Norold Range - Natureloverswalks

March 2, 2026March 2, 2026

Norold Ra return visit

I nearly didn’t survive to write this blog, but thanks to superb Swedish textile craftsmanship, plus their insistence on high-quality tent poles and good luck with getting the pegs into the ground sufficiently well, I live to tell the tale. Thanks also, to having two really good friends who suffered it all with me, and who helped just by being there, and also when I needed (twice) to change tent position. Having them there gave me hope and confidence that it could all work out.

It all began so nicely: a very late start which meant we camped on a hill with a great view only 1 3/4 hrs after setting out. We thus pitched our tents at 6.45, and collected our gear to eat together outside, looking at our amazing scenery.

It was when collecting gear that the first bit went wrong for me. We had been stuffed around by Par Avion and I hadn’t had time to rearrange my bags properly. I thought I had, but oh no!! I was on a 6-day hike in the mountains before returning to base, and I had not brought any dinners, and all my porridge for breakfast was also back at base. However, the good news is I had 10 lunches, 5 soups, 10 days worth of snacks, coffee and 5 breakfast biscuits. That was going to have to do. It was about to be a lean walk. Could I cope?

Time would tell. I didn’t want to tell my friends, as they are such lovely people they would immediately share with me and go without themselves, and I didn’t see why they should suffer because of my stupidity, so I just spun out the soup and pretended that was a perfectly satisfying dinner. A few days later I fessed up, as I was coping fine, so didn’t need their meals. I did accept some Deb potato from Leandra, which made the soups more hearty. I told nobody about the lack of porridge until we were back at Melaleuca, when I dived for my porridge as the first thing when back.

The next day was hideously hot. We got an early start, and went well for the first two hours, getting near the base of our first mountain, Wilson. It was just ahead. However it took 3 x stints of 50, 40 and 30 mins to cover a pretty short distance and at last reach the summit cairn where we had a very late lunch. Our liquid came from yabby holes. There were no streams.
Adrian was thus ecstatic when the creek that I promised would have water actually did. It was really hard for us to pitch our tents that night, as the ground was either sloping, really, really rocky, or full of bushes that wouldn’t let the pegs go in. We also knew a front was coming in next day, so we needed firm pegging and protection from the NW and W. It took us an hour to settle on semi-suitable spots.

Day 3 began with a glorious misty pink dawn, and we only had to saunter up the next mountain (Norold), as we’d already done most of the climbing the previous day. We loved it, although we could see the clouds beginning to assemble. Nearly at the summit, we discovered a truly magnificent alpine garden, and took lots of flower photos. On top, we were blown away – not by the view, but by the winds that had no resistance up there. I got literally blown off my feet several times. We found shelter among rocks for a snack (obligatory on any and every summit) and, having been blown over a few more times, I said I’d done enough climbing for the day. Leandra agreed, so we two returned to the tents. Adrian followed a bit later having done a tad more exploring, but eventually agreeing that to go further on to other glories beyond was not a good idea that day.

So strong was the wind now that we realised our putatively protected spots were not so very good at their job. The front was only forming at this stage – much worse was to come – so we decided to pack our tents up and drop 100 or so meters and try for more protection lower.
The other two had tents that didn’t need the many requirements of a Hilleberg pitch, so they found spots that suited. Every spot I tried, the pegs just wouldn’t go in due to the mass of bushes, so I settled for a kind of sandy area. I knew it was sandy for a reason but I really needed to get my tent up, so just hoped. Great. Next morning, my air mattress was floating in a cute tarn inside my tent, which was nestled in an even bigger tarn externally. The other two kindly helped me find somewhere else to go, with Adrian pulling out bushes for me to clear enough ground to peg out my scaffolding. We then hung all my stuff from a tree while the others held my tent base and other important items, letting the fury of the wind dry them.

We all then went exploring until lunch time, when rain returned. Leandra and I bagged some sweet cascades and climbed some interesting knobs and bobs. Adrian bagged the far more adventurous Wilson Falls. And then the furore began. With each blast, the tent was blown almost flat by the gust. It was really unnerving. The blasts hit you in the face as the fabric was pushed horizontally. I heard the others talking, so thought maybe it wasn’t so bad. Maybe they were out socialising while I wussed it inside, so I went out to join them. They weren’t socialising: they were collecting Leandra’s stuff as her pole had snapped, tearing the fly. The tent was a write-off. Adrian’s was officially a 2-man tent (but hideously cramped for two, actually) so she was moving in there. I helped before we all dashed for cover as the next round of chaos began. We have now had it confirmed: gusts were 130 km/hr.

The next storm lasted 4 hours. I lay there, waiting for my own shelter to bust, or for the others to come knocking on my tent flap because Adrian’s had broken. His fabric did start to leak due to the pressure, but they stayed put. My Hilleberg did not let me down, although some poles now have a curious bend and I can see my own fabric has spots where it has become thin due to the pressure. It did not leak, and the pegs fortunately stayed tight. Adrian’s tent is now pronouncedly skewed. Nobody had dinner that night. Cooking was of course out of the question, but you couldn’t even sit up to find or eat food. Anxiety stole hunger anyway.

Arriving at Wilson summit on the rebound

And that’s not all. All this was a rehearsal by the weather for the real storm that was to hit next morning. I was not as anxious in this one, even though it was the worst. I didn’t feel my faith in Hilleberg was misplaced, and I just willed it to last this one out too. It did. We were being picked up next morning at the base of by a boat we couldn’t contact. There are no telecommunications of any sort in this wilderness. If you get into trouble, you have to solve it yourself or die. No helicopter would or should go out in a storm like that. As Greg the skipper later said: “There’s nowhere to hide up there.”

Luckily, the fury began to be spent. We packed up and moved camp to a spot not far from the end, but still high enough for wonderful views. By the time we pitched at the end of the day, we could actually enjoy being outside. We sat out there together, having a fun celebration of our new safety. There’s nothing like a brush with possible death to make you triple rejoice in being alive. That night I did accept Adrian’s offer of a real (dehydrated) meal. It was the final night before Melaleuca, and he said it was spare. There was so much food I felt quite sick. My stomach had shrunk. All would now go well. On the morrow, we would get the boat and return to base, eat stacks, and then set out for part 2 of our adventure for the remaining 5 days, to the beaches to the SW of Melaleuca.

During my time at base, I took 905 photos of a little bird that is critically endangered. In 2016, there were only 3 females left on the planet, and 14 males. The govt has funded a project which is going OK. There are now about 86 birds. The problem is genetic diversity, as they stem from too narrow a genetic source. Most of the birds are from ones bred in captivity and then released. There was thus great rejoicing when the first WILD juvenile for the year turned up the day before we left. We have to hope that more wild breeding takes place, and that we have more time before something hits that would wipe them out before a mutation here or there could enable survival. These are my favourite birds in the whole world (puffins 2nd). They’re called Orange-bellied parrots. They’re the size of a budgie and have just the sweetest little faces. My 500m telephoto lens meant I could see the crumbs on their little beaks, the expressions on their faces, and could see tiny insects hovering around them.

AI has offered to give me truly genuine ‘original’ material for my blog. Have you ever heard of anything more stupid?

January 31, 2017July 28, 2018

Ripple Mountain 2017 Jan

“What’s your favourite trip?” I heard one of our party being asked. He gave a very similar answer to the one I would have given had I been asked: “Well, it depends on what aspect you’re thinking of. Scenery? Company? Weather? You can have great scenery, for example, but company that’s, well …. “, he gave a dismissive gesture with his hand. “Or, you can have great company, but miss out on the scenery.” I knew exactly what he was getting at. I have been in fabulous scenery, but have not been particularly happy due to the company I was keeping, or, as was the case on Ripple Mountain, I can climb a rotten beast of a hulk, but have great fun as I’ve done it with like-minded crazies who are also prepared to get out there and work hard, defy the elements, and somehow find enjoyment in the whole exercise. The very perversity of climbing something like Ripple Mountain has its own appeal, and when you do it with others, there is a complicit glee, like that had by kids at a midnight feast.

Just to get to the starting line of Ripple Mountain is no easy undertaking: first you have to fly to Melaleuca (South-west Tasmania) by light plane; next, there’s a boat ride through deep wilderness, up the Melaleuca Inlet and across Bathurst Harbour to a landing spot on its north eastern banks. By now, you are in a totally remote and wild area beyond the comprehension of most city dwellers. Finally, you have to walk over some mountains for two days and drop way back down to near sea level on the Old River. Now, you are ready to begin climbing. If it’s raining, what then? You climb anyway. And so, we set out in the mist and light rain, through ultra-thick scrub to climb Ripple Mountain because, well, what else do you do if it’s raining?

If I tell you we took six hours to cover 3.5 kms horizontal distance, with only 700ms vertical climb, that should give you a pretty good indication of the nature of Ripple Mountain, before I even begin to describe the day. Now, I have mentioned the light rain without indicating that the rivers and tributaries in the area were now somewhat flooded. Our first obstacle for the day was an integral part of these conditions: a fast-running creek of unknown depth and strength, which fed into the Old River, beside which we were camped. We found a narrow crossing point. The water looked strong, but not too deep. We took off our socks, put back on the boots and gaiters for protection, found ourselves each a nice long pole for balance, and tried our luck with the waters. They were strong; we inched slowly across (most of us) to make sure we didn’t slip or get bowled over, and were soon enough over the other side. Now began the real work.

We worked hard for 6 hours (up) to get this view
Ripple Mountain is a steep and scrubby affair: it’s a “dirt-in-your-face” kind of steep, where you use all four limbs to haul yourself up for hours … but that’s not all. It protects itself with an ingenious palisade of very thick scrub, the sort of scrub where, if a lightweight like me pushes at it, nothing happens. Even Dale, not a lightweight, could thrust his body energetically against it and have it move only a minute amount. Michael, our tallest member, was thus appointed to take on the worst of it. He did an amazing – an unbelievable – job of pushing away bauera and banksia to let the rest of us through in his wake. There is no way I would or could climb this mountain without the others – and no way I would want to. I was not here for points. On this occasion, given the weather, I was not even here for a summit view. I was here for “fun”, because I am so deficient in understanding that I think that getting myself covered in dirt and scratches, that hauling myself up for hours with friends who are doing the same, constitutes a good time.

We surmised that Ripple Mountain got its name from the seemingly endless waves of scrub that define the final ridge. As Matt pointed out: it did not get it from any ripple of applause.
We had lunch on a knob where the land flattened out a bit, thinking that, with only 1.2 kms to go, and negligible climb left, we’d be about another hour. Wrong. We were still a tad over two hours off our destination. I started to be very glad that we’d packed head torches, and was mentally prepared for a descent in the dark.

The Old River, beside which (nearly) we were camped, and across which we needed to go if we were to climb Harrys Bluff next day. The water, I should add, was very cold. Even on a hot day, no girl went swimming.
You will be thrilled to learn, if anticipating an ascent of this uncouth mongrel, that the final seven minutes are delightful walking, where you get to put one foot in front of the other in an upright stance, fighting nothing to gain the summit. I think from its position, geographically speaking, it must offer fantastic views. I saw a few blades of button grass from the top – and the friends with whom I climbed. The trip down was very speedy, done in only half the ascent time, not only due to the fact that we were no longer fighting gravity, but also to the excellent passage that Mike had made for us on his way up. We named our ridge “Mike’s Ridge”. All up, it was an 11.5 hour day, 8.75 hours of which were spent moiling forwards.

I didn’t track this one, but my friend did. When I get a picture of our route, I’ll post it here for those who love map-staring.