“Hang on, whoa, that's a track? More like a vertical wall! It's more a ladder than a set of steps.”
Year’s EndMy 2008 was a strange year. It began in Kathmandu, where I sat on a terrace above a pretty garden and sipped cups of Darjeeling tea. It was punctuated by temples, tuk tuks, turning 50 and rediscovering magic. I became interested in genealogy and went to Europe and New Zealand to hunt my forebears. Friends and family dropped in, and I dropped in on them. Now it was November, and I was all burned out on people and cities and hustle-bustle, but spending Christmas and New Year sitting in my dingy flat in Footscray did not appeal.
So it was that in late November, I started planning an adventure I’d wanted to do for years. I started by booking a slot on the Overland Track. As soon as that was locked in, I booked a day journey on the Spirit of Tasmania from Melbourne to Devonport, and then hostel beds in Devonport and at Cradle Mountain. The Overland was going to demand a lot from me, so these bookings made sure that the walk was the only thing I needed to focus on.
The Spirit of TasmaniaThe day was overcast and cool for Melbourne in December, forecast to max out in the high teens, so I rugged up for the ferry sailing. I can’t recall the start. Perhaps I used train, tram and foot (that’s what an undated memory says) or perhaps I cheated and caught a taxi from Footscray to the Spirit of Tasmania ferry terminal at Beacon Cove (more likely, given the cool day and the need to be there well before the ferry departed).
The ferry pulled away on time, and I stood on the rear deck watching Victoria fall away behind me. I felt a tremor. Or perhaps I was just shivering from the cold breeze.
We sailed so far down Port Philip Bay before turning west for the Rip, that I saw the Queenscliff to Sorrento Ferry silhouetted just south of us against the Mornington Peninsula. As we passed Queenscliff, I saw the next ferry already docked there. The shoreline here was well equipped with lighthouses: at least two glowing red, and what looked like another under construction or demolition, near Queenscliff, and another down south on the edge of the Rip.
Passing through the Rip was a big moment for me. I’d wanted to do this ever since I saw the scene late in On the Beach where the submarine exits the Bay.
I went inside to warm up, emerging later to find that Melbourne’s murk had rolled away. The skies and sea were blue, and our wake was a froth of perfect white foam spreading away behind us. The sea alongside was not quite wine dark, more dark iron, but further out it was bluer, sparkly, and well flecked with frothy heads.
By 16:50 the coast of Tasmania was asserting itself on the horizon ahead. It grew clearer and steeper as we approached, until around 17:45 the entrance to Devonport Harbour came into view. We crossed the bar and sailed up the Mersey River. I saw a small ferry leaving the shore. Yes, I saw a ferry cross the Mersey.
Docking was 18:00. Funny thing, my memory says we sailed up the river and docked on the west bank, but the map says that the dock is on the east bank. But I took a picture of the window of the "Black Rose" adult shop in Thomas St at about 18:30, so clearly we did dock on the east bank. My next photo was at 19:40 in Griffiths St on the other side of the Mersey, and given the timings between these points, my other memory, of walking north from the ferry and over a bridge to get my hostel and harden my legs (I was carrying my full camping kit on my back) seems about right. I would have reached the hostel about 20:00, give or take.
Tasman House Backpackers Hostel was a three-storey institutional pile, and I have no clear memories of it, good or bad, even though I stayed there two nights.
Wednesday was for sightseeing in Devonport. I walked down from the hostel to the Mersey — masked lapwings stalked the banks — then into town to plunder the Visitors Information Centre. In Steele St I saw an amusing totem pole of a guy reading, with an owl on his shoulder, carved from a dead tree. I took in the War Memorial, the Wilson Solaqueous Fountain (“Using sun & water to give E.S.T.”), which spurted an arc of water that threw a shadow on a marked surface.
Near a well-hung flagpole, I found the Bass Strait Maritime Centre, which had a nice stained-glass window from the “Grand Hotel” and a model of a wrecked schooner, complete with jolly white-bearded Captain leaning against the rudder. Other models included the little steamboat “Millicent”. There was a letter from James Cook, 13th, er, 14th August 1768, aboard the bark Endeavour at Plymouth, and a sketch of the great man.
§
Endeavour Bark in Plym Sound 13 (crossed out) 14th August 1768
Sir,
Please to acquaint the Lordships that I arrived here this day in His Majesty’s Bark Endeavour under my command, & shall make all the Dispatch in my power to proceed to Sea.
I am
Sir
Your Most Obedient Servant
James Cook
Rec’d 16th, O Reed
§
Near the Maritime Centre, I found some nice pink rose bushes; and then, it being noon, I stopped for lunch. After lunch, exhausted by all this hectic sightseeing and the long walks last night and this morning, I went back to the hostel to rest up for tomorrow.
Cradle MountainIn the morning, after a glimpse of the morning Spirit of Tasmania docked across the river, I caught the 9:30 bus to Cradle Mountain. The weather was looking grim. The fast-moving clouds scraped their bellies on the surrounding peaks. And then it rained, bringing back memories of my time in the UK and NZ earlier in the year.
The mid-journey small town of Sheffield seemed to like trompe l’oueil. I saw several murals that attempted a 3D effect. I particularly liked one that made the “Skwiz” Café-Gallery resemble an old-time blacksmith’s shop.
At the Forth River, the bus had to squeeze its way across the single-lane Cethana Bridge. It waited its turn, but still had to play chicken with optimistic cars that thought they had priority over a 12-tonne bus.
At 11:11 we reached the turnoff to Cradle Mountain. Soon I was booked into a dorm in the Discovery Parks Campground for a 4-night stint. In order to prepare myself, I had arrived several days before my walk was scheduled, so that I could break myself in — or perhaps down — on short day walks around the area. I would do each walk carrying a slightly lighter pack (about 20 kg) than the full 25 kg I would start the walk with.
By 12:30 I was in the Visitor Centre, and an hour later I was on my first excursion, the Cradle Valley Boardwalk, which ran from the Visitor Centre to and around Lake Dove (8.5 km) via Snake Hill and Ronny Creek, with the opportunity to abandon the walk if I got tired and to take a shuttle bus back from several points.
I soon found characteristically cubical pellets of wombat poo on the boardwalk, and then currwong vomit made up of partially digested berries. At one point I detoured over an interesting patch of ground using an unmaintained section of old track. I reached Snake Hill (3.4 km) about 1h10 in. The ground was getting rougher, but the boards made the walk easy and the streams were all sturdily bridged.
Around 15:30 I encountered my first wildlife, first a black lizard on the boards, then a yellow-eyed currawong running around in the bushes off the track. It was moving so fast that I was unable to get a clear shot of it. I also came to the turnoff for a private walkway up to Ranger accomodation. A few minutes later I was at Ronny Creek (5.5 km). Here I chose the Dove Lake via Lake Lilla route, graded Easy.
I soon encountered a wombat sitting on the boardwalk. He was totally uninterested in the walkers, but as more and more people piled up to gape and kept edging closer, he eventually waddled off the boards to get out of our way.
I passed Waldheim Cabins at a distance, then finally ran out of boardwalk and found myself on rougher sections of track. I crossed the outflow from Lake Lilla and emerged on the lakebank about 16:25.
From here I had to climb, soon getting nice views of Dove Lake and the looming Cradle Mountain. By 16:40 I was rounding the lake, a placid sheet of water with Cradle Mountain above the far end. Ahead I could see Glacier Rock, a big white lump of moraine on the lake edge that people could climb onto for expansive views. But I stopped at 16:44, at a signpost 600m short of Glacier Rock. I was pooped, and this was my first day of walking. My pack seemed filled with lead. Plus, due to the altitude, it was cold!
I waked to the Dove Lake shuttle stop and rode back to base, feeling pleased with my day’s work.
Friday was for Cradle Valley. I took the shuttle to Ronny Creek, then about 9:50 I hefted my leaden pack onto my aching back and set off to climb to Marions Lookout. The day was already quite pleasant, and occasionally even sunshiney.
The first part was easy, re-covering ground from yesterday. By 10:04 I was looking at a sign telling me Marions Lookout was:
Three hours return. How hard can it be?
At 10:25 I was at Crater Falls, a splashy but not very impressive set of rocky falls. This was where I hit the first serious set of steps, but by 10:40 I was above them and looking out over the valley and down to Ronny Creek and its carpark in the distance. A private hut peered at me from the hilltop. No need to go there.
Ten minutes later I was admiring the rustic boat shed at Crater Lake, then looking out over the lake itself. As the clouds ran across the sky, the dappled effect made the lake evocative and mysterious, with rocky crags and green patches. Native wildflowers gave the scene an even more festive touch.
Loud screeches heralded a wedge-tailed eagle being pursued by several raucous currawongs. My point-and-shoot compact camera wasn't up to the challenge.
At 11:07 I reached a peak and snapped a celebratory pic of the signpost on top of … wait. Marions Lookout, 25 mins?
Hang on, whoa, that's a track? More like a vertical wall! It's more a ladder than a set of steps.
Up I went, puff, puff. Nice waterfall. Crater Lake was laid out below me. And my legs said, are you kidding me? At 11:40 a sign said, “Marions Lookout is 5 minutes walk away.” It also warned that parts of the track were being rehabilitated, please keep off the hessian-covered areas and on the fpormed track and lookouts. Righto.
By 11:50 I was at the Lookout, my wind blown and legs shaking, drenched in sweat. But the views were spectacular, despite occasional gusts of sleet that bit me to my bones. I seemed to be level with the saddle of Cradle Mountain across the lake.
When I regained my wind, I found I still had some ginger, so I went on to Kathleen’s Pool, clear and cold, with a lovely pebble bed. By now Cradle Mountain was veiling itself in sleet-bearing cloud, so I hurried on to Kitchen Hut. In the distance I could see Barn Bluff, its peak also smothered by hanging cloud.
Kitchen Hut was a legendary hut of picturesque, antique type, no longer in use for camping. A few walkers, as well wrapped as I was against the chill, were scattered around outsode eating lunch.
I considered the way that led up the mountain from here and said, “Ouch.” Instead I made my way to the long-drop toilet block for a needed comfort break.
Relieved, I puffed my way up the Face Track to a sign that told me “Cradle Mountain Summit, 2.5 hrs”. Nope, nope, nope. Not this year! But Kitchen Hut was already a matchbox in the valley below. Just a little further? I continued. At 14:10, I realised I was level with a snow patch I’d seen earlier. But I was now totally pooped, and the steepest section still lay ahead. I continued along the Face Track.
About 15:00 I reached a sign. Signs. To Dove Lake carpark. I could take the short and steep 2 hour path past Lake Wilks, or a gentler 2.5 hour route around the edge of Lake Dove. I chose the steep route, whose steepest sections had chains to hold onto.
By 16:07 I was strolling beside Dove Lake. At the car park I climbed aboard the shuttle, more dead than alive. Enough, and more than enough. This day’s effort had been folly.
Saturday. Another day, another walk, rather less ambitious today. A 1.2 km botanical excursion up Pencil Pine Creek to Pencil Pine Falls and Pencil Pines Cascades. I encountered some Tasmanian Devil poo, characterised by undigested fur.
Sunday was my last day of prep. I spent a while at the Visitor Centre, studying a 3D model there, trying to determine the easiest approach, having now experienced the climb to Marions lookout and having no desire to repeat it! It looked like my best bet was Dove Lake, Lake Lilla, Wombat Pool, then up to Marions Lookout the easy way. I nixed any notion of climbing Barn Bluff; the flat and boring low road would do me fine.
At present I’m at Cradle Mountain, preparing to start a walk on the Overland Track tomorrow. I hope to do the track in seven days (six nights). Christmas will probably find me walking from Pelion to Kia Ora huts, and my Christmas dinner will be half a freeze-dried meal, some noodles, and a cuppa coffee. Yum! My taste buds shrivel in anticipation of this glorious feast. I’ve been overcompensating in advance by enjoying long lunches and dinners at the best tavern in miles (the ONLY tavern in miles).
Note no mention of nearly killing myself on a crazy climb well beyond my fitness level.
With the 3D model in mind, I went up to Dove Lake and checked out a few sections of track. Then I went back to base and had a siesta. In the evening, I packed with great care, making sure I was not carrying anything I would not need.
19:57 Packing! Early to bed tonight; early start tomorrow.
On the TrackCradle Valley to Waterfall Valley Hut, 10.4 km, 5h, 10.4 km
I was up early, had a solid breafast, and on the road by 7:50. By 8:20 I was at the Dove Lake Carpark, logging my name, postcode, contact details, walk intentions and party details, and where I started my walk (“here”). At 8:27, after a toilet stop — last flush for 74 kilometres! — I began my walk at the now-familiar “Glacier Rock 600m” signpost. The day was overcast and chilly, but didn’t lok like raining on me. I put up the rain hood on my pack anyway, as a precaution.
By 8:40 I was at the Lake Lilla outflow, and a minute later I turned left at a sign announcing “Marions Lookout 1 hr”. From here I would be mostly on new track (for me) until Lake St Clair.
9:00 was Wombat Pool. I looked up to see daisy walkers clustered on the hilltop above me. At 9:36, I was at the sign at the base of that horrible climb to Marions Lookout. And yep, I did it again. The easy way wasn’t so easy.
Marions Lookout at 10:12, feeling much better than last timedespite carrying an extra 5 kg on my back. Here I rested for 20 minutes, then turned my steps towards Barn Bluff, which today was not hiding in clouds.
I was at Kitchen Hut by 11:10. I went inside for another 20 minute breather.
By 12:10 I had crested the ridge and was looking down into the valley of the Fury River. Cradle Mountain loomed sheerly at my shoulder. I crossed a bridge and shuddered away from the ridge leading to Benson Peak. I was climbing steadily. The terrain ahead was getting more and more impressive, but there was always a relatively level way around any obstacle. The sky began to clear, even showing blue patches.
At 13:07 I reached a sign declaring “Waterfall valley Hut 1 hr”. It had taken me nearly 5 hours to get this far, but I could probably get back in half that time!
My improved morale was pronmptly tested by a field of broken rock, no fun with my heavy pack. It would be very easy to break an ankle here. And then … a sign.
OVERLAND TRACK.
Welcome!
Are you about to walk the Overland Track?
Do you have your Overland Track Pass?
During the period from 1 November to 30 April all Overland Track walkers must carry an Overland Track pass and walk from north (Cradle Mountain) to south (St Clair).
Please enquire at the Visitor Centre for further information.
Looked like I had just left the day-walk area. (And indeed, there was no camping allowed short of Waterfall Hut.)
It was mostly sunny now, but Barn Bluff was fading in haze, like a mirage. I came to Cradle Cirque, a long ridgeline rounding a deep ravine. Then a new sign. Half an hour to my night camp — hang on, it was an entire hour to go just 15 minutes ago! I began to suspect the signs were not entirely reliable.
13:23 Climbing again. I’m … quite tired.
Suddenly there was a dash in the bushes by the track. Something substantial, but elusive. I swivelled, tracking … a goat!
I crossed anoter ridgeline, and below me I spotted the angular outline of a long drop toilet block. A minute later I could see a second, peaked roof.
14:02 Waterfall Valley Turnoff. Windemere Hut, 3 hrs. Waldheim, 4 hr. Waterfall Valley Hut.
At 14:05 I was looking at the “Welcome to Waterfall Valley” sign beside the modern composting toilet. Seems the original “1 hr” sign I came across was the correct one. Counting leaving Kitchen Hut as being 11:30, it had taken me 2h35 to get here. From my “official” start at 8:27, for which I’d allocated 5 hours, it had taken about 5h40.
Without my massive pack, I even had energy left to look around the area. This was the “new” hut, modern and weather resistant, with sleeping benches inside. There was a resident wallaby, and a short walk down the track was the “old” hut, rougher and not as well appointed as the new one. I got my first glimpse of the camping platforms, solid wooden structures set in the trees.
I set up on a small table in a corner of the kitchen and cooked my first dinner on the trail: half a bag of freeze-dried stuff, some noodles, washed down with instant coffee. It was delicious!
Waterfall Valley Hut to Windemere Hut, 7 km, 2h30, 17.4 km
After Weet-Bix in reconstituted milk, with instant coffee, for breakfast, I was back at the turnoff by 8:34.
The terrain here was an odd set of long ledges rising up the sides of the valley. As the Old Hut passed from view, I saw a scatter of tents still on the platforms by it.
8:39 Slug-a-beds!
Mount Oakleigh's distinctive profile appeared on the horizon. It was an odd day, with periods of hanging clouds passing over and periods of sunshine. Barn Bluff and Cradle Mountain kept hiding their heads. A section of boardwalk got me across a marshy patch, and then I was on dry planking track rounding a hillside. At 9:53 I looked down on Lake Holmes, and a minute later a sign announced Lake Will, 30 mins. There was supposed to be a nice waterfall there. How hard could it be? Yeah, this was a short segment; the Track would wait. I shrugged out of my pack and left it at the turnoff.
I encountered a Park Ranger on his way from Waterfall Valley to Windemere. He looked cool and professional, and posed with a grin for a photo.
Mt Pelion poked its head over a ridgeline. As I approached Lake Will, Barn Bluff even doffed its misty hat for me, revealing a knobby stone pate.
Lake Will looked very pleasant. I paused to admire a tree that had moss on every side. At 10:37 I came down to a small, sandy beach. The lake floor beyond looked muddy, but mud washes off.
But first, the waterfall! I was soon squelching through glassy sludge, then down an overgrown slope, regretting my decision; but at 11:19 I forgave all at the sight of the arching waterfall in a cleft of the rock. Of course, now I had to fight my way back up that slope; but a set of interlacing tree roots soon told me I’d come down the hard way. I made my way around to get a view of the waterfall from the top, and the cataracts above the fall. Looking up, Barn Bluff was etched against blue sky.
When I got back to the turnoff, it was swarming with walkers, yakking, eating, drinking, rummaging mysteriously in their packs.
12:42 OMG! I've been invaded.
I grabbed my pack and scarpered into a mountain-strewn horizon. Cradle Mountain was now starting to show off its side away from the day walkers. Barn Bluff. The Pelion grouping. Lake Holmes and various smaller lakes. The scenery kept changing.
Lake Windemere, and a sign. “No camping within 50m of Lake.” Nobody around.
13:47 Looks like a nice spot for a rest — and a swim!
The lake floor was oddly brown-coloured, but rocky, providing good footing. Being alone, I did stick to wading depth, but it was cold and glorious! I used no soap, just hands and hard water, and avoided the temptation to add any contributions of my own.
Nobody came by. Twenty minutes later, clean and refreshed, I was on my way again, morale sky high. By 14:10 I was at the sign by Windemere Hut.
I set up my tent on a convenient camping platfrom, the first time I’d used it on this walk. Last night, exhausted, I had slept indoors. Too many people! Time to get the full experience.
After a late lunch, I went back and sat outside my tent to sip coffee and say hello to the local wallabies, a mother and her mostly grown joey. They were totally fearless, browsing right up to within a metre of me.
That night around 21:00 I had a nocturnal visitor near my tent. I went out to check. It was either the mother, or another grown wallaby. I laughed, went back inside and slept like one dead till morning
Windemere Hut to Pelion Hut, 14.2 km, 6h, 31.6 km
On the path by 8:30 again. This was my longest day in terms of distance, but day 1 had included that grueling Marion Lookout climb. After yesterday’s lightweight stroll, I was rested, and ready to lay down some k’s. It was a mild but overcast day.
The first sections were alternately rocky and muddy. The worst muddy sections had boardwalks. by 9:25 I was into the forest leg, “Pine Forest Moor”. The forest was green, but well decorated with the silver spikes of dead ancients.
Around 9:40, the overcast lifted and I stopped to watch the play of patches of sunshine across the moor. Mount Oakleigh showed off in silhouette. I came to a small lake that wasn’t on my map — probably a puddle, I decided. A large puddle.
9:55 Forth Valley Lookout 1 min.
Someone had put in a bit of effort nearby, setting up flat rocks to form benches. The view was worth the effort! But I could hear voices, and moved on before the vocal intriders caught up.
Soon I was deep in the moor forest. Moss on all sides of every tree. The ground felt odd, not soggy, just sort of queasy. Ten minutes later, someone had laid rocks across the worst patch, and then the rough plank path resumed.
10:45 Without the boards this would be decidedly squelchy.
A rickety bridge was load limited to one walker at a time. And then the summit passed and the land descended to Pelion Creek, which sported a bridge and a rest stop, of which I availed myself for so long that the people from Forth Valley Lookout caught up with me.
12:08 Minutes later, they’re gone — I decided to let them go ahead of me since they were moving faster than me anyway.
Some clever steps and corduroy eased the way up a mossy and tree-clad hillside. Some of the trees showed impressinve fungal knurls. More bridges. And then I came out on Frog Flats, which was mainly different from the rest of the forest by being … a little flatter.
The clouds had come back and were hanging low, making identification of landmarks difficult, but I was now creeping along the foot of Pelion West. At the Forth River crossing there was a fancy bridge, with guardrails.
I passed a tree that looked like it had been blasted with dynamite two metres above the ground. the trunk lay nearby. Not just dead, but blasted well dead. Half an hour later, something black and sinuous hissed at me and slithered away through the reeds.
15:29 Old Pelion Hut 15 min.
Shall I take a detour to see the old hut? Looks way too boggy.
This way is much easier, R2.
I pressed on. Mount Oakleigh was now showing its distinctive profile again, from the other side.
At 15:46 I was gazing at Pelion Hut’s Welcome board. Within minutes my brave little yellow one-man tent was up and I once again had a private little home in the wilderness.
The wallaby here looked a little more hangdog that most, but as always, showed no fear.
I was tempted to explore the near part of the Arm River Track, but it had been a long day’s walk. Instead I started an early dinner. I opened a new bag of freeze-dry; the other half of this bag would become my Christmas dinner.
Day 4: Pelion Hut to Kia Ora Hut, 8.2 km, 3h, 39.8 km
Christmas Day or not, I was up at my usual 8:30, looking back at Barn Bluff and Mount Oakleigh. But then I dawdled on my platform until 9:45. Nothing seemed urgent today.
I soon passed a fallen giant tree with a wide plug of soil. It was only as I passed the roots that I realised that though wide-spreading, the roots were curiously shallow, forming a flat plate. Perhaps there was rock just under the soil that had prevented it from getting a better grip.
Sharers Hut Creek Bridge had a Steel foundation. I couldn’t get a good view of the falls in Douglas Creek. But now I saw Mount Ossa through the trees. I was passing along the flank of Pelion East.
The ground began cimbing towards pelion Gap. I found a place where someone had cut a nice step into a dead tree that blocked the track. Ossa spread itself across the horizon aheads.
11:54 Pelion Gap, altitude 1113 m. Ossa, 1617 m, on one hand, Pelion East, 1433 m, on the other. I was too feeble to climb either, though the weather was good. Over there, a blocky ridge of rock. Du Cane Range? Time for a lunch break!
People accumulated here for lunch, and I was feeling gregarious for once. It was a good break, but at 12:40 I shouldered my boulder and moved on. It was a brilliantly warm sunny day, and the path was downhill.
I saw something angular through the trees. “Kia Ora!” I said, and it was. At 14:05 I was reading the Welcome sign.
This was a lovely hut. I set up my tent and did some much needed washing, laying out the clean clothes on my tent to dry in the sun. The views were grand.
I took a walk up Kia Ora Creek looking for a rumoured swimming spot, and found it. No diving due to likely snags, but lovely fresh water beneath a waterfall.
I found a round diving-bell arrangement back in the trees. Ranger accomodation, a “Mark III AV”. “Private. Do not dusturb unless it is an emergency.”
Back at camp, all the platforms were now occupied by the tents of merry walkers. I did the rounds. That evening, I broke out some festive bites I'd been hoarding, and it seemed everyone’d had the same idea, and we shared. It was a memorable Christmas.
Kia Ora Hut to Windy Ridge Hut,8.9 km, 3h30, 48.7 km
I was out early, 08:00, but my start was delayed by saying bye to other campers still on their platforms as I passed each. The clouds were back, brushing the peaks.
By 9:00 I was at Du Cane Hut, an ancient structure wth a weird wooden chimney. Outside I saw a sign, Windy Ridge Hut, 2 hr 30 min; Kia-Ora Hut, 45 min; Water; Toilet. The area around was parklike, with short grass and scattered trees. A delightful spot.
I passed by some signs pointing to waterfalls, but paused to pay respect to Ranger Fergy’s memorial cross set into a living tree. 1884-1970, the Bushwalker’s friend.
After bearing relentlessly south so far, the track turned definitively west at Hartnett Falls turnoff. Here the going was rougher; in some places there were no bridges, just stepping stones. The way climbed to Du Cane Gap, 1070 metres. At 11:27 I was at the surveyor’s mark.
The trees here had burls on burls. Or in some cases where a solid trunk had paired burls, should that be balls?
I came across a complex set of platforms among the trees. A group campsite. Groups could book a group site for one night. But soon I encountered the regular camper platforms, and baggsed one. A minute later I found the “Welcome to Windy Ridge” sign, then went on to explore the Bert Nichols (2003) Hut at Windy Ridge. The ceiling of the hut was decorated with leaf models. GumTop, Stringybark. It was well provisioned with hooks to hang things and drafty rooms designed to dry wet clothes.
It was only 12:29, and I found a sign telling me Narcissus Hut was just 3 hrs ahead, but I wasn’t in any hurry.
I did find a couple of better platforms than my first pick, and moved my pack to one of them. Later, however, I found a nice spot on a bench in the hut. I fetched my pack and pulled out my sleeping bag to claim it.
Windy Ridge Hut to Narcissus Hut, 9.5 km, 3h, 58.2 km
Narcissus Hut to Echo Point, 5.7 km, 3h20, 63.9 km
I was on the path at 7:18 the next morning. I had itchy feet and I hadn’t slept well, under a roof again.
I soon encountered a bridge. Today I encountered a lot of bridges, some well built, some distinctly rickety. Where there wasn’t a bridge, there were stepping stones. It was like there was a lake nearby or something. I also spent the day in forest. I saw clearings through the trees, but the path never went down to them.
By 8:58 I was at the Pine Valley Turnoff. The signs here had no times or distances, just destinations. A currawong watched, amused, as I studied the signposts, then fluttered down as I left, in obvious hopes I had dropped something. He was disappointed.
The Narcissus River had a metal suspension bridge, but allowed only one person at a time. I got a couple coming up behind me to take a selfie of me standing on the bridge.
By 10:25 I was at Narcissus hut, my original planned target, but I was unimpressed by the facilities, my feet still itched, and a sign with a possum skull perched on it claimed that Echo Point was only 2 hours further on. So I went.
I left Narcissus about 10:50. At 11:42 I came to a fork. I took the Cynthia Bay path, offering 5 hrs via the Lake Track or 6 hrs via the Byron Gap. A couple of minutes further on I crossed Hamilton Crossing.
Twenty minutes on, I came to another intersection without times or distances. The signs pointed back to Narcissus, right to Bryon Gap, or straight on to Echo point Hut. Straight on it was. My guide claimed this intersection was 1.6 km from Narcissus. It had taken me 1.25 hours!
The track now quite quickly deteriorated, leading me to question my decision. I also came across quite a bit of furry scat, and heard things moving in the bushes. My imagination began to work against me.
12:24 Up, down, trip, stumble, argh!
I got a glimpse of the lake through the trees. My agility was already being sorely tested by fallen trees, but I found a gap, despite having to scramble over another sizable trunk.
12:45 Down on the lake shore, just for a break from the eternal bloody tree roots!
A few minutes south, I found a way back off the beach and onto the track. I soon found more tree roots, but the sun was out and the forest looked lovely in the dappled light through the leaves. I passed a cheerful little waterfall hidden in a cleft. Then I was back on the beach about 13:30, watching a ferry and then a speedboat zoom by.
At 14:11, I finally reached Echo Point, 3h20 out from Narcissus! I had never been lost; I had always kept the lake on my left; and I got there in the end. But boy, that path was so bad I wonder if I was on the Track at all!
Echo Point Hut was no great shakes, and the toilet was hidden back in the trees, and the campsites under the trees were lousy and had no platforms, but the beach was dry, clean and welcoming in the sunshine. And so I came to rest.
There was a pier. The pier had a signal to tell passing ferries that someone was waiting. “to summon water-taxi lift flap and slip wire ring over top of post.” The ferry "Idaclair" came by headed north to Nacissus about 15:20, and stopped to pick someone up. It passed by again headed south to St Clair at 16:00, and picked up two more people. If I wanted to end my walk here, I could have caught that southbound ferry and been in St Clair in less than 30 minutes. But St Clair was just 3 hours walk south of here, tomorrow. Also, I could also have got here from Narcissus in just 10 minutes, by ferry. But where’s the fun in that?
The sunny afternoon passed slowly. I completed my exploration of the lousy campsites and the secret composting toilet in the trees. People hung their washing on the sunny pier to dry. Dinner was the last of my freeze-dry with noodles and coffee, cooked on a stump beside my tent on the beach.
The sun went down, and due to clouds it was pitch black, except where people recklessly blazed their LED camp lights. Creatures snorted and grunted in the bushes back of the beach, and in the tress overhead. The waves lapped on the shore. And that was all I knew until the morning.
Echo Point to Cynthia Bay, 10.1 km, 3h30, 74.0 km
Cynthia Bay to Hobart
The morning was grey and foggy. The beach was still mysterious, but less welcoming, in the dank air. In fact, it was so grey and dismal and yesterday’s memories of the poor state of the forest track were so discouraging, that I decided to skip that last 3-hour section through the grey and dripping forest. Who knew how long it would really take me? The ferry signal flapped sadly on its post. And then the sound of a boat engine came across the lake.
By 9:35, we were docking at Narcissus. By 10:19 I was walking up to the buildings at Cynthia Bay. Just for form’s sake, I walked to the end of the Overland Track. All over!
I kicked around until the Hobart bus came through about 16:30, and by 19:45 I was in Hobart. I recall nothing of the journey, took no pictures, made no notes: I sat in the bus and brooded, regretting that in the end I had not been up to slogging through that last three hours of forest primeval.
I knew I would not have enjoyed that damp, decrepit forest trail. The fog did eventually clear, near noon, but the day remained overcast and gloomy. I had made the prudent choice.
HobartI checked into the Waratah Hotel in Murray St, originally known as “The Blue Bells of Scotland” in 1832. It became the Waratah in 1894. However, sadly, the original building was demolished and replaced with a banal modern construction in recent times.
The Sydney to Hobart Yacht race had just wound up, and Hobart’s wharves were crowded with boats. I took a walk to have a look and a late dinner. Then I crashed.
I have no photos from Monday, because I spent that day in the Library researching my family history. My grandfather had spent part of his childhood here, and I wanted to see if I could find anything from local records that was unavailable elsewhere. I'll spare you the details. I fished up a number of useful leads and artifacts.
Tuesday went as Monday, but I did get out for a walk in the morning before immersing myself back in the stacks. Like Christchurch, Hobart had a big chessboard in a square.
The 31st was my last day in Hobart, and I was finally ready to do some footwork! I had tracked my ancestors to an orchard in Glenorchy. I had tracked down the name of the orchard, and the modern street it faced onto, and the street number the addresss had used back then. I had photos of the roofline and a hint of the lie of the land.
By 10:00 I was walking through Glenorchy, and up that street. I had been unable to find the roofline I sought in Google Streetview, but if the house still existed by the road then perhaps I would find it by walking past it on foot.
I found nothing. The street would have been largely rural back then, and there was no guarantee that a house set in an 11-acre orchard would even have been visible from the street, assuming it still existed.
HomeboundMy trip to Hobart had been far from wasted, but I was so focused on family that I had neglected to be a tourist. Hobart remains undiscovered by me.
That evening I boarded Jetstar flight JQ710 at 18:20, and at 19:35 I touched down in Melbourne. My 2008 wandering was done.
