I am sitting at home in my comfy armchair warmed by the fire crackling to my right; it’s cold and windy outside, almost hostile in that bleak way Tasmania’s weather excels at. It’s in sharp contrast to yesterday when at this same time, I was driving down to the LINC centre to meet the other walkers, ramblers all, for the walk to Solomons Jewels.

This was not a treasure hunt, well not in the usual sense of historic or mythical artefacts with monetary value or at least serious bragging rights, for the treasures are of the transcendent type, offerings of natural beauty with sensations and memories to be hopefully treasured.

Neville is the leader, a tall, silver bearded true gentleman who gathered up we chicks as we arrived, handing us each in turn, the record book in which I signed too. I soon learned that there were to be twenty one walkers in all. This is a big turn out. Despite my forebodings about big groups in the bush, it all worked. The group turned out to be great as a group and sparkling and fun as individuals.

The weather looked very, very promising. It had been raining the previous few days, including an impressive lightning and thunderstorm but the morning of may 5th, was one of clear skies with, a mere hint of wind. I must admit to feeling a bit of a fraud as regards being a true dinks Tasmanian hiker as I have rarely walked in conditions that were anything less than superb. I should have experienced appalling, character building inclement conditions, but no, I generally trot along in warm sunshine, cool breezes, returning home in complete safety, while other walkers, leaving as I arrived back at a trail head, have to be airlifted out because of flooding a day later. I almost feel guilty while enjoying warm jammy crumpets with the sound of rain on the roof, and self emblazoning myself with walking credits all while I willingly eluded most bad weather.

I joined three others in one of the cars and we drove first to Mole Creek, for toilet stops and to admire the Hereford cows, munching grass with the Western Tiers behind them.

Then carried on to the Walls of Jerusalem car park. This car park is in the process of being upgraded, with improved, larger area for car parking ( read level, marked spaces as opposed to sprawled vehicular chaos) and toilet facilities. The construction area is already marked off within a square of cyclone fencing. This car park can often overflow, with 4WDs crammed along the narrow road near the entrance to the car park.

We left the car park at 10am, and soon strode up to a boot cleaning station. The problems of fungi are quite real in the Tasmanian bush, already it has seriously damaged the Douglas Apsley area on the east coast. Scrape the boots, then insert into what looks like a high tech mouse trap. There is a handle with black squeeze pump which squirts antiseptic liquid under the boot. I like the smell of antiseptic, maybe it’s an occupational fetish.

The the walk finally begins, with the steep ascent to Trappers Hut. There are two routes to the hut, the one we are doing now; it is about three kilometres of winding, slightly rocky track with Waratahs ( no flowers till Spring), Ash and tall gum trees filtering the intense blue light of this Tasmanian morning. It’s not an easy climb, nor is it hard demanding acrobatics and strength; as is Goldilocks, it’s just right. The other option, is to drive along Fish creek road and take the short track, it is a mere 500m, but that is all 500m up.

Neville led the way and Floyd was tail end. They each had a Walkie talkie to stay in contact. Inevitably, the group strung out, but Peter regularly waited and let us all catch up. I was impressed he let the late arrivals have a rest too. In most clubs, and most casual groups, it’s traditional, to start again as soon as the slower walkers catch up to the main group. This of course makes the slower walkers even more hopelessly fatigued. On this walk, everyone’s comfort and well being was included as has always been the case on all the other Rambler walks I have done.

I took the principle of: BE BOLD START COLD. I am glad I did, as I soon warmed up on the ascent and thereby did not have to worry about putting on a pullover until I sat down for lunch at a Solomon’s Jewels.

There was some water on the track, mostly from small streams that intersected it, and the water splashed along amongst the rocks for a few meters before returning in into the forest, eventually it would reach Lake Rowellan via Fish Creek. The track is rough in parts, and modestly steep, especially in this section to Trappers Hut. The rocks and stones vary in size but provide a generally non slippery surface and handy foot holds. It’s a narrow track but the trees and shrubs are scattered enough that the route is hardly crowded by foliage.

One section of the walk that must not go unremarked are the views of the mountains that make up the Overland Walk. In these unusually clear skies, the clarity of view was wonderful. There was the massive bulwark of Mt Ossa, and over there the twin Pelions, east and west; and to the south, Mount Olympus.

Trappers Hut is an old construction with wooden slat walls, timber roof tiles and infamous for its population of truly Bolshevik possums which make sleeping inside a doubtful outcome for an evening sojourn. There is really no camping nearby. Approximately a kilometre further on, shortly beyond the side track to Lake Adelaide there is an attractive peat field, a luxurious lawn just asking for a golf tee.

We sat on the rocks for morning tea. I spent the time admiring the beautiful forest, tall silvery and white trees towering above a scattered floor of shrubs, Waratahs, Mountain Peppers, red berries Bush or Mountain Berries and the many old timbers and now rotting trunks and logs fallen in winter storms or from the consequences of age. Several other walkers remarked how remarkably intense was the blueness of the sky. The rain and storms of the preceding few days had done a wonderful job of clearing any dust from the air as well as cleaning away the volatiles from the leaves of the eucalypts; these chemicals typically evaporate into the lower atmosphere with the later warming of the morning , washing out the rich natural boldness of the forests and mountains colours.

After morning tea we continued upwards and onwards, the track undulates more now, dropping down repeatedly to streams and tarns, before arriving at the turn off to Solomon’s Jewels. The tarns are gorgeous, the water is still and cold; in it stillness reflecting the forests, mountains, and rocks, whether near and far in translucent clarity. The steely majestic Pencil Pines spiral about the waters edge, lichen strewn rocks form repeating, mirrored ovals and distant stands of trees on rocky platforms now hover in watery sky.

The hues of the forest are breath taking. I’m looking at the photographs, I must admit if I had not been there, I would not believe the force of colour that comes from this scenery. I have always acknowledged the forces of nature; wind, sun, water but to that should be added colour.

We enjoyed lunch and mugs of tea or coffee, sitting on a rocky, tree sprinkled promontory amongst the tarns which make up Tasmania’s Solomon’s Jewels. In the distance the Walls – the majestic mountain which is King David’s peak; the wide blue sky; the water motionless and cool; the trees and forest visible all around and far beyond the tarns, and the 21 of us, all enjoying Neville singing the ballad of Ben Hall; the gentleman bush ranger who died at Forbes, NSW; his sad story all sung in his firm, clear voice. The putative reason being an anniversary of said event, the cause being the sheer joy of being in this wonderful place.