Du Cane Range traverse

 A couple head out into the Tasmania wilderness armed with nothing but a map and a sense of adventure. Then they leave the map in the car. Hilarity ensures. Wait, no, not hilarity…

We had this realisation 15 minutes after leaving the boat at the north end of Lake St Clair. John has a photographic memory for maps, and the directions for this route were quite sketchy at best so we thought it wouldn’t make much difference. In retrospect we imagined explaining this to the SES: 

“We didn’t think we’d need a map because we’d read this blog on the internet…”

View from the Labyrinth. 

Our mission was the Du Cane Range circuit, heading from Lake St Clair, up from Pine Valley, through the Labyrinth, up Mt. Massif, and along Falling Mountain. That sounds like a quest to throw a ring into the fires of Mordor and it felt like the Director’s cut. It went on, and on, and on. As usual, the BOM forecast was mis-timed and Friday night’s bad weather arrived on Saturday. Apart from some snow squalls the weather had been mostly good heading through the boggy Labyrinth. The climb along Big Gun pass was our first experience of the notorious boulder fields of this route. I’m not averse to some boulder hopping but rocks that move and leg breaking gaps take it to a whole new level. Some smaller rocks I was standing on started an avalanche and I fell forward, hitting my head on a rock. I was a bit shaken but everything seemed OK. It brought home how easily things can go very wrong out here. 

You have to earn this view

After a very physical 7.5 hours we reached the Mount Massif plateau. With the weather closing in and hours of boulder fields ahead of us, we quickly pitched the tent beside a puddle of water on the exposed moon-like surface. It was impossibly good timing as it started dumping with snow minutes later as we spent the next 15 hours inside sheltering. While we weren’t cold, with our -8 rated down quilts and sleeping mats, the 50kph+ wind gusts drove snow under the tent fly and ice crystals through the inner mesh. Every 5 minutes we heard the roar coming up the mountain and got an ‘ice facial’ as a wind blast came through. Sleep was scarce but eventually I ventured out to make some ‘yellow snow’. Melting snow for hot water was too fuel-intensive so I broke the ice on the nearby puddle with my spork and filled a bottle with some brackish fluid for porridge and beverages. 

This all fell about 5 minutes after we pitched the tent

Cozy and warm.

We gathered as much as we could before a warp speed tent packing operation to avoid freezing before we could get moving. The human body, on the move, generates an incredible amount of heat. While we kept moving, we were warm enough and the challenge was to remove layers to stop sweating and getting base layers wet. The route we were following (from the internet!) had groups taking a whole day to cover the next section to the Overland track. We couldn’t see how, as the distance was a fraction of the day before. We now know. The cairns became intermittent, were widely spaced and, in the snow, it was difficult to tell a cairn from a random pile of rocks. Luckily, the thick fog of the morning had lifted so we could see where we needed to get to. It was just less clear exactly how we could get there. Too many times we ended up on large, icy boulders, pulling some Alex Honnold ‘free solo’ moves to get across the top of the ridge, before realising we had to backtrack lower and skirt around the mountain. The distance between Mount Massif and Falling mountain is short but it is utter, utter shite, particularly in snow.  At times like this I think about our mate Domhnall. He’s a doctor on the rescue helicopter and experienced in being prepared for Tasmanian wilderness. What would Domhnall have right how? Crampons; an EPIRB; an ice axe; a spare ice axe in case he lost the first one. What do I have? I have plastic bags on my feet.

Who needs waterproof socks? Good for making yellow snow at 3am. Thanks Phil Exton for your brilliant idea!

The route description had us going to the southern most point of Falling Mountain, with a bit of down climbing to a faint track to Du Cane Pass. What we actually did was almost fall to our deaths several times before realising there were only cliffs at the point, and have several domestic arguments before both agreeing we had to get off the mountain using an alternative route into the scrub. This followed the reasoning that the scrub would suck, but people don’t generally die in scrub as much as they do on exposed mountain tops in the snow. Traversing along the east side of the mountain, the going got easier once we reached the line where the vegetation started. We owe our lives to the integrity of myrtle and pineapple grass which allowed us to down climb rock faces which would have been impossible otherwise. We’ve always wondered how hard it was for the first trail breakers in the Tasmanian scrub. Ridiculously hard, apparently. We fought our way through, while the scrub fought back. When we emerged, John only had one gaitor after the bush had literally unzipped it from his leg. 

'The crack'. Well one of many.

This guy looked friendly

Finally, back on the Overland Track, we were still a long way from the car. We had no food for a second night, wet sleeping bags and John’s airbed had sprung a leak. We didn’t have many options except to push on through the night and walk the 26km back to Lake St Clair. Part of our trip had been to support a mate who was running from Penguin to Lake St Clair. Unfortunately, he’d had to cancel the Overland Track leg due to heavy snow in the morning. But fortunately, for us, we had his post-run food bags in the car and what he’d packed was a lot more appealing that what we’d been eating for 2 days. 

Celebration Chorizo for making it to the top of Falling Mountain. We had popped our Spanish sausage prematurely.

What to say about this route? Yeah, wow. Approach with extreme caution. This falls between Type 2 and 3 fun depending on the day, conditions, company and veracity of one’s memory. Knowing the parts to avoid and taking a 4-season tent would have improved the experience. As would a more realistic time frame. Putting things in perspective, we’d do a hike in one day that others would take 3 days to do. But even given that, I’d allow 3 days for this route with an additional overnight at Bert Nichols Hut. Things like more food and heavier tents increase pack weight and slow progress. So work out exactly how much discomfort you’re willing to bear and pack accordingly. Me – I like the discomfort. And the fear. It lets me know I’m alive. One moment I'm thinking about someone being a jerk on Facebook. The nex,t I'm solely focused on where my feet and hands are, to keep me on a rock.  It centres me in the moment.  But I guess it's not for everyone. 

This is the 'money shot'