Tag: mountain

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Stormont 2014 Apr

Mt Stormont, Apr 2014

Climbing after the rainforest has ended

Like so many mountains I end up climbing, I had never heard of this one until I saw it on the peak baggers’ guide. A friend told me that a group she belongs to was going to climb it, and that it normally had access difficulties, being situated on private land. This seemed like an excellent opportunity to have someone else make phone calls and arrangements on my behalf, so we signed up. The land owner was most obliging and welcoming, and we were soon parking the cars in squelching mud up to the top of my boots, and then ‘swimming’ through the red ooze to the forest which was fortunately only across the road and down a bit. 

View from ‘fake summit 2
The forest that begins the walk is the wonderful, lush rainforest that I love so much, and I shouldn’t be surprised by the fact that I saw at least eight different fungi genera in the first two minutes. I longed to photograph the delicate colourful forms, but didn’t want to hold people up, so said hurried greetings in passing and strode on. Mt Stormont is 1007 ms high, and my gps says we begin at 450 ms asl, so I guess we climbed a bit, but I can’t say I noticed, as I was mostly intent on trying to spot more fungi. The forest dried out as we climbed, but then we approached the best part of the ascent – a “dragon’s spine” section, which was more knife-edged than the famous Striding Edge of England. I was proud of my Parkinson’s-affected husband negotiating it with aplomb. It was fun. 

From summit 2 (Mt Roland in the background)

Unfortunately, I dropped my lens hood whilst photographing, and watched it roll about 20 metres down the almost vertical cliff-face to an invisible place below. That seems most unfortunate given the expense of such items, but in fact the story ends happily in that two of us came back after lunch and the summits, faster, on a route that could enable finding it, and, as part of the search I got to re-climb the dragon spine from a new angle to indicate to my friend below exactly where the fall had taken place. The permissible speed and the fun of the hunt were the best part of the day for me. The fact that our search met with success was a bonus.

Cortinarius archeri

Stormont has two summits: a real one at 1007 ms, where one can find, if one searches, the scabs of an old trig marker (sawn off iron at ground level, and the remains of concrete), and a false one at 1005 ms, over 500 ms away, where there is a beautiful old cairn – an historic relic presumably built by early explorer Henry Hellyer, who also erected the nearby cairn on the Black Bluff Range. That cairn is recognised as the oldest intact piece of evidence of European colonisation in the western half of Tasmania.

Entoloma panniculum

The Monument Australia website says that at the time of building (1831), the half of Tasmania west of the meridian that passes through Port Sorell was uninhabited by Europeans except for small settlements. (Those doomed to live in crowded cities would probably say that that is still the case, but I merely report what was said). I must say that if you are only chasing a peak-bagging point, and stop at the first, real summit, then you will be missing the better of the two views. I took no photos at the first one, but five or six at the second. Does that not say it all?

laccaria sp
And my fungi were there at the end waiting for me. Below is a gps reading of our route.

 
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Recondite Knob 2014 Mar

Recondite Knob Mar 2014.

My husband cleared himself from work for the day so I could have a(n early) birthday wish. I chose for us to spend the day climbing Recondite Knob. Web reports had it as being a very long day indeed, so this time I warned the dogs we’d be quite late. Probably because I’d taken that precaution, we were back in time for dinner, surprising them by being early for a change.

This reticent, elusive Knob sat there quietly, just a brown ellipse on the map, one of many nameless shapes, until Bill Wilkinson, editor of the Abels book, did his research and found that it satisfied the requirements to be what he called an Abel (inter alia, a peak over 1100 metres) and in 1994 presented a submission for his chosen name to the Nomenclature Board. He dubbed her Recondite because of her property of being something that only those with specialised knowledge would know about – a mountain for the cognoscenti. And indeed, only those in the know would be aware she existed or desire to go out that way to climb her. She is still unnamed on maps, and her paucity of visitors is indicated by the very few names in the log book at the start of the track. We were the second visitors for the year, and it is now pushing April. Even the wombats seemed surprised to find humans in their otherwise undisturbed territory.

Drink spot.
We delighted in the sense of space and room as we wandered freely along the broad ridge tops with their views to many mountains of the Cradle Valley, and in the totally different perspective of Cradle and Barn gained from this new angle. We could see as far as Pelion West to the south, to Murchison and Farrell more to the west, and to St Valentines Peak in a more northerly direction – and that’s despite its being a pretty murky day. Not a sound was to be heard. It felt like we were the only people on earth today, increasing the sense of wilderness.

The summit – most appealing!
Our route began just out the back of Cradle Lodge where blue signs at the bottom of the dam point you to Speelers Track and Reynolds Falls (and more). At this stage you are on board walk, and are on the delightful King Billy Track which leads through an enchanted forest of ancient myrtles and King Billy Pines, with thick moss and lichen adorning the trees.
After a short distance (and after the narrow track crosses a small road, part of the lodge) the track we needed to follow hives off from the main King Billy track, and points still to Speelers Track, staying closer to the river than the King Billy one. It is the next sign that causes confusion among most bloggers (perhaps 10-12 minutes after leaving the lodge). One piece of information we read said to turn right here. The map agreed, but indicated we should turn left pretty quickly after that to connect with an E-W route. This route never appeared so we backtracked to the junction and this time noticed that three directions were possible, not just two as seemed the case at first. The middle one, which we took, was not represented on the map, but was going roughly where I wanted it to go, so we followed it. After 600 metres, it joined the E-W route that I had been trying for earlier. After this, it was plain sailing for the rest of the day.
I never tire of this forest.

We had to leave the magic forest, but climbed onto golden moorland with views described earlier and an exhilarating vastness. We wandered wild and free across the tops. 35 minutes after leaving the lodge, this track intersected very clearly with a N-S old mining exploration route, clearly visible on map and ground. Walking along this was very easy, but after 7 minutes, it dumped us into the button grass, after which we had to fend for ourselves for many kilometres.

An obliging fungus colours the forest (Austropaxillus muelleri)
My husband doesn’t cope very well with button grass bogs, so I made no attempt to follow the remains of the route and chose instead a path that minimised button grass mounds and ditches and maximised lines of pineapple grass and low coral vegetation. After nearly an hour from the lodge, I headed us down to a flowing creek with pencil pine grove, perfect place for a drink of cool mountain water and a muesli bar (where my blue path intersects with the creek).
 

The next kilometre was the slowest, as my husband struggled with the combination of gaining height and long, flourishing button grass with deep, hidden channels beneath. (He has Parkinson’s disease, so these conditions are particularly bad for him). After we passed the one contour knob to the left of our line, things picked up for him, as the vegetation changed, and meanwhile the old route reappeared. It was especially easy travelling once we’d climbed around the base of Back Peak. 2 hrs 30 walking time after leaving the lodge we were on the summit and eating our lunch, enjoying the plentiful mountains in our vista, even if the view was grey, hazy and unclear, with flat lighting.
Looking towards Recondite from Back Peak, but what you see here is not quite Recondite – it’s hiding behind this lump. You go up what you can see here, and then down and then up again and you’re there.
I was a bit worried about the weather, and the fact that the return journey would perhaps take longer, both due to my husband’s fatigue and the fact that I wanted to go up Back Peak. I hurried us away from this spot, promising my husband a rest while I climbed the peak. It was a fun little climb, but took me only a few minutes in each direction, so the promised rest was rather short. I called out from the top to make contact, and woke the poor guy up.

Summit cairn, Back Peak
Nonetheless, he went really well on the downhill journey, only faltering when we had a few rises to do. The good progress meant we could relax a bit more at the lovely drinking spot of the way out and just sit back in the grass, drink, snack on treats and listen to the sounds of nature, admiring little things like the lichen on the pines and the different shades of green.
 
Austropaxillus muelleri
What a perfect ending to that walk the last bit of forest is with its cool, refreshing, intense greenness. I even found some wonderful fungi to thrill me. And then it was off to ETC for a delicious afternoon tea, and home to Launceston to surprise the dogs with unusual punctuality for dinner.
(Warning, if you are planning to do this mountain, consult the Abels book and google the other bloggers who report on this peak to get an overall view of times. I was in a fast mood, part of my own expression of freedom and independence, and my times are probably not what you would fancy for yourself. They suggest one of many possibilities.)
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Snowy South 2014 Feb


Mt Snowy South Feb 2014
I have heard a lot of different stories of groups who tried to summit Mt Snowy South and failed, so I was not full of confidence as our nice small party set out, but the rainforest was so beautiful, it hardly mattered. Meanwhile, the climb to Lake Skinner helped clear my head from the overdose of caffeine I’d had to make sure I stayed awake, having got up at 4.30 in order to join the others in Hobart on time – and the conversation was fun. Up we climbed.

Lake Skinner surprised, as it was a beautiful blue that I associate more with the glacial lakes of Europe than with Tassie.

After morning tea by the lake, we set out to finish off the climb, up onto the main ridge and over the boulders to the summit, out of sight at this stage. After a short amount of time two of us found ourselves alone at the front, and decided to have fun moving nice and quickly up the boulders, chatting while we went, but not stopping – just a nice steady but satisfying pace. It was very enjoyable indeed to be allowed to go at our own pace to the top and just meet the others there. We were both exhilarated by the climb and the dancing on the rocks of the ascent. When we reached the top, neither wanted to touch the summit before the other, so to maintain the non-competitive nature of what had taken place, we held hands to jump onto the final summit rock, ensuring we touched it simultaneously.

A summit is, after all, a summit, so of course it was good to be up there in the grand arena with its sense of space. However, I enjoyed the colours, textures and shape of the boulders as much as the rather murky vista. In terms of view, it would not rank in a list of my all time favourites. We all, of course, enjoyed our lunch break surveying the scene, but for me, this particular mountain will be remembered for the fun of the scramble to the top rather than what I saw once I got there.

More chatter filled the way down, bouncing again over rocks, descending past the pandani overlooking the lake and dropping further through the inviting green rainforest to the car. “Make sure you keep singing all the way home”, my new friends encouraged me as we parted in Hobart, having been told that that’s how I stay awake on long journeys. After five hours of solo driving (two and a half each way), my voice was quite hoarse as I pulled into our drive.
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Thetis 2014 Jan

Mt Thetis, Jan 2014.

Mt Thetis and Paddys Nut from below.
Mt Thetis is a mighty mountain, and, like many mountains in this area, has a name whose provenance rests in Greek mythology. For there, Thetis was a female immortal and the mother of the famous warrior, Achilles.

Thetis and more from Urquarts Messa
Thetis must have been rather lovely, as both Zeus and Poseidon (gods) courted her, but they backed away when they heard that there was a prophecy predicting that Thetis would bear a son that would be greater than his father. These gods were a little insecure, and couldn’t cope with the notion of having a son who would outshine the paternal glory.

Thetis (et al) from Mount Massif
Luckily for Thetis, King Peleus didn’t seem to have such ego issues, and was content to father such a son (named Achilles, once born). Why am I telling you this? Because I find it very sweet that the mountains Thetis and Achilles are next to each other. I find it very interesting that the mother is bigger and more important than her son (with respect to mountains). The mountain Achilles has a heel, so I guess that explains the name there, and so the neighbour was going to be Thetis whatever its size.

Thetis from Mt Achilles
I wonder if the real Thetis was as unapproachable as this mountain. It’s obviously not impossible to climb – we got up – but we had to think and plan our route, past the many palisades protecting the summit area, and we needed to negotiate thick scrub below, and cliffy obstacles up high. Sometimes you felt you were in a bit of a maze and wondered if you were going to find a lead to the summit area.

Thetis from below (Leonards Tarn – zoom)
Once we saw the gully we wanted, we knew we had succeeded. By the time we got there, it was already too glary for nice photos. The photos here are a selection from that summit day, and from other days on which I looked back at Thetis with pleasure, knowing I had summited her. I will go back one day and do it again. I’d actually like to camp on top and see the sunset views. Lugging a pack up there, however, would be one awesome task. Some of the cliffs require a huge oomph factor, which I am not sure I could do with a full pack on.

Thetis: summit view
To get the climb in the context of the expedition, on which we climbed Perrins Bluff, Achilles and Thetis, see:
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/perrins-bluff-mt-achilles-mt-thetis/


Detail of route up and down Thetis from Leonards Tarn.

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Achilles 2014 Jan

Mount Achilles January 2014


Near the summit of Mount Achilles
I climbed Mount Achilles on the rebound after summitting Perrins Bluff. In fact, we wasted so much time that afternoon waiting for two people who were not actually with us that I feared we had timed ourselves out of this climb, and I was full of a combination of impatience and disappointment. I felt a particular attainment to Mount Achilles – perhaps because  the name Achilles is so well known from Greek mythology and I greatly enjoy the whole story, and additionally because it is so very visible from the Overland Track at Frog Flats. I love the fact that Achilles’s Heel is so prominent; after all, you couldn’t call a mountain Achilles if it didn’t have an attractive heel. Achilles without his heel is almost nobody. I also like it the Achilles is next to his mother, Thetis. I wanted to climb this mountain full of mythology and connotations.

View down to the heel.
But, we let the sun drop and drop as we waited for these people and I gazed out at Achilles, wishing myself there but giving up on her as a possibility. At last the two arrived from the mountain they’d climbed and chatted with the people I was with, and finally, we got to move on in my desired direction.

The heel on the way down.
And yes, when we reached the base, there was definitely time for an ascent. Full of desire and impatience, I scrambled quickly up the nearest possible chute, which was definitely not the best possible option, and was, in retrospect, quite dangerous, but I was so full of summit angst by this stage, I cared for nothing else, and forged on, soothing my frustration in purposeful movement up the very loose slope.


Achilles from our tents below.
Once on top, I was very glad the sun was in its current position, as that meant the light had a golden tinge to it, and interesting shadows were starting to fall. I was at peace at last, and the small group I was with lingered there until practical considerations (like light and dinner) forced a descent. We did not descend via the self-destructing chute of our way up, but used the bushes to retard our progress down the very steep slope to camp.


Mount Achilles, as seen from afar, along with Barn Bluff and Pelion West.
For  description of many aspects of the full trip, see
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/perrins-bluff-mt-achilles-mt-thetis/