Tag: Tasmania

Posted on

Lobster Falls 2016 Nov

Lobster Falls near Chudleigh / Mole Creek.
Olearia linata
Perhaps you don’t think a visit to the Lobster Falls is an adequate – or even likely – substitute for a multiday trek in the South West connecting glorious mountains, but, alas, there are some days when you have to admit defeat, and today was one of them. Unfortunately, the combination of my bronchitis, which has now been keeping me company for five weeks, and the forecast of heavy rain, driving winds and gelid temperatures on high didn’t seem like a happy marriage. I backed out before walking down the aisle, deciding that a little run, some Pilates and a walk to these as yet unvisited falls would be a healthier option.

Oxylobium arborescens

 To get to the start, we drove along out of Deloraine in the direction of Chudleigh. After seeing a sign to the Needles on the left, I knew to look out for a blue and white sign to the Lobster Falls (which are on the Lobster Rivulet) to the right. Near that sign is another one which says no cars should proceed beyond that point. I ignored it for 50 ms to get the car away from the main road. There was a clearing there for parking.

Lobster Falls

Something VERY heavy has been down the road that formed the early part of the walk, making the ground exceptionally soft and causing huge indentation. There was a particularly gooey section – which lasted a mere 70 ms – where going through the bush was more pleasant than being on the road. When Tessa (dog) sank in up to her stomach (portly) she, too, took the firm bush option. Don’t be put off by this. it is short lived, and the bush is quite open at this point to allow easy passage.

Bauera rubiodes
 At twelve minutes from the car, we came to a metallic white arrow with pink and blue ribbons attached, pointing to a track to the right leading off this “road”. Now, a very pleasant route became an exceptionally beautiful one. In four minutes from the arrow, we rounded a corner and found ourselves looking down on the Lobster Rivulet which we now followed to the falls. Overhanging the path were myriad wildflowers in yellow, mauve, rose, light pink and white – bauera, boronia, olearia, acacia, oxylobium and more. There were even plenty of orchids (caladenia alpina).

The path (taken on the way back)
 In sixteen minutes from that corner (and thus, about half an hour from the car), in a pace that was neither rushed nor a saunter – just a nice steady walk – Tessie was having a dip and I was setting up my tripod. Bruce has Parkinson’s disease, so elected not to come all the way down to the water’s edge, but the section that was narrow with a drop had plenty enough bushes to take away the scare factor for him (well, he was probably taken to his limit, but did not go over it). He could see the falls perfectly well from where he waited, so was not denied much by not doing the final twenty metres steep descent.

 I was now starving. Time for an ice-cream at the Honey Farm to tide us over so we could get all the way to the Raspberry Farm for lunch. Humans and dog enjoyed the outing.

Posted on

Mersey Crag 2016 Oct

Mersey Crag via the Back Door. October 2016

When planning this trip, I castigated myself: Why hadn’t I climbed Mersey Crag when the road to it was somewhat open, and when I was so very near the summit? On two occasions I had been within cooee of the top, yet had not gone there because I thought access to it would always be easy, so why rush things? Why not savour the moment and do it all by itself sometime? Why not? Because floods would come, ruining approach roads and denying us all any kind of access to the area, possibly for years.

Mersey Crag summit, looking down the Little Fisher Valley

So, now I thought I was doing it the hard way, because it was a very long way in, and I thought I was not doing it the beautiful way, because I do so love the Rinadena Falls. Little did I know. Alright, it was a long way in, but we summitted on the first afternoon, so not too long, and what surprised me most of all was the extreme beauty from the moment we rose above the bushfire marks on the Blue Peaks track.

Mersey Crag summit looking across to Turrana Bluff

We reached the base of Blue Peaks in an hour and a half, but were focussed on our far-flung goal, so resisted the temptation to lose time by going up. We would stay focussed on our ultimate goal for now, and not climbing this first peak would justify another visit to this area that we were already falling in love with from the moment we entered the zone of lush cushion grasses with narrow, pure streams running through. On we continued, not even stopping for a break.

Summit area looking to the Walls. You can see Mt Jerusalem, The Temple, Solomons Throne, King Davids Peak and then, further back, mountains like the Acropolis and Geryon.

The official pad finishes here, but a rough hint of a route around the first two lakes – one followed, we suspected, by many fishermen – continued until we needed to cross the outlet stream separating Little Throne Lake from Grassy Lake. All this time we had no idea of how soggy things were going to be up here, or how many detours we were going to have to make around tarns, or, for that matter, how deep the many, many creek crossings marked on the map were going to be. Here was our first real creek. Hm. Up and down we go, looking for a place to cross. It is mostly wide and deep and flowing quite swiftly. We find a possibility, but it is risky. Will I fall in and get everything wet?

The frozen tarns of our tent site

Being a shocking pessimist in such matters, I opt for a double crossing, first with my pack, and then with my precious camera. Believe it or not, I even took off my jacket and jumper in case I fell in and wet them. Unscathed, we sat on the other side of the river and had lunch. Little Throne was just behind us now. From here on would be genuinely trackless wilderness, pure freedom to choose our direction and path.

Morning glory
We set bearings from our paper maps, but also plotted our course on our gps systems to check our progress, and off we set, around Little Throne, past nameless bumps of great beauty, offering excellent views, and past thousands of tiny tarns, all sparkling in the afternoon light. We just adored it. All further creek crossings and tarn skirtings were problem free, and we were happy with our progress.

On Turrana Heights, we reassessed. I had originally suggested that we go for four hours with the full packs and then summit from there, but I was so happy with my pack on my back I kept pushing for further. Having the packs with us reduced all stress about whether or not we would make it back to where we had dumped them. We have both been quite sick in this last week. Angela was off work with a virus, and I had been to the doctor’s the day before with a combination of bronchitis and asthma. I found it hard to read my body under those conditions, and my pack meant security. If I hit a wall without notice, then everything I needed was right there with me. Angela was fine with this. On we continued until nearly four and a half hours, when we saw an irresistible spot just before the Turrana-Mersey saddle. It was now less than two kilometres to the summit, and only 3.15 in the afternoon. We could set up our tents here, saunter to the top and still be back in the light with no problems. Angela ate lunch part two.

Cresting the summit was very sweet. There are summits and summits, and this was a good one, as we had both held doubts about whether or not we could make it given the amount of water there might be to negotiate, given the distance, and the uncertainty of our health. When you doubt, the victory is felt more keenly. We had time in abundance now we were there and had our tents so close, so enjoyed the top, savouring the extensive view and delighting in all we could see. At a very leisurely pace, we ambled, almost reluctantly, back to our little tents.

We had both been snug and warm overnight, having both elected to use our extra bivvybags. I had actually been a little hot and had stripped down during the night. It is testimony to these bags that we discovered in the morning that our tents were rigid with ice and the world outside our aegises was a sparkling, glittering white one. Enthusiastically I snapped the frozen tarns and sword-like pineapple grass. I had lugged my tripod all this way, but, sadly, was too cold to use it. I told myself sick girls have an excuse.

Back home we go
We swept the ice off our tents with brooms made from the scrub and slowly packed up. The only pressure for the day was our appointment with the Raspberry Farm for celebration cake, and there was no risk of missing that. We deliberately left unfinished business in the area, planning instead the next trip as we bypassed peaks that could wait for next time. What a glorious weekend.
Route data: Day 1, 20.35 kms +702 ms climbed yields 27.3 kilometre equivalents. Total of 7 hours’ walking.
Day 2, 14.55 kms + 410 ms climb gives 18.7 km equivalents. 5 hours’ walking.

Total for two days, 46 km equivalents and 12 hours’ walking (this does not include breaks like lunch or morning tea). OK. We’re allowed to be tired. Here are the maps – rather a lot of them, as we covered rather a lot of territory and it is pretty complex (4 interconnecting screen shots).

From end of track to south of Little Throne (1:100,000)


Continuing SSW over the side hump of Turrana Heights

From the unnamed lump SW of Turrana heights heading towards the Turrana-Mersey saddle. The waypoint marks our tent spot.

Tent to Mersey Crag summit return.

Note, these are “only” 1: 100,000 scale, chosen to give the broad shape of the land without too much detail to confuse.
Posted on

Spion Kop 2016 Oct

Spion Kop 2016 Oct

Spion Kop is a great mountain to climb if you are sick or about to be sick. You drive to within four non-taxing kilometres from the summit, have a pretty pleasant, low-key stroll through the forest, some of which is on a now-overgrown former logging track, and then a little scaling of some contours and you are there. I had been in bed for a few days leading into this walk, and Angela was about to get sick the next day, so this mountain was a perfect little excursion for such conditions. Rain threatened and materialised just before the finish, but even if it had come earlier, this is a short enough climb for that not to matter much.

Summit cairn

Needless to say, it was not an exciting mountain, but it was still a different taste on the mountain smorgasbord.

We climbed in using the road shown above that approaches from the north, winding around and ascending all those contours. We then took an unmapped offshoot that was going where we wanted to walk, but which ran out where our route starts. The outward route was the more northerly one; the homebound route found more old roads to pursue.
Posted on

Agamemnon 2016 Sept

Agamemnon 2016 Sept.

Angela nears the summit of Agamemnon

Agamemnon had been calling me for a long time. At last there seemed to be a break in the weather that would allow us an attempt. Off Angela and I set, although neither of us was entirely on top of things, health wise. I had had a low-grade virus all week, but thought I’d be fine … until I shouldered my pack, which felt absurdly heavy. The hills felt shockingly steep.  That’s OK. Despite a general “go slow”, we had reached the point in the track where a button grass clearing leads up towards Agamemnon in a bit under four hours’ walking.

Frenchman Cap from near the summit of Agamemnon

Pessimistically, I looked up at a set of cliffs above and pronounced that it could take us an hour to get there. (I always like to overestimate so as not to be disappointed later.) Unfortunately, nearly an hour was exactly what it took. No one had mentioned that the button-grass lead cedes to thick, nasty steep scrub that two off-colour girls would find hard work.

From below, I’d seen a fissure in the rocks with green in its crack, and suggested that we head for it, hoping it would provide a lead to the top. It did. We sat on top of the rocky outcrop (above) at the end of ‘climbing stage one’, enjoying a snack and taking in the dramatic view. We’d gained a lot of height in that hour, although I had been drastically slow.

The ‘Four Ugly Sisters’ (so named by us). A rocky outcrop on the ridge just below were on our bearing. Ultimately, we topped out next to the sisters (to their left).
The next point we wanted to visit was a saddle not in sight. We set our compasses on 154 degrees and headed across and up. There were some rocks on a big ridge below the Four Ugly Sisters that were on our bearing, so it was easy to keep direction whilst weaving. The going was tougher than expected, however: the scrub had not yet finished, and there were many rocky bulges that posed a “left, right or over” decision. Sometimes Angela went over, I went right and we met at the far side, smiling.

Angela examining her photos on  “sunset rock”.
After about forty minutes, we came to a point where it looked quite OK up on the left on a little ridgelet. We were about to reach a mini-saddle (very mini) within the wider structure of the bigger ridge. Ahead, the bush looked very thick. Our destination looked to be dauntingly steep and far away. I pointed out that sunset views would be great from here. We agreed to call it a day. Higher would have been nicer, with better views, but we had had enough. The laden winter packs had been on our backs for five and a half hours. Time to enjoy what remained of the light.

Frenchmans Cap in the clouds

Given that the next day was supposed to be clear, sunset was a bit disappointing, but I am still pleased with what I captured. It was worth lugging my tripod and GND filters up there after all.

My trusty room with a view, frosted up a bit.
Angela did not want one of my super-early starts, so I suggested 7.30, hoping that was a good compromise. She agreed to it. I’m glad it wasn’t any earlier, as the tent was sopping in the morning, even though much of the condensation had frozen. I had time to enjoy early light without being hurried. There was no sunrise, as such. Hm. This was not the weather we’d been promised.

Fenchmans looking cute below us, and the Fourth Ugly Sister looming large.
Again my pessimistic and conservative estimation came: “It could take us one and a half hours to reach the top from here.” Unfortunately, the one and a half hours it took was walking time only, and if you throw in time taken for photographs at those vantage points where not to stop would have been plain criminal (like when we reached those rocks on the ridge, or when when we topped out near the Four Ugly Sisters (the far left one of which is pictured above), then it was two hours. 9.30 a.m. I sat on the summit staring at my watch and looking out at Philps Peak, our next goal. My calculations of the feasibility of this programme had not involved summitting this late – not on a short, winter’s day with glowering clouds rolling in. I had had a snoop around while we were photographing and snacking, and was not entirely confident that we could even get off this cliffy mound on which we were perched without needing to take a big detour backwards.

The somewhat contorted landscape that a map has trouble adequately representing.
No detour was necessary, which was great. Meanwhile, Angela, undaunted by my pessimistic assessment of our chances, was keen to give Philps a go, so off we set, with me warning that we really couldn’t afford a single hiccup en route. We had one in less than thirty minutes, when we lost time skirting around Agamemnon South. The mess of thick bushes and snow that gave way, the general uncertainty of the best route ahead all took their toll and seemed to conspire against us.

Summit view from Agamemnon
Meanwhile, clouds now completely obscured Philps Peak. This is not an area to be in with poor visibility: in fact, that’s downright dangerous. So many of our decisions were based on sight, as compass only gave a general direction, and map contours simplified the scenery to too great an extent. Eyes were needed to have guidance through this maze. Moreover, it was also raining over there. Angela reluctantly agreed to give up, jokingly commenting: “Who would believe that you’re the sensible one of the two of us?”

Lake Whitham far below

Still on the correct route, but about to give up. We will be back next time.
We played on Agamemnon South for a bit and headed back, finding good routes harder to pick on the rebound. At 11.45 we reached the Four Ugly Sisters again. The view was anything but ugly. Columns of rain were advancing rapidly. I suggested we enjoy the possible remains of what had been forecasted as a nice day and eat an early lunch right there, enjoying what our hard work had won for us. This was the only really relaxing moment in a very long, very hard day … just sitting up there, chewing, staring. Wonderful.

Once back at the tents, I raced to get mine down before the rain hit. Our packs had been on our backs for about thirty seconds when the first droplets let loose. Our chute down was hard to find in the thick mist. We very nearly missed it, and only just ascertained that we had found a way down when the blanket of grey completely closed in, and visibility was reduced to ten metres.

Views from on Agamemnon South.
At 2.30 we hit the track far below. Quandary: Left to Lake Vera Hut, or right, out?? We both voted right. Realistically, we would finish after dark presuming we would need breaks and be slower than the time in. It had already been a seven-hour day. Undeterred, we marched on. By the Loddon River, I was exhausted and sore, but we were both keen to continue. As we donned our packs yet again, I muttered supposedly encouraging words: “Max two hours to go; even in the dark.” I then laughed, as I thought about the fact that a marathon takes not too much longer than two hours (depending on who you are), yet most people speak of this with trepidation, and here we were consoling ourselves that we only had a marathon left to go. Ha ha. The relativity of it all.

The whole day ended up being ten minutes short of twelve hours, but we made it – AND we made it to the Derwent Bridge Hotel before they closed the kitchen, and were thus able to enjoy a delicious dinner near a great big open fire before setting out for the big drive home. I was still in my cow pants, gaiters and boots. Poor Angela. You will be pleased to learn that the cow pants got a tiny tear in them this trip. Their days may well be numbered.


Agamemnon, from our tent (waypoint) to the summit.


Route from the Frenchmans Track to our tent
Track data: (I was feeling a wuss before I noted these figures).
Day 1. 16 kms + 825 ms climb = 24.25 km equivalents.
Day 2. 22 kms + 800 ms climb = 30 km equivalents.
Total for two days: 54.25 km equivalents.
OK. I was allowed to be tired, especially considering the winter-weight pack and the 3kgs camera equipment on top of that. Even so, I do need to toughen up for long summer expeditions. Sigh.

Posted on

Parmeener 2016 Aug

Mt Parmeener is neither pretty nor dramatic. Perhaps worse for its popularity, nobody has allocated it a point, and despite its offical 1286 ms above sea level elevation (peak baggers’ master sheet incorrectly says 1280; other websites incorrectly say 1270) it fails on other criteria to be an Abel. Lots of people and things are neither pretty nor dramatic, nor worth a point in some random system, but they are still interesting for other reasons, and well worth our engagement. Mt Parmeener is one such.

The view west
Its altitude, if nothing else, should hint at its expansive views. Being right on the edge of the escarpment, it looks out north over the Mole Creek region far, far below. Looking west, we could see snow on Ossa and Pelion East. To our south, the Walls covered in snow were visible, and to the east, Quamby Bluff’s distinctive shape called to us, as well as sharp bluffs along the escarpment’s piped edge. It felt airy and wild up there. The wind was cold, but we were not blasted out of existence, and enjoyed the feeling of space along the top.

Lake Mackenzie, not too far away below there

We drove south from Mole Creek, on a road imaginatively named South Mole Creek Rd. Road names are a little confusing, as different maps call the roads a variety of names, but one thing stands firm: you want Blairs Road, and it is correctly named on all the maps I’ve consulted. We headed south from Mole Creek, as said, and after about two kilometres, turned right (west) onto a road that ran into Blairs Rd at a left hand turn that had us heading south again (named on the map). We followed Blairs Rd for several kms, through what appeared to be a farm, and on, into the forest … and up. Had there not been a big flood recently, it would have been possible to have driven to a boom gate. Now you have to stop short of that, but not too far short; fallen trees and soft ground made further driving impossible. For walkers, however, they just add a bit of fun and challenge.

The track takes you up through beautiful myrtle forest.
Beyond the boom gate (which informs you that dangerous fires are raging ahead and you should not enter), the road morphs into an old stock route – South Mole Creek Track – where cattle could have walked three abreast in some places, only single file in others. This route takes you on the gentlest of inclines up onto the escarpment. I was stunned to read we had climbed over 500ms (to the escarpment; 660 ms in total). We took around 2 hours from the car to the end of the steep climb, and a further 30 minutes from breasting the rise to our actual summit, further to the east of our emergence point on the tops. Once up onto the escarpment, the climb to the summit is minimal. Spaces were open, the air was fresh; it was great wandering along deciding which gully we’d use to attack the final rise.

My husband, with ever-worsening Parkinson’s disease, made it to the summit without any problems, so I would classify this as a very pleasant and doable family walk. At this time of year there was abundant water on top (flippers were more necessary than a water bottle). Given the many access problems posed by this winter’s floods, I recommend this track as something that remains reachable when so much else is closed off.

Mt Parmeener, route.