Frenchman's Cap: Take 3

 Having poorly executed this hike twice before, we thought we'd nail it this time. It was also a good excuse to use up all the expired trail snacks which had accumulated over the years of missed adventures due to injury and COVID. It was forecast for sunny and 28 degrees and for once the BOM looked correct as we headed to Derwent Bridge on Thursday afternoon. After a delicious if slightly over priced Sri Lankan curry at the Derwent Wilderness Hotel (there's not exactly fierce competition for business out there) we slept in a carpark the back of the Subaru. If the Tesla station cameras were actually working I apologise to the reviewers who caught my 2am underwear run to the public toilets. 

Some would say 'out of date', I say 'vintage'. To be honest, this one tasted a little funky.

After a 5am wake up, short drive, coffee and breakfast at the trail head, we set off in the crisp morning. The thermal top only lasted until the first climb and it was t-shirt weather for the rest of the day. Although there are some exposed stretches, a good deal of the hike is under the forest canopy, surrounded by moss and tree ferns. It's one of the loveliest walks in Tasmania, especially along Lake Vera. 

Barron Pass

The one working-arm bandit and some scenery

From Tahune hut there was a lot of scrambling we didn't remember from our last rushed summer trip. It's not that extreme but was certainly complicated by the fact that John had surgery to repair his broken scaphoid only 7 days before and was still in a cast. It was pretty impressive him getting up and down with one arm. What a view from the summit! It couldn't have been a more perfect day with very little wind or cloud. 

Making friends at the top. Ollie left around the same time as us for his first Frenchman's.

What a view from the summit.

Obligatory couples selfie at the top.

The trip down reminded me that I'd had knee surgery 3 months ago and had done zero hiking since our Overland adventure in June. As a result, we can both barely walk 2 days afterwards. We got back to the car 11h 40m after we left which was faster than we thought and not too far off our run time. The track is quite technical so there's a lot of sections which are better fast-walked. We checked in to our room at the Tarraleah Estate and hobbled over to get a drink. Every step was an act of supreme will and I only saw the upstairs floor of our cute room once because walking back downstairs made me cry. The best thing about this hotel is they arrange a slow cooked meal for your room if you're going to be late getting in. Huge chunks of fall-apart beef Rendang, rice, and sticky date pudding for dessert. Just amazing. It also has Highland cows which we were told we could go in the paddock to see better. I wouldn't recommend it though as they are enormous and we had to back away calmly after they became a little too friendly (or aggressive, it's hard to tell with those horns). Is it an adventure if everything goes to plan? I don't know but this is such a fantastic hike so please check it out. There's a registration system to manage numbers but you only need to register if you're staying in the park overnight. If you're prepared to have a long day, you can certainly tick this off without camping.

A friend from the homeland?

The Overland Track - Tasmania June 2022

 My friends think the Overland Track is a bit easy. That's no reflection on people who do it as a personal challenge. I think it’s great people get out there, and push their own limits. But my friends do it as a day run. One has done it up, AND BACK, as a single push. I hang with a tough crowd which means usually needing an additional element of difficulty to an expedition. Being cold is my personal challenge. I am a tropics girl, 39 years, and 5 years in Tasmania has not changed that. I also have Raynaud’s which means my fingers stop working when they get cold. This is annoying when I’m at home, but is quite dangerous when I’m in the wilderness and can’t zip up a jacket or get food out of my pack. For me, this is a problem to be tackled and solved. It did not get solved on this trip, even with fleece-lined Bunnings gardening gloves and waterproof motorcycling over-mitts. I have some Gortex snow mitts on order. But for this trip John got to feed and dress me again. It’s good practice for when I get dementia, I guess. So here is a brief-ish account of our winter Overland Track.

Day 1 – Ronny Creek Carpark to Waterfall Valley Hut

After hitting the hot breakfast buffet at the Cradle Mountain Hotel, we took our bacon-lined stomachs on the bus to Ronny Creek, the official OT start. It was actively snowing and windy, but that did not deter the inappropriately attired day-trippers from their forays as far as Kitchen Hut. No wonder people die here. The snow got a little deep so we put on our snow shoes for about 3 minutes before realising there really wasn’t enough snow. We did not use them again for the rest of the trip. I declared that we must not pass Cradle Mountain without climbing to the top. Yes I know it’s snowing (hard) and the rocks are icy, and we eschewed snow spikes for useless snow shoes. Shoosh. Climb. We could barely see Cradle Mountain, there would be no view, but refer to the opening paragraph – it was the challenge. Well the challenge proved a little too death enticing so we aborted just short of the plateau. In my head the plateau was a field of soft snow, rainbows and unicorns. But it could have just been chasms of death so I guess I’ll find out on another trip.

The climb up Cradle Mountain

Cool snow patterns

I put my sunglasses on soon after, to keep the sideways hail from piercing my corneas. I did not use them again, due to lack of more hail, and because the winter sun is almost always at your back while traveling south on the OT. After 6 hours we fell into Waterfall Valley Hut, and a group of university students from the UTAS bush-walking club. I showed my age by saying something about how good it was to see ‘young people’ out enjoying the wilderness. We were introduced to a game called ‘Spoons’ which was played with a headtorch, battery, pot handle and a packet of Carbonara, due to the lack of spoons. It was quite physical, and required equal amounts of dexterity, lightning-fast reflexes, and aggression. So naturally John won. 

Wombat count: 1

Day 2 – Waterfall Valley to Pelion Hut

We rose to see the snow had stopped falling, it was completely still, and Barn Bluff was peeking through the cloud. Ten seconds after leaving the hut we saw our second wombat for the trip. With blue skies and the sun at our backs all we had to do was move forward and marvel at the scenery. Obviously, it is different to summer. But there’s a special thrill which comes with white-dusted peaks and squeaky snow underfoot.

Barn Bluff from Waterfall Valley hut

Some sun, finally!

This leg would normally be done over 2 days. But the going was good, despite the snow, and it’s achievable in one, for those who would like to do more side trips further along the track. We only stopped briefly at Windemere Hut so I could give John a shoulder massage as his pack was killing him. There were two revelations for me on this trip, in terms of equipment. The first was merino hiking underwear. Why did I not know about these? I bought two pairs of Macpac women’s merino boxers and they are literally the most comfortable thing I’ve ever worn. I will only wear these for the rest of my life and they will bury me in them (hopefully this model, not this specific pair). The other revelation was walking poles. With my recalcitrant hands I could not be bothered with the faff of poles, but after a trip of using John’s nice carbon ones, I am sold. They prevented many expeditions to the ground on slippery terrain and came into their own while hopping between rocks and random bits of wood people have thrown into mud bogs. Less than 6 months after my knee exploded, they also took a lot of pressure off while descending and hopping down from things. But I still think I look a bit like a ‘Landstrider’ from The Dark Crystal while using them (old person reference). 

I fell in love with the north-west face of Mt Oakleigh, with the sun accentuating the dolerite columns and the curl of the south-west ridge. Unfortunately, all my photos are crap (cold hands, mobile phone quality) so I settled for the often-photographed southern aspect when we reached Pelion Hut. It was such a special track section surrounded by Mt Thetis, Pelion West and Mt Achilles, with Ossa just obscured by the cloud. The hut was surprisingly crowded with several groups walking the track south to north, which is not possible in summer. The hut has lots of rooms but only a small gas heater, which is temperamental to light and is only warm if you’re standing right beside it. The cage around it was full of people’s wet socks cooking away which gave the hut a special aroma. I had the worst night’s sleep with a chainsaw-snorer in the room beside us. Also, note: it is very antisocial to wear heavy hiking boots around the hut while everyone is still asleep. A pair of cheap slides could prevent a spork stabbing.

Wombat count: 3

Mt Oakleigh from Pelion Hut

Looking down the Forth Valley

Day 3 – Pelion Hut to Bert Nichols Hut

This was known as ‘the wet miserable day’. It was raining lightly, all the shrubs were wet and I was grateful for my head to toe waterproofs. Most of my dampness was generated on the climbs in said non-breathable waterproofs. The pit zips on my jacket worked somewhat, but it was essentially a choice of which direction I wanted to the moisture to come from. We decided to climb Mt Pelion East as it was an easier climb than most, even in the winter. Starting out on FRP grating it quickly turned to snow then to a river of ice on the track proper. A lot of off-track walking was required to not slide back down the mountain. Some sketchy scrambling at the top but we finally summited a peak! (No view). I am so pleased at how less afraid of heights I’ve become in Tasmania through sheer exposure and peer pressure. I could barely stand on a kitchen table without vertigo previously so scrambling exposed rock is some small progress.

I was feeling less pleased when we returned to our packs and found that the currawongs had stolen all my remaining trail mix and banana chips. These thieving birds have learned how to work zips so taking all your food with you in a day pack (or buried deep in your bag) is highly recommended. I hope they choked on a pecan. We did a side trip to see the waterfalls before the climb to Du Cane Gap. They were quite impressive, especially D’Alton Falls, and are well worth seeing if there has been decent rain.

D'Alton Falls

We descended from Du Cane Gap, past the site of our infamous scramble down Falling Mountain. Bert Nichols hut is enormous, with a heater that is even more difficult to operate (hot tip: you can’t actually see the pilot light, so just assume it’s lit and proceed with the instructions) but as there were only three of us there, it left ample room for socks and other garments to dry. A first year UTAS medical student, Wade, was part of the university walking group on Day 1 but was fast hiking to make it back to guide a rafting trip down the Picton River. We were at all the same huts during the trip so he got to hear many of our war stories, which were mostly lessons in what not to do and where not to go. I hope he took notes.

Day 4 – Bert Nichols Hut to Echo Point

Reasonably good weather in the morning meant a cracking photo of the Acropolis and Mt Geryon as we left the hut. The track lost some of its appeal from there as we left the spectacular mountains and entered less interesting track, with more mud bogs. On long stretches we fall into our regular routine. John points out relevant geographical features and historical landmarks, while I pepper him with burning questions like “When koalas fart, do you think it smells like eucalyptus?”. By now we were already planning the first thing we were going to eat when the hike was finished and were looking forward to our warm home and comfortable bed. As John was swearing at the difficulty of getting the coal fire going inside Echo Point hut (be very thankful we no longer have to use coal fires to stay warm – what a faff!), we worked out that neither of us actually wanted to stay in the hut. Both of us were just pretending to want to because we thought the other person wanted to stay there, and was taken with its ‘rustic charm’ (read: run down) or something. But the fire was finally kicking off, our shoes were drying for the first time in 4 days so we settled in. John started reading the walkers log while I tended the needy fire. Literally every story mentioned the hut rats and how they enjoyed nibbling food, sleeping mats, and the occasional face. We promptly set up our tent outside. It was the quaintest hut we never stayed in. 

The Acropolis above the trees

The Scotsman knows his way around a coal fire

Echo point hut has the best location

Love a mossy log

Day 5 – Echo Point to Lake St Clair

Best night’s sleep ever. Face, unnibbled. I’m so delighted with our new tent and that we got to use it, finally. It’s great to have my own side entry and annex to facilitate the inevitable 2am wee without climbing over John. It was only a 2 hour walk to Lake St Clair but it felt like an eon stood between me and a burger-with-the-lot at the Hungry Wombat. Most people don’t do this part of the track, opting to get the boat from Narcissus Hut. But John loves it for some reason, and I guess the Myrtle forest has it’s charms, although the multitude of huge fallen trees over the track detracted from them. Have you really done the OT if you don’t walk right to the end? Obligatory photos by the official sign done, we indulged in the complementary hot showers at the visitor centre and the fresh clothes from our car we’d parked there 6 days before. 

The end!

Burger inhaled it was a little jarring being back in ‘civilisation’. I feel confused about which world constitutes ‘real life’ after these types of adventures. It usually ends up in a compromise of gratitude for soft beds, hot showers and lattes, and a yearning to pare back the superfluous trappings of daily life, and to escape from the ‘noise’ of constant 'information'. On a recent podcast the interviewee used the difference between Western and Eastern art as a metaphor for different approaches to life. In Western art we start with a blank canvas and fill it with everything which constitutes the masterpiece. In Eastern art, we start with a block of jade, and carve away everything which is not the masterpiece. Some carving may be required.

Precipitous Bluff Circuit

 After running the track from Lune River to Mount La Perouse earlier this year with some mates, a wild plan was hatched to do the full circuit going over Pindar’s Peak, Precipitous Bluff, down New River Lagoon then along the South Coast track to Cockle Creek. Since the 100-mile race we'd been training for fell victim to COVID, the rest of the group decided to do it as a continuous run. That sounded batshit crazy to me, but John and I decided to do it as a fast hike instead. We parked one car at the end and drove the second to the rudimentary camp site at Lune River. We began walking at 6am the following day which turned out to be an absolute pearl. Trekking along Moonlight Ridge with Mt La Perouse and the Cockscomb framed by cloudless blue sky I thought "good choice" and was full of confidence in reaching at least the base, if not the summit, of PB by sundown. 

We haven't had many blue sky days on our adventures.

Despite being in absolute wilderness we managed to bump into a group of three consisting of John's old hospital work mate Mike Rose and two female companions. Mike is in his 60s but is somewhat of a legend of doing hard shit. They were doing the same circuit but taking 8 days instead of 2 and a bit. He's done the circuit about 10 times including twice with a side trip to Vanishing Falls which involves an extra 2 days of 'proper' scrub bashing. I thought I detected a hint of scepticism in his response when we told him of our target for the day but didn't pay it as much attention as I should have. 

The vastness of the landscape. PB in the background.

On many maps the trail ends at Pindar's Peak as this is most commonly done as a return walk. It was clear that the full circuit was the road less travelled as soon as we were head height in dense scoparia having the skin scraped from any exposed flesh. The track 'has several false leads' we read in Chapman's guidebook AFTER we had already taken several and started bashing through the impenetrable scrub. John climbed a dead tree and decided we needed to be about 10 metres to the right of where we were, it was just impossible to get there. After about half an hour of pushing, scratching, crawling, and swearing we finally found the trail again and returned to the moderate torture of following it. Making excruciatingly slow progress, it was getting dark much earlier than expected due to the gathering storm clouds. We were in a white out by the time we hit Wylly plateau, we'd been hiking for 12 hours, and it seemed prudent to stay put for the night. In freezing, howling wind we erected the tent, boiled some water and ate dinner wrapped in our sleeping bags. Being warm, dry, and exhausted, sleep came quickly. Until we felt water dripping on our faces.

We had a tent malfunction in the respect that, in my opinion, a tent's main role is to keep water out, and ours failed to do this. I slept with my waterproof jacket over my face and torso hoping to keep mostly dry. While our sleeping bags weren't totally saturated, we knew they would be after being rolled and stowed in our dry bags for the wet day ahead. The tent had pools of water on the floor and all we could do was shake it out before packing it in the middle of another squall at 4.30am the next morning. We put wet clothes back on and I was shivering violently for the first hour of walking. Eventually the rain and hail stopped, and the effort of continued scrub bashing warmed me. On the downside the scrub was now also wet, and while my jacket kept my upper body warm and mostly dry, my hiking shorts were cold, soaked and almost falling down with the weight. On day one we tried to avoid mud puddles altogether. On day two we tried to avoid stepping into mud deeper than our knee. We failed. My weakness is being cold, so I spent a tense day imagining another night in wet gear. We flirted with the idea of simply hiking non-stop to the end. But with even relatively light packs the going would be slow and we imagined we had at least another 24 hours in front of us. Finally making it to the base of PB, the skies, and track, cleared somewhat. The climb to the saddle was technical but has some interesting rock work and stairs which had been inserted by the trail builders. 

Chimney climbing. One of the few technical sections.

At the saddle we agreed that neither of us were interested in the 1.5-hour side trip to summit PB in average conditions, being already so far behind schedule. We opted to descend on the steep, exposed track, which involved a bit of down climbing but was relatively straightforward. The track became less clear traversing under the PB cliffs before turning sharply downhill toward New River Lagoon. From this point we followed irregularly spaced surveyors’ tape, many pieces of which had fallen or been obscured. It was more slow-going as tape was lost and route options carefully considered, since dropping the wrong way down the steep terrain would involve a quad burning climb back up. 

The descent from PB is exposed but absolutely spectacular.

There was a lot of climbing over and under trees and very steep descending, but we arrived at the lagoon just on low tide. This was fortunate as the next 2 hours were spent walking knee-deep in the lagoon water as the shoreline is far too thick with scrub to skirt around it. The water was warm, and the sun was at our backs, so we mostly enjoyed it except for the sunburned thighs after doing the wading in our underwear. We couldn't find the sand bar to cross two deeper creeks but found some fallen trees a short way upstream which could be crossed using some gymnastics moves. 

Doing my best beam routine to stay dry.

At the end of the lagoon, we reached Prion Beach and used the blazing sunshine to unpack all our gear and dry everything out. We made some tea and coffee and enjoyed our first actual toilet for a couple of days at the nearby campsite. It was at this point that I got that gratitude for the simple things that I put myself through these ordeals to find. Dry shorts are awesome. A dry sleeping bag is awesome. The sun is awesome. Toilets are awesome. 

Looking back at PB from New River Lagoon.

After a very pleasant hike from the lagoon, we arrived at Surprise Bay at 9pm as the sun set. The slippery rocks and high tide at Granite Beach beyond didn't sound like something we should do in the dark after 14 hours of hard walking. We enjoyed the dry weather while eating our freeze-dried meals outside in relative comfort. Things were looking up. Then the rain came again. Stowing as much of our gear undercover as the small tent annex would allow, we settled in for another damp night. I awoke at 4.50am and saw John holding the tent roof up with his finger so no water would drip on his beloved. That's devotion. I said our alarm didn't go off until 5am and went back to sleep leaving him to support the tent a little longer. 

Can hold up a tent.

The weather was awful most of the next day with hailstorms and bitterly cold wind. While the track was clearer, much of it was deep with mud with the potential to go in up to the thigh if a route wasn't carefully selected. It was mentally and physically taxing trying to join the dots and jump from log to rock to solid ground, taking a route that was as much sideways as it was forward towards the destination. The beaches in-between had a special quality to them. Not only for their rugged beauty, but, given the pounding surf, the knowledge that the only way to see them was through suffering on foot. Granite Beach had an extra treat as the track involves climbing the cliffs at the end beside a rushing waterfall. Between Granite Beach and South Cape Bay was especially horrific with mud and our tempers frayed. This wasn't helped by the frequency of which we hit our heads on low tree branches as we were too focussed on the ground to see them. On several occasions we both drove our skulls into thick tree limbs hard enough to be sporting some good-sized eggs and cuts. I thought John had given himself concussion after a heavy knock sent him sliding off the side of the track.

Once past South Cape Bay we started to see 'normal' people hiking in for the day. They were clean, smiling and they smelled good. It was an indicator that civilisation was very close. The sun came out again as if the track gods were trying to make amends for the ordeal we had been through. We will not forget though, and the phrase 'never again' was frequently uttered. We reached the car which was now in the middle of a pool of water after the heavy rains. One more muddy puddle to get through - of course. Cooking up some soup before we hit the road, we chatted to two guys who had finished hiking the full South Coast Track over 7 days. They had enjoyed it, despite the mud and hilly terrain. They had even taken books to read which is a classic sign that moving fast, and light is not a priority. Why had we had such different experiences? One traveller answered that the difference between a holiday and a 'mission' may be the time allotted. By compressing pleasant week-long walks into a couple of days, we had been continually doing 'missions'. At the same time, I wonder if the 'mission' aspect isn't the thing I crave about outdoor adventures. What does one do when the daily hike is finished by 1pm, it's raining, and you're confined to your tent? Maybe the walk-eat-sleep-repeat aspect is what I find character-building? Whatever the answer to these questions, one thing is certain - we need a new tent. Falling in the door at home, we still had a lot of unpacking and cleaning to do. I finally got in the shower and marvelled at the fact that hot water comes out of a hole in the wall. Hot showers are awesome. My bed is awesome.

This guy is pretty awesome too.

Tips:

* A clear weather window would improve this track immensely. As would actual track marking. Some good navigation skills are a must. Australian Topographic Maps app can show your location on the track. Remember to download the maps to your phone before you head off, so you don’t have to rely on signal at the top of a mountain like we did.

* Pack rubber gardening gloves for the bush-bashing through the scoparia. And ensure your legs are completely covered by sturdy pants and gaiters. We’re sporting some very scratched knees. The long-sleeve Mountain Designs button up shirts performed very well in keeping us cool, warm and protecting arms from the bush.

* Progress through many sections is slow – about 1 km per hour through the thick scrub and about 3 kms per hour even on formed track. The track winds a lot so the distance covered can be greater than it appears on the map.

* Fill up with water at every opportunity. Fresh water is hard to find after Wylly plateau and the colour is questionable so sterilisation tabs are a must.

* Do not expect to have type 1 fun. This is definitely type 2 to 3 fun as in, not fun at all. But it will be a good reference point in future to rate just how bad things are in comparison.

Precipitous Bluff. Photo credit: Matt Glastonbury (with a helicopter and proper camera I assume).