag; Abby (4) carried her lollies (and even they were given up after a short time. Two hands are nice). The parents’ packs were ginormous. My pack was heavy enough for me, as winter packs always weigh quite a bit, and I also had in my camera, tripod and filters, all of which total about 6 kgs before you begin on the other items. But we were travelling at four-year-old pace, so it was more weight bearing than furious exercise that was going to test us.
Beauty on the track. Gussy
Our goal (or our high hope?) was to reach Pine Valley Hut by the end of the day. It didn’t matter if we didn’t get there, as we were camping anyway, but it’s a nice flat area, and a good base for going up the Acropolis on day 2. We took a very long time to reach the half-way mark, as there were lots of deep puddles that posed problems for both children. Abby “flew” (courtesy of dad or mum) over most of the big ones, but Gussy, being heavier, had to negotiate his way around, which took time. I was so glad about the real bushwalker boots I had purchased for him, and so was he. His pack weighed about 6 kgs, which was heavy for his young frame, and I could see that his shoulders were a little sore by the way he was carrying it (just like I sometimes do – pulling the straps forward to take the weight off the shoulders for a while), but he never muttered even a quarter of a murmur of complaint.
Track turnoff. Abby no doubt negotiating lolly intake.
On we progressed, over the swinging bridge near the turnoff to the valley, and I feared we would be arriving in the dark. (There had been no normal 9 a.m. ferry, so we had fewer hours to fit the journey in than most). Abby was offered a piggy back or huggle-carry, but wanted to walk the whole way, so on the train moved at that pace. It gave us time to enjoy the magnificent forest.
Pine Valley: our goal. (Day 2)
About a kilometre before the end, the scotch-mist became more of an intent drizzle, and the day was getting threateningly dark. We agreed that I would set out a bit faster with Gussy, to at least get him in relatively dry, while the other two worked on Abby to persuade her to allow help. She really wanted to do it all herself.
Cephissus Falls
Gussy and I arrived, and I began with tasks like water collection to make everyone some hot soup. In very little time, Kirsten and Abby (carried) arrived, which meant Keith was still out in the forest carrying two huge packs. Kirsten deposited Abbs and hurried back to help him while I minded the children. I thought they would whinge about being cold or wet or hungry, but when I said I was working on making some soup, they were delighted, and sat quietly while I got the gear and nudged in the direction of soup. Abby was delighted that it was to be “Two Minute Nudel soup”; no complaints about the menu there! I think each child ate two packets of that, and then progressed to pasta for main course. Again, squeals of excitement at getting their favourite food were the cheerful noise that filled the night sky.
Frosty environment when out of the forest
Dinner eaten, we pitched the tents. The others played cards, but I was fixated on warming up my tent space on what was already a very cold night (it went to minus 3), so just listened to the game across the fabric.
Day 3 morning
The next day, we wanted to rest Abby, so Keith stayed at base, playing with her and Gussy. Kirsten set out up the Acropolis, to do as much of it as possible in the time allocation (she needed to be back for a midday lunch), and I set off with my camera gear, having a wonderful time. It would have been nice to also go up the Acropolis in the snow, but there wasn’t time for everything, and we decided we needed to do some of the homeward journey in the afternoon to take the pressure off making the 1 pm ferry the next day.
Frosty berries of Leptecophylla juniperina
And that was the activity for the afternoon. The scenery was as beautiful as ever, and we made our goal of the half-way mark. There was a perfect camping spot there, and plenty of water. The only problem was that it was raining, but (to save weight) I had only brought my 3-season tent, which is pretty open until you get the fly on. Pitching in rain means water gets in until you have the fly up. Panic, panic. I did not want a wet “bedroom”. The children remained cheerful; I was the grumpy one, trying to race to get my tent up so I wouldn’t freeze overnight. This night would be minus 4.
Gussy bouncing around at the end
Day 3 dawned clear, with a thick white frost: so thick my boots in the vestibule were covered in a sheet of ice. The rain droplets from the night before had frozen to become myriad little ice balls, set in a context of frozen condensation. I didn’t care much, however, as the scenery was so beautiful I had to hurry out into it. I dashed off with my camera equipment, returning with hands that were dropping off. Crunch, crunch I went on the ice of the boardwalk.
And Abby, too, finishes running. (Narcissus Hut).
When I returned, the excited children wanted to show me this and that beautiful object covered in ice. Gussy and I went and inspected the river to see if mist would be rising off it. The campsite looked glorious in the shafts of golden light, all the blonde heads of hair making wonderful halos.
Leeawuleena Day 3 evening
And soon enough we were all crunch crunching on the ice for the final section, a walk punctuated by stops for lollies for the children, photos of plants covered in ice for me. The kids were positively jubilant on arrival at Narcissus hut, with oodles of time spare to wait for the ferry.
Day 4 sunrise
That night we had “normal person” accommodation. The children were so excited to have beds, switches, BEDLAMPS and a BOX OF TISSUES each – signs of decadent luxury – that I found it quite funny. It is wonderful to see such simple pleasures providing that degree of enjoyment. Paddy Pallin used to say he loved the way that bushwalking and its privations made him enjoy the normal things of life so much more, and this was certainly happening here.
Explorer Falls. I like that name. It seems an appropriate one considering that the falls are not on the map, and thus, of course, not named, but are there to be found by those who go exploring and who happen to explore in just the right place.
Explorer Cascades. First photo of the day.
I was invited to join some friends who were setting out to enjoy a lovely walk in which they planned to circumnavigate Lake Explorer. We would go in from the Lake Mackenzie carpark, wend our way to the lower reaches of Explorer Creek, cross it (with difficulty: it took us half an hour of vacillating to find the best spot, remove or change our shoes and brave the cold water), follow said creek up on its northern bank until we reached the Lake of its name, and return via the southern bank, after negotiating the outlets from Lake Pitt, Snake Lake and Johnny Lake, in that order.
Lake Pitt outlet. Bellendena montana
The first of these outlets was picturesque but more like a series of elongated tarns; the second was a jump (small but deep); and the third was a scattering of quaint, shining ribbons of tannin water. Right near the end, however, the Fisher River needs to be negotiated, and that required a bit more effort, with a double crossing – knee to waist deep (depending on where you went) with fast-moving, forceful water, and a rather slimy base, which conditions are always a bit threatening when you have several thousand dollars’ worth of electrical equipment on your back. The consequences of a slip and unintentional swim are rather large.
Lake Explorer. Bellendena montana
I thought the vegetation would be rather boring, as we were too late for scoparia and other wildflowers, but too early for autumnal hues should there be any fagus. However, the landscape was aflame with scarlet from the absolute abundance of Bellendena montana seedheads. I have also rarely seen so very many pencil pines – lots of little groves scattered throughout the way. I would love to hear an expert tell me the age of some of the oldest there, whose venerability wrested your attention.
Venerable Pencil Pine
And, we happened upon two lovely water features. On the way up, the sound of flowing water louder than just creek murmurings drew my attention: there was a lovely cascade, which I photographed. On the way back, once more cozened to have a peep by the sound of rushing water, a proper waterfall shyly popped out its head from behind a rock.
Plains beside Lake Explorer
It was a really beautiful day in the wilderness, which gave us all not just a breath of literal fresh air, but a whopping dose of “mental fresh air”, which the wilderness always brings. All the cares of corona virus and its scares and absurdities were left far behind as we soaked in the greater reality of nature (keeping required social distance, of course). It is not one scrap surprising that during the Great Depression of the 1930s, bushwalking as a recreation really took off. The bush has always calmed us down and helped us stay sane in times of trial. We need wilderness for mental health as well as for the air, as fresh here as anywhere on this planet. I also had a welcome day’s rest from hayfever. I am not allergic to the bush, but I am very allergic to the Tamar valley where I live.
Explorer Falls
Astonishingly, this expedition took us nine hours of elapsed time (which includes all food stops, photography and creek negotiations). It was “only” 16 km-equivalents; however, there was quite a bit of low scrub to negotiate, and creek crossings took quite a while. My watch says we were moving productively for 4 hrs 45; my gps says we were moving for 6. Believe whichever you will. A case can be made for either measurement.
No case can be made, however, for locking us out of this recuperative beauty and preventing us from being in the most healthy environment available to us. Luckily we did it before our stunningly smart NP decided that keeping people away from fresh air, decent exercise, beauty and the prerequisites for good mental health is the best way to keep them “healthy”. Maybe a bit like stealing children from their parents is a great way to keep them healthy. There is a lot more to being “healthy” than the presence or absence of this or that disease.
Back in yesteryear, I raced up the Empire State building in the World Stair Running Championships. As the leading world mountain runner in the field, I was favourite for the race. On the day, however, I had a fever and my resting pulse was double its normal, but I raced because they had paid a lot of money to have me there. At the end, I coughed blood into the bin, and was temporarily very ill, fainting several times in the next two days. The organiser, the famous and wonderful Fred Lebow, asked to meet me. I was ostensibly the sick one, but I looked at him and knew with horrid certainty that I was looking at a terminally ill man. In a week, I had recovered from that illness; Fred was in hospital, dying of cancer. Who was actually the healthier person on that day? Health has many facets, some of which are not readily obvious to an eye unable or unwilling to see. Having or not having a positive test result to covid-19 is one small aspect of our overall health. Let me be healthy in the wilderness.
The last time I visited Old House Creek, I approached from the base, and found the driving part to be more than nerve wracking.* So, this time, wanting a revisit to take in the extra falls I’d been alerted to by a few friends, I tried coming in from the top, via good old Maggs Spur 17. Great decision. I used it until it crossed Old House Creek, and then parked, electing not to attempt to drive down the road that descends on the southern side of the creek. Second smart move of the day. Going well so far.
Old House Creek Falls 1 and 2
I wasn’t sure how high up all these extra falls extended, so popped into the forest every now and then on my way down to check out how things were (using the road. Oh BOY was I glad I hadn’t tried to drive it!!!!). The road was ugly, but the forest was gorgeous and mossy, and nice and open; the creek on each visit was just merrily cascading – quite noisily – and although each cascade would make a lovely image if one spent time, I was there on this day for actual waterfalls, so continued purposefully at this stage.
Old House Creek Base of Falls 2. I entered danger for THIS wretched shot? ‘fraid so. This waterfall goes up and up forever!
Once I had crossed the first road perpendicular to my line, the waterfall fun began. I waymarked each one on my map, but it became ridiculous. In a very short space of time, I had ten waterfalls, so all the yellow circles were just on top of each other, and I will delete the lot. I made my way to the base, taking just a few record shots in case I needed them for reference. I was at the base 35 minutes from leaving the car, so this was not a massive time commitment thus far. Ha ha. All up, spread over 4.5 hours, I did 1.5 hours’ exercise (which included some extra exploration higher up) and 3 hours’ photography!
Old House Creek Falls 4
The forecast had been for a cloudy day, but I had noticed to my chagrin that the sun was making an increased showing as I descended. By the time I got to the base, it was really spoiling the party. I took some shots ’cause I was there, but I was not impressed with my own or the sun’s efforts. I will probably ditch the lot. (I did). Anyway, I already had some reasonable photos of the base, even though the flow was better today.
Old House Creek Falls 5 and 6
OK. Now the fun began. My first task was to try to get a decent shot of “Falls 2” or maybe you would call it “Upper Tier”. Given that there were to be ten, I thought numbering was easier. Up I climbed, and got to a spot from where I thought I could work my way across. Hm. The drop was not infinite, but it was substantial and vertical, and if I slipped and fell, a broken back or neck or a smashed head could easily result. No one knew I was there to even come and collect the pieces afterwards, and if I was only half dead, that would be inconvenient. Half would become full before they found me. I did have my plb, but if you are severely maimed or unconscious, the button is rather hard to access and press. (Btw, Falls 2 extends upwards into infinity. It looks middle sized from the base of Falls 1, but it goes out of sight, and you only get the full extent of its measure if you climb up and up to its top.)
Old House Creek Falls 7 and 8
So, under the threat of exacting penalties I tested and retested every foothold and hand hold, choosing a path that never once abandoned a secure anchor. It took 30 minutes to reach the base from the other base below! No doubt you could do it faster by being less neurotically cautious, but in doing so, you would also no doubt disturb a great deal of moss, so in the interests of the environment, even if not of your body, I plead with you to take this very gently if you are as silly as I am and want to get there. I will also add that it is really not worth it. The view from down there was not extraordinary, and there was a lot of spray from the proximity to the landing. I am not pleased with the booty I obtained, and will not be using the shots for any competitions of beautiful photos.
Old House Creek Falls 10
I had an overdose of adrenalin by the time I got back to my route after Falls 2, so just nodded a courteous “Hello” to Falls 3, which were sweet, but utterly dwarfed by the monstrous Falls 2 which seemed to go on forever. However, Falls 4 and 5 – a kind of a double – well, I couldn’t just ignore these, and thus began the very tedious business of setting up for almost every single waterfall I found. (Setting up my equipment and then packing it back at the end takes about fifteen minutes each stop: unfolding tripod, screwing on filter holder, unpacking glass etc. I don’t dare walk with exposed glass when bushbashing.)
I think these were my favourites, although competition is fierce.
Old House Creek Falls 12
Later on I was also to skip Falls 9 (photographically speaking), just because the sun really did spoil them, and because I was soooo over unpacking and repacking my gear every few meters. Similarly I saved Falls 11, higher up, for a different visit, not because they were not beautiful, but enough was enough. I was satiated by this stage. Falls 12 I suspected to be the last, so gave them what I hoped was my final photographic attention, and called it quits for the day. I was starving. Time to patronise my favourite Mole Creek cafe (Earthwater), where I can sit in their beautiful garden under a tree, far away from corona-infected people, and enjoy bird calls and filtered sunlight while waiting for my food.
