Tag: Waterfalls of Tasmania

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Stitt Falls 2017 May

Stitt Falls. May 2017


Silly google hasn’t heard of Stitt Falls, but then, it seems to know very little about the secret treasures of Tasmania. It changed Stitt to State, just as it tried to change Wandle Falls to Handle Falls, and many mountains to some American name that better suits it. Perhaps in the case of Stitt Falls there could be some small justification, however, as I, a Taswegian, had never heard of them either until a couple of weeks ago, and yet I have visited Rosebery and nearby Tullah on numerous occasions, if for no better reason than to buy hamburgers or hot chocolate before or after a climb of one of the many fabulous mountains in the region.


Recently, we passed through Rosebery for a “nature stop” and saw outside the noble toilet block, a picture of the local Stitt Falls. We were in a rush to meet friends to climb Mt Zeehan at the time, so couldn’t stop, but I stored the information for another day: namely, last weekend, when an opportunity came our way to check the falls out. The information seemed to indicate they would be reached by using a park called Stitt Park as the starting point, so we went there to find another toilet block (maybe the hamburgers in Rosebery are not as good as they might be), but no falls. At least we could ascertain from the map there that we needed to go in the direction of the camping area.


This was not what I would call a bushwalk. Once we’d found where to park the car, we had to walk all of twenty seconds to see the falls. I loved them. I enjoyed the rich colour and texture of the rocks that the water had to weave around before it dropped, and I really enjoyed the huge drop to waters way down below me. I desperately wanted to go down there, but not without seeing if there was a tried and successful way. The bottom just begged me to come and explore. I have no idea at all why Rosebery doesn’t do more to attract people to these lovely falls. How much trouble would it be to have a taped route to the bottom? That said, I would much prefer the nothing that is there to a wretched tourist 1.5 meter-wide path, sealed and smoothed out with huge railings so we can’t see over that seems to be the norm these days. Sigh. Maybe next time I can go to the base. It looked so appealing down there. Off we set for Waratah and the Wandle Falls instead.
For them, see www.natureloverswalks.com/wandle-falls/

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Holwell Falls 2017 May


Google tells me that Holwell Forest Reserve, in which both Holwell Falls and Holwell Gorge Falls lie, is thirty-two minutes from my house. It is therefore pretty reprehensible that I had never even heard of them before a local posted an image on Instagram that alerted me to their presence. It was too late, however, as the track had been closed in response to the flooding of two winters ago. Now it seems that part of the track is now opened – albeit with dire warnings that you need to be an experienced bushwalker to venture there. That’s fine. I’m very experienced. I wondered how bad it really was.


About two minutes into the thirty-two promised me, light rain began. Ten minutes later, it was so torrential that I couldn’t see at all to drive. The windscreen wipers flapped furiously, but to no avail. Nonetheless, I continued on my merry way, heading through Exeter and Winkleigh. There, I missed seeing the road to the left, and, hey, who can resist driving down a road called Flowery Gully Road? Not me. I followed it along, but it wasn’t doing what I thought it should, so decided to be logical and consult the maps app. Whoops. Now I was near Beaconsfield. Oh well. I found a road that linked this one to Holwell Road to the west, and attacked from the north. This ended up being a must fortuitous error. The northern end was way prettier than its southern beginnings. (But for efficiency, don’t head for Flower Gully. Turn left).


I turned in at the little blue sign, parked where I should, shouldered my pack with all my gear, and set out in what was now mere drizzle. I took an umbrella to shield the lens. You don’t often find me bushwalking with a big umbrella.


I couldn’t believe I have lived near this beautiful place for so long whilst remaining ignorant of it. The water was so very clear that even on this late autumn day, it begged me to paddle. Children must surely love playing here in summer. There were rock pools in abundance. The sign had said thirty minutes for the round trip, and I suppose that’s accurate if you don’t take too many photos. However, I was mesmerised by what I saw, and had all my gear for long-exposure shots, so way exceeded the suggested time. I think I was there about an hour and a half.


I had no idea what the state of play on the track was, of whether it had been fully or half repaired, or not touched at all. On the way to the first falls, it certainly felt repaired and in good condition. At the falls, as you can see from my photos, there were a few tree casualties lying in the water, and their leaves looked rather new. A bombed viewing platform had its skeleton remaining in place, but not much else. It didn’t look old. Maybe we have had even more damage. A huge eucalypt lay across the path; it was too big and slippery for me to get around it with a bear hug. You could, with a mild possibility of slipping backwards, get around if you went down and passed it at creek level. However, my watch now said I didn’t have enough light left for playing, so left that exploratory exercise for another day. Right now, I wanted a peep at the southern end. Round I drove.


The southern end wasn’t nearly as welcoming as the northern. The track hadn’t been cleared at all and wasn’t manifestly visible. I think they’re hoping it will grow over and disappear. Again, signs warned that experience was needed to step into this zone. There were certainly huge drop-offs to my right as I climbed the track, but nothing to worry about if you’re not being silly. After about five minutes, the track forked. At first I took the left fork and climbed up high, away from the river. I decided this wasn’t going to lead to any waterfall photos in the next few minutes, so returned and took the other fork, to arrive at the top of a waterfall. By now it was really getting dark, so I had to be content with a peep of the top for this time. It wasn’t worth photographing. I’ll be back – to see fungi, even if not the falls!

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Crater Falls 2017 Apr

Crater Falls 2017 Apr


I needed some breathing space, some time out from being stuck at home as a carer., some solitude to regain some sanity. Only the wilderness could do that for me. off I set. I had never photographed Crater Falls before. I had just rushed past, giving it a nod in acknowledgement of its beauty, but always being obliged by the others I was with not to linger long enough to do it photographic justice, which takes rather a long while, actually. I had a lovely day rectifying that, and searching for fungi, which were playing hard to get, despite its being autumn. Groups of fagus hunters went merrily by. There was a great mood in the forest that day.

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New Town Falls 2017 Apr

New Town Falls April 2017


Sunrise near Campbell Town.
I have obviously been romanticising about the amount of rain Hobart has had of late. I thought there’d been enough to give the New Town Falls a bit of a flow, and as I had other business to do in that fine city today, I decided to balance the boring act of driving with a beautiful walk to a falls.


Well, the drive was not boring in the slightest and thus needed no counterweight (we had the most spectacular sunrise with misty effects near Campbell Town), and we did get a beautiful walk to the falls. The only negative aspect of the jaunt was that the falls were not falling. In fact, so dry were they that I didn’t even take one single photo of the matt cliffs that were now exposed, looking all dull waiting for rain. Anyway, we now know what the trail is like (see directions below), so are well informed for our next, hopefully wetter, attack. And meanwhile, our dog claims to have bagged yet another waterfall. She’s building quite a collection, and finds waterfall bagging to be a terrific sport.


Route: We followed the Lenah Valley road to its terminus, and began walking on the “road” over the creek there (New Town Rivulet) and up the hill on the Lenah Valley Fire Trail, of firetruck width (as is appropriate for such a trail). Ten minutes after beginning, there was a much narrower Lenah Valley Trail – of single human width and going steep uphill – that hived off to the right of this main wide trail. There was a chain handrail, and some steps after a few metres. This narrow walking path continued to follow the same rivulet that the wider track had been pursuing. This stream is not the one that the falls are on.


My husband, hurrying to get out of the road for my photo – but I wanted him just there, right where he was in that patch of light.
After ten minutes on this pleasant, mossy path, there was a Y-fork: the right branch, not the one wanted, continued up the hill on a trail that now sported the name “Old Hobartians Track”. Ours was the left hand turn, leading to New Town Falls, and also to Junction Cabin should one decide to go further. This continuation of the Lenah Valley Trail takes you around the nose of the spur to your left, and then delivers you to your waterfall. This section is mostly on contour. After a total of thirty minutes since leaving the car, we were looking at our empty falls.


Just before the falls are reached, the track branches into two, with neither offshoot being signed. The left (lower) one leads, predictably, to the lower falls, and the right to the upper. If you go to the upper first, you can cross the creek and then take a tiny path downhill to the lower. Cross again and climb back up on the path to where you first met the fork. This little circuit took us six minutes. We were not delayed by photography, sadly. It was then twenty three minutes back to the car. We were thus back in around an hour. Do remember that these times are walking only. Under normal conditions, add in time for photos and, if you’re lucky, for fungi spotting. Our walking times were half the recommended. We were not racing, and my husband has had Parkinson’s disease for fifteen years, so is no speedster. That said, he is remarkably fit still for a man with his terrible illness (or for any ‘average’ man, for that matter). Also, I am not sure that the circuit described would be possible when the creek is in full flow. Two people we met near the car said that in the depths of the wet season, it isn’t even possible to cross the New Town Rivulet where the cars are. They suggested phoning Hobart council to see if the stream is crossable before setting out if there’s been a lot of rain.
Total walk for the round trip, according to my gps, was 4.5 kms, with 238 ms climb, yielding 6.9 km equivalents.

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Quaile Falls 2017 Mar


Every time we drove to Cradle Mountain and saw the old wooden sign attached to a tree saying Quaile Falls, I wanted to see what they looked like, and yet, every time, I was repelled by the other, much bigger and louder sign, there in its red and white starkness, announcing that this was Private, and that I should Keep Out. In addition, we were always either in a rush to get to the mountain, or equally anxious to get back home. Quaile Falls didn’t get a look in. Besides, how much time did one need to do this trip? Did one go right past the indignant owner’s house? What lay in store if one went down that road?


Upper Quaile Falls, encountered after fifteen minutes’ walking.
My curiosity was further ignited by the knowledge that a few friends had recently been there, and I felt it was time to find out how things lay. However, I had long since realised that a “we’re-passing-by-so-we’ll-just-call-in” kind of trip wasn’t going to happen. These falls required their own dedicated journey. And so, last week we set out to visit them in their own right, unaccompanied by any other purpose.
I retrieved how-to-get-there information from the Waterfalls of Tasmania website and off we set. The alluring sign that had attracted me for so many years was gone, but the dirt road remained, on the map northish from the falls themselves (and before the turnoff to Cradle), and leading down to near where the falls are. According to the web, there would be a small parking area (correct) with a sign pointing in the direction  of the falls, and pink tapes to set us on our way (all correct).


Olivia Creek
From the main Cradle Mountain Road (C13), looking south in the direction of the falls, you would never believe that such lovely myrtle forest was so close at hand. It looks quite barren and dry from the road. The track through the forest felt ancient. I guess it wasn’t private-keep-out in some bygone days of greater generosity; no doubt, before our legal system decided that if I fell on your land it was all your fault for owning it, and not mine for being careless. I can hardly blame the owners for trying to keep us out in the current state of affairs. I would too.


Actual Quaile Falls
As my source said, it was fifteen minutes to where I could first hear the Olivia Creek, and just beyond a creek junction to my right, lay the Upper Quaile Falls, which I actually found to be more attractive than the real ones, which, to be sure, have a huge drop, but the latter are a rather unadorned straight line, and at present, have quite a lot of debris at the bottom. The actual Quaile Falls were a further fifteen minutes from the Upper ones.


The top of the falls was a beautiful forest with gurgling, clear stream cascading over rocks and making lovely pools. I parked my husband there and said I’d be thirty minutes, planning to climb down the cliffs to the bottom. Thirty minutes was a gross underestimation. There was no pad that I could find leading to the base, so I made my way down the very steep slopes, over, around and under massive amounts of fallen timber, sliding down what I hoped I could later climb up, until I got to a spot that I decided was “good enough”. I’d used up too much time doing that much. My husband would be worried. Another tier lay below. That could wait until a day that I had someone with me. That would feel nicer. I took some shots from where I was and called it quits.
We had lunch back near the car at the edge of the forest, and were home in time for me to have a run in the gorge. The trip to Quaile Falls was a great outing, but I hadn’t exactly used up a lot of energy.


(The Road name you can’t quite read is “Dove River Road”)