South West Walk, Tasmania

26/12/2018

The adventure begins! I am having a wonderful dinner with Jennifer opposite me at Rockwalls Bar and Grill Restaurant, Salamanca Place. An eye fillet steak washed down with an excellent Riesling from France; on its side is a plain rectangular white label with “Burgoyne” in curled italics and 2015 higher on the nape of the bottle.

At 2pm today, I met the other walkers about to commence the South West walk with Tasmanian Expeditions. We met our two Tasmanian Expedition guides at the Mountain Outdoor store in Bathurst Street. I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see Earle. Earle was one of the three guides on the Jatbula Trail I completed a few months before. Nom is a young woman and with Earle, the second half of our guiding complement. They checked our gear.

(In retrospect, I really, really need to economise on the gear I take on these long walks but everything seems so… necessary at the time of packing. It does not feel so necessary when I am carting a 24 kilogram pack for 10 hours up hill and down dale.)

Tomorrow we will meet on the pavement outside the doors of the Astor Private Hotel, for bus transfer to Cambridge airport. From Cambridge, Par Avion will convey our group piecemeal to Melaleuca.

I must admit to some self-doubt about my fitness. I have been training for 4 months with packs and weight vests and I hope that will be enough.

Sunday 30/12/2018

I have not written about any events or musings these last few days due to straight out weariness. A weariness which is not ennui surrounding modern consumerism but weariness which means I cannot actually move any part of my body. Arrive camp, set up tent, collapse (in it), hibernate until I can move something and my overall body pain drops to tolerable levels: this was arrival protocol for the last 3 days of walking.

The reason I am writing today, day 4 of the walk, is that it has been a rest day and I must admit was an opportunity very well received by me.

In the late morning of the 27th of December, we arrived in aerial convoy into Melaleuca. Each plane carried four of our party as well as our gear. The flight can be described as fantastic, with almost clear skies, minimal wind and magnificent scenery over which to fly. The blue of the sky punctuated by scatterings of white fluffy clouds and distant views only vanishing into haze hundreds of kilometres away. I could see Cradle Mountain hovering on the horizon far to the north. There were the Western Arthurs rising into the air; ranges of massive rugged mountains some with lakes, blue, still and poised between pillars of stone.

The plane skirted Mt Picton; great buttresses of rock erupted through bare, slopes, all stark and featureless above the dense forest situated below its tree line. Then we saw Bathurst Harbour. It has been barely 45 minutes since we departed Cambridge. The harbour is huge and our destination, Melaleuca, sits on one of the southern arms. Islands dot the harbour. The solitary air strip looks as if a giant pale cream paint roller was run along the ground leaving a narrow white strip. As the plane turns and spirals down, the mountains and ranges all around spin crazily around, until the craft adroitly levels again, and the strip lies in front and just below the nose.

At Melaleuca, we had an hour of free time to explore the area before leaving on the first part of the walk. This afternoon’s hike leads to Cox Bight ; a beach nestled beneath and to the east of the New Harbour Range as it juts into the southern ocean. I visited the Deny King museum, which has displays about the area as well as the many personalities like Deny who lived and worked here for much of their lives. Deny’s old radio transmitter/receiver is on display under a glass cabinet. He used this to communicate with the outside world, to help in rescues and in educating his children. I did the short walk beside the river which eventually carries on all the way to Port Davey. This short walk has many interesting displays about the Aboriginal experience in this region.

I walked back to the airfield. The ranger was wearing gumboots and a sunhat, typical southwest apparel and told us tiger snakes and their babies, were lodged under the water tank. Mmmm. Thirsty or not?

We loaded up, put our packs on and began the 11 km walk to Cox Bight. The track consists of pine boardwalks and dried-out muddy tracks; it winds and undulates gently, surrounded by button grass and low heath. At ground level are fairies aprons as well as sundews emerging from the dense mud. Fairies aprons are single petal purple flowers with thin dark stalks and are carnivorous. They are a member of the genus, bladder worts. The term Bladder worts refers to “bladder” a sac filled with water and “wort” is old English for plant. Water fleas or other insects thriving in the water at the base of the plant. The “bladder” is filled by water under negative pressure, and has a small opening at water level, sealed by stoma. An insect touching these stoma triggers them to open, and water and the insect are then sucked into the bladder. The opening is sealed internally by mucus and then the feast begins! Sundews have glistening, sugary mucus that attracts flies but once they alight, they cannot extricate themselves and then the sundew produces digestive enzymes.

I saw a sun orchid, it was so heavily festooned with flowers that it lay on the surrounding grasses. A duck orchid stood proudly, barely bobbing in the sea breezes.

The boards on which we walked are dry and provide a secure walk way. When wet I think the outcome would be very different. The sliding of hikers on the now wet, already smooth, timber is legendary.

The track slews up and around the lower eastern slopes of New Harbour range. Freney lagoon is a brackish large body of water that lies behind the beach at Cox Bight. Freney lagoon was grey; a silver shimmer danced on its surface in marked contrast to the long lines of rolling white surf coming into Cox Bight from the Southern Ocean.

It is only a short walk along the beach to the campsite near Eric Point. The campsite is both beautiful and sheltered. After setting up my tent I walked along a sandy track back down to the beach. White sand within the reach of water darkens to metallic grey as surf transmutes and merges into repeating circles on the bank; wavelets ascend the shore then fall back, awash into the sea. This blisteringly clean beach and coast is magnificently back dropped by Eric Point and New Harbour range.

Some of the walkers decided to go for a swim. They all described the rip on the bays edge.

In the approach of evening, a band of curved cloud hung over the hills, and as the sunset grew in colour, the pink purple richness of the sky was reflected in a film of water glistening on the beach.

As I laid my head down in my tent, the sound of surf did not lull me to sleep as I still felt untested on this walk, and much was still to come.

In the morning, I needed to fill my two water bottles for the days walk. A nearby stream carved its way through the beach. The water tested fresh and cool. Our guides had set up breakfast. Tea, porridge and coffee. The way they made coffee is interesting. A large, wide lidded saucepan is filled with water, the water is boiled. Over the top of the boiled water, sprinkle ground coffee. Let it brew for a few minutes. Then score the coffee with a knife (Criss-crossing). Then replace the lid and bang on the side of the saucepan. Then wait for the grounds to sink. This takes about 10 minutes. Then use a scoop to fill your coffee cup while taking care not to disturb the coffee at the bottom of the water.

I visited the beach again. To the south the sky was filled with abundant grey cloud, turning the water and surf a steely-grey. Then the sun pierced through a small gap in the clouds, sending scintillating beams of light through the air to dance on the crests.

Today we walked from Cox Bight to Louisa River. The walk begins with a stroll along the beach which offers wonderful views in all directions. The full majesty of the New Harbour range becomes increasingly apparent as it rises above the straggly gum trees with each step eastwards. There are a few shallow creek crossings, the streams diffused as water straggles over the shore. The yellow coloured rock at the end of the beach is the point where we left the beach and truly begin our approach to the climb over Red Point Hills. These hills are 250 meters high, with a pretty steep and unrelenting climb. It provides a litmus test to whether a walker (like me) should continue the rest of the South west walk or not.

Climbing up carved steps, then rocky depressions, all the time ascending inside a forest; views hidden by the trees. It is indeed a solid walk and a fair test of anyone’s fitness. After descending the hills. The track winds, travelling up and down through the Spica Hills, patches of forest interspersed with heathland full of wind stunted scrub. This scrub is virtually impenetrable. The reason people get lost is that there are sometimes many tracks, created to skirt deep ponds of mud. However, the dry conditions and winds of the last month, have made the muddy areas considerably easier to negotiate. A few creeks were crossed but all were shallow and presented no challenge or concerns. Over one of them, a rope was suspended across to help walkers get over in high water conditions. In a situation where a fall could occur, it is essential to undo the buckles on your pack otherwise there is a real risk of drowning if trapped by your pack under water. Beyond this creek, the forest is murky and dark, trees blotting out the sun. Suddenly I entered a great field of button grass and heath, a waving plain of soft green, and there above low hills was the Ironbound Range, a triple peaked monolith silhouetted against purest, blue sky.

It is a massive range that stands alone, a fusing of four mountains with a demanding 1000meter ascent and then an equally difficult descent.

By this time. Some 7 hours into the walk, I was getting sore in the shoulders. I am using a new pack that I think is operating above its weight specifications and I am sure I have not correctly set it up. It is amazing how additionally fatiguing pain can be over and above the physical effort of a hike. The pain became so troublesome, I just walked in a gritted teeth, determined way but even the aching I was tolerating was not enough to lessen my appreciation of the beautiful views around me.

We then dropped into a narrow valley, into forest, and skirted a river at its bottom following it downstream briefly. Here was the Louisa River and the camp site was on the other side! This river is far from fast flowing now but is none the less much deeper than all the creeks I had already crossed with nonchalance. I tried to balance on rocks to get across and keep my boots dry. Well that did not last long. I slipped in sideways, avoiding a fall into the river but I could not prevent water tumbling over the lips of my gaiters and into my boots. Bother!

I cannot be too upset as the experience of many other walkers is that crossing the Louisa River can be a terrifying affair. A rope crosses over the flow, to provide a hand hold. The water can be deep and very fast flowing and can often be impassable, forcing walkers to wait till it is safe to cross. A small sign advises you to do just this.

The campsite is beside the river. After tipping the excess water out, I put my boots on a fallen tree branch beside my socks to encourage some drying in the afternoon sunlight! I had brought some sandals to wear around the camp site and give my feet a chance to breathe. Early in today’s walk, I had developed a blister on my big toe, and Nom had help me dress it. I was surprised how quickly it formed while still on the beach at Cox bight. I think it put the tape on too tight as the nerves in my toe were affected, almost a tourniquet effect as the toes swelled up on the rest of the walk. Blisters are a serious problem on long walks, a common reason for forcing air evacuation if it becomes impossible to continue.

I found a flat site near the river and near the camp kitchen. I put up the inner part of my tent then correctly fitted the fly on. I had put it on upside down the night before! Other campers did not believe that was even possible to do.

Before dinner, I sat down with Earle and we adjusted the pack back cables to shorten the fitting along my spine. It is a new design to both of us both, but I think we figured it out.

We walked 18 kilometres today and boy, was I tired. I walked down the short track to the river and took many photographs. I followed the river around its bend climbing over branches and balancing on rocks. The water is deeply tannin stained by the tea trees that line the valley and river edge. Like nearly all the water here, it requires no filtration or cleaning. Only at one spot (South East cape rivulet) was the drinking water somewhat brackish and I emptied it as soon as I could to replace it with fresh stream water.

Nom gathered us together after dinner to tell us about the next day, the walk up and over the Ironbounds; up and out of sleeping bags, then breakfast at 4am. The hike is 12 kilometres but involves 1 kilometre up and 1 kilometre down and 1 kilometre across the top. Did I imply it’s hard? Well it certainly is, and all the more for lugging up 23kg of pack. Alan, another walker, carried an item for me that saved me a few kilograms. This was very much appreciated. If I can pre-empt my overall impression of the Ironbounds; it is the hardest walk and the most beautiful walk I have ever done. This description can be justly applied to the entire South West walk.

In the morning, I awoke to a pitch interior in little tent, grabbed my headlight and then quickly packed up my gear into the pack. By 4.30 am I was having porridge, and by 5am I was ready to set off. Light was beginning to filter over the horizon, the valley walls and the trees as I walked into and among the trees and as swiftly, began my ascent.

The track winds up steeply through forest, the track alternately rocky and muddy in stages. It’s a grunt, a slog rather than technical mountaineering. We left the tree line, entering the sole preserve of shrubs and grasses. As I climbed these were increasingly lower and more stunted. Around me the wind shrieked louder and louder. While behind me, the clouds looked increasingly threatening and dark, obscuring distant views of the coast, and the nearby mountains and valleys of yesterday’s hike. There were the tell-tale signs of rain, the grey thin streaks of water bending in the wind which was steadily rising more and more as we ascended. Rarely, a portion of the skies would clear and sunlight stream in to illuminate a tiny portion of the landscape. To the south was the Southern Ocean with its surf entering Cox Bight; to the west the majestic Spica hills, and far to the south there were the many islands of the Matsuyker group. I did not know that Sue and Tony, my friends, were sitting at Louisa Bay and thinking of me as I climbed into the teeth of a gale. Then mists, wind and cloud jostled the mountains and I could see nothing more of what was now far below me.

Nom was encouraging me as I walked up. Both of our guides are first rate and blend a love of the country with a ton of practical knowledge about safe walking in remote places like this. Nom explained that it is important to shorten the stick and palm the hand, with the palm over the top of the stick. This helps increase both strength and balance. The pack adjustments made last night, were very helpful in reducing pain in my shoulders.

As I ascended, there were sections of board walk, and some wooden and rock steps to make it easier. It is not a trackless ascent. However, much of the climb up the western side of the Ironbounds is very exposed and as the wind rose and rose, it became harder and harder to keep my balance and walk as well. Some of the other hikers had bad falls injuring knees and ankles.

Nom and I found several flowers, including: a Tasmanian Star lily which for all the world looks just like an orchid – it’s a purple flower with long petals and a yellow stamen and style. I photographed this in rain and wind and somehow the shot worked. There were many other flowers including; other irises, Christmas bells with their cherry red bells, spider orchids which should be too delicate for these places but thrive here, and the brown and beautiful duck orchid. Orchids are the largest of all plant groups. They get their nourishment not from photosynthesis like most plants. They have symbiotic fungi that tap into other plants root systems and steal nourishment from them and then shares the stolen sugars and minerals with the orchid perched gaily above.

The ascent is described in three stages, a steep first pinch, a less sloped section then a final steep pinch. I had got used to the less steep middle section, skirting between pillars of rock, decked at their bases with orchids and other flowers. Then I looked up, a high peering through mist, the other walkers were dotted on the slope far above me. With echoes of our favourite movie, Galaxy Quest, “you have got to be kidding”. “Who designed this?”

I climbed up this section feeling somewhat aggrieved but admittedly I was forewarned by Nom. At the top, the wind slammed into me. The boardwalk on this near level section across the tops, would normally provide an easy path but today the wind barrelled over the lip of the mountain throwing me off. Walk a few little, little steps then stop, balance into the wind while the gust hits. I fell twice dancing over the rocks till I was left standing, amazingly with no injury but at some points the boardwalk is high off the ground and I am very glad I did not fall there.

The wind roared over the mountain. It was deafening.

The top of the Ironbounds is reasonably flat, and it is 2 kilometres until High Camp, the first sheltered spot. Actually, this is the first sheltered spot since leaving Louisa River. When I arrived there the earlier arrivals were wearing rain jackets, stamping feet and snacking to keep warm. I enjoyed a muesli bar and a drink of water before heading out again. I was under the impression it was going to be all downhill from here, but I was mistaken. The track re-joined the plateau and quickly became even more exposed to the weather. Earlier the wind would erupt toward me in gusts with pauses, brief ones but with just enough time to shuffle onwards; this time it gusted non-stop. We all had to walk leaning 40 degrees into the wind and walk like crabs clutching our sticks and toppling side-ways to where the descent properly began. The track drops quickly from the plateau but the walk is not precipitous, just “technical”. The term “Technical” is jargon for difficult terrain; abundant muddy tracks, fallen branches, long rocky drops, diverging tracks and all of it, very slippery; yep it was technical.

I can only begin to imagine how hazardous and demanding it would be in really bad weather with rain and fog obscuring the route and frustrating walking. The rain that had dogged the early ascent of the Iron bounds had gone, and sunshine splintered through the overhanging crowns of trees. I soon stopped to remove my waterproof jacket and pull out my tucked in shirt to let it flap around me. Two hours after leaving High Camp, I arrived at Low Camp where I met the leading walkers. I could have stopped for the day right here; my earlier energy was spent. However, on this walk, there were still many kilometres to go before I could relax at a campsite. I just had to dig deep and keep going. The lunch was splendid as always; wraps we could generously stock with salad and meats.

I hope I have made clear how totally demanding the walk is but what I have not emphasized enough is how truly beautiful and biologically amazing the flora is. Over the last two hours I had travelled in alpine flora, then subalpine trees and flowers; wandered into fern glades, littered with glistening moist moss, slime moulds hunting: then entered a dark gloomy rainforest at the bottom of the Ironbounds. If you know New Zealand, this single day is like a Heaphy track in splendid miniature.

From Low Camp there was still three more hours to get to Little Deadman’s Bay.

A kilometre from the lunch spot is a set of waterfalls and cascades, great for a rest and a place to fill up my diminishing supply of water. I carried 4 litres of water. One of the bottles had electrolyte solution to replace some of the salts my body lost on the walk; doing this this really helped prevent cramps and muscle fatigue. The rocks and platforms around the waterfalls are sloped and wet, very slippery and especially so when trying to put heavy packs back on. These heavy packs require a wild hurl into the air then swiftly swinging a shoulder under one harness before wrestling into it, and that is hard enough to do correctly on the flat. Luckily, Earle has spent some time with me resetting the pack and as a result the walk was much more comfortable than on the previous day. Most of the remaining three hours walking was on easier track with the notable exception of the first few kilometres. This section had a steep sideways cambered slope, so it paid not to fall over and end up down in the tree filled gully on my right. Considerable erosion combined from, the many walkers, the wild rain and weather, had severely narrowed the track and made many sections deep and very muddy. Then suddenly there was a hint of blue, the ocean through the trees, and steadily the increasing roar of surf penetrated the forest. There was still 45 minutes to go, and the track was now quite easy twisting its way amongst sassafras, coast banksias and ferns. The track hovers above the coast, the rocky cliffs and promontories, and rocky narrow grottos at sea level: all struck by waves that surge up their stony flanks. The sea is a blue expanse rippled by long lines of waves which span the full length of the greater bay. As they finally meet land they become airborne, roaring into tumbling, white foam above the rocks.

There are many small inlets, choked with kelp and offering caves in their cliffs. Alan climbed down to one the next day and later told us about the sounds of water echoing within them as water surged in.

The rocks and platforms of the many inlets glisten and glow, reflecting the light of the falling sun.

I arrived at the camp at Little Deadman’s Bay at 6pm; I had walked for at least 12 hours after commencing at 5 am. I was astonished that I felt less tired than at the end of the previous day. However, all I wanted to do was sleep. It had been easy to keep myself well hydrated using the twin water bottles tucked in small packs on my front. After dinner, a pasta dish, I went to bed and crashed into slumber. I don’t think I even dreamed, just slept! I woke at 6am and decided to spend this break day bludging which was more- or- less the plan from the start. This was a designated rest day and I was going to do just that. I beach combed up and along the small bay, then wandered a short distance along the forest tracks; I sat on rocky platforms to admire and photograph the beautiful southern light and gorgeous coastal scenery. Off the coast are magnificent islands including: DeWitt, Il de Golfe, both are part of the larger Maatsuyker group. To the south east, South Cape could be seen jutting into the Southern Ocean. Though my legs did not actually hurt they were not really interested or indeed motivated to do things like lift me up or walk more than a short distance, so I spent much of the day resting in my tent, eating and reading. I sent messages to Jennifer on my In-reach communicator, just to let her know I was okay and what I was doing. It is only capable of sending and receiving text but does include a map of my location with very accurate longitude and latitude. Being able to keep in touch with Jennifer was great for my morale. The weather was exceptionally kind, sunny and a warm breeze perfect for drying off wet boots, gaiters and other gear.

31/12/2018

Well 2019 is about to commence. I am in my tent camped at Surprise Bay as I write this. Unlike the soft lapping of the water at Little Deadman’s Bay or the riverine gurgling at Louisa river, there is now the steady sound of uninterrupted surf; white caps on the top of the rolls of waves are ceaselessly entering Surprise Bay. In the distance, surf is jetting into the air as the ocean washes up the rocky edges of islands off Pretty Point. Before I wrote this, I went for a morning walk on the sand and amongst the rocks, to take advantage of the morning light. When descending to the beach from the campsite, the track steepens and a rope with monkey fists tied along its length provides traction and support. At the base of this cliff, my first obstacle is a lagoon; depending on the tide it is about 5 metres across. It is shallow now and the water is refreshing as I wade through it. It is cool and wet on my bare ankles and feet as I cross over to the beach. Now I am wearing sandals, so it does not matter if they get wet. Seagulls wheel in the air and screech as I approach their nesting platforms hidden high among the rocks. My short walk on a lonely beautiful beach is an inspiring way to commence the day. However, I am getting ahead of myself so I will recommence today’s story with the tale of my walk from Little Dead man’s bay which ended at Surprise Bay last night.

Though it is “only” thirteen kilometres from Little Deadman’s bay to the campsite at Surprise Bay, it took me 13 hours including breaks; leaving at 8am and arriving at 7pm. The walk begins with a short stroll along the rocky Little Dead man’s Bay, past the little creek that provides such delicious fresh water, until reaching an orange marker on a tree. Here is where the track continues. The track is rough (but easy to follow) requiring sustained concentration on foot placement and balance. An injury anywhere on this walk would be very difficult to manage. On a map the small black dots that signify the walk route break few contour lines, but inside that contour interval of 40 metres, it undulates and twists remorselessly. We briefly walk along Deadman Bay before leaving the coast once more to walk through forest and climb over Menzies Bluff. Many matures trees provide shade for this section of the walk. About three hours after leaving Little Deadman’s Bay we reach the stately Prion beach. The walk along Prion beach goes for four kilometres and provides wonderful views of the surrounding mountains, and adjacent ocean. We continued along its length until meeting a sandbar. Here we turned north to find the boats and other walkers all making ready to cross. The boats are well secured against rising tides and weather and we needed to unclip and haul them down to the wide lagoons water line. This beautiful body of water, the end of the biggest river of this coast is named New River lagoon. The water is a deep blue, a breeze ruffling its surface; there is a band of trees and scrub and standing far behind and high above them, I can see Precipitous Bluff. This is an impressive near vertical monolith stained an even blue by haze and distance. To cross, packs are stowed in the rowboats and oars placed in rowlocks; it only takes 10 minutes to row across. It is essential to leave a boat on each side and both will need to be secured as we leave. The attachment points are sturdy steel carabineers attached in turn to heavy rope. We had lunch sitting on the ground in the forest lying just beyond the lagoon. The weather was beautiful, sunshine and clear skies, it all made for amazing vistas. I could only imagine how difficult it would be to cross the lagoon in rough seas and heavy rain.

After lunch we continued the walk. The track first dropped into forest, its warm still air hovers in the shade. Then a sudden climb, a grunt up a short climb to a vantage point; I could see Precipitous bluff, and to the left and much further away was Federation Peak, looking like a small collection of toppled pillars on the horizon.

We left the coast, losing sight of water and waves, walking on tracks, some muddy, some very muddy, through plains of button grass and heath. Here at last we met the serious mud for which this walk is famous (or is that infamous). I have not described the extensive lengths of track that had mud some 20 cm deep but here some bogs a metre or more in depth and were met with no warning. Nom plopped downwards in front of me as if she was riding a fast elevator straight down. She adeptly lurched to the right placing herself against the more solid edge of the track. Alan helped hoist her out. Luckily her boots stayed on; boots can be sucked off in the process of being extracted from the sucking mud.

The boardwalks are few on this section of the walk. Typically, they consist of two parallel boards, 10 cm wide and 2 metres long; there is usually no chicken-wire (anti slip) covering them. This is not a problem in the dry conditions we have had on our walk but in the wet the timber can be very slippery indeed. I should mention that the weather conditions of this current walk are exceptional; dry, minimal rain, warm sunny days. Look it certainly makes for easier, more pleasant walking but the plants, especially ferns and shrubs looked stressed. They flourish in and are adapted for wind, cool weather and frequent rain, not these persisting sunny, hot and dry conditions. Even while I was walking this section, fires were kindling north of me, in the heart of the South West Wilderness Area.

Soon we re-entered forest, appreciative of the shade and skirted the coast once more, providing more opportunities for views of the steep rocky promontories piercing the southern sea. It was now two kilometres from the tracks junction with Surprise Bay. By now I am tired but there is no option but to continue. In this situation, I rely on my training for the walk; the fitness it has provided as well as a determination to just keep going. Life is about two things; turning up and keeping going. I think that most people who do this walk have to dig deep in their personal resources (physical and mental) at one stage or another. I did not rely on mental and physical toughness. I snacked on glucose treats. I had muesli bars. I made sure every second litre of fluid I drank was topped with electrolyte solution to replace some of the salts lost in sweat on the walk; disturbances in body chemistry are easily prevented but hard to remedy without prolonged rest.

The track wove its way up and down through forests of tall eucalypts and ancient tree ferns, their litter of shed leaves and fallen fronds making this steep track deliciously soft underfoot. The fronds of the many ferns hanging above shone with golden auroras of light from the setting sun. I was simultaneously tired in one sense but refreshed in another; it is strange how two such contrary feelings can exist side by side. Now, the walk meets a steep uphill section, then turns beginning a gentle downhill meander that seemed to be take me near the beach, so close I felt I was about to arrive, then it drifted away, time and time again this happened before finally I arrived at the beach.

This beach is truly beautiful and worth every painful step to get here. The sand is clean, white and pure, it surrounds several rock formations; sandstone and conglomerate cobbled together; then tossed into the sky by the energies of the ancient earth. It reminded me of the Statue of Liberty tipped askew and emerging from a similar beach in the closing scene of the original “Planet of the Apes”.

There is still a kilometre to go and my feet hurt! When I walk up a track and especially down a cliff, my increasingly swollen toes jam and strike the boots toe box.

At the end of the beach is shallow river, it is an easy wade across to reach a rocky platform. This continues up a cliff. Here is the end of a gracefully curving lagoon, tannin coloured water eager to enter the ocean. As I cross the flow tugs at my ankles. The track then continues on up a steep rock face which is easy to climb because of a length of sturdy rope, its repeated knots provide hand holds allowing me to haul myself up, step by step.

The campsite is only a few tens of metres further on. By now I am in a daze and intellectually struggle to find a camp spot. All my mental processes are sluggish; thick like cold porridge. Finally, I find a site, assemble my tent, climb in and rest without bothering to inflate a mat or pillow; being horizontal never felt so good!

At 7:40 pm I felt rejuvenated enough to climb down to the beach. I crossed the river in my sandals then walked across the sandy shore. The sun was now low in the sky; coloured horizon and clouds glowed in orange and gold in interrupted bands; its richness mirrored faithfully in the sheen of seawater on the beach.

Dinner was cooked by our terrific guides and consisted of Beef Stroganoff with Tim Tams for dessert. Afterwards I slept very well.

Today, it is only a short walk of 3 hours to the campsite at the east end of Granite Bay.

1/1/2019

It is 6pm and I am sitting after a fashion in my tent at Granite Bay Campsite; I am more hunched over than I would prefer as I am scribbling on my note pad. It is too hard writing lying down. We spent the morning relaxing at Surprise Bay and left on the walk to Granite Bay after lunch. Nom gave us a very interesting talk about ferns. The track enters the forest and goes up and up, and you guessed it, up some more. The track is not rough just steep. The forest itself is beautiful; mountain gums, ferns, mountain peppers, geebungs and many other Tasmanian shrubs and trees create a botanical wonderland which is a pleasure to walk within. The track then descends to Granite Bay. There is a precipitous climb down an ancient timber ladder held together by ropes down to the beach, all of which I negotiated on my bottom. Large packs have an unspoken shared conspiracy with any ladder to cause teeter tottering on any descent. I am a safe walker but not an elegant one! Nom stepped down this rickety ladder with complete confidence.

At the beach we could see across the waves and ocean swells, the magnificent cliffs of South Cape. These kilometres of dolerite cliffs, Earle explained, are 300 metres high. Dolerite is ancient, it forms deep beneath the surface and is immensely strong rock: it has been described as the backbone of Tasmania. These cliffs drop vertically into the ocean, each hexagonal pillar fused to its neighbour for aeons. Sea surf crashes into their bases never endingly sending up jets of salty sea spray into clouds of sea haze.

It was a short walk along a rocky beach, hence the name Granite Bay. The surf covered the sandy part of the shore near the water’s edge. We had to clamber like lobsters with our walking sticks in place of pincers, balancing on the slippery rocks. At the end of the beach is a waterfall which was not all that impressive owing to minimal rain. I clambered up the rock face with some help and then it was barely a hop and a step to the campsite. This is perhaps my favourite camping area of the entire walk, with abundant tea trees, plum trees, and celery top pines. Later on, Alan and I visited a small waterfall upstream of the other waterfall that plunges onto the beach.

2/1/19

This morning we left the Granite Bay campsite. My sleep was only interrupted by the need to get up at 1 am and reorient the tent. It was a simple matter to remove pegs and turn it to lie down the slope and not obliquely across it. The entire slope issue had utterly escaped me when I set up the inner and fly earlier in the day. The wind howled over me as I fixed the tent pegs down. The toilet at this camp site is a disgrace! Most of the toilets on the walk are modern enough with heavy doors which cannot be opened by the local fauna and a seat and “bowl” over a drop toilet. At Granite bay, there was merely a small rectangular hole in the floor, no seat at all, and already the results of the morning ablutions were sad to say the least. Eeech!

We left the campsite at 7:50 am and immediately entered forest and began a 5 kilometre climb up a rocky track of which the first two were very steep. On the way up, the track would dip creating hollows where water and mud would collect, creating some very boggy track. These bogs are not only deep but wide as well and it can be challenging to skirt them without damaging the track even further. I think that in these difficult sections, there should be track work to not only ease walker access but help prevent erosion. The track modifications need to be selective, targeting stretches of track where walkers are causing damage. On the sections of the walk with boardwalk or hardened surface, plants and flowers can be found right beside the track while in the muddy boggy sections, the churn of 1500 (per annum) walkers prevent anything at all from growing there.

The track dried out considerably as the highest point was reached. The other walkers were waiting under a canopy of tall eucalypts. They were talking about seeing a large tiger snake on the track. I never saw a snake on the entire walk which does not bother me one bit. After a snack and a drink, I hauled my pack back on, and headed down the track. It was a beautiful walk, a track winding its way gently downhill amongst tall straight mountain gums, between ferns and scattered native trees. Then the track emerged suddenly into splendid sunshine before carrying along a boardwalk to the lunch spot; the route sinuously twisting in a landscape of dense heath and small native trees.

Lunch: wraps stuffed with salad, salami, cheese and tomato.

There was only a further three kilometres to go after lunch. After lunch, there was yet another climb but a much gentler one than earlier. Then it drops down slowly descending a long ridge. On the way, it cuts across to the clifftops, to form eyries with fine views of South Cape and Ocean far below. The track ends today at South Cape Rivulet. At the rivulet, Earle lead us seaward where the water was shallow. The rivulet enters at the western end of superb long sandy beach with a forest of tea tree and tall native grasses above the seashore. To my left, the rivulet widens into a wide, serpentine lagoon that blends into forest. Sunlight lit up the leafy crowns of the tallest trees on the hills above the lagoon. Far across the bay, South East Cape beckoned amongst surf and waves: as the sun provides a crystalline blue sky to bathe all of the bay and beach.

In a romantic (impractical) beachcomber way, I pitched my tent on the sand on the beach. There was some shelter from the wind but not nearly enough. I improvised sand pegs, burying the pegs in the sand. The tent at least was not going to blow away. I was feeling smug with myself. I rested in the tent and though admittedly it was not going to blow away, least of all with my weight inside, the walls of the tent were flattened into my face by the wind. I decided I would move the tent and I soon found a much more sheltered spot among the grass trees. Mum and daughter on the walk pitched their two- person tent adjacent to me. Suddenly a gust of wind pulled the tent into the air, jettisoning the pegs into the underbrush. They (the pegs) were never located. I must bear some responsibility as my first choice of campsite heavily influenced their own selection. In my new campsite, I could still hear the roar of the surf and the wind blowing through the trees but now that the tent was sheltered and motionless. I would sleep easily.

3/1/19

I have had a nap. The day has been all a dreamy heat and after a short walk from the Rivulet camp site we soon arrived at the new campsite located just beyond Lionhead Island. I slept okay last night at South Cape Rivulet, but it was too warm, and overnight, I soon exited my sleeping bag and thermals to lie on them instead. These small tents are terrific at keeping heat in and the fly zips are not adequate to adequately ventilate them. After so many days with no shower, I am glad I was in a single person tent.

This morning I woke up, grabbed my trusty camera, a Panasonic TZ-90, and revisited the beach for some early morning photography. It impossible for me to do justice in words or even pictures to the serenity and still beauty of this place. Far in the distance, across an expanse of ocean, is South East Cape a narrow promontory, a featureless blue due to sea and wind haze. Turning my eyes to the left, I can see a nearer promontory, its distinct layers of stone and rock merging with the east end of the beach. Surf crashes over the rocky platforms that emerge from the sand covering them in white flecks of tumbling water. The beach sweeps around the bay, white and unobstructed, with hooded plovers quickly marching on the shore, sea gulls and pied oyster-catchers wheel over the waves before landing on the beach and peck at the sand beneath their feet. Grasses clump in small protective mats in the sand higher up the beach. Behind them tea trees and taller grasses form a forest well above the water-line. The surf roars non-stop: long unbroken wave crests cross the width of the bay, before crashing into rocky points or surging up the beach where I am standing. Waves surge into the mouth of the rivulet, sending ripples across the brown water of the lagoon before dissipating upstream, wobbling the tree reflections as they pass.

I followed the rivulet upstream, it bends first to the left and then to the right, it is a wide and lazy water, mirroring the forest above it. After breakfast and packing up my gear, we began the walk from South Cape Rivulet to Lionhead. The walk begins along the beach which I had already explored, turning off into the scrub at the orange marker used the length of this track. It began on loose stones to a clear smooth track. The walk goes through coastal forest, full of banksias, ferns and low gum trees, forever shorn of height by winter storms and winds. The way was often overgrown; I struggled to clear the path with my sticks trying to locate any snakes. The track was muddy in sections and moderately steep. Some trees had been felled by wind or weather and had to be climbed over, but all in all, it was not a difficult walk. I arrived at the first of two beaches. As I walked along the sand skirting the waves, I looked up to see a gothic tower, perhaps built by nature out of its arrogant opposition to surf and waves; its crown was the wild water tossed high over its battlements.

Then this beach was left behind. The walk twisted upwards through forest before descending to a sandy grotto where the most delicious water flowed. The water at the rivulet had been adequate but was a bit too brackish to enjoy. I glutted myself with this new water before filling my two water bottles. There was only a short walk to the beach, worn boots collapsing in the soft deep sand.

I walked along the stony uphill section of the beach, past Lionhead rock and I would have carried on all the way to Cockle Creek given the ease of the walking. Earle tapped me on the shoulder and telling me I had walked right past the campsite. I had seen the steps leading up the site but carried on anyway. It was located very close to the stream where I had stopped earlier to drink. The timber stairs are solid and well built. The drop on either side of the steps is a few metres. I am a bit nervous of heights, but Nom sensing my concerns, had told me of a useful trick. Hold your poles in front of you and just in the periphery of your vison. The brain sees this as a wall and if you don’t dilly dally, the brain can maintain this illusion long enough to descend a staircase or steep, narrow slope or a narrow bridge.

At the top of the staircase is a short boardwalk through tea trees to leads to a small campsite. We had the pick of the sites as we were the first to arrive that day. Later arrivals had to find other sites such as near the bottom of the stair case amongst the grasses or in the sand behind the beach.

Most of the other walkers decided to try and walk to south East Cape. Though it looks close on the map, the tough tea tree, heath and scrub make a direct traverse impractical. This was my opinion. I stayed behind enjoying a nap in my tent, a quiet read on my kindle, and a pleasant generally mindless reverie in the afternoon sunshine; an afternoon filtered through the branches.

I wandered down to the beach to fill up my bottles once more and then walked to explore the rocks and rock pools beneath the Lionhead, the huge stone island abutting the coast. To me it resembles a lion couchant, with its hind quarters facing the incoming seas. Between the island and the beach are vast rock pools and stone formations, while giant untethered kelp now wafts in the water beneath its surface.

The others arrived back at 4pm.

Tomorrow is the final section of the South West walk, the 11 kilometres to Cockle Creek.

4/1/19

I am lying in bed at Amberly House, Sandy Bay road. I have had a shower, extracted dead insects from behind my ears, admired the wreckage of my toes, shaved my nine-day beard and have put on clean clothes.

This morning began at Lionhead, after a hot night in the tent. I opened the fly as much as I could do but it was still warm, too warm to stay consistently asleep. I woke up at 5:30 am, I let my thoughts meander for 30 minutes, vainly trying to slot them in useful parts of my brain. I packed my gear into the pack, sent a message to Jennifer on the in reach and had breakfast. Porridge in a bowl, added hot water, mixed vigorously with a spoon till the flakes dissolve and form an edible mixture. I scooped a cup of coffee into my cup with the ladle sitting on the lid.

I descended the four flights of stairs. I stopped often to admire the impressive views of beach and coast. Unfortunately, the clear vista of the Lionhead itself was obscured by haze. I walked along the beach leaving Lionhead behind me. The sea haze filled the atmosphere over the beach giving a magical quality, a hazy background to silhouettes of the walkers further along the beach. The track commences with a short steep path from the beach, up and over Coal Bluff where there is a visible seam of coal. Fragments of what look like shattered briquettes crunch under foot. The track enters a forest; cool shade is very welcome as the day is already beginning to warm up. The path is easy, its undemanding nature makes for quick walking. Also, the packs are the lightest they have been, putting lightness in the step. The forest soon opens out into a rolling expanse of button grass and heath. The coastal views of ocean and mountains enjoyed early in the walk are now replaced by low hills, with none of the drama of our first climbs. It is none the less gentle sweet country. We finally enter a tea tree woodland, before arriving at Cockle creek. I had spent much of today’s hike walk chatting with first one then another of my fellow walkers and the day had gone quickly.

We visited the whale sculpture and generally stretched our legs, having left our packs near where the bus would arrive. We boarded the bus on our return to our packs. We stopped for lunch in Huon at a café. We soon arrived at our destination outside the Astor Private hotel. The walk was over at last.

Afterword

I am in the townhouse at Alice Springs, its hot outside but the air conditioners are keeping us both comfortable. It has been four weeks since I completed the walk. I can sum up the walk like this; it was the hardest walk I have ever done, and the most beautiful. The other walkers and guides supported and encouraged me and I did likewise for them. Perhaps this is the most important lesson for me; whatever you can achieve alone is nothing when compared to what can be achieved as a team working toward the same goal.