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.