I was munching on my delicious burger with the lot in Waratah with time on my hands, and out of the dim recesses of my brain came the awareness that there is a waterfall somewhere here called Ringtail Falls that I haven’t yet visited.
I did some asking, and got rather evasive replies and the information that the track was now officially closed, but if I headed for the old power station, I would find what I needed.
My map was no help at all, as I wanted it to have a “Power Station” indication, but it was silent. I already knew the waterfall was not on the map.
Ringtail Falls
I scouted around, exploring several ridges and streams and eventually, quite by fluke, happened upon a pad, just as I had given up and turned for home. (I was climbing back up yet another spur at the time.) I didn’t have a clue if this pad was something made by neighbourhood kids leading to a secret place for smoking, or whether it was going to where I wanted, but I followed it and hoped. I followed it for nearly thirty minutes, telling myself the whole way that this was magic forest and a nice workout, and it didn’t really matter if the pad lead to nowhere.
It didn’t. It lead to somewhere, viz. the falls that I wanted, and an interesting old ex-power station as well. The workout back up the hill afterwards was even better: thirty minutes up to the car. It took fifty minutes down, as I was climbing up and down everything in sight hoping to hear a waterfall, but failing. It seems that it pays to be persistent.
There are six waterfalls out behind Mt Campbell to be found by those who are prepared to fight for their victories, to persevere through hardship and endure a long day of goose-stepping and bushthrasing, with the very occasional easy bit thrown in. The easiest part of my day, actually, was the 320 m climb up Mt Campbell. For those who like stats, the route was 18.6 km equivalents long (12.6 horizontal and 600 vertical). For me, that meant five and a half hours of very heavy labour. I barely took time out even for lunch – munching during long-exposure shots.
Slopes of Campbell. Things seem easy here
What a delight that initial climb was. I didn’t know what lay in store for me. In fact, that feeling of ease lasted a little while – all along the broad top of Campbell before I descended through fagus into the valley – and I was wondering what on earth I would do with all the time left over at the end … I pondered the other waterfalls I could bag after I’d knocked off these easy catches. Ha ha.
Boronia citriodora
The fagus was not too bad for fagus – I was lucky and found a way through it that didn’t slow me down too much, so was feeling fine at my first big saddle as I headed along on the ridge above the Campbell River. Below me lay the tranquil strip of water that I hoped housed my treasure (I wondered if there would be enough for a flow). It looked utterly benign down there, so I was cozened into descending to river level for an easy ramble by the Campbell.
Lichenomphalina chromacea
Well, yes; maybe that lasted ten minutes. Then I began to encounter bands of scoparia, innocuous at first, but which quickly became increasingly impenetrable. The change was gradual, so by the time I realised I was in to the point of being out of my depth, it was too late to escape. I had no alternative but to bulldoze my way out – not easy with my build. I crossed and recrossed the river, trying for an easier passage, but soon became enmeshed in head high junk. Push, shove. I decided to just get in the river and go downstream with sodden feet, but not even that worked: the entanglement of overhanging branches meant that even a wombat would not have an easy time of it. Only the tiger snake I met could move. Luckily he didn’t like me.
One and a quarter hours after beginning my descent I felt completely demoralised. I was also hungry, but told myself the waterfall was ‘just around the corner’, and I had no permission to eat until I had found it. I know the time gap, as I took photos before the descent, and at this point in time being discussed: I gave myself the small treat of being allowed to photograph an alpine fungus (Lichenomphalina chromacea above), and a boronia citriodora. From deciding the waterfall was due any minute now (using my gps) to actually sighting it took a further 53 minutes!!! But I was determined. I had spent so very much energy getting this far that, tempting though it was, I was not prepared to give up.
Campbell River Falls 1
When I found a waterfall, I was full of glee at the victory, and joy at its beauty. This was such a remote spot, a battle hard-won, but here I was, perched in a bed of bauera, feet over the water (prevented from soaking by the same bauera) enjoying the moss, the palpable silence, the colour of the tannined water, the white streaks of its flow and the total absence of intruding human infrastructure. And now I could have a bite to eat. Hoorah. I didn’t care at all that this delicate beauty was only 5 or so metres high. It was mine, and I loved it.
Campbell River Falls 2
Finished with all I wanted to do with my camera, and having already spent two and a half hours getting there (which meant a five hours’ walking day if the return was as slow as the arrival), I packed up and decided to leave. The other waterfalls could wait. I consulted my gps. Oh no. The falls were marked as being 50 ms further downstream. I knew I’d be disappointed if the ones I had were not the real ones, so decided to do the extra 50 ms. That took me 7 minutes! But OH WOW. I found two waterfalls, the second of which was huge.
Campbell River Falls 3
The trouble is, I was exhausted, and now worried about the return journey. That said, I decided that climbing straight up the ridge opposite could offer the best exit from this prison (surely the guards didn’t man that direction), so thought that if the climb went well, maybe I could continue after all. The climb went well – a mere 30 minutes – so I decided to take a peek at what was now Campbell River Falls 4, and also take in properly, 5 and 6.
Campbell River Falls 5
As I hoped, the going was much easier on this next part of the trip, which is why I was able to take in the extra falls before exhaustion set in.
Campbell River Falls 6. A blending of f/22 for the flow, with f/11 for rock detail.
It took an hour and a half from Falls 5 and 6 to get back to the summit of Mt Campbell. My fuel tank was pretty empty by this stage, and as I tried to raise my leg high for each step up Campbell (required by the knee-length shrubbery), I was very, very glad that I didn’t do any more than I did. It took willpower to omit a proper view of Falls 4, and to skip the base of Falls 3, but I was at the end of the energy bottle now, and glad I hadn’t run out sooner. I still had to reach the summit of Campbell, and then get back to the car. (The descent was slower than my earlier ascent, testimony to how I was feeling.) The drive home scarred me. I had had to get up at 4.50 this morning in order to evade the guards of the road to Dove Lake before 8 a.m. I needed this just in case my mission finished after 6 pm. If it had done so, I would be stranded for the night. When is a National Park not a National Park? When it has been so given over to tourists that bushwalkers no longer count. Funnily, their rules don’t let us take a car in if we need to finish late, and yet we are also not allowed to camp. Catch 22, stupid bushwalkers.
(Please note that if you are an interstate or overseas bushwalker, I count you as bushwalker and not tourist. Tourists are people who come in without regard to the land or the people, who litter, and who are interested in getting a quick overview of a few icons to announce to their friends that they have been there. If you are a Tasmanian who drives in, takes a quick pic and drives off, then you are, in my mind, a tourist. Tourism is an attitude, not a state of being. If you love the land and care for it; if you want to know it intimately and appreciate its arcane secrets, and seek to leave as little trace as is possible, then you are not a tourist.)
These mossy falls are beautiful because no one knows where they are. Alas, long may it remain so, for publicity seems to lead all too quickly to destruction, in a one to one correlation. Keep Tassie Wild; keep Tassie beautiful. This post is for those who are inspired by how beautiful nature can be.
My trip to Kiernans Falls was such a happy day. It was still school holidays, but Abby was in childcare, and Kirsten had the day off work, which meant that Gussy, Kirsten and I could have our first ever adventure à trois. I chose Kiernans Falls, even though the WoT website (quite rightly) made it sound quite difficult. Eight-year-old Gussy is agile and nimble, as well as very fit, and with his mum and me to guide him, I didn’t think he would have any problems. Kirsten is pretty faultless in the bush. I did warn them that I reckoned we would all get wet feet; just don’t bother about keeping the tootsies dry.
Climbing above the fallsMore climbing
As it was, alas, our feet stayed very dry, as the creek bed up which we climbed was pretty devoid of water. This did not detract in the slightest from our enjoyment of this area. The moss was still lovely and green, and the climbing both in and out of the creek was fun, and appreciated by all. We climbed to the top of the falls, as I thought Caedence’s report had two tiers. Indeed it did, but the lower tier was actually below the big falls, not above. That didn’t matter; it was such a fun climb, and prolonged the pleasure. We have all vowed to return when there is more water. (Note, there is no path. Do not attempt unless you are very familiar with finding your own way in the bush. Don’t be fooled by the capable Gussy).
Even higherSnack time, back down by the main river, in a cool and lovely spot.
