A Loopy Walk on the Plateau 3

Day 3: A Trip to Cairns

“All journeys have secret destinations of which the traveller is unaware.” – Martin Buber

 

What a difference blue sky and time on a summit can make! We descended from Turrana Bluff gradually, happily; delighting in the lack of full packs and the wide vistas all around us. We were back at our campsite around 11am, and quickly finished packing before setting off for destination not-quite-known. In theory we should find Ritter’s Track by mid-afternoon. A few years before, a little east of Pencil Pine Tarn, we had located some of the cairns that marked Ritter’s Track. That time we’d followed them south and west towards the Walls of Jerusalem. This time our plan was to go the other way. We would pass east of Lakes Lexie and Gwendy in search of some of the northern markers of Ritter’s Track. We were now thinking of the walk as Ritter 2.0.

 

[Tim D finds water and shelter]

The day had become warm, the sun strong. Full-pack, off-track walking, with its attendant high leg-lifting, is thirsty work. By lunchtime we were in need of both water and shade, and found them in the delightful shade of some pencil pines beside a small pool. If we’d been told two days ago that we’d be sweating, putting on sunscreen, and hiding in the shade from fierce sun, we’d have shaken our heads in disbelief. Welcome to November in the high country: freezing one day, burning the next!
 
Over lunch our GPS geeks, Tim D and Larry, began comparing data on the whereabouts of the nearest Ritter cairn. We were supposed to be walking directly towards one, but we knew we weren’t guaranteed to find it. Ritter’s Track is not like a conventional bushwalking track: mostly easy to follow, with markers and an obvious ground trail. Rather, at least from our previous experience, it’s a vague route, marked by sometimes hard-to-find rock cairns, and with little or no ground trail. After all, it was created over 100 years ago to drive cattle towards grazing grounds in the Walls of Jerusalem area, and it‘s been many decades since it’s been used for that.

[Looking down towards Lake Lexie]

We crested a scrubby high point overlooking Lake Lexie, a lake we’d wandered past on previous trips. We did so again, making for some low rocky hills, beyond which lay Lake Gwendy. After that, Larry told us, we should be getting close to a Ritter cairn. By now some of us were growing weary, and even low hills felt like hard work. The prospect of finding a cairn was less thrilling than that of finding a good campsite. We plodded on, eventually dropping down through scrub towards a small open lake. A few of us were ready to stop, but this looked like a campsite only for the desperate. After a brief discussion we walked on.

[TimO at Lake Lexie, with the "low hill" behind]

We clambered over another rise and found a larger, unnamed lake. Larry said we were only a few hundred metres from a cairn, but in this sort of country that can be half an hour’s work. We compromised by continuing up the eastern shore of the large lake vaguely close to the direction of a cairn. By now most of us were only interested in finding a campsite, at least for today. 

[Our eventual campsite: a hidden gem]

We'd been spread out searching for a while before Libby walked upslope from the large lake, and called back that she’d located a promising possibility. It proved to be more than that! She’d found a lovely small lake, fringed by pencil pines, and with a group of ducks bobbing near the far shore. What bliss! We each managed to find a spot for our tent, and settled in “tired but happy”, as the cliched school composition had it.

[Libby celebrates a card game win]

Indeed we were happy enough, and the weather was fine enough, that we sat around playing cards after dinner. As we finished our games, a waxing moon rose into the clear evening sky, a change of the guard signalling bedtime. With this wonderful campsite it seems we’d landed on our feet. That said we'd be even happier once we were off them and in our tents.

A Loopy Walk on the Plateau 2

Day 2: Back to Dyer's Downfall

Past tears are present strength

– George MacDonald

 

We left our campsite a little after 10am and continued down Harry Lees Lake – actually a long, two-part lake – for a bit over a kilometre. There was no track, but the going was delightfully open along the lakeside, if a little scrubby once we climbed out of the valley. Again we didn’t know exactly where we were going. But Tim D and Libby, along with Merran (who missed this walk due to work obligations) had come this way before. They were sure we’d find plenty of lakeside camps in the country between Turrana Bluff and Turrana Heights. 

[Clambering around the end of Harry Lees Lake]

First we had to sidle around some lumpy, rocky country, passing some good stands of young pencil pines. Just before we dropped down into a shallow valley, we were visited by a wedge-tailed eagle. It circled us inquisitively for a while before apparently concluding we were neither threat nor food. The wind continued to be strong, and showers were still blowing through occasionally. 

 

Once we were in the valley, we stopped for lunch near a rock shelter. There Tim D told us the story of what happened last time he, Merran and Libby had come this way. They’d been walking towards the head of the Little Fisher valley, and had come down a steep, rocky slope just above where we were now sitting. A slight miss-step by Tim had led to a tumble downslope. Unfortunately one leg had been caught behind the other, and as he fell Tim’s full weight came down on the front leg, which crashed onto a rock. He coolly described the crack he heard as his fibula snapped.

[Pencil pine groves punctuated the walk]

After binding the leg and trying to hobble on, they all realised there was no choice but to use Tim's InReach device to call for helicopter rescue. In telling the story, Tim somewhat downplayed the pain he must have gone through, but the rest of us were squirming during the retelling. And now, some 7 months later, here he was back at the scene of the fall, seemingly quite okay to be returning to what we duly dubbed Dyer’s Downfall. His fractured fibula has healed well, but some damage to his ankle has remained troublesome. Not that we who persistently lagged behind him would have noticed!

[Tim D climbing the tufty slope]

After lunch we climbed steeply and slowly out of the valley, and up towards a shoulder of Turrana Bluff. The last part of the climb was through waterlogged tufty grass, with ample evidence of the wombats and wallabies that helped to keep the grass cropped. It was beautiful walking, though the slope was unrelenting. When we finally crested the rise, there were mutterings about going on to the summit of Turrana Bluff, which was only a kilometre or so away. I gruffly demurred, mainly because I’d found the ascent thus far hard enough without adding a further 200m climb to it. I also pointed out that I’d been there before – albeit decades ago – so I felt no “peak bagger” pull. That might not have been fair to Tim D, who had more reason than most of us to reach that particular summit. But for the time being we decided to leave the climb till later, and instead used our dwindling energy looking for a camp-able lake among the dozens we could now see below us.

[Our camp beside a tarn near Turrana Bluff]

We dropped down through light scrub and the occasional scoparia thicket, and scouted around a few pools, tarns and small lakes sniffing out a suitable spot. We eventually settled on a small tarn around which we could just fit five tents. The forecast had promised the winds would abate, so we weren’t too fussed about any perceived lack of shelter. 

 

That faith in the forecast came back to haunt us. Our tents were shaken all night, the strong winds and rain having come back with a vengeance. It seems no-one slept well, and there could have been much grumbling over breakfast, had the promised fine weather not finally made an appearance. Instead, by 9 am it was a revitalised team that packed day packs, and strode up the hill towards Turrana Bluff. Tim D in particular had a date with the bluff he'd so dramatically missed out on last time. With blue skies and a gently wafting breeze, we could not have chosen a better day for a side trip to the top of this impressive 1454m mountain.

[Summit selfie, Turrana Bluff]

[Tim D and Libby on Turrana Bluff ... at last] 

Beneath us we looked down on the Little Fisher Valley, and beyond that to the Walls of Jerusalem. All around us were familiar mountains, some spattered with snow, as well as some of the many thousands of lakes and tarns that dot the wondrous Central Plateau. But nowhere to be seen was my grumpy, non-peak-bagging self. I was so glad to be up here. And you can bet Tim D was too.

A Loopy Walk on the Plateau 1

Day 1: Wild About Harry

 

Sybil of months, and worshipper of winds,
I love thee, rude and boisterous as thou art

- from “November” by John Clare

 

It’s a risky business trusting November. John Clare, the 19^th century Romantic poet, may have been writing about England and depicting the northern hemisphere’s final month of autumn, but he still nailed my experience of Tasmania’s last month of spring. So yes, we were expecting “windy, rude and boisterous” for our November walk on Tasmania’s Central Plateau. We would not be disappointed.
 
Complications with our various schedules meant we spent the Thursday night at Tim and Merran’s cottage in Sheffield. That allowed us a relaxing night; dinner together; and the prospect of an early start on the Friday. But come Friday morning, the worst of a cold and wet south-west change was still coming through. The forecast was for 70km/h winds and snow squalls in the mountains. Given that, who would blame us for delaying the start in the hope of the front blowing through? 

[Ready to leave Lake Mackenzie]

And so, after a cozy, civilised morning coffee in Sheffield, it was noon before the five of us hoisted our packs and started walking away from Lake Mackenzie. For the first two hours we followed our usual route towards the Blue Peaks. The wind was strong, and showers whooshed through at intervals, occasionally turning to sleet and snow. 
 
Our first night’s destination was new to three of us, so Tim D and Libby, who’d been there earlier in the year, took the lead in guiding us towards Harry Lees Lake. Tim had earlier estimated it was only about three hours from Lake Mackenzie. We took that with a grain of salt, given not only Tim’s optimistic nature, but also the strongly adverse weather conditions.

[And then came the snow]

 
As we crested the high point of the day’s walk, the wind grew in ferocity, almost knocking us off our feet. And then the sleet and snow were replaced by hail. Icy pellets thwacked into us, stinging any part that was exposed. We cinched our hoods down, and kept our gaze at our feet until the squall finally passed. This was unpleasant walking, yet somehow it was more than a little exhilarating. We were uncomfortable certainly, but with good gear and care with navigation, we were not in any danger.

[Libby still smiling in the snow]

 
At one point we stopped for a quick rest, and TimO tested Tim D’s knowledge of the number of high points before we could finally descend to Harry Lees Lake. Such points, according to our group’s lore, are called “faux plateaux”: a lower equivalent of false summits. And TimO reminded us that there are always four. Tim D was a little evasive in his answer, a sure sign that we still had quite a few crests ahead of us. 
 
At this stage, for some reason, I started singing “I’m Just Wild About Harry” to myself. I quickly ran out of words, since it’s a 1920s song, and as ancient as I was now feeling, I wasn’t around when the song was popular. Perhaps it was my way of wooing the lake; willing it to appear just over the next hill, or around the next bend. I can’t say it worked, but perhaps it distracted me a little from the buffeting wind and stinging rain.
 
Finally, after some four hours of walking, we turned a corner, walked down a gentle slope, and there sat Harry Lees Lake. Better still, on its western shore we saw a substantial pencil pine forest. With that came the prospect of finding some shelter from the ferocious wind. As we scouted around for suitable tent sites, and eventually found them, I started to feel a little more positive. Perhaps I could just get a little wild about Harry, especially when occasional rays of sun lit up the late afternoon. 
 
Still, our evening meal was a hurried affair. A freezing wind whooshed loudly through the pine foliage. We sat huddled in our puffer jackets, trying in vain to get warm as we cooked between showers. Libby in particular sat there shivering, a Gore-tex coated icy pole. It wasn’t long before we all scurried off to bed. 

[Snow: our morning surprise]

 
The wind and showers kept up all night. I got up at first light, and was surprised to find that the overnight showers had actually been snow. Our tents were spattered with snow, and the ground all around was white. The overnight weather had certainly been wild around and about Harry!

[Larry stays in his tent to cook a warming brew]

 
We started the day slowly. I’d already expressed a wish to stay another night “with Harry”, and the wish grew stronger in this weather, which continued windy, cold and showery. But some in the party had other plans, and once I’d finished a lazy breakfast and a follow-up coffee, I could see the writing on the wall. The agenda for our walk had been evolving over the weeks leading up to it. At first we were going to do a through walk to the Little Fisher valley, but this had been scuttled because of car-shuffle complications. 

[A bleak morning at Harry Lees Lake]

 
Gradually the plan had morphed into a possible circuit, taking in those parts of Ritter’s Track that we’d not visited before. If a loop walk out to Ritter’s Track and back to Lake Mackenzie was now the plan, we would need to move on each day. As wild as I was about Harry, I agreed we should pack up and move on.