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Federation Peak, Southwest Tasmania

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(Continued from page 3)

 

Monday 2nd January

It was raining heavily this morning, so we did not get away until noon, by which time there was a considerable improvement in the weather. The West Craycroft River was our first obstacle. It was in full spate from the heavy rains of the past three days. It was a frightening sight - cold inky brown water, thrashing furiously over boulders and other hidden obstacles.

We chose a spot where the river was comparatively straight and the water turbulent, due to the presence of even-sized boulders not too far below the surface. The water came over our thighs and the drag was so powerful that we could only move singly in safety, by each supporting the other while we moved. In this manner we reached the other bank.

We crossed the South Craycroft River on a fallen tree but this one had nothing like the volume of water of the Western branch.

The top of the South Picton Range was mantled with cloud and as the easiest route lay on the top of the range, we had to climb into it. In the valley, although the weather had not been warm, it had been tolerably pleasant. Up on top at 3000 feet, it was quite a different story. An icy blast from the south-west howled across the bare ridge, and visibility was down to 200 yards.

We managed to navigate the two bumps known respectively as Anderson and Chapman, then as the time was approaching 5 o’clock and it had begun to rain, we started to look for a campsite. We found a sheltered spot in the lee of some large boulders.

After an hours work with the slasher and some minor excavations, we made a suitable site for the tent, pitched it and immediately got into our sleeping bags. Here we lie now. We've thought about making a fire, but the quality of the wood here would make it very difficult.

Bush fires have constantly raged across this ridge so that there is not a living tree in sight. The gaunt, wet, soggy specimens outside are the remains of a small forest of King Billy pines that once graced this saddle. Other than this, there is only low saturated scrub and even assuming that we could get a fire going in this rain and wind, cooking would be a most unpleasant task.

So we are eating cheese, salami, scroggin (mixed dried fruit and nuts) and dried apples, all washed down with water of which there is a super-abundance.

 

Tuesday 3rd January

I think it was Tilman of Nanda Devi fame who once said that the greatest affliction suffered by the mountaineer was bed sores. How right he was. There is something about mountains, orographic, geographic and meteorological, that gives them peculiar weather. For those moments of supreme joy when we see jagged ridges and buttresses through windows of torn cloud fragments and valleys dappled with shadow and light, we must pay a price. The price seems to be bed sores.

We're lying here now, the rain beats sometimes frantically, sometimes insidiously on the thin fabric of our tent. Outside you can see fifty yards sometimes less. The tent which has now been wet continuously for eight days, is beginning to leak a little, but reviewing the situation, we find that things could be a lot worse.

Our sleeping bags are only wet at the bottom. Most of our clothes are wet, but the damp woollen shirts that we slept in last night are once again dry as are our string singlets. This combination of clothes, together with a plasticised cotton hooded jacket, has proved very satisfactory. We are reasonably comfortable and have food for at least another seven days.

 

Ivor in the canvas tent

 

10.30. a.m.

We've just had breakfast. Last night we left some apricots soaking and we warmed them over a couple of candles. We also fried some bacon in this manner and it was highly successful. The surfing gent, who was complaining unendingly about the weather, is now trying to roll himself a cigarette in newsprint, having used his last paper yesterday. “Next trip” he says, “I'm going to bring a pipe.” Next trip!! Already we're discussing the next trip!

By 1 p.m. we could stand it no longer, the inactivity was killing us. It would be better to go out there and wander around in the mist and rain. On a constant compass bearing we must make some progress. We were in Pineapple Grass Flat. North of us lay the Red Herring, the last hump on the ridge, and then, and this was the hard part, the Low Saddle. If we didn't hit the centre of the Saddle, we might wander down miles off our track, without knowing which side of the Ridge we were on.

The Red Herring was not easy to negotiate, and for safety, we went right over the top of its very broken crest. We began to descend to the Low Saddle, and at this stage a division of opinion took place. “We should be more over to the right", said the surfing gent. "I thought more over to the left.” “I have a feeling for topography”, he said “I can sort of feel where the lowest part of the Saddle is” In mist, on a slope with obstacles to negotiate, it is very difficult to decide which .is the centre of a broad ridge.

We settled on a compass course and fifteen minutes later dropped out of the cloud into the Low Saddle. The rest of the route was clear and after a brief rest, we walked till 6 o'clock, to ,."here we are now camped. Needless to say, tea was cooked once again in intermittent showers, but at least we had a decent bit of wood to burn.

 

Wednesday 4th January

We are camping tonight just off the timber road, after a long day during which we came down of the Picton Range and walked through the forest by the Huon River and so back to where we started from. The forest, which on our first night seemed so frightening, now seems gentle and comforting after the days spent among rock precipices and eerie jungles, and the slender thread of road that winds its way so arduously through this forest, is our guarantee of fresh food and the comforts of civilised living.

Reading through this diary, I find it hard to grasp how primitive our life has been over. the past two weeks, how close to the earth and reality we have been. For out there is the real world, this an unconscious world of our own desires, built to keep out those elements of uncertainty that we had been experiencing.

Many times people ask us "Why do you go, why endanger your life when you can live so comfortably in the city?" How can you explain? It's not just the scenery, nor the exercise though both are present. It's like a revelation, a vision, a perspective of the value and meaning of life.

Ivor after the walk

Alf after the walk

 

(Article Ends)

 

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