UTAS Bushwalking Club

“Burn, baby burn!! Disco inferno…” There was a party going on between the muscles beneath my skin. Grasshoppers bounced all over the show, teasing me with their ease of mobility. At least some things were moving. I was stuck in stone, cramped up on the eastern slopes of Stepped Hills, and I couldn’t stand up. This whole side of the mountain appeared dry to the bone; it’s much too perfect successive incline funnelling the rains into the Gordon River like a giant guttering system. The last water we came across was a scungy pool back down on the plains; but I kept on breaking the banks with my boots so all sorts of bits & bobs were surely now floating about in my gut. I diluted the taste with cordial powder – my new best friend. Maybe I was getting old…JayRidge waited patiently as I beat my legs back into action; and in the end, even had to help pull this cripple’s lard-ass up from the buttongrass. Fun times. As I soon found out – apparently “pain means nothing to a man…” Harden up son & put some faith back in those untrustworthy pins!!

Lake Rhona from high on The Denison Range

The day had begun on quite different terms; trading tales& tires at the university car park before setting off on our merry escapade into the South-West. It was the commencement of the student year, which meant a lot interest in everything un-studious. I’d helped out with the Bushwalking Club’s sign up stall on Societies Day, and thought I’d hop along on a daytrip with a bunch of other folk to Mt Wright, an off-track summit in the Denison Range. It had been on our radar for quite some time, and after a few flunked trips due to laziness & weather, it was great to be finally on our way.

After a brief stop in Maydena, for a piss & a regroup, we continued on along the tangle of forestry roads towards the trail head. It was surprising to find so many cars in the car park. Was Lake Rhona becoming that popular? The poo-tube proposition wasn’t sounding all that dumb after all. On sticking with the trend, our own group was the biggest I’d ever been involved with – two full car loads & our overnight auxiliary duo – it was shaping up to be an interesting looking spread up the mountain side. We were like ants marching along a tacky hill-tribe tourist trek…except we were cooler of course - quite the bunch of individuals. I feel if I spent a few nights with this posse, I’d return home with my own motley mashed-up PhD.

In no time at all we had skipped along the big phat log and were now staring out across the open plains towards the intimidating profile of Mt Wright. It wasn’t the most interesting looking of mountains; it just seemed bloody steep!! A slabby formidable wall. By now the sun was also out in all its un-ozoned glory; a lone testament to a flagging Tassie summer. It was sure to be tough with the packs, but this was my idea of the ultimate grind. Smash this out now, and all from then on will be sweet. I had no idea…

The Thumbs & Mt Wright

We spotted a few figures coming down off the tops as we neared an impressive natural arch which donned the slopes beneath the summit. At first I thought it odd that another group was up on such a random mountain the same day as us; and even odder how enthusiastic they seemed to say “G’day!” Then it clicked. I’d spoke with BigBird about a rendezvous at the arch maybe half a week earlier but had completely forgotten!! “YoHO!!! Yolla, yolla!!” It was a perfect place to stop for lunch. Everyone kept themselves entertained by saddling across the rock, and I got to hang out with a mate & finally meet his special lady. They’d spent the night on the range & gave us a few pointers on the best ways up and over, and where we could find water. It all seemed simple enough. I probably should have paid more attention.

Having some fun at the arch

After a quick break, we waved goodbye to our friends and continued to push towards the peak. It was all fairly easy from here, and in no time we were perched up with a bunch of buzzing bugs, taking carrot top selfies& crazy cap snaps. Celebrations all round!! For many, this was their first walk in Tasmania, and I was absolutely stoked to be a part of it. I get such a rush showing off the pristine beauty of my home state. But all great things must come to an end, and soon it was me & JayRidge on our lonesome, preparing to tackle what lay ahead over the next few days.

The crazy hat parade!!

It was good to have company amongst the hills. It’s always a plus for moral. As we bashed our way down through some prickly scrub towards the plains, jokes were spun & hardships fun. I wanted my crocodile skinned thighs back, so over-pants were not an option. The best should be able to hack it. We were pretty dry by this point, and craved the comfort of a soothing drop. There were some small pools we were aiming for, but on closer inspection then didn’t look all too appealing. Shallow, brewing & stagnant – not your every day 10/10...but it would have to do. We chugged away, and filled up as much as we could, unsure of where our next water source may be. Then we hit the slopes – but the slopes chose to hit me back.

About halfway up our undulating spur my legs decided to shit themselves. From memory, this hadn’t happened this badly for at least four years!! Why now?! We were so close! It’s an odd feeling being an invalid – my body’s never ever shut down on me in a way where I simply couldn’t continue; but I was beginning to get worried here, and I felt for the unfortunate others wherever they may be. JayRidge patiently hung around for support, and all we could really do was laugh as my leg muscles visibly bulged and spasmed involuntarily. I sent the young lad off on his way, feeling it was better I do this thing on my own terms; and slowly but surely scuffled around to our meeting point & planned campsite in a high saddle below the summit of Stepped Hills. It was soothing to sit, but my jerking joints were quite temperamental. I wasn’t really tired – only my limbs had failed me. Well…they got me here at least – not exactly the worst place in all the lands. The views across Lake Gordon & beyond were marvellous. Clear Hill was most definitely at her finest & very much ‘in your face!!’ It is a rare opportunity to camp on such an exposed ridge, but the fine weather had tempted us & triumphed. That evening we climbed to the summit to admire the immensity of the Gordon Gorge from afar, and on the way back down spotted a decent pool of water at the base of a cliff!! Score!! This made everything peachy - and we knew then we could relax and enjoy an unimpeded westward sunset at its finest; dreaming of the dramas of tomorrow.

1st nights camp on Stepped Hills

The stars of the night had hypnotised me earlier, but it was the low lying morning fog which set me in a spin of disbelief. Only the tops of the highest peaks could be made out atop the blanket of cotton wool which stretched as far as the horizon. I felt I could take a leap and run across it like some sort of cloud dwelling pigmy. Instead I sat and admired whilst sipping on a hot cup of coffee. I was still fairly stiff from the day before, but I knew from experience that it only got less persistent as the days ticked over. After a late start, we made along the ridgeline, heading northward towards the greater peaks of the range. Mist hung about the cliffs, and the going was slightly eerie. I had always thought of buttongrass walking as a piece of piss, but this was proving otherwise. I was beginning to get fed up with the constant hip-slips & rolling ankles; and progress upward was bearing some resemblance to walking in soft snow – step up, place foot, slide down, try again. We gained a ‘break’ from it all through a grove of Banksia, making surprisingly quick progress along this diminutive section.

Along the ridgeline of Stepped Hills

But then once again we were back on the buttongrass – and it was hot!! Our late starts kind of begged for this, so we had no one to blame but ourselves. Rolling slogs up bumps on the range began to get testing, and lack of water once again became a tickling problem. After sidling around some apparent ‘Bob Brown’ hilly grid point, to our great relief we stumbled upon the first flowing creek since leaving the Gordon River. We made a point of taking a well deserved break, and made ourselves sick with water guzzling bloat-ation. By the creek I spotted a tiny spider that had snared himself a big juicy fly for lunch on his web, and watch with interest at his fluid instinctual technique of mummification. I’m starting to love the small things. You can discover little snippets of beauty everywhere.

Our great aim for the time being was Diamond Lake. I wanted to take a swim badly, hoping the water was warm enough so I could bob about for hours and rehydrate. I knew it wouldn’t be, but it was what kept me going. This bit was tough, and there were a lot of ups& downs, which in hindsight were probably totally unnecessary. I reached my low point on another steep stretch of buttongrass, and plonked down to near suck dry my water bottle and chow down on a packet of raspberry lollies. JayRidge seemed ace - I couldn’t figure out if he was huffing & puffing also; and it made me feel pretty beaten. But all I could do was keep on keeping on…sooo sing & praise to which ever Lord you like!! Within another ten minutes or so we were standing on the rim of the catchment, gleaming beady-eyed down at the tranquil Diamond Lake. We’d made it!! Let the good times roll – sticking to our word. Swim, Eat, Rest, Assess!!

Diamond Lake & Wyld's Craig

The water was deep & freezing, so the party in the pool didn’t last for all that long. I cooked up some much needed noddles, and we sat by the bank of the lake for the better part of an hour enjoying the serenity. All that hard work pays off in the end. This is why we make the effort. After our break, it was only a short climb up along the ridge before we spotted a perfect looking campsite for that evening. The weather was again too good not to take advantage of, and another perfect South-West sunset beckoned. This was absolute bliss, and the reality of where we were really kicked in to smack me in the face. From a slight rise from our camp, so many memories hovered around me. Views stretched from Frenchman’s Cap to Federation Peak, and all & everything in-between. It’s always nice to reminisce over past adventures from afar. For me, each peak tells its own tale & holds its own character - something beyond the scope of any boring blog.

2nd nights camp on the Denison Range

After another fine night it was back on familiar ground. I’d been to Lake Rhona once before; and I must say it holds a special place in my hard-assed heart. As always, on first inspection it was ever surreal – near black in the afternoon glow, and rimmed with the most perfect white beach one could ever imagine. It always sends me adrift to the Pedder dilemma – what should have still been, and what my generation is never likely to see. Bureaucratic bullshit. It kind of pisses me off. But I was hard tasked to stay angry with what was about me. We had some fun scrambling up Reed’s Peak, sussing out the close proximity of The Spires & The Prince of Wales Ranges. One day…Then it was on to Bonds Craig, with its much more airy summit block. I’ve seen many a picture before, and kind of expected something a little scarier to be honest. JayRidge& I both took turns standing up on top showing off our balls of steel, before returning back along the same way, then down & round to our much anticipated beach home for a bit of sun bummin’!!

On the summit of Bonds Craig

Words can never describe the perfection of this place. I’d have to say it’s my most singular favourite spot on the entire island. I nearly got a bit teary the first time I laid eyes on her. Maybe it was all caused by that bright white reflection?? Who knows?! Anyhow…we took a dip in the lake, spread out along the beach and relaxed. It almost felt like home. There was not another soul to be seen either. A mountain paradise all to ourselves – the perfect toast to a tough but rewarding trip.

Beachside at Lake Rhona

That night the little critters got us good. It seems to be the trend at popular campsites where the native animals become accustomed to human delicacies. Mr. Mouse must have wanted our chocolate. “Scratch, nip, chuff, slap…” – the buggers were at us!! I heard a wail in the night from an obviously half asleep JayRidge, and couldn’t help but have a slight chuckle. I knew exactly what we were in for. I’d had them all night at me also; and in the morning found a 5cm gash in the side of my tent. Bit of a patch job, but nothing to cry about. The rains had come & scared them away. That was our exit call – time to go home for reals. We packed up our gear & set off along the Rasselas Track, looking up at a now very different looking mass of cliffs, settled behind a misty grey. I know I’ll be back again soon. So I’ll keep the emotions for a lesser messier time.

Walk details:-

Grade - Difficult

Time - 4 days

Starting Point - Richea Creek Track

Map - 1:100 00 Wedge

Report by Nick Morgan - http://trampingtazz.blogspot.com.au/

Fresh off the blocks, head first into a new year – or so it felt anyway. Work in the pub had been grinding me down over the course of the ‘silly season,’ and the prospect of getting away for an overnight trip is always a much treasured privilege. But unlike most ‘normal’ citizens; who would opt for a hefty chunk of annual leave in exchange for secure employment - I simply cashed out & quit. Free again!! Well as it turned out, in one more extra week anyhow. So my Frankland Range Traverse plan fell flat on its face before it had begun & I took a rare compromise and dashed out for a single night tag-along with me ol’ walking mate Pazzar instead.

Looking back towards Mt Sprent

I’d already been up top of Mt Sprent once before, on a trip organised by the University Bushwalking Club - but the views were nil & that drive felt wasted. Pazzar needed a lift to the trailhead anyway, so it seemed oblatory to reminisce & pray for a second shot at success. It felt kind of weird being behind the wheel again. My brothers corolla felt much like my own old four wheeled beast once had; the one which had nearly set my best mate on fire & which we later sold off to a hyperactive footy hooligan to try and keep me afloat overseas. After a rash dispute on whether we’d missed the turn off somehow before Strathgordon, we stumbled upon our destination by lack of a place to U-turn...success!!

Pazzar with his big phat pack

The dam that holds the Serpentine River is quite a sorry sight. On one hand I understand the pros of the hydro electric scheme in Tasmania, but when looking down a heavily chasmed gorge with a single slight trickle dribbling along a dry river bed, it’s hard to keep all too cheery. Pazzar’s pack was monstrous; fitted out for nine days solo in the South-West. I knew in comparison I’d be breezing up the hills, and made it my mission not to scoot too far ahead. Even so, it was quite the slog up the steep terrain, and I welcomed the break in the trees which from memory, signalled the worst of the climb. The views began to open up, with otherworldly vistas stretching across one small corner of Lake Pedder. As elevation was gained, Mt Humboldt in the Prince of Wales Range stood fierce & stern in the distance, while the ragged nature of the ranges ancient quartzite crags made the foreground ever more forbidding.

View from our campsite near the summit of Mt Sprent

It felt like the worst of the weather had passed as we neared the summit, and the sun even poked it’s big bright face out for half an hour or so…but the wild west is wicked and unforgiving, and out from no where a front of sleety cold crap slayed our optimism & sent us covering. After waiting it out for a decent chunk of time, we felt there was no better option than to bunker down and set up camp for the night, dashing manically around for a sheltered semi-unexposed tent site. So there we stopped, behind some rocks, on a bed of plants. Not the most ideal end to the day, but a wise one.

After a snooze and a bite to eat, the worst of the weather seemed to ease, and Pazzar & I got to enjoy the twilight hours cooking dinner& admiring the misty views over the northern tip of The Wilmot Range. The summit turned out to be a mere 100 meter stroll from camp, and the panorama over the rest of the area was stunning. I quietly envied Pazzar’s endeavour, and only wished I could be part of it. I highly doubt I will get a chance to walk such an off track classic with someone with such similar capabilities & a person I know so well any time soon.

Clouds parting over The Wilmot Range

A night in the tent, and I was re-energised like I hadn’t been for weeks. I got up early to admire the Frankland’s from afar, and munched on nuts for breakfast. The weather looked promising, and I planned to walk a section of the Wilmot’s with Pazzar before returning to camp for the walk out back down to the car. Once up & over Sprent, the ridges rocky features eased off and we were treated to unbeatable easy off track walking. The range seemed very dry, and we were lucky to find a few small pools in a dip where a creek would normally flow. We discussed how long it would be before a track would be distinguished along the range, as there were already quite a number of pads through the worst of the scrub bands, easing our progress. I feel I need to get this one done as soon as possible, to secure its untouched remoteness. After a few knobs, I waved goodbye to Pazzar for the final time and wished him luck on the rest of his walk. It was strange watching him go, and I wondered whether he’d prefer it this way. I know from experience that too long on your own is never healthy, especially when shit gets hectic, and I crave the company to keep me positive. In saying that; there is still something very special about being out in these kinds of places on your own, and I feel I’m a lot better off for having witnessed just some of it.

On the summit of Mt Sprent looking along the Wilmot & Frankland Ranges

On the way back down to the car, in a prolonged confusion of daze; I near kicked over a big black boisterous tiger snake!! I’ve only once had one arch up at me, but this one just sat there holding out in case I tried to creep any closer. What a wanker!! She wouldn’t budge - obviously protecting her little young ones. No matter how hard I stomped and made a racket, there was no moving her. I sure wasn’t about to give in to a leap of faith down & over five stairs loaded with an overnight pack, so it was back into the scrub for me. I gave her about a ten meter gap before cutting back to the track beneath. In hindsight, I was glad to be coming down, as running into that around head height would not make for a pretty self portrait.

Big-Black Mumma!!

Walk details:-

Grade - Medium

Time - 2 days return (Mt Sprent day walk - 5 hours return)

Starting Point - Serpentine Dam

Map - 1:250 00 Serpentine

Report by Nick Morgan http://trampingtazz.blogspot.com/

UTAS Bushwalking Club

Pages

Tuesday, 22 July 2014

Saturday, 5 July 2014

Schnell's Ridge (Photos)

Wednesday, 5 March 2014

Denison Range Traverse (Trip Report)

Wednesday, 5 February 2014

Mt Sprent (Trip Report)