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Federation Peak, Southwest Tasmania

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BY A. Salkin, December 1955 - january 1956

 

Southwest Tasmania

Many visitors to Tasmania note a certain superficial resemblance in the scene to England and certainly some parts of the North and East have that gardenlike orderliness of a country that has seen many years of careful husbandry, yet this is only one of the many facets that make Tasmania an island of very rare beauty.

One of the most remarkable features of the Tasmanian scene is a comparatively small area known as the South West; an area bordered by the Hobart-Queenstown road in the North, a forbidding surf-pounded coast in the West and an arbitrary line drawn from the South West cape North. Most of this country is marked on maps as either unexplored, mountainous or uninhabitable. It is certainly the last two and to a certain extent, the former. It might be asked, "Why in this age of ever expanding industry and commerce, should this pocket of land remain inviolate? Are there no natural resources at all? Is there nothing man can turn to his own economic use?"

My own feelings are that it is just a matter of time, even now the tentative feelers of jeep tracks probe into the edges of vast primitive forests. Soon graded roads will follow them, but in the meanwhile the country is much the domain of the mountaineer and bushwalker or anybody who is prepared to face the rigours of its notoriously wet climate and carry a heavy pack through all kinds of unpleasant conditions.

In recent years light aircraft have made this area a little more accessible and certainly less hazardous, by dropping food at certain pre-arranged places and even landing parties on the beaches of places like Lake Pedder right in the heart of this country and at Cox's Bight on the West Coast.

Due to the work of Bushwalking Organisations, detailed maps of the area are gradually becoming available and most of the spots previously marked “unexplored” may now be removed from the map. The spirit that moved Hume and Mitchell still lives -but in an age that does not require new pastures, it goes unsung. Each year more people venture into this area. Its combination of precipitous mountains, glacial lakes and sub-tropical rain forests, are unsurpassed in grandeur elsewhere in Australia.

That it is still country only for the experienced there is little doubt. Its complicated system of valleys, some choked with the densest vegetation. Its swift unpredictable rivers, its sharp spurs and ridges sometimes covered with lacerating scrub, make accurate route finding an essential of all who venture there.

The following is a diary of the climb of a particular peak deep within this territory. A peak that was climbed for the first time as late as 1948. As many as ten parties a year now climb it and its popularity is due not so much to its degree of difficulty, but it’s inspiring, challenging shape. A tower of jagged rock called Federation Peak.

 

Friday 23rd December

Arrived in Hobart at 6.30am on as bleak, rainy and grey morning as ever masqueraded under the name of summer. Caught a bus at noon for Geeveston and from there a taxi to the end of the timber road that penetrates some 15 miles into the bush. The driver of the taxi thought we were mad and didn't hesitate to say "There's some of the roughest country in the world out there, and you're going there for a holiday!"

Ivor, the bronzed surfer, my companion and brother, apologised for himself. He would much sooner spend the time on a surf beach, but hadn't the heart to let me go alone.

The driver left us at the end of the road. We watched as he turned his car around and his lights soon disappeared round the first bend. Then we were alone in that twilight that is neither night nor day. In this mysterious half-light the trees around us seemed enormous, higher even than their 200 feet. Being so precipitated onto the edge of the S.W. within so short a time of leaving Melbourne we had an overpowering sensation of its age and mystery. We were beginning to wonder what we were doing there away from the lights and the comforts of the city.

 

Saturday 24th December

Camping tonight at Blakes, a bark lean-to, three hours walk up the Huon River from the road. There are 7 of us here, three different parties, and just enough room to sleep in comfort. We had great difficulty locating the track this morning as bulldozers had torn the place apart. After following two false leads we were eventually put right by two members of the Hobart Walking Club, Jim and Denis, who are going in the same direction as we are.

The walk up the Huon would have been pleasant but for the fact that we were carrying 55 lbs which we were not used to.

 

Picton Bridge, Southwest Tasmania

Picton Hut

Sunday 25th December

Waited till nine o'clock for Keith and his party whom we had passed on the track yesterday, and together with Jim and Denis we slogged up Blakes Opening, a button grass lead that gives access to the upper slopes of Mt. Picton. After the button grass comes dense scrub, but thanks to the pioneering work by the Hobart Walking Club, this had a track through it.

Finally, a blazed route led through open myrtle forest, and beyond to open going above Red Rag Scarp. We are all now camped in a coomb just below the massive dolerite peak of Mt. Picton. Its a wild desolate spot made no more homely by the grey unfriendly clouds that from time to time blot out Picton's summit. Most of the trees have long since died in the numerous fires that have swept across this highland.

Somehow the Waratahs have survived and they at the moment are in the loveliness of full bloom, their deep red feelers lifted to the sky. Tonight is Christmas Eve and after our usual meal of dehydrated food, we had coffee with brandy in it.

 

Monday 26th December

Away to an early start this morning. Left Keith and his party still making breakfast and then said farewell to Jim and Denis at the top of Blandfordia Ridge. They are out to do some exploration in the Western Arthurs.

The cloud was down over the South Picton Range and after wandering off the ridge once, we reached the Low Saddle. After which the ceiling lifted and we were able to see our route over the remaining section of the ridge. From the last bump on the ridge, Burgess Bluff, we could see our objective - Federation Peak. In the grey overcast light, it looked a long way off.

Unlike the dolerite ridge we were on, the Arthurs, both the eastern and western, are quartzite, a rock that weathers into airy fantastic shapes. Our view confirmed this. The full length of the range is one jumbled mass of spires, towers and jagged ridges and at the southern end of this 50 mile range, rising high above the ridge in splendid isolation is the Peak itself.

Camped tonight near the south Craycroft River.

First view of Federation Peak (L)

Keith Ball

Glenda Kellam

 

(Continued on page 2)

 

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