Tag: bushwalk

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Eldon Peak 2018 Jan

Eldon Peak, Jan 2018


Several times on the Eldon Peak adventure, I was reminded of an earlier trip I did to Mt Emmett. The two trips may well seem worlds apart, as one (this) was done in extremely hot temperatures, while the other (Emmett) was done in a blizzard. On the Emmett trip, only four turned up, so Bruce and I comprised half the number. We didn’t make the summit on that day, but it was one of the prettiest outings of my life, and we spent the whole time yelping like little dogs: “Wow, wow, wow”, as we wended our way through the white witch’s wonderland, taking myriad photos. Steve, who is ever fond of quoting an adage, noted, correctly: “You’ve got to be in it to win it”. We four had braved the elements, taken the chance, and had won. If you don’t turn up, you can’t luck in on wonder. Of course, you can be in it and not win it, like the time we took a friend to sleep on Walled Mountain and received nothing for our efforts but a view of close-range, very thick mist. But if you’re not there, you won’t ever luck in on the times nature grants you – sometimes unexpectedly, of you are a reader of forecasts – a magic evening. (And even on the Walled incident, Elin kept saying she could feel she was on a summit, and she was exhilarated by the sense of space she could feel.)


Fun times chatting and chilling out on this trip.
And as I sat on the pebbly beach beside the Eldon River, enjoying the fact that I was greatly refreshed from a wonderful swim in one of nature’s magic gifts – a three-metre deep, crystal-clear waterhole – and enjoying chatting to my fellow walkers, Steve’s words came back to me. All of us present were prepared to get out in the bush, not really knowing what it would bring on this scorching weekend, yet just being there brought rewards that filled us with joie de vivre. Not for the first time, I was so happy down there by that river that I didn’t care at all whether we made the summit – which was naughty of me, as this trip was a promise by Paul to help get me to that very summit. The year before I was supposed to be on the boat, bouncing my way to the end of Lake Burbury with the others when, literally as I was about to quit the house (all my gear was in the car), Bruce started acting very strangely and I had to call an ambulance. He had a temperature of 42 degrees, and had sudden onset pneumonia.  (Not a single cough did he make). He was in intensive care for the next six days and we were very lucky not to lose him in that episode. In the wilderness eight months later, doing what he loved doing, was a far, far kinder way to go. His whole body was failing him, but he fought on valiantly. Thanks so much Paul for keeping your promise. It means heaps to me. Without a boat, this mountain becomes a formidable task.


Half way up.
And so, the trip to the summit began with a journey by boat up Lake Burbury to its northern end, followed by a walk along an old road that was pure bliss, as this former route for wheels is now a bed of spongy moss that traverses an area that could be parkland. It reminded me of the Blue Gum Forest as it was when we all loved it, with pale-trunked silver wattles instead of blue gums.

As we had no intention of climbing that first day – this day was all about getting to the startline to be ready for an early departure the next morn – the rest of our time was spent swimming in the glorious pool mentioned and pictured above, or sitting around on the pebbly shore (or in the rainforest, for some) chatting and eating. It was a wonderful time to savour being in the wilderness.


Day Two, summit day, was scheduled to be very hot, so we were ready with our packs at 6.30 for a departure that would give us plenty of climbing time before the heat advanced. There were a lot of contours to get through this day. Although this mountain has a huge climb, it seemed to me that most of it was in wonderful rainforest that was a sheer delight to traverse. The patch of scrub above this line didn’t last long, and then the rocky final ascent was pretty quickly dispensed with. The three earliest to the top were there before midday.
I had the fastest “touch and race away” of my life (something I normally never do) at this summit, as it was aswarm with a black cloud of galvanised, flying Jack Jumpers, and I was terrified. There is no point telling me they’re not interested in me. I am very interested in them, and I don’t like pursuing that interest at such close range. (For mainlanders and foreigners, these ants sting with a mighty punch. It is impossible to be bitten and not yell violently with pain.) They do not always swarm this or any other summit; it just happens to be mating season right now, and they like a good view while they select their partners and secure the next generation. At least they have good taste.)


Standing near the summit of Eldon Peak, it seemed I was on a huge monster of a mountain that totally dwarfed surrounding, otherwise-impressive peaks. Mount Lyell, Marble Bluff, and Mount Owen all seemed quite dominating down at lake level, but were transformed into silly pimples from the top of this giant. Even in midday glare and with Jack Jumpers for company, it was a great place to be.
That said, it was so hot and glary up there I was pleased when we started our descent. A swim at the bottom was calling. Unfortunately, by the time we got back to camp, hunger was stronger than the need for a dip, so cooking dinner on the beach and paddling had superior claim on my priorities.


The boat trip back on the final day was magic, but unfortunately I can’t show my own photos, as my camera refused to open. I fear the heat of the day may have cooked it. (Because of the heat and climb and boat trip, I didn’t have my normal full frame DSLR). Once more we had an early start, so walked out in golden light. The water at that hour was pure mirror. I felt very lucky to have been part of the group.


Jonny’s photo; my edit. The walk out.

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Meetus Falls 2018 Feb

Meetus Falls (2). Tessa’s Story.
As soon as Mum let me out of the car, I was very excited: I had this feeling I had been here before with her and dad, and remembering that made me very happy. I ran here and there, sniffing, to be sure. There were some nice people having a late breakfast, so I explained to them that Mum hasn’t fed me for three weeks, and they kindly shared what they had with me.

Soon enough, Mum and Carrie were ready to go, so we went along the path that went down to the Cygnet River. I led the way, of course, as they were a bit slower. The day was quite hot, so as soon as I saw a pool in the river, I jumped straight in. That was nice and refreshing, but then I couldn’t get out, as there was this very slippery black moss, and every time I dug my claws in, they just slipped away. Mum got all frightened, which was unnecessary, as there was a full thirty centimetres’ expanse of rock before the next a big drop. Her voice got very anxious, especially when, after I finally got out of the pool, I went to the edge to see where I would have rolled if the water had carried me away. Mum seemed to think that everything was slippery, and that I should be careful. She worries about me a lot. Even she slipped a bit on the moss, so I can hardly be blamed for my problems. She called me from the edge, and on we went, heading up the river and away from where I had been last time with dad.

After a short while, we hit a sort of dead end, as cliffs came in on either side, and the water was deep. Mum and Carrie both think their cameras are very expensive, and so they didn’t want to swim. They said we had to climb a cliff, and Mum said she’d lead the way.

I got impatient, as Mum was being careful, just because the cliff was vertical and she only had a tuft of grass for purchase, which she said wasn’t very safe. She put her weight in the right position so she wasn’t really trusting the grass, and up she climbed. Carrie wanted more time to consider this, and I wanted to join Mum ahead, so I sped past her so I could help Mum see if there were any other tricky sections before Carrie climbed this one.
The next bit was actually quite embarrassing. It’s not just that I was suddenly flying through space; it was more the fact that I made such a VERY loud plop when I landed in the pool below. Mum says I need to lose some weight if I don’t want belly flops to sound like a thunder storm or a gun going off. The bang echoed around the walls. Mum said she was relieved it wasn’t Carrie, which I thought was a bit rude and uncaring, but then I realised it was because Carrie had her expensive camera.
Not long after that, Mum stopped. Now there was a big drop here. I could see that, but there was a nice, slightly sloping rock with green moss that offered an excellent view. Mum was a spoilsport and wouldn’t let me inspect. She said I’d courted danger quite enough for one day. Carrie’s voice sounded very nervous here, and she announced this was a fine spot for photography and she didn’t want or need to go any further. Mum agreed. She stayed there, and Carrie went to a spot with a bit more room, so I went there too to sit beside her while she worked. I liked that. They both took a while, but I’m used to that with photography.


Thought I’d throw in a self-portrait to liven up this blog.
At last we were off. Mum said she didn’t like the idea of going back down the bit with no handholds and the big drop, and Carrie agreed, so Mum said she’d try to find a way up the cliffs rather than go down and around to retrace our steps. She tried a few leads. Carrie did a fair bit of slipping and saying a couple of slightly naughty words that I am not allowed to say, but she was still happy – just annoyed at herself for slipping down the hill so often. We couldn’t climb the cliffs, but Mum found a good route that was a kind of compromise so we didn’t need the dangerous bit. The scrub was quite thick, but very pretty, with lots of lush green ferns. Now my confidence came back, so I tried to push ahead, but lost my grip on moss again, and landed on my backside. It is good that those people had fed me so I wasn’t skinny, as my new fat protected me. It might have hurt otherwise. I did get a little clumsy every time I tried to lead, and Mum got bossy and told me to tuck in behind her, and insulted me by saying I don’t have good bushcraft and should let her lead.

Me relaxing at home. Trying to be a star.
Somehow she managed to steer us up through the bush to where the track was, and we followed it back to the car. The other highlight of my day is that Carrie is on a diet like Aunty Lena, and eats only eggs for lunch, but she is bored with them, so gave me over half her lunch. I am not bored by eggs. Mum shared none of her interesting smelling roll. She and Carrie filled my waterbowl, chatted about what a great adventure they’d had and off we drove home. I like bagging waterfalls.

(For directions to these falls, see my first post on Meetus Falls)
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Nereus trip 2018 Jan

Nereus trip, on a shockingly hot clutch of days, late Jan 2018.


My mother taught me that if I don’t have anything nice to say, then I shouldn’t say anything at all. There are necessarily a lot of very “not nice” (mild understatement) things one could say about the whole Nereus area since the last fire wrought havoc on the forest and left us with thick, prickly, disgustingly uncomfortable scrub which occurs in tiring and lengthy bands. My legs stung from the scoparia injections, and I tore my boots, my gaiters, my gloves and my famous cow pants. (I also got the second flat tyre in seven days on the way home). Leading the gang through the bosky barricades was energy depleting.

We were not helped by the fact that the days were stinking hot and water was all but non-existent. Even the nice big tarns on Walled Mountain were dangerously – ominously – empty and murky. The yabby holes further on were mostly dried out. Whoops. I’m disobeying mum’s rule.

Nereus from Urquarts Messa.
Here are some photographic highlights. Now THESE are indeed worth talking about. Stifling days can be followed by evenings to die for, and we got them. Hoorah.


Tim and I climbed Urquarts Messa nice and early, so were on top by 6.45 a.m., a beautiful time of day to see what it had to offer.

A tarn with cool, deep water, found after a long, hot day on the way back. This was possibly the most physically pleasing moment of the trip. 
I love the way that memory gradually erases the bad bits, turning them into theoretical facts of little emotive weight. I am left with my photographic highlights ….. It is now a bit over a week since I was there, and already these photos have helped to mollify my negative reaction to the trip. I have realised that it was a very beautiful one, with some glorious moments.


And there were moments to sit outside the tent and reflect.


I find it interesting that social factors, however, are the ones that determine the extent to which I look back on a trip with delight or mere tolerance. When you have a good team on board, even scoparia and can be fun.

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Chasm Falls 2017 ii Dec

Chasm Falls, Middle and Lower Dec 2017


My daughter was getting married next day. I had been working hard for months to get everything right for a wedding in our garden, and now that everything was abuzz, and the house full of helpers, I was feeling the overload. Meanwhile, treasured friends from Armidale (where our girls were born) – in fact, Yelena’s godparents – had arrived and wanted to go running with  me. I thought a walk to Chasm Falls to show them some local beauty would be more fun. We could run in the gorge on the other days. So, a walk to a waterfall it was, and a glorious one at that.


I photographed; Robyn inspected the wonders of moss and lichen; both friends just sat and stared at the mesmerising beauty for a while; and Keith joined me for some of the trickier climbing manoeuvres. It’s nice not to be alone when on slippery, sloping rocks with rather a big drop. I wasn’t too daring, as in my new role of “walker of our precious daughter down the aisle”, I didn’t think it would be appreciated if I died on wedding eve, or even if I needed to hobble on crutches. For Lenie’s sake, I was about as sensible as I get.


Lena thought it was wonderful that I took a well-earned break, and I felt greatly refreshed for having been let off the leash for a while.


And, in case you were wondering, yes, there were tears going down that aisle: both tears of sorrow that Bruce wasn’t there to share the day, and also tears of joy that Lenie was manifestly having the happiest day of her life, even if droplets were falling a bit … and, of course, there were also big, joyous smiles. I think I even heard giggles of delight as we walked down that all too short yet eternally long passageway between the hay bails towards a waiting Jonnie, so that the two young lovers could pledge eternal faithfulness. When you have helped your husband through fifteen years of Parkinson’s disease and still kept loving each other, you know that those words: “to have and to hold from this day forward, for better, for worse, for richer, for poorer, in sickness and in health, to love and to cherish, till death shall part us” have a poignant significance. I remember the little student Louise saying those words and nearly choking on the last clause, it was such a horrid thought.

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Forth Falls 2017 Upper, Middle and Forth Falls

Forth Falls Dec 2017


Upper Forth Falls
Forth Falls seemed to me a most curious phenomenon before I visited, as the web had many photos, all labelled “Forth Falls”, but many of these photos were manifestly not of the same waterfall. A bit of delving into history revealed that there had once been seven Forth Falls before the Forth River was dammed to become Lake Barrington, and the feeder creek that houses this series of falls, namely the Forth Falls Creek, had had its tail cut off, or its head drowned, whichever way you like to look at it. Three falls remain, it seems. Now, as there are three in a row, logic might dictate that these be called Forth Upper, Middle and Lower, but No. This is not the case. And neither are they called perhaps the next most logical names: viz. Forth Upper, Lower and Lowest. Apparently, their correct names are Upper Forth, Lower Forth and plain old Forth Falls. The Forth Falls flow directly into Lake Barrington, and are the most rarely seen of the three. So, at last I have clarified for myself the mysterious nomenclature, thanks to my waterfall-expert friend who seems to know all there is to know about Tassie waterfalls.

Lower Forth Falls.
Next my curiosity got me, as I was sure I had crossed the Forth River at Frog Flats when I did the Overland Track, and also when I climbed Perrins Bluff (we camped at Frog Flats on the first night). Correct. That’s a higher version of the same river. What fun. So where does it begin? Out with the good old paper map again. Ah, high on the flanks of another mountain I have climbed, Pelion West, and then it flows kind of in between that noble giant and Mt Achilles, so I guess I have inadvertently looked down on its source from two different mountains without realising.

Forth Falls.
And so, this pilgrimage to the Forth Falls that we made yesterday was one imbued with more history than most. We parked the car as instructed at the intersection of the bottom end of Buxtons Rd and Lower Barrington Rd, and followed the clear sign that pointed to the falls, and then the pink tapes that kept us on a little track / pad (it changed its characteristics from time to time). After twenty five minutes, we reached the forking in the track that the web mentioned. It said that the Upper Falls were twenty minutes away (we took ten), and that the lower were ten minutes away (we took four). I photographed, Angela explored and decided we could reach the next ones down, the Forth Falls that we’d been told you couldn’t reach without a kayak, so camera packed back away in its bag, off we set to shoot falls number three. It was a fun couple of hours.


Lake Barrington from above the Forth Falls