Tag: Tasmania

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Silver Falls, Castra Circuit 2016 Jun

Silver Falls , Castra Circuit. Jun 2016

Originally, I listed the three falls of this circuit: namely, Step Falls, Castra Falls and Silver Falls, in the one post. However, I have realised that some people search for a single waterfall, and therefore miss the ones not in  prominence in the header, so I am giving each waterfall that has happened to its own blog, but with a reference back to the main blog that actually describes how to get there and what it was like. Photos are here just to make it pretty :-). For the main blog for these falls turn to:
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/step-falls-castr…lls-silver-falls/ ‎

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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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Littlechild 2016 May

Mt Littlechild revisited May 2016.


Handley Peak, en route (this is Mt Littlechild on the map – or, on the map I was using)


Hygrocybe saltorivula
Because so many people insisted that the black dot called Mt Littlechild on the map was not the “real” Mt Littlechild in some other essential manner, on this weekend, I led a group to go and visit the black dot, which, whatever its name might be, is  the highest point on the Blue Tier. And a rather insignificant high point it is too. Even when there, with gps devices in abundance, we could not agree on the location of the summit, so purists (me included) dashed about the place, touching all suspect-rocks that might be a smidgeon higher than their friends and the true black dot. Everyone was happy at the end of the day that they’d had an encounter with this important dark smudge on the map. The ground was pretty level up there, and views were not on offer. Gorgeous fungi were a-plenty, and the highlight for me. We’d definitely had a lovely bushwalk in this wonderful area of Tasmania worth saving from destruction at the hands of chainsaws and myopic politicians.


Hygrocybe lewellinae


Happy troupers on one of the many black dot contenders (but not the most-favoured one).



For the route from the car to the peak here labelled Mt Littlechild (HandleyPeak in disguise, apparently) see  natureloverswalks.com/blue-tier/

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Brewery Knob 2016 May

Brewery Knob.

 Cortinarius levendulensis.

Angela in her new (unmarred) red anorak approaches the summit cairn

The weather map looked very colourful (= lots of rain forecast) for the day of our intended walk, and high winds were also predicted. However, Angela and I were more than keen to climb something – anything – despite the weather, so took a look at our options. The map ruled out anything south or west; east just didn’t call us; so we settled for north of central, and chose to re-climb Brewery Knob, which fell into a Goldilocks zone: not too high (i.e. windy), not too long a drive … not too anything really, and a nice little mountain sitting there at 1293 ms asl, protected a tiny bit by bigger friends close by. It got the foul-weather guernsey.

We came back the way we went out, and I’m glad we did. It gave us longer on this half-hour stretch of open moorland which we found to be fun.

Good choice. It was a perfect mountain for the conditions. First, we climbed through a stretch of rainforest that is always rich and glorious, but especially so at this time of year when bright orange pilelets of fagus leaves clump together, attractively caught in the interconnected mosaic of shining roots that make mini-swimmingpools along the track. The contrast between the burnt orange leaves and the lurid green moss makes for a mesmerising beauty. We both vowed to do some photography on the way back down, but I am a goal-centred person, so we stuck to the programme of climbing first, games afterwards (not that climbing isn’t the grandest game of all).

The path

As we changed gradient and forest type (after a tad under 30 mins’ walking), and took our first steps on the open Hounslow Heath, the expected wind hit us. On went coats, windproof gloves and more as we leant into the wind to continue. It was so loud – whistling in our ears and bashing our heads with its force – that conversation was impossible.

Similar to the first time I climbed this Knob with my husband, we struck a small band of thigh-high scoparia once on our compass bearing for the final part of the climb (the bearing revealing a slightly darker shape in the mist that we took to be our mount: I have yet to actually see it). We passed very cautiously through, both of us nervous about pin-pricking our beautiful new anoraks. Once on the plateau on top, vegetation was only about ankle high, and we were free to enjoy the huge sense of space made possible precisely because we could see nothing, but could feel infinity in the distance.

We were both delighted by our choice of mountain. It was perfect for that kind of weather, and, well, there’s a lot more to a mountain than the view it offers. The summit cairn is very attractive, and the feeling of being in a wild place, marvellous. It almost felt as if we were the only two living souls left on earth up there; it’s wonderful to escape the treadmill of modernity with its reduction of creativity and freedom, and its terror of risk and litigation that stifles every move and suffocates being kind and decent to one another.

 

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Lord 2016 May

Mt Lord  7 May 2016

The first (and last) chunk of the walk is in rainforest.

I was surprised by my own reaction to Angela’s confirmation that she could still climb Mt Lord with me: I was excited to be going on another adventure together. What, you ask, is surprising about that? Well, I’d always thought I went bushwalking to see more beauty and to have a great workout in nature. I had never really thought of what I do as having an adventure per se. But there it was. The meaning of “adventure” is: an unusual, exciting or daring activity. I guess going bushwalking, in that it doesn’t happen every day, is unusual (but not very); it is exciting, as I am out in free nature, taking up the challenges of summiting another mountain. Daring? Well, I guess there’s always an element of slight risk. Whatever the definition, my mind saw it as being a fun adventure, and I just couldn’t wait.

We drove down after dinner on Friday, and pitched our tents close to a gurgling river that we could hear all night, and breakfasted next morning under stately gums. Our task for the day was short, and we had done most of the drive; there was no need to rush, so we were not ready to begin climbing until a bit after 9 o’clock.

There was a kind of a road sort of thing – maybe used by trucks to turn in – so we hitched a ride for the grand 15 metres it offered us, diving into the thick forest at a spot that perhaps looked more agreeable than the rest. Once in, and past the tangle of young saplings that grew near the source of light, things greatly improved, and we made our way up through the very steep yet pleasant rainforest, marvelling at the extreme size of the stumps that existed, rotting away, in that early part. I reckon it would take 30 Angela-Louises to occupy the surface area of some cuts.

Mostly the fungi were big, like these, although on the descent we saw some examples of smaller genera such as mycena, entoloma and cortinarius, in blue, red, green and purple.
The route was not easy, and we had to weave quite considerably to make progress. I was always a bit unsure of whether the direction I was pursuing would take us into a bosky cul-de-sac, so didn’t enjoy it quite as much as I might have. My concentration was on other things, but I still had a sense of the greenness and the clumps of large fungi.

After about an hour we emerged into the inevitable band of Bauera – but, oh joy, no Scoparia – and a jumble of washing-machine sized boulders to negotiate, with the odd buttressy cliff making an appearance.

Summit view
As we neared the wider summit area, the bushes thinned, but the going was still slow as the rocks were treacherously slippery, each one offering its own private, sloped rink to anyone who’d brought up skates. We hadn’t.

So slippery was it that I couldn’t even be bothered moving around to get a good shot from the summit. The “views” didn’t warrant the effort. It wasn’t quite 11 yet, but we had lunch nonetheless, as we’d carried it up there, and that’s what you do on top of a mountain. It was cold; the views were not great; neither of us is a mad-keen collector of peak bagging points, so, whatever the number attached to Lanes Peak across the way was, it failed to interest us – I also think we are both brewing some virus; we were not feeling fantastic – so we came straight down. One mountain was enough of an adventure for today. After half an hour on top, we began our descent, this time staying nearer to the creek for no particular reason; it’s just where we ended up and we saw no problem with that.

A different summit view.

The descent route was more beautiful that the outwards journey, but marginally slower in the endgame, as there were a lot of huge fallen trees, some with diameters over our heads that made climbing over their rich, mossy surfaces next to impossible. There was no room under them either, so a small expedition was required to follow each obstacle to one or other end to get around. I was glad we hadn’t climbed that close to the creek when outward bound, as that procedure might have been depressing. On the descent, knowing the end was nigh, we were not put off at all.

The route was short: only 1.6 kms in each direction, with 530ms climb in that short distance, so, as the contours above also indicate, very steep – but fun. The min/km rate of travel – roughly 1 km per hour!!! – gives an idea of the thickness of the bush and the number of obstacles. That said, the shortness meant that we finished quite early, could go straight to the Possum Shed for delicious food, and be back at home in the north before dinner time. Bring on the next one. (Cyan with a border is the downwards route)