Tag: hiking

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Mayson 2016 Jul

Mt Mayson. Freycinet National Park. July 2016.

Angela stops for lunch after we have been to the summit of Mt Mayson.
What a messy, untidy mountain is Mt Mayson! Such a huge and daunting amount of giant-sized rubble with scrubby bush in between. I felt like a mouse in an elephant’s maze – assuming that such mice feel not only small and overwhelmed by the size of the blockades, but also frustrated. The scrub was only a little bit of a nuisance as the far bigger problems – posed by our inability to see what lay on the other side of the humungous boulders – kept us quite fully occupied.

After the summit we rewarded ourselves with lunch at this view of Wineglass
Progress was stunningly slow and my plait a total mess. Why do I mention my hair? Have I become very girly all of a sudden? No. It’s just that I’ve discovered that the state of disintegration of my plait after a walk is a very good indication of how horrid the scrub was. I emerged looking like a Very Wild Woman. As I was also wearing hideous orienteering pants that the Swiss team thought funny about twenty years ago (they are white with cow patterns on them. I keep wearing them in awful scrub to try to rip them so I can throw them out, but they will NOT be destroyed), I looked decidedly odd. It’s surprising that Angela was not too embarrassed to be seen with me in public. She is very tolerant. A man asked me about my outfit in Zeps in Campbeltown, and I told him I had been terrorising all the cows between there and Freycinet. He believed me and only wanted to know why. Fortunately my panini was ready at this stage, so I didn’t have to be creative and furnish him with a daft reason.
Looking towards Mt Amos – nice mountain with a track. What a difference a track makes!
As the crow flies, it is only about 500 ms between an internal saddle on Mayson and the summit. We had gone really well to this saddle, but it was this final 500 that was so slow it made the waddle of a fully pregnant pig look speedy. We took over an hour to cover that horizontal distance. At that stage you only have 160 ms left of vertical progress, so the steepness of the terrain is not to be blamed. The pattern of movement went something like: sigh, here’s another wall of rock in our nose. We suss out left and right and take a vote. Sometimes there’s a chute, so we also vote on whether to go up it or around. The danger, of course, is that you can haul yourself up, grabbing tiny bushes to save you from bone-breaking falls, yank yourself further up with a mighty heave, only to discover it’s a dead end. You can also go left or right and find yourself faced with a twenty metre drop to a rocky death below as a different kind of dead end.
In addition, there was the problem of runaway summits.
“Angela, this is it”, I call excitedly, eying up the shape of the land and the extreme height of the rock pile in front of me.
I crest the rise. Dashed. “Na. Forget it. There’s a higher bit over there.”

On we .. well, I was going to write “trudge”, but you can’t even trudge in territory like that. This made scampering up 2,000 ms of height gain in Europe seem such a wonderfully easy thing to do. You just put one foot in front of the other, dream and sing a bit and you’re there. Not so in this stuff!

 Behind where Angela is standing, near that precariously balanced rounded boulder on a boulder, we really could see the summit, so dumped our packs to make things easier. We decided, without yet seeing the summit view, that this spot was where we would return to to have our well-earned lunch. It was overlooking Wineglass Bay at just the aspect we fancied for a luncheon view. Sitting there munching, we decided that we were really quite over this mountain.

The way back down was way quicker, not just because it was down, but you can actually see far more going down, and also, of course, you can remember this and that chute, so you feel far more heartened, as you know it will work. I found all the trial and error to be psychologically exhausting. I would need a very huge bribe to tempt me to go back.

I can’t resist adding this to the blog, as Angela and I both got such a huge laugh out of it. Here is Stu Bowling sitting on top of the summit rock that no one else climbs. Stu and Martin Doran carted that ladder through all that jumble of boulders and heavy scrub for hours, so that they could touch the actual tippy top while the rest of us are content to touch some part of the stone that connects to the top. Thanks for sharing Stu :-), and for giving us a good laugh.
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ENGLAND Lake District 2016

England, Lake District, 2016

We’d been travelling for forty hours, which included the couple-of-hours’ drive from Manchester to the Lakes. After an alfresco pub dinner, I needed to stretch my legs, so climbed the first mountain that night: Troutbeck Tongue.
Fells Walking in the Lake District, 2016 version. Wainwrights.
We first visited the Lake District BC (Before Children), influenced in our choice by the English Romantic poets we’d studied at Uni. We came straight from Switzerland, but the height difference didn’t bother me at all and neither did the lack of a jagged, diamond-shaped summit.
Scene out our window at Maggs Howe, Kentmere  our first base this year  a lovely B&B with a huge “sun” room for reading, and magnificent breakfasts. We loved our veggie lasagne dinner too.
What impressed me far more was the intricacy of the glaciated lumps and bumps that produced interesting shadows and changes in the theme of green. The stone walls and sheep, quaint villages and lakes all added their charm. It was like drinking pinot grigio instead of cordial; I enjoy subtler flavours. The only boring bit was that the wretched people spoke English, but I guess they can’t be abused for that.
Setting out for the first peak on the Kentmere Seven: Shipman Knotts. It’s lovely when the people who run your B&B know the fells too. I had laid out the map on the breakfast table before setting out, showing Christine (Magg’s Howe) my intended route. She nodded her approval. Richard at Scales Farm did the same, and loved talking maps and routes with me in the evening. The English actually navigate their fells: they don’t just go baa behind a leader. I like it. 

We climbed many peaks that first trip; I climbed more later as an athlete training and competing in the area (not many more, actually: I was like a record stuck in the groove of running from Derwent Water up Cat Bells to Dale Head each day. I couldn’t get enough of that particular view. It seemed the perfect workout). Meanwhile, we had fallen in love with the sensitivity to nature and the sense of humour of a guy called Alfred Wainwright whose Coast to Coast and The Penine Way books we’d chucklingly devoured when we did those walks, so we now bought the whole of his collection on the English peaks, called after him, the Wainwrights. A Wainwright is, quite simply, a mountain that has made it into his books. It seems that a lot more people than just us liked this guy’s taste when it came to beauty.

Haweswater

After I bought the books (2012), I began ticking in the index at the back the ones I’d climbed. Uh oh. You guessed. I decided I wanted no black spaces in those indexes. I became a collector of Wainwrights. 2014 was the first trip where I actually began systematically to mop up spare mountains lying, accidentally neglected, about the place. I continued my cleaning operations last year and again this year, managing around 35 or so new mountains each eight-day visit. 

 Steel Knotts

A wonderful aspect of this completing game, both in Tasmania and England, is that it propels you to climb peaks that you might otherwise dismiss as being too easy, too foreboding, too boring or too far away. They must all be climbed, and ultimately, each one, however dull it may seem before you get to meet it properly, has a story which is worth knowing. So, in 2014 I found myself climbing mountains that had looked formidably steep or high from face on. Both abroad and at home, I have had to have a massive redefinition of “can’t do”. With map and compass I go out in any weather; after all, clouds are interesting, and mist is wonderfully moody. There’s a Wuthering Heights-type wildness up there alone in the windswept tops by yourself. 

Beginning my final peak for this morning: Hallin Fell, looking back at Beda Fell, which I would climb the next day (for the second time) before breakfast.

I am now in the endgame of this mission. This 2016 trip was carefully planned, and next year’s trip is mapped out already. I know the order in which I’ll climb my remaining peaks, and the particular base I’ll use for each cluster.

Setting out for Beda Fell as the sun peeps around the corner. Ullswater below.
You have to be systematic in the endgame, as accidentally leaving one mountain out could require an extra trip to the UK – a rather expensive omission – or, even if you’ve allowed enough additional days for error, if you’ve planned for and booked the next base, you might be geographically stuck. Also, of course, it’s unnecessary to pay for fourteen days when you can get the job finished in nine. I have treated the whole matter as a quasi rogaining exercise, and I believe I’ve grouped the residue mountains in the best way. Had I known I would end up collecting Wainwrights, I would have been a lot less random and haphazard at the start, when I just chose the shapes that pleased and went up them.
On Beda Fell
I’ve really enjoyed being challenged to climb mountains that didn’t initially appeal. Life and nature are full of variety, and it’s not good to only do our single favourite activity, or eat our most preferred dinner each night – or to only mix with a single kind of person. We become narrow and unhealthy in several ways. Fresh elements are required in any system to keep it functioning well, Climbing mountains that I thought were too dull is part of imbibing life’s variety. Sometimes these “ugly ducklings” offered an unexpected surprise; they were always an experience to be valued as enriching my life with their tiny dose of added complexity. As Niklas Luhmann correctly says, there is nothing with absolutely no meaning: even “meaningless” has a meaning.
The moody lower slopes of Blencathra, stage lit on the ridge with a single shaft of light.

 My favourite mountain this year was Blencathra, full of drama and mystique, shrouded in thick cloud. A popular mountain due to its height and bulk, I had it all to myself that day (as long as you don’t count sheep). The monster drop over the sharp edge of the summit ridge, should you get careless and accidentally step off the mountain, would be every bit as deadly as falling off the Matterhorn (I am not actually sure how people manage to accidentally step off a mountain, even in thick mist, but I have a friend who died that way, so it is possible, even if beyond my comprehension). 

This is not the steep drop to which I was referring, but you can see that even the “gentle” slopes of Blencathra are pretty steep.

My two favourite routes were the Kentmere Seven (in which I climbed eight, so I’m not sure which one gets kicked out of the in-group), and a route I did above Ullswater that took in Arthurs Pike, Bonscale Pike, Loadpot Hill, Wether Hill, (Brownthwaite Crag), Steel Knotts and Hallin Fell (starting from Sharrow Bay), with brilliant vistas nearly the whole way. For all routes, I was back at base for lunch with my husband who had left home so stressed that not even the beauty of England and removal from his work could help him regain his composure. Sadly, he only climbed three of my thirty-seven mountains, and spent many days sleeping. He was anxious and uncomfortable away from home, and wanted to return, so I arranged for him to go back early. It is with huge sadness that I realise this was probably our last attempt at travelling together. He was always an intrepid adventurer, but now his illness is catching up with him. Thank goodness we did so very much together while we could.

Across the road from our accommodation at Bassenthwaite
On the first day in England, I met my counterpart, David Purchase, who keeps records of the completers of the Wainwrights, who had helped me as I researched information for my recent article in Wild magazine (issue 153 if you’d like to get a copy). It was fun to meet him in the flesh after writing emails for half a year. When I complete the Wainwrights next visit, I will be the first non-European to do so, and David will climb my final mountain with me. That will be fun.
The scenery on my final cluster of three mountains for this visit, and my husband is with me. 
And here he is at the summit of his third and final mountain for the trip. He then went back to the car while I continued to do more.
If you’re planning on being in England June next year, maybe you’d like to join us on top to celebrate. I’ve chosen a nice doable mountain for the final one, just in case Bruce decides he can cope with Europe, just in case … whatever.

Post script. I have realised, a week after publishing this, that I have not expressed my gratitude to a person I have never met, but to whom I am greatly indebted in this venture: David Hall of http://www.davidhalllakedistrictwalks.co.uk. The old name for his site was walkthefells. David publishes his various routes up each fell (with times and distances), and gives advice on parking. Not knowing the area, I find his parking hints to be indispensable, and his routes always make interesting (map) reading. I love staring at maps, imagining myself walking along the route indicated by the colourful line crossing its features. His pictures are wonderful. The site makes great browsing, even if you don’t ever want to visit the Lakes.

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Proteus 2016 Jun

Mt Proteus

Dawn, summit day
Angela had three days clear (as did I); we decided Mt Proteus was a suitable mountain for this time of year and that time span. We knew Maureen needed Proteus on her way to completing all the Abels, so invited her too, and an expedition (albeit a little one) was born. Off we set excitedly on the Arm River track, heading west, and then the Overland Track heading north until our camping spot, just north of Pelion West (Pine Forest Moor). What lay in store for us? For the moment, light drizzle and not much of a view. Happy to have the day completed so we could get cozy in our tents, we filled up with water from the idyllic creek below, so lush you almost needed sunglasses to cut the vibrance, and retreated to our colourful homes among the pencil pines (Athrotaxis cypressoides – which grows between 700 and 1300 ms asl and has nothing to do with the pine family at all [or with pencils]. Homesick early settlers called anything evergreen “pine”). It was protected enough there under cover for us to have a relatively leisurely setting up process, and to spend a little time carefully choosing our piece of real estate for the night.

Frosted button grass, with Pelion East, Mt Ossa and Paddys Nut behind.

You should have heard me gasp with delight when I emerged into the open on the morning of the second (summit) day and saw the expanse of white depicted in the two photos above. I was thrilled with the freshness and delicacy of it all. This is the terrain we had to cross for many kilometres to meet our mountain. We found it tiring, as we had to lift our legs very high to get over that grass, sometimes unexpectedly falling in holes – often filled with water – hardly a welcome outcome on a morning such as this. We had had to don wet socks and boots at the start of the day, so accidental soakings were not quite as disastrous as might be imagined, but our toes were numb and frozen nonetheless. There were also two bands of pretty dense bauera bush, but they didn’t last very long, being narrow, and just as I was starting to wonder if it was going to be a fight the whole way, the vegetation became calf high, and we had easy access to the summit, now not far away.

Angela (L) and Maureen (R) at the summit cairn. Maureen looks very happy to only have ten Abels left to go.

It had taken 2 hours 38 to reach the summit. The book had said two; I had feared three, so this was a pretty good compromise. I had allowed for a possible ten-hour day when I asked the others if they minded starting at 7.30, so maybe we had won a little time. Off we set on our return journey. Once we knew which type of undergrowth in this area fared better (scoparia scattered amongst fern grass was faster than button grass, which we managed to mostly avoid on the rebound), we were able to cut a bit off our time, and after a tidy 2 hrs 7 mins we were back at our wonderful fairyland campsite, ready to relax with a cuppa before packing up our tents and moving on.

Angela photographing Ents at our campsite.

We squandered a little of our won time by being a tiny bit slow at packing up (I’d allowed an hour), and we were not ready to set out before 3.15. Maths said it would probably be dark by the time we reached Pelion Hut. Maths was unfortunately right, but we knew this was likely. I wanted a tiny break for a drink at Pelion Creek, and another for photography at Frog Flats. I also couldn’t resist a set of photos as we rounded a corner and saw Pelion West in the clear afternoon light. Cathedral mountain also looked a treat. These things take time …. Angela had predicted that we’d be able to do without head torches until 5.45 and she was right to the exact minute. By this stage it was becoming downright dangerous, as the boardwalk has steps that you couldn’t see in the dark, and falling would have been treacherous. Also, many of the boards lacked chicken-wire, and the ice of the morning had lingered on boards and leaves the whole day, turning the Overland Track into an elongated skating rink. The final twenty minutes were done by torchlight.

Paddys Nut and Mt Thetis as evening approaches from Frog Flats

I was hoping for another lovely frosted morning next day, but thick mist regaled us in our waking moments. At least it meant I didn’t hold the others up with too much photography. Off we set into the mist, hands burning with the cold, hoping that the climb to the high point on this track would warm us up.

The high point on the Arm River track, and the sun breaks through
We had only been going one and a half hours, but I was starving. Besides, some photos were in order!!! Don’t be put off by Angela’s shorts. It’s FREEZING.
Mt Pillinger bursting into the blue realm above.
A different tarn on the way home. I didn’t say I took NO photos – just not as many as I might have done.
It was all downhill from there, and thus ends another perfect little expedition. Mt Proteus is a wonderful mountain to have in my collection, and already the happy memories of our time there circle and recircle in my contended mind as I relive moments of beauty and wonder.
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Food list for ten-day hike

You don’t have to worry about food going off eating al fresco here, and the view is awesome, if perhaps an acquired taste. Here is my husband enjoying his cooked breakfast.
Food list for a ten-day hike.

People have been asking me what I take on long expeditions, and it is, of course, an interesting question. There are huge individual differences in taste and portions to consider. I like my food, eat a lot for my size, and like variety. I think it’s important to have a balance of food types and not eat the same thing each day – for mental as well as physical health. When packing for ten days  – and considering my pack is size XS in recognition of my lack of  torso (I am like a spider – all limbs and negligible body) – bulk is also a crucial issue. An XS pack is made for eleven year olds who don’t go on ten-day expeditions; it’s incredibly hard to find space for anything. The first long expedition I ever did (six days in December 2014), I couldn’t do the packing – only partly because my thumb was dislocated and I had no stuffing power. My students, who knew how much and how often I eat, were intrigued by the problem of how to fit what they knew I’d eat into one rucksack, believing the challenge was impossible to solve. They came around to have dinner and then pack my pack for me. They approved of my food choices and brands (my students are self-declared food snobs), and somehow got it all in. Thanks so much dear Jessie and Gracey!! Miss you heaps.

The two who got me packed against all odds (husband and dog did not help).

Below is a detailed list of what I took on a ten-day walk in January this year.

10-day walk: (which only lasted 8 due to a variety of factors, but I packed, catered and carried for the 10 of our plans).
Breakfast, daily.
1 pkt porridge, consisting of: 1 handful oats, small handful of raisins, another of craisins, 6 pieces of freezedried “Forrager Fruit” apples, 1 son brown sugar.
4 x Valley Seed Crisps (or, 1 linseed “Clever Cookie” biscuit and 2 x Valley Seed  crisps)

1 x dessertspoon ground espresso coffee in 1 cup water.

 

Dining room table (rock) all ready to go. Water laid on. View to dream about. This is the best way to eat (Arm River Track).
Lunch:
Meals 1-3: 1 wholegrain roll with parmesan cheese, sliced, and plenty of tomato relish (Vix Kitch). Carrots and celery, Droewors (South African dried sausage) and Kooee beef jerky on the side.
Meals 4-10 (per meal):
1 slice peccorino cheese (7 x 5 x 1cm in dimension (approx)).
1 stick celery
4 baby carrots
max 3 corn circle crisps / dried biscuits.
1 x 5 cm stick of Droewors (from Trevallyn grocer) + Kooee Beef Jerky
For dessert: A bite or two of one of my sweeter muesli bars.
In 8 days, I ate 1 x Kate Morgan meal supplement (Vanilla) divided into three meals (ie 1/3 per day). NB. This is not as a substitute for a meal to lose weight, it is IN ADDITION to a meal to add extra, non-bulky calories and reduce my need to snack quite as often as I normally do.
Ate 4 shortbreads (Cripps). Could have eaten more. Hit a spot.
Another perfect setting, which somehow makes dehydrated concoctions taste like the most wonderful delectables you’ve ever tried (Eldons).
Dinner:
1 x Maddel veggie cube in water (lighter and smaller than cup of soup packets) per day
1 (in total) cup of soup, had right near end for variety (didn’t actually need variety in this).
1 freezedried meal (mostly army brand)
For variety also had 1 x Backcountry Roast Lamb and 1 x Outdoor Gourmet Co Mediterranean Lamb with Olives. Both well received.
Allowed 1 x half dried peach per day, had as pre-dessert

1 x liquor chocolate at night for dessert

 

Here on the Southern Ranges, we all got our stoves and sat around a (mostly) dried-out tarn to cook and eat – and to exchange stories, a necessary part of the eating ritual in the bush.

 

Half an hour later, eating ceded to photography as food was ignored and cameras were considered far more important than calories.
Snacks: NB. Did NOT get through the 4 allowed per day. Probably didn’t even get through 3 / day. Still, good to have as emergency.
Went through (by sharing) almost 1 x packet of light soya snacks from Grand Central
1.5 pkts Kooee beef jerky. Yum. Needed salty snacks like this. (Grand Central)
1 large handful dried cumin soy beans (Coles).Went down well
should have taken dried broad beans – love them (Coles)
Quite a lot of ginger (loose, dried) for self and others – all loved it.
2 x toffee-almond bars J (Trevallyn grocer)
2 x sesame snack packets of four (in a single sitting, each). J
2 x Mogli MandelRiegel. YUM (Trevallyn)
3 x Baracke classic halva bars. Yum. (Trevallyn)
1 x Go Natural Cacoa Fruit Nut, almond and raspberry bars. Yum,
1 x Bounce almond protein hit (health food shop in arcade). Pretty good.
1 x weightwatchers macadamia and cranberry bar. Like.
1 x Isowey High protein bar – berry and yoghurt bar. Nice enough.
1 x Brookfarm bar (macadamia and cranberry). OK
1 x Be Natural trail bar. Berry. Tolerable.
½ Lo Carb (blue pkt) protein bar: Dark Choc Mint. OK
½ Lo Carb Orange protein bar. Didn’t do it for me.
1.5 x Nude Food Cacao & Hazelnut bars. Too much coconut and sunflower oil L. Didn’t  like.
Finishing off breakfast in a valley in between Stepped hills and Mt Wright

Took but didn’t eat: (Brought home 1 kg uneaten snacks.) Remember, we came out two days early + you need to be prepared for emergencies that keep you in there longer than expected.

1 extra packet of savoury bickies.
Emergency deb potato + soup
2 x AntiOx snack bar. Like??
1 x Paleo Crunch raw strawberry protein bar. Like??
1 x Lo Carb orange protein bar. L
2 more Mogli Mandel-Riwegel. Yum Yum.
2 more Baracke classix halva. Yum again
2 x toffee almond bar.
1 x bounce cocoa mint protein bomb. Like ?? (Health food shop in arcade).
2 Go Natural Almond-Raspberry bar
1 x Protein FX energy bar Choc Mint
1 x Pure Organic wild blueberry bar. YUM !!!!!!!!!!!!!
1 x Paleo Crunch Raw Cacao bar. Like? No
2 extra Kate Morgan meals that I didn’t need 

Does it get better than eating with a view like this all to yourselves?
Sundry:
Also had 1 x cup of tea (took 4 bags)
1 small (100gms) gas canister lasted 8 days (had another with me in case).

Next time, pack 1 x safety pin. Had with me 1 x click strap, 1 x shoelace, 1 x guy rope and 1 x peg. Happy to have had those!

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Lots Wife 2016 Apr

Lots Wife  Apr 2016

Sunrise day 2. Mt Sarah Jane in the background
Weee; an expedition to climb Lots Wife. Happy to have my pack on my back and to be off bushwalking again, I played dodgem in the mud-swamp bogs that surround the Lake Judd area, weaving to avoid the more treacherous, neck-deep holes and swinging like an orangutang at times from one melaleuca sapling to the next in an attempt to avoid death by mud suffocation. Not only do I find this to be an unpreferred way to die, but also I have my precious camera strapped to my chest, so also fear a mere face plant.

Andrew, huddled, admiring the gold

It did not rain, but all three of us were pretty wet by the time we breasted the ridge that forms the springboard for Mt Sarah Jane, so that the 80 km/hr winds that greeted us chilled us to the bone. We had rather been hoping to burst into balmy, warming, drying sunshine. The wind was a rude and unexpected shock.

Down they drop

We had all planned to camp here: the other two to avoid carrying the packs back up the slope the next day, and me because I wanted to sleep close to the magic panorama on all sides that this spot offers. It was a deal, despite the wind, so we searched around for a moderately protected niche. So much for my desire to have an expansive and photogenic vista out the tent window: there was no sunset that night. No views regaled us. Mist encinctured us. Two of us were so cold we elected to go straight to bed without even having any dinner. I was far too cold to cook, and just wanted to be snug in my bag. I was in my bag, but not snug. The wind blasted a fury all night, but died down somewhat by dawn, when the world filled with golden, misty light, and the full moon still pierced a hole in it to the west.

We set out at around 8: late enough for the sun to have cleared the mist, but early enough for us to enjoy the crisp, early light in the mountains. Along we went with vast views to left and right, then down to Spanner Lake, and then up, up, up through glorious rainforest until we reached the ridgeline that leads to Lots Wife. Getting close now.

Approaching Lots Wife – stone, not salt. Might be easier to climb.
I am told that a friend, not at all given to swearing of any kind, when greeted with the sight of Lots Wife that confronts you when you pop out of the forest and onto the ridge, said: “Oh shit”. These words pretty adequately describe my own feelings. I walked along, gazing at this monstrosity, wondering how we were going to find a way up. The face does not have a notice out saying “Welcome stranger”. The fact that that very morning we had met a young guy returning from a failed attempt did not fill my heart with hope. Lucky I was not just here for the summit. I was having a ball and the views were fantastic, and maybe that was all I was going to get out of this trip (plus some sunrise photos already in the bag).

Summit view from Lots Wife
We followed the pad along, further admiring the surrounding cliffs and peaks, but concentrating on our tower, wondering if we’d get to look back at it on the rebound with a successful feeling, or whether we, too, would be defeated by this giant. The pad led to a chute that did not look promising, but we gave it a bit of a go, Andrew leading, before deciding it was too dangerous. Pete remembered a conversation with a club member in which he’d been told to go past the obvious-looking chute and drop down a bit, proceed further and then choose the next chute, a scrubby one. This we did. This chute, too, had its challenges, especially the way I took it, going around a buttress, hanging for dear life by fingertips and toes to the narrowest of ledges (4 cms) with a shocking feeling of space (not looked at, but all too easily felt) below me. Pete, following behind, cleverly spotted a route over the top that was much safer (and used by me, too, on the return).

 

Another summit view from Lots Wife

It was a superb feeling to burst out of the cavernous chimney onto the giddy heights and see the summit cairn, problem free, just ahead. We sat there for an hour, eating and enjoying the scene before beginning our rather reluctant way down. It was such a privilege to be in the presence of a view like that, and as if victory and the view were not enough, nature gave us a pair of wedgetailed eagles circling quite close to us overhead, riding the thermals, as a bonus.

The close of day from our camp spot
Looking towards Lake Pedder

I felt deeply satisfied as we descended through the lush rainforest, each musing over the joy of a climb like this. I was hungry back at camp, and wanted to enjoy dinner in the light and the open, and to concentrate on photography at sunset, so cooked tea at 4.30 (I have never eaten that early before), enjoying the last of the day’s warmth before I froze my hands off shooting the golden rays of the western sun as it sank behind the mountains surrounding Lake Pedder.

On the way home, we made up for lost calories with burgers and cake (and more) at the fabulous Possum Shed, toasting our success with coffee.

And Alpenglow to the east