Tag: Tasmania

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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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West Tower, East Tower 2014 Mar

Bush in the early stages of the walk
Contouring around Tower Hill

William Buckland, a delightfully eccentric Oxford Don of the early-mid 1800s (born 1784), not only poked around seashores for fossils dressed in his academic gown, but also decided to eat his way through the animal kingdom, often working his way through it in alphabetical order. Thus students visiting him for dinner not only had to negotiate their way through an untidy array of often gigantic fossils, but also were treated to such delicacies as bluebottle, mole or mouse for the evening meal. Buckland’s devotion to completing his collection of eaten animals was as thorough as it was outlandish.

Bellendena montana lined much of the way, adding a splash of colour
Lichen detail is always fun
How much more tame – how very plebeian – it is to collect mountains one has climbed, and to tick mountains climbed rather than animals eaten on a list. Possibly the only characteristic I share with Buckland is the devotion of a good collector to get the next item even if it might be distasteful. And thus it was that I set out to climb West Tower, an Abel that does not have good street cred; in fact, rumour and gossip have it that West Tower is unbearably scrubby, has negligible view and is barely worth the effort for the point. As with most gossip and rumour, this is based on hasty generalisations with only a modicum of truth, I found. I was expecting a scrub fight, but only encountered a tiny patch of scrub which had enough leads through it to make progress quite bearable. I didn’t even bother to put on my scrub gloves. I think I only had to push and shove once, and that for only a metre. However, the view from the top was very ordinary, and I am happy to put a tick in that box and move on to more glorious mountains. 

With regard to the route, we walked uphill from the locked boom gate for 12 mins before finding the remains of an old road to the left. A cairn marks the intersection. This old route travels in a rough arc, not changing height much until dropping four contours as it curves around the picturesque Tower Hill cliffs before meeting the main spur heading down from East Tower (which travels at this point a bit west of north). On joining this ridge (still on the “road”) a further six contours are lost until a broad saddle connecting the two towers is reached. After a couple of hundred metres along this saddle, there is a rusty stake with two horizontal bits at the top, and the road becomes much narrower. Time to say thanks for the lift and leave it, heading NW, keeping at first slightly left of the main turning point of the broad spur you’re climbing, but swinging further right. Ribbons magically appear at this point, and guide you up over the cliffs and down the other side, where you lose quite a lot of contours before beginning a traverse along the northern side of the cliffs, along a route that sometimes has cairns, sometimes old, and at other times new, ribbons. Mostly the path is on the border between rocks and bush, but don’t just take that for granted, and don’t go into this area if you can’t navigate without the aid of cairns, assuming the path will get you there. You need to know what you’re doing for the guides to be of assistance. The fastest route is to stay below the cliffs until the last minute, although getting onto the ridge line earlier and following it is possible, but is a prickly option.

East Tower from West
I didn’t expect to find any enjoyment in East Tower (done at the end, after the return from West), with its steps and ugly infrastructure, but I actually enjoyed it far more than its western mate. Climbing up and around the locked gate was particularly good fun – even got a grunt out of me – and the view from the top was much better than that offered by the western cousin.
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Nicholas 2014 Mar

Mt Nicholas, March 2014


Bruce in action on the climb.
We have just had a marvellous day trying to climb Mt Nicholas – but failing.

One of the things I adore about the peak bagging list is that it entices us to try totally different mountains and explore new areas. My husband and I feel that the list serves as an inspiration or stimulus, rather than a compulsion to collect points (although I do love collecting them, but that is a side benefit and not the purpose). Our motto is: “Das Gehen ist das Ziel” (literally: the going is the purpose) and so, as long as we have had a grand adventure, which indeed was the case today, we have satisfied the purpose of the exercise. Summiting would have been nice, but is not necessary – or even sufficient, for that matter.
Off we set this morning after breakfast, assuring the dogs we’d be home for lunch (ridiculously, they nodded wisely, trusting us to keep our word). Hardly for the first time, we enjoyed the not-as-early-as-it-should-have-been light in the Fingal valley, and just before St Mary’s (about 10 kms before), turned off to the north on the Mt Nicholas Rd, stopping at the first intersection – which happened to have a nice-looking spur from the mountain coming down to meet it. As there was also a fire-trail kind of thing, we decided to follow it for a while, to see where it was leading, even though it was heading more east and on contour. We needed to correct at some time or other and head due north and climb to hit the ridge, but I didn’t see the timing as being crucial, and it was giving us a free lift east while it lasted. The minute it began a slight descent (10 mins), we thanked it for its help and departed northwards, over stony, progressively steepening ground that was fun to climb, sometimes involving all fours to get there. The steepness was something we weren’t quite expecting, even though we were greatly enjoying it. I was already ruing giving my boots a rest this weekend and choosing absurd, soft soled, slippery runners. I had underestimated the demands of this journey rather badly, but then, I had looked for, but failed to find, information, so didn’t feel guilty as such.
This lump is typical of the monsters that guard the ridgeline
The nearer we got to the ridge, the more it appeared crowded out with huge hulks of monsters standing guard over the actual summit. Giant, giant forms lurking, louring over those who dare trespass on the magic mountain. (I read Beowulf yesterday, a story set in 5th century Denmark. My mind is full of mead halls and giants, monsters, dragons and caves with dangers and loot, and something to be overcome or conquered. I am no strong viking giant called Beowulf, but I love that world of valour and honour, so let it baptise my imagination and play itself out a little today).
Fifteen minutes after leaving the track, we found ourselves on the ridge proper, and up ahead we saw the summit. Yes, this was going to be another quickie. Excitedly, I dashed ahead, enchanted once more by the thrill of the climb, and this was a good one. Tiny holds, but enough. Difficulty increased by having the sun directly in my eyes and a very strong, gusty wind blasting me, sometimes dangerously, considering my precarious hold and unsuitable shoes. How was my husband going? I couldn’t see in these conditions and would hunt for him at the top. Ta da. Summit. No, not summit. Not even nearly summit. Where was Bruce? Ah yes, excitedly climbing a different “summit”.

 Along the ridge line ahead of us lay a marvellous maze of rock towers, each one humpy bumpy and monstrously high. (Perhaps this area could be touted as Tasmania’s version of the Czech paradise, Adršpašské skály). The summit was on one of them, and was well protected by its friends. It was not a matter of gaining height and then going to the summit. You had to guess from below which one was going to be the tallest before you began your climb. If you were wrong, you landed in a dead end – or, no, better than that, on top of yet another false summit. We tried a few false summits, and several gullies that were going well until they ended in a cul de sac. We really loved doing what we were doing, and did not regret the absence of the actual summit trig. I did regret my shoes, and I sure wouldn’t have minded a bit of rope for security on some of the things I did.

We had been at the top of false summit number 1 and in the rough area of the summit after 30 mins. My watch said we had now been going 1 hr 15, and my gps said we were at the black dot of the summit. The trouble is, we were at the base of a cliff and were 40 meters in height lower than the summit. We tried several gullies, but I was not comfortable with Bruce going up any of them, and I did not want us separated. I could not see any way of doing it today. The only way would be to come back with boots, a bit of rope just in case, and a friend who doesn’t have Parkinson’s disease. We gave it our best shot and failed, but we sure had a fantastic day. On the way back we reclimbed one of the false summits to have a snack and take in the view before plummeting down the gully (luckily all watercourses were dry, even though mossy, or the going would have been even more challenging).

Our view from underneath. One of these MUST be the summit. 

We treated ourselves to a burger with the lot by detouring to Zep’s in Campbeltown (I really wanted one of those on Monday after the Western Arthurs, but we went through too late. This was my “make up” burger).

Then again, one of these could be it ….

A screen shot of the gps record of our attempts on the summit. According to this we were there, but, alas, I cannot lie. We were very near yet a little too far. But you can see from the squiggles, we had fun.
What has kept this wonderful mountain off the radar for so long? It’s absolutely brilliant, with or without your summit points. I will be back to conquer it later.

(I did touch the parts of a trig, but it was one some angry giant had hurled to the valley below in his wrath.)

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Western Arthurs 2014 Mar

Western Arthurs 2014 

 

In the 1320s, Petrarch wanted to climb Mt Ventoux (Windy Mt), as he was curious to see the view from the top of that mountain that dominated the landscape where he was situated at the time. In those days, climbing a mountain was not regarded highly, so he tried to justify his actions by precedent: King Philip of Macedon had climbed Mt Haemus to satisfy his curiosity about the view, so why couldn’t he, “a young man who holds no public life” do likewise?

 

Having assuaged his guilt at seeking to admire something so tellurian as a mountain, Petrarch’s next problem was to find a suitable companion. His words, written 700 years ago, mirror my own concerns when choosing a fellow climber. He wrote: “I now began to think over whom to choose as a companion. […]. One was too apathetic, the other over-anxious; one too slow, the other too hasty; this one too gloomy of temper, that one too gay. One was more simple, the other more complex than I should have liked. This man’s taciturnity, that man’s loquacity; the heavy weight and obesity of the next, the thinness and weakness of still another were reasons to deter me.” His solution was to choose his brother.

 

Like Petrarch, I have had a plan: namely, to return to the Western Arthurs and climb the peaks I walked past last time. Like Petrarch, I too would normally choose a family member. But this trip was too ambitious for my husband; my first-born daughter has a baby to mind; and my second-born daughter not only lives far away, but never has any time free for such extended trips. Meanwhile, my venture was too dangerous to do solo. My plan got put on my queue of other similar plans with problems.

 

 

Imagine my delight when I received an email from a new climbing buddy asking me if I would like to do the trip I had been forced to postpone. Excitedly, we made our plans. We’d climb everything as far as Pegasus (which I had already climbed) and then, on the third day, descend to meet up with our Pandani club friends and climb Mt Robinson with them. My husband would come in with the Pandani group.

I have my old photos; I have seen those of others. Nothing, however, can quite succeed in conveying the wonder and glory of the view that begins near the top of alpha moraine and continues with you as you delight your way along the ridgeline of the range. It’s not just that you can see “forever” (so it seems), or that the mountains that form layer after layer of graduated silhouettes are so shapely: part of the allure is from changing focus from infinity to macro and still finding wonder. For me, the rocks are particularly appealing. Some are piles of pancakes; some have been twisted and warped, while others jut sharply into the sky. Some are soft grey, others pure white; some have a hint of pink.

Unfortunately, most of the wildflowers had finished for the year, but stunted Eucryphia (leatherwood) perfumed the air with their blossom as did another (unidentified) regrowth plant, which seemed to project its fragrance afar like a ventriloquist.

There were some Blandfordia (Christmas Bells) in flower, and an orchid or two; the Drosera (sundews) had huge flowers, and the darling Utricularia dichotoma (fairy aprons) spotted the dark mud with their delicate mauve beauty. Up high I saw a few Ranunculas. Meanwhile, the approach of autumn was heralded by mycena and hygrocybe fungi. Near and far, it was all magnificent.

 

The other thing I love about mountains is that you have to climb them, and I adore the act of gaining height: I find it exhilarating (and hate being asked to stop before I reach the top). In the Western Arthurs, there is an endless variety of lumps and bumps. It’s one of the best playgrounds imaginable in its perfect provision of “structures”and vistas.

Once we were up on the ridge, forward movement was retarded by much clicking of cameras. Who can resist, with sparkling, tannin-coloured, white-beached lakes below; a cornucopia of other mountains around, and the blue of the much larger expanse of Lake Pedder to the north, and Bathurst Harbour and Cox’s Bight in the southern distance? We only climbed two mountains that day (Hesperus and Capella Crags), but were very satisfied as we descended to Lake Cygnus.

Day 2.

The next morning I was up before dawn and reclimbed Capella Crags before joining John for breakfast and the day proper. The sky became bluer as the day progressed, and we feasted on more wonderful high views to eternity. After Hayes and Procyon Peak, we tried to do the back route to Orion, but after 49 minutes gave up in a scrubby gully that looked as if it could lead to the summit, but gave no guarantees. For most of our route, drops into Square Lake were huge and precipitous. I was worried about ruining my camera if I fell in, but John assured me I’d be dead by the time I hit the water, so wouldn’t be bothered by this detail. Later, from Square Lake, we could see that the gully did not end in an unclimbable cul de sac, but we couldn’t waste the time experimenting when there. Off we set up Orion on a longer but easier way. It had been fun being adventurous and forging our own route.

Mission accomplished – on top of Sirius, our last mountain

I think the views from Orion were perhaps my favourite, although I did love Sirius as it marked our “mission accomplished”. It was with a jubilant spirit that we waltzed our way back behind the mountains, popping out at various saddles that offered views to the north, and wended our way home to Lake Cygnus.

Day 3.
Once more, I was up before dawn, donning warm clothes and grabbing my camera to race to my chosen saddle window to see the sun rise behind Mt Anne. There seems to be something faulty about my hypothalamus, as I have trouble recognising satiety, so kept climbing, finding myself eventually on Hayes (but photographing while I went). This dawn was my favourite sort – soft pink tones over fluffy cotton balls in the valleys.
 After breakfast and a very leisurely decamping process (trying to avoid departure), we left our haven. Instead of following alpha moraine back, we pursued a spur leading not quite 180 degrees from it, and connected up with the Port Davey Track much further along. This spur is marked on old maps as having a route, but we found no trace of one. The fire of a year ago burned the vegetation out, and you can still smell ashes. Yabby holes abound. We got very black indeed. It was great fun freelancing over the hills and far away, choosing our own sub-spur until we reached the track again. Later that afternoon, the Pandani Group arrived, having walked in from Scotts Peak Dam. Everyone except wusses swam. I went to bed disguised as night.
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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.