Tag: Tasmania

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Jukes 2016 Feb

Mt Jukes Feb 2016
How do you make plans when different sources of information advise very different times for a mountain? Angela and I were in a bit of a quandary when sorting out our Jukes-day, as we had received conflicting expectations as to how long the exercise would take. Would we have time for two mountains, or just one? How early did we need to set out from home on the long drive south? In the end, we decided to be conservative, and allocated six hours to the task, as suggested by the Abels book.

Earlier, on the way up

The weather was not brilliant, but, well, we’d just driven a very long way and were going to climb this mountain, whatever. Somewhat unenthusiastically, we donned gaiters, boots, overpants and anoraks and set out into the gloom, taking a compass bearing so we could find a mountain at the end of it. None was evident at the time.

Angela at the summit, trying to reassure herself that she really has arrived at Jukes summit

Up we headed on bearing, with me setting the pace as I’m injured. The bushes were drenching, and I got soaked, but didn’t expect that my single swipe of droplets rescued Angela from much. At least the day was not freezing (until we hit the wind at the top, that is).

After thirty minutes’ climbing, whilst sidling around a rocky bluff to the left that we had both agreed looked more promising than the right, we happened upon a little cairn. Given that we could see absolutely nothing, this smile from a stranger was most welcome – and especially so as some slight scrambles up the very slippery rock were now in order. When heading up slimy rock faces in deep mist, it is quite reassuring to know your decision to go that way has the blessing of people who have gone before.

We came, after an hour, to a big cairn on a flattish section, which, given the fact that we could see nothing of what lay ahead, we assumed was the spot height 1038. On we climbed. Huge, steep, leering bluffs emerged out of the mist – amorphous giants which we assumed we had to climb, but which a pad, to our relief, sidled. However, at one point the apparent pad took us to the edge of a drop of about four or perhaps five metres. There was a bit of a crack that could no doubt be employed in dry weather if you were nice and tall, but that was a very long drop down to uneven, jaws-open rock should things go awry, and being small with only one functioning foot, I completely lacked confidence for an attempt at this. Meanwhile, to immediate right and left were drops of even more suicidal heights. Had I inveigled Angela to do a huge drive and climb part way up a mountain in the rain to now call a halt? I felt stricken with guilt, but still lacked the courage to give the drop a go. I turned to her shamefacedly: “I’m really sorry Angela, but I just don’t dare.” Luckily, she also considered it dangerous, so we retraced our steps to an area behind the bluff, and hunted for a viable alternative, which we found to the north. Phew. Maybe we are going to get up this mountain, wherever it is,  after all. But how many other such challenges and obstacles lay in the undefined gloom ahead?

It appears, none. In the surprisingly short time (given our expectations) of a shade less than two hours, we were standing on the summit of Jukes. Angela couldn’t believe it, so checked her gps innumerable times to ensure we weren’t cheating. I photographed, opining that the presence of the helipad said all. Given that my swollen and still coloured (and painful) foot necessitated a much slower pace than usual, it was most unexpected to cut the time by so much.

Although it drizzled all morning and then rained up on top, I adored this mountain, and can’t wait to go back with my tent and tripod. The huge bluffs and monstrous drops to our left as we climbed added drama and mystery to our quest. There was always the hint of an amazing “je ne sais quoi” that was not going to be revealed. The lack of definition gave free rein to the imagination. Also, the lack of horizons or view meant that the climber-mountain relationship was intensified. It was you and the mountain’s immediate environment and not much more. I enjoyed that intense experience. The cushion plants and greenery on top were delightful. Green and grey make a wonderful combination.

The way down was faster than the ascent, giving us more than two extra hours in our day. However, rather than using them “profitably” to climb a second, unplanned mountain, we chose the rather indulgent option of firstly, hot chocolate and cake in Queenstown, and then something a little more healthy at Derwent Bridge Hotel. My foot was quite painful, even after the shorter-than-expected climb, and I was tired from the unaccustomed concentration required to prevent further injury. I rather think that when my physio said I could try a day walk this week, she didn’t quite have a slippery Mt Jukes in mind. But then, she’s been my physio since 1990, so perhaps she did.

To reach the start, google Mt Jukes Rd, which you will begin on at Lynchford, south of Queenstown. Follow it south etc, winding around the Jukes Range until you reach its high point. Park and climb up Jukes as above.

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Horizontal Hill 2016 Feb

Horizontal Hill 8 Feb 2016

Angela on top of Horizontal Hill, the Guardians behind
Our friend, Mark, first mooted the idea of climbing Horizontal Hill in the dead of last winter, when the nights were frozen and the days icy. I wanted to climb this too, but had decided reservations, for the route involves a 350ms wade through Lake Marion before you begin ascending. I thought about wearing my wetsuit, and meanwhile bought a pair of light, padded Wellingtons. I was not looking forward to the ordeal, but, as Malcolm Fraser said, “Life wasn’t meant to be easy”, and well, you take what comes in this business of trying to climb all the Abels.

Moody sunrise at Lake Marion
Luckily, on the appointed day, it was snowing, as well as icy and freezing, and we climbed Mt Hobhouse instead. We waited for the next opportunity, but other mountains pushed the queue for one reason or another, until last weekend, when I noticed that, with a little rearrangement of several programmes, our old intrepid trio could climb this together before returning to our separate agendas. Now hyperthermia and dehydration could replace hypothermia – a much more comfortable way to damage your body.
Now, the dreaded icy lake was a delightful warm bath. Padded Wellingtons were replaced by open crocs and the wetsuit allowed to continue gathering dust in the laundry. The wade was fun, even if I did keep sinking, and then we left the water behind to head upwards on bearing through rather lovely pandani forest, travelling towards the head of a pointy spur. Punishment for the unexpected ease here was the inevitable band of scoparia, but I have seen a lot worse and we swallowed our medicine, and in under two hours were doing the last climb up a sandstone cliff to the summit area, to at last sit up there and eat and drink in both view and water.

Our route up Horizontal Hill
Next morning, after a relaxed beach breakfast, Angela and I set off for our next goals, vi.z, Falling Mountain and Castle Crag.
http://www.natureloverswalks.com/castle-crag-falling-mountain/
It was actually too hot to climb them that afternoon, so we got ourselves into position for an early assault in the coolness of the next morning. It was good we didn’t go up that afternoon, as Angela was not feeling at all well, and the next day she found a tick on her body that we assume was the cause of the malaise.
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Massif, Geryon North, Du Cane Range 2016 Jan

Mt Massif, Geryon North and the Du Cane Range High Point  Jan 2016.

Mt Geryon at sunset. Day One: from the Pool of Memories
Surely it is impossible to look at Mt Geryon and not be impressed by its shape and slope, and the way it yells “impossible” at you when you think of climbing its vertical slopes. It’s a mountain that demands – and receives – respect. It is one of those mountains that I never dreamed I would be able to climb, but something has changed, and here I stood, ready to give it a go.

Meanwhile, my love affair with Mt Massif dates back to 2011, and has  its provenance and inspiration in Dave Noble’s blogsite, where I stared at his pictures and wanted to go there and sleep on top. At last I stood on the startline to do just that.

Du Cane Range High Point, with the stick jutting out of the cairn kind of thing

Day One was unexpectedly “interesting” in that we encountered a guy who wandered into our company after being missing for over thirteen hours. He had no raincoat, no food, no map, compass, torch or phone (it had run out of battery at about 10pm). Whatever else one might need, he didn’t have that either, but he did have an excellent camera and quality tripod, so (in that regard) was a man who had priorities akin to my own.

Day Two: traversing the rocky scree around Mt Massif

He didn’t really know where he had come from, couldn’t say if he had come downhill at all, chose a random (but impossible) lake on the map as a place he thought he had passed, yet we managed to somehow work out that he had reached us from Lake Elysia, most fortuitously wandering east and not west, where people do not get found. He had gone to the Pool of Memories to photograph stars, got whited out and disoriented, and so thought it was a good idea to wander aimlessly all night and into the next day. The fact that he found people might unhappily reinforce this dangerous modus operandi. Meanwhile, others at Elysia had reported him missing, so helicopters were circling overhead. Dave from our group luckily had a satellite phone, so called the police and S&R to report the lost as found. However, two hours later – due to lack of communication from one department to another, one can only assume – they were still flying around, trying to find the found.

Day Two, Big Gun Pass: The Gun

We had set off with him to return him to his tent under escort, managing to use sign language near the Parthenon saddle to at last convince the police buzzing above that we had him. He certainly gave the bushwalkers up there plenty to talk about that weekend. He had the generosity and insight to thank our group for saving his life. He’s one lucky guy. I should have grabbed the opportunity and tried to swap my lunch for a sony A7, but he still seemed to know what was valuable.

Day Two. Vaughan surveys the abyss

Day Two. After a day one where our goals were a long shot off the focus, we settled down to business this day …. except that the weather didn’t. As a result, we danced around in fog for 1.5 hours hoping it would change its mind and be merciful to my Mt Hyperion desires, but it would have none of it. Frustrated, I left the others who were munching lunch in the drizzle, and at least collected the Abel of the Du Cane Range High Point before I ate. Now I had bagged something I felt a bit more relaxed.
And so we wended our way towards the famous Big Gun Pass, with a compass bearing so we might find it. There were no vistas today, but the sight of the Big Gun as a clouded silhouette in the misty ambient gloom was even better. Views could come later.

Day Two. Vaughan surveys a different abyss. He’s getting pretty good at this.

The way up the other side looked particularly steep to this group of heavily laden walkers, but everyone dug in and climbed well, and the high point was soon in sight. Eagerly we each pictured a kind of summit cairn with pastures of green grass to camp on stretching beyond: a veritable land flowing with milk and honey. And what were we given? Not just a wasteland of wild, slippery rocks, but ones whose trajectory was a very sharp slope downwards. We stared over the abyss with dismay. In silence the group sat for a fifteen minutes’ rest taking in the disappointment, conjuring up energy for the unexpected task ahead. If we could find a safe passage down that, we would then have to wind our way laboriously around the rocks to the grassy funnel we could see that must lead to the bowl beneath the summit further away. Straight ahead was a monstrous cliff wall that you couldn’t scale even with ropes.

Day Two. On top of Mt Massif at last. One of many views from one of many possible summits.

A route was found, and we lowered ourselves down the cracks and rocks to a place from which we could contour around, a group of sick crustaceans with all limbs attached to the black mossy rocks, trying to prevent slides into injury.

Day Two: a sorry sight. Fires raging behind Cathedral. You can also see another fire front back left. You cannot see any helicopters dropping water to save these gentle tree giants.

Once the tension of the traverse was over, the others quite sensibly wanted to relax and set up camp, but I am not able to relax if something is not finished, so grabbed my gps and set off for the summit, visiting all interesting high points up there for their different photographic angles, checking at the end that my blue line had landed on the actual summit at some point. There was no happy celebratory group with handshakes and high fives like there had been on the Eldons. It was a most anticlimactic summit for one that had been desired for so long.

Day Two: Mt Massif summit. An unusual view of Ossa, Pelion West, Thetis and more. Cradle back right.

Day Two: a different view of Ossa et al

Day Three presented itself as a marvellous collection of diamonds and pearls strewn carelessly all over the grass in every direction. The mist was enchanting. We were not in a rush, so the pace was leisurely as we enjoyed all these sights and the feeling of total bliss that comes with being in a place like this.

Day Three: fabulous sunrise views from Massif

The route over the rocks was much quicker in this direction, and there were no dismaying surprises, as long as you discount Rolfe’s cracking a rib. It seems quite the fashion these days. Mine is ten days out from being broken, so I had no trouble understanding the pain he was now in. As a result, a small subgroup went straight back to camp after lunch while the remaining ones headed for Geryon North.

Day Three. Rob and Cam arrive to check out the early light. You can see our tents below.

We arrived at the black dot on the map, and the group proclaimed it as Geryon North and cheered. However, I am an honest peak bagger, and knew that this flattish hill (with very impressive cliffs) did not fit the bill despite its cute black dot and height of 1507. The real Geryon North has a much higher height and it was staring at me across the abyss. Would anyone else come with me this time? Vaughan said yes. Hoorah. Then Rob and Cam joined in. More joy. Off we set while the others sat down for a rather dull spectator sport.

Action in the mist

 

Day Three. Climbing back up to be allowed to climb down to Big Gun Pass

The watchers reported that it looked very dangerous. Vaughan recounted how his new role as father to a toddler and baby gave him a new purpose to be alive. Rob (father) admonished Cam (fouteen-year-old son) to be careful every two minutes. Louise was lead by the summit fever that always overtakes her, but is no risk taker. We were being careful, but Vaughan did say he found this climb harder than Federation in its technicality. We had to back out of a few manoeuvres; there was some light grunting, handholds where limbs couldn’t reach the only rock one on offer, helping pushes or pulls and eventually the team made it. This time there was joy at the top, and we all joined hands to touch. The views, of course, were breathtaking. Sure, you can hire a helicopter and get the same thing, but you will never get the joy that grated fingertips and slightly lacerated gear in your effort to get there will give you.

Cam on the lump called Mt Geryon that is not Geryon North yet

Here is our goal, up nice and close now. East face looks quite exciting

And here is one from the tippy top

Before the others set out for the Pool of Memories, we had seen from high above that someone had dared to beat us to the pool; a little red tent was in “my” spot. This person obviously had good taste in views, but must be evacuated. We instructed our forerunners to be rude and raucous and thus drive them away. When we at last descended and I met the fellows, however, I decided to be raucous but skip the rude bit. These were people who were my friends in Instagram and here they were in the flesh: the fabulous Luke Tscharke, Tim Wrate, Francois Fourie, and Dylan Toh. I was delighted to hear they had consulted this blog when deciding where to go for their trip. As a result, the paparazzi lineup for sunset was quite amusing. Now I didn’t feel at all silly lugging 3 kgs photographic equipment all this way.

Mt Geryon says “good night”. Pool of Memories.

And here is sunset looking in the opposite direction.

Day Four. We climbed down – reluctant to leave this place, yet refreshed from it – to resume our daily lives, descending through glorious rainforest to the Geryon Climbers’ Camp in the valley below, and thence to Pine Valley and eventually to the lake where we killed about three hours throwing stones waiting for the ferry.

Love rainforest. Hate, hate to think of it burning further east.
Route up Mt Geryon North from near Du Cane HP – please note. This is only for the experienced and confident.
 The map to Mt Massif is also available on request. 
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Eldons: High Dome, Eldon Bluff, Eldon Crag, Dome Hill, Castle Mountain, Rocky Hill

The Eldons: High Dome, Eldon Bluff, Eldon Crag, Dome Hill, Castle Mountain, Rocky Hill Jan 2016.
This was my first really big epic; we had packed for ten days, and I was pretty nervous. Could I carry all that weight? Ten days seemed a very long time to be bushwalking in the wilderness.

Day 1. Here we are, heading across the clear Rocky Hill South towards our destination for the day: Rocky Hill campsite. All is going well and everyone is coping perfectly with the heavy load that a trip like this entails. I was carrying 17.5 kgs, which is between a third and a half my bodyweight. I was intending to do some very serious eating to improve that ratio by the way out.

Day 1. Many of us camped near or under beautiful pencil pines like this. Pineapple grass was in abundance, as were delightful pools of clear water. These were especially welcome after a completely water-free day once we left the Collingwood River right at the start.

Day 2 dawned misty. Here is the group as it heads along the ridgeline connecting Rocky Hill to a hill at 1173 ms asl.

Day 2. And here is our final resting place for this day: the beautiful Five Duck (yet duckless) Tarn. It was very exciting to be so near a mountain that has always looked so distant and impossible, a mountain for tough bushmen, so not for me, yet here I am: High Dome.

 

Day 3 dawned clear and bright. We set off early so as not to be cooked later.

Day 3. And here is what it’s like to be underway in the Eldons. These are button grass plains which formed patches to give us a break from the thicker scrub of other sections.

Day 3. A very happy summit group on top of High Dome. On the far right is Malcolm Waterston, the sixth person ever to complete a full set of Abels (which he finished this trip).

Day 3. With High Dome under our belt, on we press to our next destination, Lake Ewart. On the left is Castle Mountain, and on the right is Eldon Bluff, the crème de la crème for many of us on the trip.

Day 3. Dan and Steve were two of many who used our early arrival at the lake to have a swim and a wash. Unfortunately, wuss here was too cold, but she admired the waters and went exploring around the lake’s edge instead, discovering a grove of scoparia whose leaves were well above her head. That’s scoparia at its best!!

Day 3. With the sun setting behind Eldon Bluff, many beautiful silhouetted moments were on offer.
 
 Day 4. At last, the day to summit the Crown Jewel of the trip has arrived. Here she is smiling pinkly down on us while we wipe the white frosted icing sugar off our tents and fill our packs with enough water to fund a mid-thirties temperature day. I took this photo whilst eating breakfast inside my tent (ie, I pitched so close to the water’s edge the others teased me that I’d get flooded out if things went badly).
Day 4. The beauty of the lake in the early light as we circled it thrilled me.
Day 4. Round the northern end of the lake, over the buttongrass plain and up to this rock that we spotted from below. We had to climb a tree to get up it, which was fun. It made a good perch for a rest, and also to survey the beauty of the surrounding landscape.
Day 4. Happy climbers taking a rest on a different rock. Time for breakfast number two (about 8.30).
Day 4. Looking across to Eldon Crag (the next one to be climbed after this) whilst having a break during the climb of Eldon Bluff (up to our left).
Day 4. The group arrives at the saddle before the final climb. You can see we’ve already climbed up a very long way.
Day 4. I saw this view just before we reached the summit, and was terribly excited. There is Lake Ewart, way, way below, and I could even see my trusty tent waiting for me by the water’s edge, a minuscule red speck. The day was very hot, and people drank even more than the generous amounts they had catered for (one guy went through 8 litres in total). After we climbed this mountain and the next one (Eldon Crag), we dropped slightly out of our way to a tarn about half way down to Lake Dorothy to cool down and gather more liquid.
Day 4 draws to a close. It had been long and hot, but we were all deeply satisfied. This almost dry creek made a fabulous “highway” for part of our descent. There were even protected native fish in one of the rock pools. The water was cool and delicious. Money cannot buy drinks like that.

Day 5. Another day, another mountain, more perfection in the wilderness. Today we will climb Dome Hill. Ahead, you can see the first part of our climb. Because of the heat (and our ultimate goals for the day), another early start is chosen.

Day 5. About 1 hr 30’s walking later, we get to see epacris serpyllifolia adorning the summit of Dome Hill, with yesterday’s booty, Eldon Bluff and Crag, in the background.

Day 5. Dome Hill summit group. After this, it was back to camp, depitch and climb up through the scrub onto the plateau that contains tarns that will give us a good springboard the following day for the next mountain on our agenda.

Day 6. Sunrise from our tarns

Day 6. Two of our group approaching the summit of Castle Mountain. The weather did not cooperate with a view from this summit, but I found the mist atmospheric.

Day 7. Dawn from High Dome ridge (a dry camp – i.e., no available water nearby).
Day 7. Morning light on a day that was pretty light on for those of us who had already climbed High Dome on the way in. Lucky we were just loafing around camp, actually, as the wind came up mid-morning. One tent snapped its pole in two places, and the three of us there had to lie on tents and depitch them to prevent further breakages. That day we moved to Five Duck Tarn, where, in the evening, those who didn’t mind being out in the weather got to watch lightning strike the ridge running off Little Sugarloaf, setting off a blaze the height of two gumtrees, clearly visible from our spot.
 
Day 8. No photos, as it was pouring with rain and blowing a gale most of the day. We decided to put in a huge effort and get out. You could smell many of the 50 fires that were now burning across the state’s lower half, and today was an ideal day for a big effort, being both cold and wet. Warm, dry weather would resume the next day. Who knows what the fires would do then? Pyramid Mt was cancelled; the guys had never been keen on Camp Hill. We had reached the next destination by lunchtime (Rocky Hill campsite), having climbed Rocky Hill in conditions so freezing that not a photo got taken, and all voted to walk two days in one, and clear out rather than sitting in sodden tents for no good reason, waiting for the next day. Dinner that night in the Derwent Bridge Pub was a very happy affair. Celebration was in order, and the huge open fire was maybe even better than the hot, non-dehydrated food.
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Wellington 2016 Jan

Mt Wellington 2016 Jan


I had been feeling guilty for a while that I had never turned my photographic attention to Mt Wellington. It is an Abel, after all. All I’d ever done was run up her, endlessly, in wondrous dreamlike runs where the world and all that is in it was temporarily forgotten while I floated to her summit. I loved my training runs on Wellington (or anywhere. I was always in a trance while I ran, and was in some very far off place. I still am, for that matter. Running is my “time out” from the world, where I can refresh my should for the next round).


However, now it was time to come to the top by car, and to bring my tripod, filters and lenses to see what this evening could give  me and my camera. This is what I got.


At first, it was pretty nice, but then it seemed that it was just going to be a grey fizzer. I actually packed up and was in the car when all this pink came out. I had to do the most hasty set-up imaginable and chase the syun and the pink across the mountain. It was rather fun.