Walking in Australia

The way I walk

2008-02-20T21:12:00.000-08:00

Quite a number of years ago I started going on fairly serious walks with a bunch of more experienced mates. Four or five days in the mountains, carrying all we needed.

Great stuff.

Four days
Of course, we got pretty tired while doing it, exhausted, sometimes; but that was all part of the fun.

It slowly dawned on me , though, that just when we were beginning to get fit enough to really enjoy the walking, it was time to go home.

I started thinking about making longer walks. I now focus on walks of around 2 weeks... the result is the kind of walk you'll find elsewhere on this blog.

Weight
Then one day, while cleaning my rucksack, I noticed how heavy it was, even though it was empty. I weighed it, and discovered it weighed more than 3 kg. That made me think a bit.

Like most people, I was setting out on walks with about 20 kg on my back, a fair weight. More than a quarter of my body weight.

Gradually over the next few months I thought about this, and started weighing everything that went in to my pack.

Do you need it?
I always used to take too many spare clothes. 'Just in case,' I told myself. And, once I had started admitting it to myself, too much of everything than I really needed.

Just for fun I made a list of everything I usually took, and thought carefully about each item. Did I really need it? What would happen if I left it behind. Could I use something else to double-up, to perform two tasks instead of only one?

For instance, my habit had been to undress each night and climb into my lovely warm sleeping bag. Not bad if I didn't mind carrying or wearing lots of clothes and a kilo and a half of finest down sleeping bag too. What would happen, I wondered, if I got a lighter sleeping bag, and got into it each night fully dressed? Or at least, half dressed?

Did I need a change of clothes? Did I need to carry both a pair of shorts and a pair of trousers, or would a pair of trousers with zip-off legs do the trick? Wouldn't they smell? Well, yes; but they could be washed en route. But they would take ages to dry; what were those new, super-light quick-drying trousers like to wear?

What about that incredibly expensive Merino thermal underwear... they claim they doesn't stink even after weeks of wear... is that true? Could I carry a couple of those instead of a jumper?

And what about waterproofs? As soon as you are walking you sweat buckets and get soaked from the inside, even wearing Goretex, so why worry about getting wet? Or is there some way you can keep the rain off without getting soaked with sweat? In Europe they tend to wear capes rather than jackets... would they work?

Lighter load, lighter rucksack
You don't have to read much rucksack advertising to realise that you really need a sturdy well-designed harness if you're going to carry much weight in comfort... and that was a good part of my 3 kg plus rucksack - well-made, durable, comfortable... and heavy.

If you cut down on the overall weight of the load, do you still need such a hefty, heavy harness?

The answer is no.

Most modern rucksacks are designed to carry both weight and volume, with 70 Litres being about average. And, as I discovered, if you've got room, you're likely to find a reason for carrying it.

So could I manage with a smaller, lighter rucksack? I had bought my son a 30 litre Vento Rucksack many years before, described as a day-pack. It was well-made but weighed around 1.5 kg, roughly half the weight of my full-sized pack. Could I fit everything I needed into that pack?

I gave it a go, and found I could, if I bought a few new items: a smaller, lighter, sleeping bag; a smaller, lighter 3/4 length sleeping mat; a smaller, lighter, stove.

I bought a bivvy bag, too, one of the lightest ones. By careful investment and ruthless cutting out of volume and weight, I discovered that I could get by with a total base weight (that is, the weight of my pack before including food and water) of around six kilograms. Off I went for a long weekend by myself into the mountains to try it out.

To cut a long story short, it worked. Not everything, but most things. I have never carried my old pack since. In fact I've given it away.

Food
Next I turned to food, and made a lot of experimentation, mostly at home.

All food should be light and require very little cooking, as cooking equals fuel and fuel weighs.

So breakfast is always some sort of cereal, measured into a zip-lock bag together with a couple of spoonsful of powdered milk. Unzip the bag, pour in some water, shake it around for a while, and eat. Drop the bag on the fire. No washing up. Lick the spoon clean.

Lunch is always a knob of salami and a similar sized knob of cheese. A knob is something like 30 mm square. If I can find some sort of unleavened bread to go with it, that's fine. I usually pre-wrap the salami and cheese in a piece of unleavened bread (or wrap) and put them in another small zip-lock bag, one for each day away. Both salami and cheese will go gradually rancid over time, but that won't effect the nutritional value, nor will the food go bad... both foodstuffs were originally invented as ways to keep food for much longer. No washing-up again, you'll notice.

Dinner is always some sort of noodles, pasta or rice, always of the 'two-minute' sort where one simply adds boiling water and waits a while. If I have scraps of lunch left over, I usually add them to the dinner.

I have started carrying 2 soup sachets for each day, too, as comfort food, and I won't be giving those up in a hurry. However, I have recently noticed that they vary enormously in weight, both the weight of the contents and in the weight of the packets; I've been using the lighter ones recently, with no loss of 'niceness'.

Add to this tea, coffee and Milo (with powdered milk mixed in), and you have my total food intake - roughly 300 grams a day, dry weight.

I have been told a million times that I couldn't possibly survive on just that, but I do, and never feel hungry. The longest period I've lived on this diet is fourteen days, and I've never experienced any feeling of deprivation over it. I do sometimes find that the food can be boring, and I search supermarket shelves for variety with obsessive diligence, which makes my wife chortle.

I generally return from a trip many kilos lighter than I started out, and this is in fact one of my many motivations for walking. However, I usually put lots of weight back on within the two weeks following my return, the biggest increase being the first few days. I reason that I must be dehydrated during long walks, and that hydration returns very quickly when there is plentiful water.

At 300 grams a day, I can easily carry a week's food, which weighs just over 2 kg.

Incidentally, I am 64 years old (2008) and weigh around 80 kg when I'm at home for any length of time. I am 180 cm (5'11") tall (growing smaller every year!)

Base weight
My list of items changes a little as new bits come on the market, sometimes saving a heap of weight, sometimes adding to it. For instance I have done away with my rainproof jacket recently, and now carry a very expensive but wonderfully light cape made of silnylon. So far I've never used it in rain for more than a few minutes, but it replaces not only my jacket, but also my pack-cover. It allows lots of air to move around under it, encouraged sometimes by a flap of my arms, and so far it's worked marvelously. I might change my mind sometime.

I did away with the bivvy bag and its associated triangular shelter some time ago, immediately after a night in a forest with a million biting insects, including mosquitoes...
Instead I bought a wonderful little wedge-shaped Hallmark 'Hangout' tent, which uses a walking pole or a rope over a branch to pitch it. At 1.3 kg, this tent suits me fine, and keeps creepy crawlys and biting things at bay.

My newest rucksack is a 35 litre bag from Macpac, the Amp Light 35 (I wrote earlier that it was from Mountain Designs, but I was wrong), weighing, I think around 1 kg. It is big enough but not too big, and very comfortable.

On the outside of it I strap my tent on one side and my water-bag on the other side. Underneath it I strap one of those closed-cell mats which I now use as an extra.

Inside it I have my sleeping bag (+2°, I think it is), a self-inflating ultra lightweight ground mat (3/4 length), my metho cooker, the lightest and smallest Trangia with a home-made windshield copied from their bigger kits. One litre of metho to last 7 days. 1 pair spare socks, one extra merino thermal long-sleeve top, a pair of trouser legs which zip on to the shorts I'm wearing. One spare pair of knickers. Food for anything up to seven days, perhaps a little longer.

Then a few rucksack pockets full of bits and pieces: a light warm hat (I wear a sort of arab wraparound headgear that keeps the sun off), a pair of light gloves, a headlamp, a map-case with appropriate maps, washing gear including a sawn-off toothbrush, and string, scraps of firelighter, that sort of thing. Bandages and painkillers, strapping tape. Protractor and compass. An Epirb.

All up, before adding food and water, around 8 kg.

Water
Though it sometimes seems like a waste, I have capacity to carry 6 litres of water. I always try to carry 3 litres and top-up when I can. I carry a mug on the outside of my pack so that I can drink from streams as I pass without putting down my rucksack. I've never been ill because of this, though I pick my spot carefully - no drinking untreated water near human habitation or camping spots.

I use sterilising tablets when I have doubts about the water quality. Modern ones seem to add no taste to the water, and as I have never been ill, I have no problem with them. The cheap ones are fine.

On top
On the top of my rucksack I have recently added a solar battery charger from Silva. This can charge four AA nimh batteries each day... since I have been using it I have never run out of batteries for camera, torch, telephone and GPS.

On the straps
I carry a gps (Garmin Legend) and a pair of glasses in a case taped to one of the straps.

All-up
Base load plus food for a week plus 3 litres of water equals around 13kg. I would not go out carrying more than this.

In my pockets and in a small bag at my waist I carry a number of other items - Swiss Army penknife, a mobile phone and a dry-cell charger for it, a PDA (Palm) and a fold-out keyboard, which allows me to write easily anywhere I go. Also a small digital camera. I don't count the weight of these items... I should weigh them sometime.

Hume & Hovell 2 - Thomas Boyd to Albury, 330 km sol0

2007-10-08T05:53:00.000-07:00

26th September – 6th October 2007

Click Photos to view full-sized images... almost all will be vastly improved!

Photo: The end of the walk. No wonder children broke out in tears and backed away, dogs howled and mothers hustled their daughters away... This is how I looked as I walked through the main streets of Albury - more like a terrorist than a tourist.

Found – 1 pair of very expensive sun-glasses (not the Oakleys I mention at the end of this story… I’m keeping those). If you lost this pair of said glasses somewhere on the H&H walk in September 2007, just tell me the brand and give me a description of them, and roughly where you lost them (within thirty kms or so), and I’ll return them to you).

First, the statistics, rough at first, but more accurate later as I do the maths:

Route: Thomas Boyd Trackhead (Tumut) to Hovell Tree at Albury.
Distance: 330 km
Days: 11
Average speed: 30 km per day
Greatest distance covered in one day: 44 km
Greatest continuous speed: 130km in the last 3 days (Lankeys Creek to Hovell Tree)
Distance on tarred surfaces: about 65km, 50 in the last 10 hours of walking.

Qualification: One or two short cuts were taken along the way, primarily cutting out the squiggley bits in the streets of Albury; from the outskirts I took the most direct route.

Prior to the walk
I made four important modifications to my equipment:

Trangia – I converted one of the smallest Trangia stoves to be far safer in use, (I almost started a grass-fire last time out) and perhaps doubled its fuel-efficiency by drilling out two of the nesting one-litre pots from the larger kit to resemble a smaller version of the traditional Trangia stove. For a tiny increase in weight, I probably saved half the fuel burned normally by keeping the heat where it is needed, rather than let the slightest breeze blow it all away.

Photo: I drilled out two 1 L pots from a larger Trangia set to imitate the standard wind-shield... making it a few grams heavier, but saving probably half the fuel - therefore a net loss in wieght, and a huge net gain in safety.

Photo: Ideally the wind-shield should be much shallower and a few mm wider, and the lid a flat, recessed lid rather than the deep pan-shape I used here, dictated by Trangia's lightest set. If I could convince them to create a similar set to mine, we'd all be better off.

Water bag – putting a water-bag inside a rucksack has always seemed to me to be the most stupid idea – you can’t tell how much you have left, and when you need to re-fill you have to unpack first. Plus, of course, you put pressure on the bag.

I wanted my bag on the outside, but in previous attempts couldn’t make it work – the water got too hot, and it slumped down all the time, stopping the flow, getting in the way and looking stupid.

This time I took some of that cheap, closed-cell material cut from the end of one of those blue earth-mat things, and using contact adhesive, glued it into a flat tube, slightly bigger than the water-bag itself.

The material is just stiff enough to keep it compact and upright. The bag and its blue tube slip under a strap and down into one of those rather useless angled net pockets backpack manufacturers like to stick on modern packs. The closed-cell foam is marvelous insulation, it turns out, keeping the water cool even on a very hot day.

The only problem is that the blue material has great non-slip properties, and it is hard to get the water-bag to slip inside it, and also hard to get the tube under the strap and into the net pocket.

On the whole I’m very pleased with it.

Telephone charger
I bought a neat little device with which to charge my (and most other brands of) mobile telephone from a single AA battery – There is no brand-name on it, but it is a silver tube with a few electronics at the end, and choice of connectors to suit your particular phone. In Wagga it is sold by Leading Edge Electronics in Baylis Street (I believe they are everywhere), and not only works a treat , but is worth its weight in gold. It is sometime a bit nervous about charging, but I’ve always managed to get a good charge eventually. I use NiMH 2700 amp hour batteries, which seem to have the oomph to do the job best.

Solar battery-charger
The one I bought, Silva Solar 1, is a fairly solid square of solar panel made by the Swedish compass etc manufacturer. It charges 4 AA batteries at a time. I started off with 4 fully-charged batteries, and used them in my GPS and my telephone charger without trouble, even though the skies were grey most of the early days, and I was under tree-cover for much of the remaining time.

I fix it to the top of my pack with Velcro, which I sewed there, and put it away carefully on arrival (lest the surface get too scratched).

With a tube and spring converter, it should cope with AAA batteries too… I've written to Silva about that. Also about possible addition of LEDs to show charging and full.

The Start 26th September 2007

We planned to do this with the original three, Peter Lockley, Greg Scott and myself.

However, Greg's increasing level of work responsibility was always going to be a problem, and after two years, Peter and I decided we would go in September this year, 2007. With most preparations made, Peter eventually dropped out too, and that only the week before we were due to leave.

Despite my family's disquiet at my going off alone, I decided that that's what I should do. I always carry an EPIRB, I had my telephone, I had an ECG to check the condition of my heart (I'm nearly 64 at the time of this adventure, after all), as I had done with such success the previous October (Canberra to Thredbo, 250 kms)

So on 26th September, Wendy, who was running a clinic in Tumut that day, dropped me off at the Thomas Boyd Trackhead outside Tumut at 7.50 am.

It was a beautiful day, and I started well, with 28+ km to do... a big ask for a first day.

Photo: The first bridge over the Goobarragandra river

The first section was pretty flat, running between riverside trees and scrub, culminating in the second crossing of the river back to the reserve area on the Tumut side of the Trout farm.

Photo: The second crossing of the Goobarragandra River

After that we went up the road a bit until we dived back down to the river and over a newish road bridge - at least it looked newish.

From there a short stretch of paved road led through a couple of houses and on to a dirt track wandering through beautiful beef country (the country was beautiful, not that it was particularly good for beef; that’s something I know nothing about). We had about eight kms of that, I suppose, and then it came suddenly to an end as we crossed a small wooden bridge and came face to face with a sudden sharp rise, so steep amongst bushes that I slipped and fell ten feet back down the bank, cutting my hand and scraping my arm as I did so. A great start!

Photo: Echidnas are monotremes (as are Platypusses) rather like European hedgehogs

After that there were a few kilometers of pretty steep country where the track wasn't all that well defined, steeply uphill mostly through some of the greatest grass-trees I’ve seen, until eventually it was downhill and onto farming land. 'Continue along fence' was the stern admonition. A couple of blokes sawing up a tree that had fallen over a fence were all I saw, halfway up a pretty steep hill. 'All downhill from here on,' they said, but it was far from all downhill.

By the time I reached the Snowy Mountain Highway I was pretty well done in, 22 kms behind me, 6 + to go. The sky was dull and threatening rain by then, and I was very tired. But there was nothing to be done about it, so I slogged on, step after step, so tired that I felt I was going to go to sleep as I walked. The dam wall was the last straw, and I staggered up the hill through the trees, a carefully winding track making it easier but longer.

Eventually I got to the Blowering campsite at around 4.30pm, only to find three walkers already there. Nice guys, Steve, Matthew and Elizabeth from Newcastle.

After very brief hellos and a cup of tea provided by Elizabeth, I ate what I could (Cup of soup and half a Macaroni cheese) and went to bed. A slight telephone signal there. Rained for an hour or so after I got into the tent. Had no trouble sleeping - zonked until around 2 in the morning when I took of my jacket and long-johns... too hot.

I had bought a new pair of merino long-johns, and they are a little thicker than the tops – but as I shall generally only wear them on cold nights that’s fine… though they aren’t quite as light as I would have liked (but you can’t have it both ways!).

27th September 2007

Up at 5.30, away by 7.50 after speaking to Wendy.

Couldn't find the track and went far too low down the lake shore - very tiring. Went on searching when I could higher up, but didn't find it for ages. Very tired. Lovely country but too tired to really appreciate it. Stopped at Browns camp for a long rest. Dried my tent which was soaking, made a cup of tea. Too tired, really, even to sleep. The Newcastle three came through only 15 minutes after I had arrived, though they had left an hour after me, which shows how slowly I had been moving, and how quickly they were.

They had started from Wee Jasper the week before, and had taken a day off to rest and wander in Tumut, and to have a night in bed with a shower etc.. All three were much fitter (and a heck of a lot younger, too, than I was).

Planning to get away from Browns camp by noon, with 12+ kms still to do. Forced myself on after an early lunch, feeling slightly better and developing a much better swinging gait, but basically hot and tired. The track around Blowering dam was not, as I had expected, perfectly flat (as it follows the shoreline) but in fact could be quite hilly at times. It was here that I saw the only (live) snake of this trip – a 2 metre brown swiftly crossing the fire-trail. The only other snake I saw was dead, just outside Albury on the second-to-last day.

Matthew, Elizabeth and Steve had booked ahead to stay the night at the Forestry camp, and had even got the caretaker to pick up their shopping, and do some more for them, in Tumut.

As I got further down the track, tired, footweary and feeling like crap, I began to wonder if I could get in too, or maybe share a shower, at least.

The walk from Brown's camp, where I had lunch, another 12.5 km, seemed almost more than I could manage. I had seriously considered staying at Brown's Camp for the night, but I really didn't want too; I decided to keep going.

It was a hard walk, but relatively flat; I slogged on at a reasonable rate, but hoping like hell that I didn't have extra distance to go if I walked the half-km to the camp, only to be turned away.

It didn't happen though: as I came in sight of the camp, which from a distance looks like the grounds of a stately home, I could see a car there... I understood that the caretaker lived in Batlow or something, and would drive in to book them in, so the car seemed in place. As I arrived, though, the three of them were hanging around outside, and it became obvious that the caretaker hadn't arrived yet.

A phone-call established that she would arrive, and half an hour later she did... and I could have a cabin - $20 bucks a night.

Photo: Steve, one of the Newcastle Trio at Blowering Forestry Camp

It turns out that as well as a shower, there is a drying cabinet; so I quickly washed all my clothes except my shorts (perhaps I could do them too? Why not?) (I didn’t).

So I have had a beautiful shower, had several cups of liquid - Milo, coffee, Cup-o'soup - and I'm now on the verandah warm and comfortable (the air has been bloody cold all day). I now have long-pants, two thermals and my warm jacket, and I'm toasty and quite happy.

There is some telephone signal here (a bit iffy) and tonight I'll call home and Sam.

Photo: Matthew Hawkins, one of the Newcastle Trio

Photo: Liz, one of the Newcastle Trio

September 28th.
Didn't call Sam, for some reason. Wendy seems well, and all is well at home. I left a message for her last night and spoke to her at 7 am this morning. Had lots to drink last night, tea, coffee, milo; and had a cup-o'soup and the last of the macaroni cheese. The latter has gone downhill since they brought in the new stuff. Must write to them. (Fantastic Pasta)

Hot shower, drying cupboard, dinner and into bed at around 7.30 pm, but couldn't sleep - too hot, but wanted to make sure the drier did its job on my wet clothes, so left it on till it stopped. Took a tramal( heavy duty painkiller), because my 'restless knees' were dreadful. For those who don't know what 'restless knees' is, it is the strangest sensation where the knees just have to keep moving every, what, 30 seconds? Most disturbing.

Eventually got to sleep, and woke a couple of times to urinate. This is great because I believe it is good to drink as much as possible, or suffer that dreadful exhaustion.

However, climbing out of a sleeping bag and then a tent, then getting back in, is much, much worse than rolling out of bed and weeing out of the doorway. Sorry folks, that's what most people in this situation do, rather than walk some distance to the toilet block. I've seen it a million times. And what can be better than weeing in the light of a full moon, as it was last night?

There are hundreds of yellow-tail black cockatoos here. They have lots of light-yellow tail-feathers, and a yellow spot on each cheek.

They flew in last night, all from the same area, in the old-pine sections of the forests. They flew back here in the dusk, mostly in threes but sometimes in bigger groups. Lovely to see.

When Godfrey told me the call was that of the black cockatoo rather than the Eagle... I was surprised, and I had never even seen a black cockatoo before.

It was fine yesterday, but today it is completely overcast with a load of very light, short showers. So I'll have the poncho ready for immediate use. Interesting to see how it will go.

Friday 28th - day 3. 1.30 pm
A day of short cuts - first we used Yellowin road instead of the lake shore road, cutting off 5 kms of the first ten. Then shortly after, as the lake was dry at that point, I cut across the lake bed, cutting out about another 3 ks, so what should have been a 25 km walk to Ben Smith Campsite became 17 instead.

Photo: The dried bed of the Yellowin arm of Blowering Dam

Photo: Small flowers growing on the dried bed of Blowering Dam

I set off by myself at 8.20, as the others had just started breakfast, and expected that I'd be in ages before them, especially as I was moving easily and freely. I left messages scrawled in the dirt for them, but they decided instead to go straight over the hill, a nice easy direct route, it seems, and when I first saw them they were high up on the hillside, waving down at me. They must move very quickly anyway, much faster than I do.

The last section of the route was away from roads on a tiny track through the woods, very nice. Little grey fantails everywhere.

The campsite itself is buried in the woods, a nice grassy but hilly spot. I'm wondering what will happen here if there is heavy rain.

Wind roaring over our heads.

Got in at about 1pm, wondering what to do with the rest of the day. Rest and sleep, of course.

Photo: My trusty tent, a ' Hallmark Hangout'. 1.3 kg, sturdy, light, almost perfect for lightweight camping where there are likely to be mosquitos, snakes and other unpleasant visitors.

In fact had a nice restful afternoon, reading, listening to the radio etc. Nice companionable dinner with Liz, Steve and Matt, until rain drove us to bed at around 8.30. There was a lot of rain and heavy wind in the night, both of which stopped at around 9.30 pm, and we had a restful night with high humidity, so that our tents were soaked in the morning.

Saturday 29th September 2007
Rang Wendy twice with full reception. Got going about ten minutes after the others at about 9 am. Easy walk across farmlands and into the mountains, with the rise nicely graded on a benched trail. Very much easier going than expected, until 2 kms before Buddong falls, when it became almost vertical... an exaggeration, but it felt like it. Buddong Picnic area was a dump, and would have been a dreadful camp. But a sign there said a new 'Buddong Creek Campsite' was 5.5 km ahead, so, especially as it was only 1.30, I decided to carry on, unsure if the others were ahead or behind. Got to Buddong Hut, typically messed up by yobbos (it is right next to a logging road, a welcome break for tail-bikers), so carried on, to meet the others at around 2. 30 at the spot where the new campsite should have been... no camp.

A quick conflab had us all deciding to go on again to Paddy's Dam Campsite, which we estimated at around ten kms ahead.

This turned out to be right, and we got in around 5 PM, me last. They are much fitter than me, but poor Liz, Matt's partner, is obviously having difficulties keeping up.

The dam is a lovely spot, but as we were there in the middle of a long weekend, the site was full of families camping, mostly 4x4 s accompanied by a trailers-full of trail-bikes (for the kids, by the sound of it!). As we arrived, a bloke lurched towards us with two little girls, a can of beer in one hand and a fishing-rod in the other, obviously three-parts drunk. Never mix alcohol and water, they say.

Photo: Paddys River Dam; Not a very exciting photo, but all I could manage as I walked in, tired and cold.

All afternoon it was incredibly cold, maybe around 12 degrees. My face was freezing all the time, and I had the Araphat wrapped tightly around my face, breathing through the material. Cold all night.

I was very tired. Ate and pitched tent and went to bed, though growing closer to the Newcastle three.

Sunday 30th.

Not so cold last night because I wore almost everything I had... only one thermal unworn.

Dry and breezy in the morning, and not quite so cold.

Slow start although up at 5.30 ish, chatting around fire, socialists all. However, slow to get away. 9.40 now, and they are 45 Mins ahead of me. 22 km to Junction Campsite.

As I left camp, I walked through the site where the drunken man had been camping with his family – they had gone, but the fire, which looked as though it had been freshly built up, was still blazing merrily. I had to spend 15 minutes putting it out before I could leave in good conscience.

That was a great day’s walk through lovely forest landscape. For the first time I was feeling really fit and relaxed, and able to enjoy my surrounding to the full. It was still very cold, and it was only the continuous movement that kept me warm. I found myself doing my old thing, not stopping at all except for ten minutes to eat my lunch.

Photo: Trees down everywhere, just the natural cycle of growth, death and re-growth of a native forest. H&H team cut a section out of fallen logs blocking the track

On the forest floor I saw a bird - roughly the size of a wattle bird, but with dark blue patch on cheek or neck. In flight, has a fan tail with a strong white border 1 cm in from edge. Creeps around forest floor. It was only a few metres from the track, hiding behind the branches of a fallen tree.

Photo: Some nice person has sawn nice steps over and through this fallen giant - obviously a very long time ago

Minutes after I had fished my ten-minute lunch break I came across the Newcastle three, much to my surprise. I think Liz was pretty tired. Anyway, I walked with them for a while, but soon they stopped to adjust packs and I passed them. A while later I passed Steve, too.

We eventually came down out of the forest and onto rolling farmlands, recently planted with pines. It was nice to stretch the eyes, even if it was on plantation pines.

Photo: Nice to stretch the eyes a little, even if it was on pine plantations

Not far to go, then, and suddenly, from the top of a rise, I saw a hundred metres ahead a fox in the middle of the open ground ahead, being dive-bombed by magpies – I’m glad it’s not only cyclist that get the treatment! He snarled a little at them, and they left him alone. I walked forward behind a tree and got a couple of good photos, even though they are naturally distant shots. (They turned out to be too distant and too blurred... using a Nikon SLR spoils you for the use of the tiny, cheap camera I take with me on walks!)

Junction Campsite is the best I have seen. Everyone loved it - a grassy glade of about half an acre at the bottom of the valley with a nice newish pagoda affair for shelter. Instead of coming on to Henry Angel, I stayed there overnight.

Photo: The Junction campsite - a lovely spot. Here are the two tents of the Newcastle Trio, and the usual shelter/picnic-table setup at the beautiful campsite

That was my best day this trip, both in terms of walking and fitness. A great mostly down-trending track, very easy walking. (I later had several excellent days).

This morning a short (6.6 km) walk through mine workings, pleasant but uninspiring.

Photo: Laughing Cookaburra, the largest of the kingfisher family... this one let me walk past him within 3 metres, hardly turning to look at me.

Got here (Henry Angel Trackhead, Tumbarumba) early after having left at 7.30. Arrived cold and washed clothes. Hung them, the others arrived soon after, and I lent my phone for them to call for a lift. I’m not sure it happened, the signal being dodgy. I should have got their number from them, but I didn’t think about it. They left me their ‘Cards’, though.

They walked off intending to walk to Tumba if necessary. They are going on to Canberra for a week’s day-walking with Matthew’s sister. I was sorry to part from them. Nice people, good company. They offered to leave me the small (clean) billy, which I accepted gratefully. They also gave me the updated set of trail maps, which I hadn’t realised existed. They proved to be invaluable.

Sorted out re-supplies, gave everything else to them and another bloke at the site, and walked out – no point driving back to Tumba for a few old maps and a couple of coffee cans!

New campsite, Manus Lake, 17 km ahead, so must get a move on.

Pants not dry so will have to wear them wet. Tried to dry them on electric barbecue by piling the surface with twigs and stretching them out on top – worked well, but took too long. Put them on wet, hardly noticed – they dried on me in no time.

Left at noon.

Lake Manus. - Monday 5 pm

What a lovely spot!

Not an easy walk, especially up from Tarcutta creek. Very interesting country for the next five kms or so, dramatic gulches and steep ravines, climbing all the time. Once at the top the country changed to deeply rolling landscapes first along a ridge through Bogandyera nature reserve.

Photo: An inconvenient tree-fall... had to climb over the roots to get past

When I was seven kms out from Manus Lake I rang the place marked on the map as a bed & breakfast, only to discover that they wanted $115... just a cabin on a farm, as far as I can tell... completely self serve.

Anyway, walked on happily but becoming tired... of course my total for the day was once again 24 kms.

Not really a good campsite here. The shelter is far too exposed, with the wind blowing right across the lake. There is very little ground flat enough to pitch a tent, and though I tried several times I couldn't get a peg into the rock-hard clay, dried like concrete. It also seems to be on a gravel base, which leaves it pretty rough. I actually pitched the tent literally on the lake bank outside the designated camping area where the ground is softer and nearly flat. No promised electric barbecue, no water tank.

Photo: I had to camp outside the designated camping spot because of sloping site and rock-hard ground... but a lovely spot!

But the wind dropped, and the sun began to set and the place became magic. Full radio reception, so listened to usual evening programs until seven.

Nice dinner of Pasta Bolognese, coffee and Milo.

A remarkable fact came to light today, and this is that I have had no hand pain at all all week.

Tuesday 2nd October - Chris' birthday. Sent him a message first thing.

Within seconds of the sun going down last night the tent was running wet. Mist arising from the lake, and blown in my direction, simply soaked everything.

I decided I'd be okay, and went on to have a great evening, and for the first part of the night I was warm with no extra clothing. However, I had made sure that I left the long-johns beside the sleeping bag, easy to hand to don if the need arose. Well, it did, around two in the morning.

It was damp and fuggy in the tent, but not madly uncomfortable.

I got up at six am, and slowly ate, dried and packed. A very pleasant morning beside a beautiful foggy lake. Of course, the fog was entirely local, arising only from the lake.

Photo: Warming, drying and packing at Manus Lake

So now on to Munderoo campsite, 18 kms of easy walk.

Photo: Bird life on Lake Manus

The only problem is that the next day, day 7, it'll be a hard 28 km day. So maybe I'll think about going another 7 kms to what looks like a picnic area. We'll see.

It's now Wednesday 3rd, 5.45. What a day!

But I'd better deal with yesterday first. I left Lake Manus at around 10.15 or so, and briskly walked along sealed and unsealed roads for most of the day, uphill and down dale, quite steep and long, through mostly farm land at first, beautiful what… dairy? Cattle country? Rolling downs that looked lush and well-watered.

Photo: Well-watered lands and black cattle

Gradually got into higher plantation country, lots of five-year old trees (guessing - 1.5 m high?), but also a lot of mature pines. I don't mind walking through mature pine country at all... lovely scents, nice high vistas through the pines.

Photo: Recently planted pines - from the litter left on the land, it looks pretty inefficient form of land use

Photo: The ubiquitous H&H sign. The stamped number gives the number of km to or from the nearest Trackhead. Sometimes, though, vandals like to play silly buggers, swapping the numbers around. I think the numbers are a recent addition.

I got higher and higher and higher. Eventually got to Munderoo campsite (this was all Munderoo State Forest) at about 3 pm and made a cup of tea. Realised that metho was beginning to be a problem (methylated spirit... used as fuel in Trangia cookers). Lovely spot. Would very much have enjoyed staying there overnight, but realised that if I did I would have 27 hard kilometers the following day.

Photo: Munderoo Capsite - a lovely spot... but to camp there meant I would have to do a lot further on the following day... so I went another 7 km to Horse Creek

Photo: The main range of the Snowy Mountains in the distance - still covered with snow

There is a rest place marked on the map as a table under trees, which is seven kms on, so I decided that I would aim for that. There was no sign of water there, so I loaded up with three litres at Munderoo.

The seven kms seemed very long, but I walked through lovely country, and eventually through open park-land-like glades between the pines. I knew I was almost there when I came to this dam, but the water looked pretty unappetising, so I was glad that I had brought plenty.

A couple of kms further on I came to the rest area, Horses Creek. This consisted of two wooden benches face-to face in the middle of the woods, with a lovely grassy sward all around. Fantastic. There was creek beside it which at first I thought was just stagnant pools, but when I looked more closely realised was actually running quite well. As long as one avoided the weed, which was like gossamer, the water was fine. Well, fine for boiling or pill-sterilising.

Photo: A magic little campsite in the middle of nowhere.

So a quick camp-pitch and all was well. It got cold quite early, as usual, so I ate and got into bed, hoping for a peaceful listen to Radio National; alas, I could only get it when sitting in one spot on one of the benches, so in bed all I could get was some inane stuff on Star FM from Wagga - obviously caters mostly for sub-teens, listening to the phone-ins.

Not really a good night for some reason. Tired enough when I got in to bed, but awake a lot through the night. Sweaty in bed, too, I think that's this relatively cheap bag I use. Probably a more expensive one would breath better.

In the middle of the night sometime I pulled on tights and jacket against the cold.

In the morning there was a decent dry breeze, so the tent didn't need drying. Got ready to go asap, but included a hot strip-wash, as I had missed out on that at Lake Manus.

Set out briskly through the woods, beautiful and full of wild-life - birds, wallabies. Away by 8.15, I think. There was a lot of uphill though the map seemed to indicate all downhill to the creek at Lankeys.

Unusually I was suffering a pain in where I fondly imagine my liver is, just below the solar plexus. Not huge, just nagging and unusual. Actually, I can still feel it and it's higher than that, about level with the bottom of the sternum, so more likely in the intercostal muscles.

Anyway, unsettling. In fact, though the country I was walking through was fantastic, especially with the very elevated viewpoint, I wasn't feeling all that good all day. Very tired with aches and pains all over the place.

Photo: Every now again you come across log books to sign... very important to fill them in, as funding often depends of use of facilities provided.

Came down from the hills fairly rapidly. In fact, for a while the ridge I was on descended very steeply, then rose just as steeply to almost as high as the previous start-point, like a slightly sloping saw-blade, so that height was really only lost with a lot of effort.

Photo: steep country and ridge-walking

From native woods into farmland, still very steep with black cattle widely-spaced, and on down to meadows wide and nearly flat. Eventually, after what seemed a lifetime of walking, turned north again up the Lankeys Creek valley, narrower and more steeply-sided. Lankeys Creek looked from the map as though it should have a shop, so I was looking forward to being able to replenish my metho supplies.

After rambling some kilometers along the river bank as the track indicated, (up, down, up down) I got fed up with this and crossed a paddock to the road: more boring, but at least relatively flat. And so it proved for the last four kms into Lankeys Creek.

A big shed beside the road bore the sign 'Lost Patrol Camel Farm', and there were, indeed, camels in the paddock... four or five of them by the look of things.

Photo: Camels and lost patrols...

Suddenly my GPS pointed off the road, and I had arrived at the camp-site - but no shop! No houses! Nothing, in fact.

The campsite was great, but the map indicated a 'bunk-house accommodation' and gave a telephone number, and I had already decided that night in a bed, a shower and a clothes washing was in order, so I called out to some locals who were coming out of a gateway to ask where it was.

I had noticed, of all things, several railway carriages parked under some trees beside the road, and I was already harbouring a suspicion...

Photo: Platform 3 1/2

Which turned out to be true.

Peter Down is a hell of a nice and very interesting guy. He's been all over, and worked a lot with camels in the desert here, trying a tourist operation with a mate of his.

Anyway, I called out to him and immediately got offered a tea or coffee and a shower. Living in the carriages, he is sort of creating a whacky conference centre. In the mean time he didn't know what to charge me, had no insurance, and everything is a bit all over the place.

So first I accepted a shower and two cups of coffee and two pieces of cake, and we yarned for over an hour. He's going to feed me tonight, has no metho, has given me a room with a toilet. I used his washing machine to wash all my clothes, and hung them between the carriages.

He left to get on with things (changing a motor-bike tyre, sharpening a chain-saw... stuff like that).

Thursday October 4th, 7 am

Still telling the story of last night:

I went down to take some photos of the campsite. Peter told me to look out for the pump in the river. He uses a very old device that uses the power of the river to pump a small but continuous flow very high indeed - in this case it must be a hundred feet from river to his railway home. Very impressive, and all operating for free, and from such a tiny device.

Photo: The Laundry...

Photo: Flushing toilet in the Driver's cabin

Photo: Lankey's Creek Campsite

Photo:... realised I wasn't alone!

Suddenly I realised that I wasn't alone - I looked around and there was a ruddy great camel about five metres from me. They move silently with their huge padded feet. There were three of them actually, and they wandered past me without really bothering about me. Then I realised that three more were up on the hill, outside the fence, free to get onto the road. I ran back to get Peter, and yes, three of them had got out.

Photo: 3 out, 3 in

Photo: Beautiful creatures...

There is a road cutting immediately behind the carriages, so it was doubly dangerous with three huge camels caught without escape, and the potential for cars and trucks to come speeding by... which they did, by coincidence.

Peter, having dealt with this before, grabbed a loaf of stale bread and drove up there, stood waving the loaf. They immediately came, but two of them turned the wrong way and went further into the cutting, certainly getting closer to Peter, but faced with a cliff.

Photo: A danger to traffic?

Photo: Peter had had this trouble a time or two before...

I was standing at the edge of the cut, waving down drivers who came upon the scene very suddenly. What they must have thought is anyone’s guess, with me in only black tights, walking boots and a tee-shirt! So down Peter ran to get them back to where they could climb out. All turned out well.

We got them back in and then tried to see where they had got out. The neighbour’s roadside fence was down, but they had actually got out much further up the hillside. Peter reckons they are learning to behave in quite un-camel-like ways.

Peter then went off with George, the bloke who he has hired to help out for a while, to saw some fallen timber into thick planks, in situ. Went at it for at least an hour, until it was almost too dark to see.

When they came back, Peter started cooking, the most unusual pizza I've ever seen: a frozen base, lashed with tomato paste, topped by salami, mushroom, onion and then two eggs, then smothered in cheese.

While waiting, he gave me a beer, just ordinary Melbourne Brewery stuff, but it tasted and smelled absolutely delicious - the best beer I've ever had. I refused a second one.

Then he called George, who was in his carriage watching TV. I called first, but got no reaction. So Peter reached into a drawer and pulled out a real army bugle and blasted 'Come to the cookhouse door, boys', and he couldn't possibly not have heard that.

Ten minutes later the pizza was ready but still no George, so I went and called him a second time. This time he came. No, he said, he hadn't heard the bugle!

Then out came a bottle of terrific wine - Shiraz, Boomerang Bay.

Altogether a wonderful unexpected evening.

Off to bed at around 9.30, and he wouldn't even let me help with the washing up.

Great night sleep, though awake for a while from around 2.am.

Got up at six, no movement around the place. Cold and quiet. I sorted my gear, packed, left out all the food and other rubbish I didn't need (space blanket, rolls of tape, extra polythene bags.

Cut off the top of my successful water-holder, and came to the kitchen to make some coffee, had breakfast (my own), and write this log till Peter gets up, which he just has. Yesterday was great, and I said goodbye to Peter with some fondness for the man... He would take only $20 for the night, the meal, the wine, the beer, the washing... what a bargain!

To say nothing of the company. He's going to organise a camel trek for four nights some time next year...might be tempted. Wonder if Wendy would enjoy it?

Photo: Just before I left, one of the camels came to the door of the kitchen (twin sliding doors, as in the underground trains, of course) and begged for food...

24 hard kms today to Tin Mine. Going to be a long day's walk. But I've had a great rest and refreshing company. Good call home to Wendy, as well, though should have got her to call me back, of course.

Weather good and cooler today and warming into the weekend.

I should be finished by Saturday.

Friday 5th October.

An amazing day yesterday - 44km!!

Well, I took a short-cut at the beginning which saved me 3 km, so perhaps 41 km is a more honest total.

It was listed as a moderate walk, but I found it pretty easy, swinging along on fire trails the whole day. Mostly in the Woomargama National Park, which is all forest. Mostly Grey and Yellow Box (check with Harry's account) Nice enough, rolling country quite high (around 700 meters most of the time, rising to 800 later in the day. Masses of bird life and Wallaby. Wallaby run away by leaning forward and keeping low, very fast, rather than the kangaroo which has a high, upright bouncing action.

Photo: The start of Woomargama National Park

Photo: The only Turkeys were the ones who tossed it out of the window

Cockatoos keeping up warning signals as I approached each group. One lot gave me the fright of my life when, in an otherwise dead silent section of the wood, a single cocky let rip from somewhere quite close to me, making me almost jump out of my skin.

Photo: Sarsaparilla vine, which can be found all over the mountains. A beautiful plant

Photo: Tin Mine Campsite - plenty of room to pitch a tent

Arrived at Tin Mine at 1.30. Huge open space with grass finely cropped. Maybe ten acres? I don't know. Nice little camp-site right next to a frog pond, quite big. So early, and with nothing else to do decided to have a cup of tea, then press on for another ten kms or so, or maybe even to Sam Bollard campsite 20.4 km ahead.

Photo: The fireplace at Tin Mine - a remarkable swinging affair.

Photo: The sign at Tin Mine - confirming a 44.4 km day.

Off into the woods, then, keeping up a fair pace. The woods, however, were heavily burned by a ground fire, last year I'd guess. Most of it was on the southern side of the track, almost as though it had been deliberately lit right along the track - perhaps burning the bracken undergrowth? No crown-fire at all. Very tall trees, same Box varieties by my untrained eye.

Left foot hurting like hell, the top of my foot just behind the big toe, where the boot bends. This has been hurting for days, and I assumed it was getting bruised by the boot.

Anyway pressed on at at least 5 kms an hour, the rise for the first two hours being quite gradual. Couldn't work out the problem with Sam Bollard waypoint, which was reading far too far away, so after careful checking, realised that the waypoint was wrong, being at the locality Woomargama. Don't have any idea of how that occurred, but once realised it was easily fixed, though my faith in the coordinates, read from a 1:100,000 map, was not great. However, they turned out to be spot on.

Photo: The view from Norths Lookout, Mt Jergyl

Having passed over Mt Jergyl, the route quickly descended to the end of the National Park, and I entered a private pine plantation, thick and tall on both sides of the track, like walking in a canyon. Not at all like the previously mentioned mature pines, but thinner, straighter and only about five feet between rows. A silent, brooding forest. No bird song, though I did see a few wallabies.

Photo: The dark dread chasms of the plantation pine

This went drearily on for about 7 km, with fairly steeply hilly country. However, I roared along, hardly even slowed by the hills. This was very similar to day nine of the Canberra-Thredbo trip, when I covered 38 km in one day. Nine days of walking makes you pretty fit.

Photo: Sam Bollard Campsite - at sunset

Eventually reached the campsite just before dark, a blood-red sunset through the trees. Pitched, ate, slept. A good night, too, not at all cold (took off jacket and shorts soon after retiring).

Beautiful morning, not cold. All through the night heavily industrial sounds, including road-roller sounds, very loud, fairly close. Can't understand it. Still going at dawn, then suddenly stopped.

Photo: Dawn at Sam Bollard - this used to be the end of the H&H track, but has now been extended to end at the Hovell Tree

Much maintenance this morning including rubbed raw patch on left foot - not bruising, bleeding!

The day was going to bring me pretty close to the outskirts of Albury, and while earlier in the trip I had wondered if there was any point walking into the centre just to get to the Hovell Tree, I realised that I didn’t want to just end the walk any old where. So the next decision was where to camp the next night, Friday.

Everyone had told me what a rip-off the Great Aussie Resort was, and it appears as though they actually control, and charge for, H&H walkers camping there. Hard to believe, I know.

So I realised that seven kms further up the road was a rest area, and decided to use that, if I could make it that far. The map distance looked like about 38 kms. I carefully taped my feet, particularly the wounded toe-top, with fresh tape. I ate a good breakfast, using the fireplace rather than metho – and the billy-can of course was a great help in boiling lots of water, fast. Incidentally, I discovered (Newscastle trio take note) that a blackened billy can be quite easily burnished again by rubbing it with a handful of wet, spikey grass… that tuff stuff you often get on dryish ground around campsites. Perhaps anything rough will do the trick; when I was in the scouts we rubbed Dixies with river sand to get them clean. (A Dixie used to be a big, thick Billy can).

Away by nine, with another 30 or so to do.

You’re not going to believe this, but I swung away on the road in fine form 5 and a half kms per hour, left-foot no longer hurting, whistling and loving the refreshing start of the day’s walk. Downhill fairly steeply into lovely countryside. At the bottom of the hill half an hour later I realised that I had seen no H&H markers for a while, (in fact I could remember seeing none that morning), and thought I’d better check, so got the GPS fired up and, sure enough, I was way off track. Cursing, I studied the map and thought, anyway, that I was bound to hit the roadway ahead very soon if I kept on the track, and then I’d just have to take the left turn to get back on my own track. Ah well!

Hurrying on to make up for lost time, I realised after another ten minutes that this result was not being shown by the GPS. I got out the compass, and quick as a flash, being a brilliant navigator, discovered that I had been heading north instead of south!

Cursing, I turned and headed back the way I had come, uphill fairly steeply all the way. Telling myself that it was okay, no disaster, lucky I was pretty fit, lucky the rucksack was fairly light, lucky it was a lovely day (in other words, trying for positive things to say to myself).

An hour and a half, and a great deal of sweat, after I first left Sam Bollard, I was back where I started, and saw where I had gone wrong: a huge sign, 2 metres by 1 metre, pointed the right way to go. I had missed it.

So off I set in the right direction, chuckling ruefully at my silliness.

Photo: The Mystery of the Mountains - did someone tie a huge dog here to die, and did it subsequently free itself? And if so, where is it now?

I was soon back into my stride, crossing the road from whence came all the noise of the night before, (I think), and into a steep, dry wood following a footpath. The track was pretty indistinct, and there were very few markers. I kept loosing sign of the track, going back to the last pointer to make sure I hadn’t misread the sign, then carrying on, only to eventually loose it again. This went on slowly but reasonably successfully for half an hour or so, the track flattening out for a while, and suddenly I was on no track, and I couldn’t find the last marker I had seen. I wasn’t going to be fooled again! Out came the GPS, the Map and compass, and I studied the land carefully. Clearly, the track should be further down the hill. So down the hill I went, searching carefully for the track. No track.

Now for those of you who don’t use one yet, you should know that a GPS is an exceptional tool for telling you where you are, and at every point of the way I knew pretty exactly where I was. I just couldn’t find the track. Backwards and forwards I went, uphill and down dale, searching. The track crossed a river somewhere no too far ahead, so I should head THAT way.

Fortunately the undergrowth was very light. The map, however, (a representation of part of the 1:100,000 Topo map) only had contours at 40 metre intervals. You can have an awful lot of up and down without registering a single contour on such a map! The maps showed slowly sloping land, I was surrounded by gullies too steep to do anything but scramble down, often on my bottom.

So far, my morning had been a disaster. Three hours gone, and I was only about 4 and a half kms away from my start point. I was using my water more rapidly that I had planned, I was getting hot and cranky, and not having fun at all.

I came at last to the river, just a rocky trough lined with the calcified remains of evaporated pools. At least I knew exactly where the track should be, right around the next big left-hand bend.

And so it was, and from there on I had no more trouble with finding the track, though, naturally, it started off steeply uphill for some distance. However, there was no looking back. At the top of the hill was the last log-book of the whole track, and a nice bench seat. I had just 8.4 kms to go, pretty much all downhill, before hitting the Bowna road at the bottom.

Off I went. I was pretty much out of water by then, it was getting on for 2 pm, so I stepped it out. Eventually came across a lovely seep of clear fresh water, and filled my bottle completely, sterilising it with pills – Aquatabs, with which I had sterilized just about all my water since I first started the walk. The tablets were okay – no taste at all, and I could drink the water half an hour after use.

The track wound its way high above the surrounding countryside, reaching ever-so-slowly for the end of the long ridge along which I was traveling. The weather was crystal clear, cool enough to prevent sweating, (the whole trip had been pretty cool, and as a result there were no flies to speak of at all… I love walking in October!) (Of course, it was October when we had walked out of Yass, and the flies along that two-day stretch were dreadful!).

What did make me just a little mad was that when the track finally reached the valley floor, it had to deviate around one last property, rather than use the road that would have taken us quickly to the main road, but past the farmhouse. No, the track had to climb steeply up and down the other side, with a thirty-metres-or-so buffer zone of unused land all the way around the offending property.

Now, Warwick Hull (H&H Manager?, Administrator?) will tell me the truth about this property and I’ll probably have to edit this out. But really, some people are the bloody limit, aren’t they?

Anyway, apart from the extra hill, I guess it was only an extra kilometre.

Onwards, then, the kms mounting up for the day (particularly if you consider the extras I had incurred). I was getting tired, and of course it is always very hard on the feet to walk on tarmac, especially walking into the evening sun, with a stiff, if cooling, breeze heading you.

Photo: 65 km of Tarmac from here on in (well, almost)

It was a bit like head down and get on with it.

I noticed that though there was very little traffic, all the drivers were in big, new 4x4s, and were all women, and were all very blonde. This remained pretty much true all the way into Albury.

I reached the Great Aussie Resort and passed it by. Another 7.3 kms to do. Rather than turn left and use the reserve tracks, I kept to the tarmac. The distance would be identical, but I should be able to move faster. I guess I did, but it was still nearly dark when I reached the bigger road junction ahead. Too late I realised that this major road is the Hume Highway.

Walking alongside the Hume highway is a bit like holding a picnic at the end of an international airport runway: the noise is unbelievable, the wind from the passing trade truly awesome, and the danger of being hit by a flying object seemed very high indeed.

However, it was only about a kilometre to the rest area, so I switched on my headlight to ‘blink’ and turned it to the back of my head, and plodded on. Normally I would have crossed over to face the oncoming traffic, as my Mummy had told me always to do; I did for a while, but the hard shoulder got narrower and narrower, so I crossed back to what I considered the safer side.

Funnily, several people honked as they passed, and held out ‘thumbs up’ to me, as though I was doing something they thought was okay: maybe they were throwing rotten tomatoes at me, and it was only the bad light that made me think they were somehow on my side.

I staggered into the rest area, and looked around. I’d have to be mad to stay there. The noise of vehicles passing was deafening, there was no mound or other substantial barrier between the road and rest area, and though there was a little grass, it was only on the side of the clearing nearest to the road.

For some reason I didn’t fill up my water bag. I was just about out of water, and though I could read the sign saying ‘water not potable’ or somesutch, ( why these signs have to be written like that amazes me) I knew I could sterilise it with tablets. However, I didn’t, and after a few moments walked on down a cul de sac lane heading towards the lake, trying to get away from the noise.

I had two thoughts in mind. The first was that I should walk to the lake’s edge to find water; and that, if there was no water because the drought had lowered the level, I would be able to walk across the bottom of the lake the next day, thereby saving 15 kms. However, the lane seemed to be very long, and though the map had suggested that the area was a stock reserve, there were clearly farm properties on both sides of the road.

After 2 kms I gave up, and looked instead for a flat patch of grass beside the road. Eventually I found what I though was just that, and pitched my tent between a tree and a big bush, a limited disguise in case of yobbos using the road late at night – it was a Friday, after all.

I had just a drop or two of water in the bag. I drank half of it, nibbled a small bit of cheese and some salami, and got into bed. The site wasn’t as flat as it had looked in the dark, and sloped towards my feet. Better than being head down, though.

Actually I slept reasonably well, and felt both comfortable and rested. It rained a little before dawn, and a tiny bit afterwards, but really not even enough to wash the dust from the tent.

As soon as it was light I got out of bed, drank the remaining water, and packed everything up – a record for me… it took about ten minutes.

Then I continued walking towards the lake.

I didn’t go far, though, before I realised that I probably wouldn’t get as far as the lake without going on to private land. Maybe, maybe not. I did what I now consider to be a silly thing: I turned around and walked back to the road-side rest area. One day I’ll go back and have a look if I could, in fact, have saved all those kilometres.

So I got back to the rest area, got some water, had a nice breakfast amid the din and turmoil, and started walking all around the top of the lake, a long and weary 15kms. Actually, once I had reached Burma road, and was thus off the highway, it was quite nice walking.

Photo: Country roads, un-tarred but still pretty hard underfoot.

Country lanes, nice and quiet. It took quite a while, though. The road turned into Bowna road, and I finally turned for lunch into Thurgoona Oval, home of the mighty Thurgoona Bulldogs, were I sat in the shade of the somewhat depressing ‘stands’ and boiled the water for some tea, and ate pretty much the last of my lunch cheese and salami.

Very tired by then, and getting very footsore, I got it together and wandered on, still keeping up the 5 kms per hour business, all along from Wirlinga, past the airport and into town. Nearly there.

As soon as I hit the main streets of Albury I became conscious of how I looked… because every second person turned to look at me as I passed. I had on my new-found expensive wrap-around sun-glasses (I had found them in the morning beside the Hume Highway, Oakleys, and they were so comfortable I’m going to keep them for cycling) and as well as that my Araphat, which is sort of like an arab headdress, so I must have looked at the least mysterious, and at worst like a terrorist.

Photo: The end of the walk... now I just had to get home.

Up Dean street I went, then winding in and out until I came first to Hume street, and finally to the Hovel tree.

Not quite ‘The End’, because I had still to get home to Wagga, and preferably that day, which story I might keep until another day.

Photo: Waiting for may last ride home - made it home before dark!
So eleven days to do the 330 kms, and the last three days at more than 40 kms per day.

I ended up with a painful blister on my left heel… and I lost 6 kg in body weight.

A great walk.

Kiandra - Thredbo, March 2007

2007-03-21T15:16:00.000-07:00

Who? - Me, Godfrey Fryar, Charles Oliver, Andrew Blake, Michael Jowett, Tim Hackney, Artie Seewald, PeterNixon, Bob Platteel.

A party that started off as six became eight, which, as I hope to show, should never have exceeded four.

We started at Kiandra on March 10th, 2007. I picked up a newcomer, Michael Jowett, from his house a few hundred meters from my place, just before 6 am. It was dark, and I should have done a recce the day before, because I couldn't see street numbers. Eventually I spied movement amongst the bushes beside the road, and with a quick introduction through the window, Michael stowed his pack in the back seat.

I've been making an effort over the past few years to lighten my pack, and many of my walking mates had asked me about how I had reduced my base weight for a prolonged walk to around 8 kg... often scoffingly, I might add. So Michael had received by email much of this material, and I found him apologising profusely that he hadn't managed to get his load below 30 kg.

30kg? it didn't look it to me... hardly bigger than mine. In fact maybe even smaller.

Anyway, we got under way and we talked madly all the way. This was fine up to a point, except that I was driving really badly because I was more interested in the talk than I was in the driving... I was missing gear-changes, not concentrating on speed and all that. When we arrived at Selwyn I said that I hoped I hadn't frightened him to death, but he just smiled and denied he had noticed..

The car-park at Selwyn was empty. We parked and chatted. There were European wasps there... I believe that they were first seen in the mountains last year, 2006. These were the first wasps I've seen since we left England in 1997.

Tim, Artie and Pete arrived at 8.45, Tim with a spring scale that proved my pack at 11 kilos (5 days' food but no water), and Michael's at 15kg with 2 litres water.

9.30 and still no others: Charles and Andrew were supposed to pick Godfrey up from Tumut and be at Selwyn by nine am. They eventually turned up at 9.45, and then they messed around for another half hour or something.

Anyway, we eventually got away and headed up the hill to the radio mast, and swung on towards Four Mile hut. The rails of Yan's stock yard have been partly burned in the fires... a great shame, but they are still there.

Four Mile creek was running abut the same as always, and we stupidly didn't fill up there... we were to regret it later.

9 Mile creek was not running, green and algae ridden, and though I drank a cupful, I don't think most did.

That was the last water we saw until Arsenic creek at the end of the day.

It was getting hotter and hotter, and we were feeling tired and hot, and worried about water. We stopped on the flanks of Tabletop Mountain for lunch. Much discussion about rations, and it seems most at least read my stuff about food, and several actually had exactly the same as me - Csabai, cheese and light bread.

The trouble there, and for much of the walk, was that the trees had been burned and therefore there was no shade.

I was navigating mostly by gps, though not actively, as I know the way: no-one was paying too much attention.

However, Charles was keen to go via Brooks hut, which meant going cross-country; I had marked a waypoint at the spot we had to leave the track. Suddenly my gps told me that we were going AWAY from the turn-off waypoint. So we turned back despite Andrew complaining about 'never go back'. We had passed a track with the signpost 'Bolton Hill trail' on it, and as it appeared to be more-or-less going the right way, we followed it.

I have no idea why but there was much discussion about the right route, and people were making wild suggestions about which direction we should be taking, but as I had Brooks hut entered in my gps, I was confident that I could lead them there with ease.

However, we hadn't started out from the right spot, so we weren't sure what we were going to go through, so I simply headed in a straight line through trees and scrub.

Very thirsty, we staggered on. Eventually we got to the edge of the plain and found a small creek, probably the head of Arsenic creek, and drank and drank for nearly half an hour.

We then had a couple of kms to go along the tree-line, but still Andrew was claiming we were all wrong and we should be in the next valley etc, so in the end I suggested he go ahead and run back to tell us, but he declined with a bit of a scowl.

As we approached the right area, a shout went up 'Pig!', and a family of porkers charged towards us, mum and dad huge and black, eight multicoloured piglets. They ran across our path and off into the trees on Arsenic ridge.

Shortly after, we came to the immediate area of the hut, but at first couldn't find it. Of course, I had plotted the position from a 1:100,000 map, so I didn't expect too much accuracy.

When we eventually found the remains of the hut (it was burned in the 2003 fires), all that was left was the hearth, mostly of concrete.

We hummed and hawed about where to camp - in the clear by the river (such as it was, no more than the slightest trickle) but where the cold air would settle; or beside the hut which is beside the trees. The higher site was chosen.

For myself I was buggered; the five kms of cross-country had taken its toll.

We pitched our tents and cooked. I had to force myself to eat, though after that and a cup of soup and some coffee I did feel better, and joined the others beside the hearth for general chat. However, we all very soon went to bed, where I, for one, slept well. I was camped on a slope, so pushed my boots wedge-ways under my lower side and all was well.

Now, the error- because we were looking at the very top edge of the map, we (I) mistook the road we were on for the east-west Boltons Hill road. After we stopped for a brief rest, we were heading south, not east, though there was only a millimetre of the N-S road showing on the map. So when the GPS showed us going AWAY from the waypoint, we had, in fact, only just started to do so, the waypoint being also on the E-W road (proof that we had made the same mistake when sitting at home to set the waypoint on the electronic version of the map).

Mistakes due to assumptions on the edges, and particularly the corners, of maps, are common, and so should be guarded against by experienced navigators. They are still made all too often.

Eventually all maps will be electronic and contiguous, so that at all times the point of attention can be in the middle of a screen... voila, no further problems.

Sunday

Cold and clear. All up late, around 7 am, I suppose. Beautiful morning, sun coming over the ridge to the east lovely and warm. So had breakfast and packed up fairly slowly, marvelling at the dulcet morning, looking for contrails (missing, though the morning planes were there... presumably because there were high temperatures at that altitude?).

Though we had another four or five kms of cross-country walk to deal with, the moor-like country was relatively easy to walk over, with a few simple boots-on crossings of Arsenic creek and Happy Jacks creek.

Then on over McKeahnies creek and on to Mackey's Hut for lunch. Some of us bathed and washed clothes, some of us sat supine, some of us cooked beautiful mushrooms picked by Michael on route... Many years ago I had been poisoned by wild mushrooms in England, and I've always been shy of eating wild ones since then. So I took just a tiny corner of one, and didn't react.

The original plan had been to reach Dershko's, but it seemed unlikely. We headed for the less-ambitious O’Keefe’s instead. We were still relatively short of water, though the creek before Doubtful creek had had enough running to fill our water containers, and the weather was hot and dry.

We were clearly tiring, and after a while Peter started limping, complaining of sharp pain just below the outside of his right knee, worst when travelling downhill. There was general concern at this, and he was loaned two walking sticks, one from Andrew and one from Godfrey.

The walk from Doubtful creek isn't too bad, rolling along and twisting a little, with a few short, sharp rises and falls. In general we moved along quite quickly, and arrived at Farm ridge before too long. We took a spell there, Andrew discovering a telephone signal, and therefore spending a characteristic twenty minutes on the phone talking, it seemed, to everyone in his address book.

Farm ridge, of course, is a beautiful spot, the only downfall being the lack of water. There is a small creek at the bottom of the hill, but who wants to keep going up and down twenty metres to get water? We would have camped there otherwise, the grassy lawns around the ruin of the farmhouse very inviting.

So on we went to O'Keefe's, arriving there at around 4.30, hot and tired.

You know how it is when one person has been described as a snorer? Everyone tries to pitch their tent as far from the snorer as possible, jokes build to the point of discrimination, and, from the snorer's point of view, things sometimes become rather more than a joke.

I snore. I used to share a tent with anyone, but now I ensure that I sleep alone. I try, as much as possible, to camp at a distance from the others.

So at O'Keefe's I found myself pitching my tent at some remove from the others, on a sloping, tussocky strip above the general camping area, which is more-or-less flat and smooth. I felt slightly resentful as I struggled to set my tent amongst the tussocks, as I watched the others setting up luxuriously on the sward below.

Nevertheless, with a few jokes I joined them and cooked my dinner along with the others beside the logs of the camp-fire spot... we couldn't light fires on this trip as it was still rated a fire-risk period.

My Trangia struggled to heat my food in a squally wind, and though I did my best to shelter the flame, I had to be careful not to set the grass alight. I used a small sheet of bent and twisted roofing iron to guard against the wind, and to serve as a hearth beneath the stove. O’Keefe’s, too, was burned down in the 2003 fires.

Once I was finished cooking, the Trangia was hard to put out, hot gas spurting from the sides of the simmer-ring, even though it was closed tight. I put a flat stone on the burner, and still it burned. I guess it burned on for five minutes before I could blow it out.

While Trangias are, on the whole, my favourite stove on the grounds of compactness, lightness, safety and efficiency, they are hard to control in a wind, especially the smallest of the kits, which have virtually no wind-guard. I feel an effective miniaturisation of the full Trangia could be achieved at only a few grams weight and very little increase in size, and this would be counterbalanced by the fuel saving - a wind-driven Trangia clearly used up to double the fuel of one run in calm conditions. Extra fuel = extra weight and space.

Andrew Blake uses an MSR shellite stove, and on that evening at O'Keefe's we had a demonstration of the superiority of the simplicity of the Trangia: Andrew's stove cast a leather washer, the pressure-producing washer, in the barrel of the pump, and try as he might he couldn’t retrieve it. No cooker for Andrew and Charles. Unfortunately that meant we were a bit low on metho to fuel the remaining stoves, all Trangias of different sizes.

Well, no matter: we got by to the end of the trip by sharing.

Anyway, as usual we went to sleep at dusk, and faced the wettest night I can remember in the mountains. No, not rain, but humidity that left us saturated. It felt like being in a sauna, very unpleasant.

During the night we were wakened by what Michael claimed was a Barking Owl.

When the morning finally came we were wreathed in fog, the tents dripping wet. Well, it happens. So we cleared up and prepared to move on, with Schlink Hilton our aiming point.

Andrew had another go at retrieving the leather washer from his cooker pump, but to no avail once more. We started walking at around 8.45 am.

From O’Keefe’s, of course, you have a very much up-and-down route around the base of Jagungal, with plenty of mobile phone coverage as it is line-of-sight with the tower on Mt Selwyn. So at around 10.30 we were in touch with Bob Platteel, who was going to walk in from Guthega Power Station with wine etc, and spend the night with us. We promised to try and make Schlink, though it was a long way, given our wounds. On around the mountain base we went, then out onto the plain and southwards towards Grey Mare.

It was at about that time that my left knee started troubling me, in almost exactly the same way as Pete was reporting. Pete was still hobbling along with two sticks.

There was no doubt that most of us were suffering. Artie complaining, Pete hobbling, Godfrey clearly suffering from his feet, Tim looking buggered, and now me, too, with an increasingly sore knee. Only Charles, Michael and Andrew were still reasonably fit.

Charles had done a lot to keep his pack weight down, though in at least one factor he had gone too far: his sleeping bag, rated at +10°C, was far too lightweight, and he was suffering freezing nights. Andrew refused to have his pack weighed, but it looked huge, probably at least 20kg; throughout the walk he kept producing comestible tid-bits of a gourmet standard, mostly heavy with oil and in bulky containers. He had two warm hats, and little inflatable earth mat as a seat.

So we went on across the plain, over the Tooma a few times, and up the lower slopes of Strawberry hill. This one was, as usual, a bit of a bugger, short but steep. Following that was the long ridge around Smiths Lookout leading to Grey Mare hut and the first crossing of Back Flat Creek. We dropped wearily off the ridge to the creek, crossed, and stopped for lunch.

The first task was to get our tents out, turn them inside out and dry them. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a tent so wet on the inside.

The last time I was here, in October ’06, I had crossed all rivers with boots on until I arrived at Back Flat creek, and from there on it was boots off: Flat Back creek and its numerous crossings, Geehi creek, and Valentines. Now, in March ’07, we crossed all creeks with boots on, without getting our feet wet, nor any chance of it. Five years of drought are taking their toll. What are the big rivers going to do for water if we don’t get heavy rains this winter?

Charles, Artie, Pete and Andrew stripped off for a bath. I had had my usual strip wash in the morning, so gave it a miss while I rested my knee.

All too soon we moved on, over the crossings of Back Flat, then on up the hill to the high ground, then down again to cross the Geehi, up again and down to the Valentine, then up to Valentine’s hut.

It was there that I revealed the extent of my injury, the last down-hill having been a slow-moving agony. We had a quick pow-wow.

For myself I knew that I could not go on over the main range the following day: it would have been agony, and stupid, too, and it would have put everyone else in danger if, for instance, the weather had turned bad.

I had stressed all along that I was not the leader of this trip; nevertheless, I felt that it was important for me to state my condition honestly, to give the others the opportunity of confessing their ills without feeling silly.

So I stated quite clearly that my knee was going to make me change my plans: I would walk on to Schlink Hilton, with the hope that Platteel could drive me out from Guthega on the following day.

There was much muttering that we should stay there at Valentines Hut, and walk on the following day; But I reasoned that if Bob Platteel then left Schlink early to go home, we, the lame, would have lost our only real chance of a lift out.

In the end, everyone agreed, and we walked on, tireder and tireder.

Charles and Michael stayed back with the weakest (myself and Pete), and the party straggled on until at last Schlink Hilton loomed up.

As we turned the bend that brought it into sight, we could see someone else arriving, just going into the hut… Bob Platteel. Good timing.

Everyone claimed a bed in the hut except Michael, who pitched a tent outside. Now, that morning Michael had claimed that the night must have been quiet because though I pitched my ten 50 metres from him, he still heard me snoring quite loudly; I was a bit incensed, because nearly everyone else in the party had been between he and I, yet he still decided that it was me snoring.

So that night I told everyone that I wasn’t going to apologise for any snoring I might do, that they could like it or lump it. I claimed a bed with a mattress over Artie, and we settled in for the night, cooking and washing and generally messing about and pulling each others’ legs. Bob brought out a couple of litres of port, which we sipped conservatively (shows how bad we felt: we only drank about half of it!).

Then bed. Half an hour later Artie started snoring, and just to make things clear, I said quite loudly ‘The snoring you are hearing is not coming from Michel!’ By morning it was established that Artie, Godfrey, Tim and Andrew had all snored, and that I had probably not.

Next morning was once again beautiful, and final plans were made. Artie wanted to pull out too, leaving five to walk to Guthega and three to go over the top; But I did the maths and realised that Bob’s 4x4 could only take five, so I challenged Artie’s fitness to keep walking, and he backed down and decided to go over the top too. I was surprised, but anyway, it was the only sensible thing.

So off we went to Schlink Pass, then goodbye to the summit party and on down the long hill to the Power station way below.

Half way down all the pain suddenly disappeared from my knee. I went some way like that, and all continued to go well. Hang on, I thought, I don’t have to go home after all. The original plan was that I would leave the others at Thredbo, get a lift to the Geehi dam track, and walk back to Mt Selwyn via Pinnacle mountain, Grey Mare, Mawsons, Mailbox, Happy’s and four mile hut, and now that my knee seemed to have miraculously recovered, I started making plans to do just that. After half an hour of this I told Bob, and then Godfrey; but a little while later the pains returned, and I was gloomily forced to accept that I was going nowhere after Thredbo.

We wobbled onwards until at around 11am we reached the power station and Bob’s car, which was surrounded by European wasps. We squeezed in with all our gear, and headed for Jindabyne, and what Bob called the all-day breakfast.

We had 24 hours before the arrival of the four over-the-toppers, so after a noon breakfast we booked in to the YHA, washed and dried our clothes in the laundrette and generally got ourselves squared away.

Lach Wilson, friend of Charles Oliver, had volunteered to come down from Wagga to help with getting us back to Wagga, so we called him and suggested he join us in the YHA, and he arrived just before dinner. Clean and reasonably un-smelly, we dined in the pub – Pepper & Salt Squid all round, a fairly riotous evening with religion and politics going at it hammer and tongs.

This was followed by a visit to the huge car-park where, in the dark, Bob set up a 20cm telescope, a recent hobby of his, and took Tim, Godfrey and I for a tour of the heavens. Quite fascinating, especially seeing Saturn and its rings – the first time I can remember seeing it, and seeming so huge, too.

With stiff neck from gazing upwards for so long, we returned to the YHA for a reasonably early night, and next morning went in search of decent breakfast and coffee. The bakery had been pretty good the year before, but was a disaster that morning, with poor coffee and burned croissants. Anyway, at eleven am we went up the mountain on the ski-lift (scoring a $17 seniors ticket though I said I wasn’t officially a senior – normal price $26). At the top, my knee still very painful, we waited in the Eagles Nest café, reading papers, good coffee etc, with the expectation that the over-the-top boys would arrive soon. They did so, at around noon.

We had been hopeful that the YHA would let them shower and clean-up, and despite the fact that they were hanging around and not getting on with it, Nadia, the manager that day, was very patient and didn’t complain at all.

At 2 pm we headed off. Bob had one of those car-navigating GPS thingos in his car, and it suggested, in a very cultured English/Teutonic voice, that we should take the Dead Horse Gap/ Khancoban route, rather than the Jindabyne/Adaminaby route; Lach, though, decided on the latter, so the cars separated.

Well, it turned out that Bob wanted to look at the re-built Geehi hut at Swampy Plains, to look at the dried up Tooma river below Tooma dam, and at a few other things on the way, so that we finally arrived back at Mount Selwyn three quarters of an hour later than Lach, who had already left.

So the trip ended, cut sadly short for me, but good fun despite everything.

So what went wrong?
Three things went wrong, I think:

1. setting a deadline to meet Bob Platteel at Schlink Hilton. This meant that we really stressed ourselves to reach it on time. Deadlines are fine if there is a lot of slack in the program, but if not, as in the H&H walk of the year before, they put added stress and turn a fun day into a race to get there.

2. In a large party, there is always someone feeling tops who wants to race ahead. Testosterone does lousy things to males. Even if you think you are immune to pressure of that sort, you can’t help either competing or at least doing that bit extra so as not to hold the group back. In other words, extra stress to go faster, further etc.

I tried to keep saying that there was no program, that we could camp where we wanted when we wanted; but the incentive to get to Schlink Hilton in time so as not to let Platteel down was always there.

3. There was difficulty with a lack of water. I was guilty of this too. We should have started with full water bottles – three litres. Instead, we all reduced the load to around one litre, and suffered because of it. The only good water we found on the first day was at Four Mile Creek early in the day (where we should have taken 3 litres), and then none until Arsenic Creek at the very end of the day.

As a consequence we went without enough water for all of the first day, and I have a feeling that we didn’t really recover from that. We would have in time, but again five days is too short a walk to get really fit.

Michel Dignand
20.03.07

The untold story….Schlink Pass to Thredbo (Michael Jowett)

The decisions had been made and there was no turning back: after a long farewell Charles, Andrew, Arthur and I turned off Schlink Pass and headed cross country up the escarpment and onto Dicky Cooper Bogong – the gaiters came in handy as we pushed through the low scrubby trees and bushes to get some height trying to follow any goat track that continued for more than 100 M. Enthusiasm was high and like young billy goats we climbed in and around the Granite Peaks to get the best views out over the Rolling Ground – time for a stretch and a well earned rest break. Andrew always has a few extra treats in that voluminous bag and I can honestly say I was eternally grateful on this section of the walk as these little surprises added some variety to my meagre weight conscious pack food.

Shouldering our loads once more we set off crossing the gently undulating plains. Charles was confident but the rest of us were unsure of the location of Consett Stephen Pass until we settled into a rhythm and followed some pads through the very dry alpine moss, lichen and peat sections which took us directly there. We found few soaks of water to fill up our water reservoirs with. I’ve walked a lot up here and have never seen these pads this dry – it really highlighted the extent of the drought. Any rain or snow would have to rejuvenate and replenish these massive vegetative reservoirs before the irrigators downstream would see any runoff. Water was going to continue to be an issue that day.

We followed the contour line around the summit of Mt. Tate with the party of four splitting up to graze across the valley and across the ridge line. Arthur was hitting his straps leading up the valley out to the West while the rest of us wandered out towards Gills Knob before drifting back to the ridge line. Arthur continued leading out past Mt. Anderson before we could look out over the Geehi Gorge and onwards towards the intimidating face of Mt. Twynam. The crew was looking good but our water was getting low again. Coming around Mt. Anton and sidling up the face of Twynam we desperately searched for water along the track before we discovered a miserly trickle. Arthur set about engineering a funnel to get some into his bottle while Andrew, Charles and I headed down into the headwaters of Pound Creek to access some deep, slowly flowing pools of crystal clear water. All bottles filled we all felt a lot more comfortable as we tackled the contours onwards and upwards. I think it took almost as long for Arthur to fill his bottles from his funnel and drip as it took for us to climb down, fill up and climb back up. We didn’t see a lot more water until we came out onto the summit area of Twynam and rejoiced in the historical soil conservation works and a much clearer trail.

By the time we cruised down the flank of Mt. Twynam onto the ledge above Blue Lake we were all well and truly stuffed. Tent sites were chosen for the views and dinner was a high priority. Water was plentiful close by and the grass was soft. The weather was very kind to us with a mild, wind free evening. I managed to lose my torch filling Godfreys’ camera with images at dusk. Charles pointed out the Sentinel and Watsons Crags as we watched the last of the sun that had taken it’s toll on us that day.

I was about to find out that Michel hadn’t been pulling our leg at O’Keefes hut and that there was indeed another culprit responsible for the snoring on the trip. Despite my efforts to reduce the weight of my pack I reckon I could’ve fitted a couple of foam earplugs in. Charles tucked himself warmly into his nylon sheets next to Andrew in the Taj while Arthur settled in next to me in the Salewa Micro. I know I was tired an I know I slept well eventually but not before listening to both CD 1 and CD 2 of all of Arthurs’ compilation greatest buzz saw hits of the 70’s. Come back Michel – all is forgiven!

The first glint of reflection on the lakes below and the lightening sky started the next day. I quietly stalked all over the ridge madly taking photos in my bare feet before I found my torch again and rejoined the group for brekky. It was a gloriously clear morning and everyone though a little footsore was up for the final fling towards Thredbo. We packed up with dry tents and lighter loads and swapped the lead along the path to Carruthers Peak and around Mt. Lee. The walk around Albina Lake is always a favourite and Charles filled me in on his years skiing and walking in this area.

As we got closer to Kosciusko it seemed that the consensus of the group was that we wouldn’t go to the summit. I always like to finish what I’ve started so with the general agreement that I was mad as a hatter I set off at a run to get ahead of the troupe, dump my pack at the track junction and sprint for the summit. My boots had been bothering me the whole trip but either my feet were numb or I’d adjusted to them finally as I pushed on up to the top of our continent. The few walkers I met or ran past all thought I was rather balmy for sure. I think the fellow that I said “G’day” to on the summit thought I was very special as I was only there long enough to get two photos, take a pee and bugger off again.

I met up with Charles, Andrew and Arthur at the very busy Rawson Pass. Lots of revegetation and track work. I’m sure those buggers ran to get there ahead of me. Time for a short break before we entered the relative insanity of the worlds longest lightening rod walking track. As we picked up the enthusiasm again along the walkway Andrew and I had a great time amusing ourselves endlessly asking passing tourists to mention politely to Charles and Arthur how much they smelled. As we got bolder and some of the punters got younger we asked them to be less polite and got some great support – it’s good to know that humour at someone else’s expense is an International currency.

Before too long we could see the extended lens of Bob Plateel projecting towards us and not far behind him Michel and the rest of the crew. The restaurant at the end of the universe was upon us – time for warm chocolates and food before the chairlift took us back to civilisation and the last footsore steps up to the bakery to replenish our carbohydrate stores and organise the rides back to Selwyn.

I still find it hard to believe that the group covered so much distance each day – and was relatively unscathed despite that. True warriors and a great bunch to walk with – plenty of experience and stories (most of them probably lies but I think that only adds to the mystery of them all). Thanks all for taking me with you back into one of my favourite places.

The Ascent of Jagungal - 2nd to 5th November, 2000

2006-11-30T14:20:00.000-08:00

Andrew Blake
Michel Dignand
Thomas Graham
Charles Oliver

An account of a four-day trip from Round Mountain through Derschko's, Grey Mare, over Jagungal, O'Keefe's, Farm Ridge and back to Round Mountain

Thursday 2nd November

We left Wagga Wagga at around 4.30 in Charles' Forester, and drove south via Tumbarumba, the Elliott Way and Cabramatta. It was a cool Thursday evening, and we prepared ourselves for the short walk in to Round Mountain Hut with slightly less enthusiasm than we might normally have had.

Round Mountain hut is so close to the road that I, for one, had been prepared to find it ramshackle and vandalised. The entry in 'Huts of the High Country' describes it in less than flattering terms, too; so the four of us were surprised to discover that the hut was neat and in good order, set in a lawn-like clearing with great views of Jajungal and the valleys surrounding it.

Thomas discovered a leech attached to his leg after going down to the river for water in joggers and shorts. I was a bit surprised, never having come across leeches before, and not in the least suspecting that you would find them up here in the mountains.

Two of us, Andrew Blake and myself, pitched tents; the other two opted to sleep inside. It rained pretty heavily in the night, but dawn was clear and reasonably fine, with patches of low cloud scudding around the valley below us.

Friday 3rd November

We were away by around eight o'clock, back up the steep slope to the Round Mountain Fire Trail. None of us had walked this track before, and though the map (we were using the 1:50,000 Khancoban (8525-i & iv)) showed a pretty easy, undulating walk, you can never be absolutely sure.

The first section of the walk, perhaps as much as three kilometers, is through the dead trees that predominate in this area and all the way to Cabramatta. Was it disease or a fire? I vaguely remember asking someone in Cabramatta some years ago, and being told it was the result of a fire, but I'm not certain of that.

We also started to find the blue worms on the track. There appear to be two versions, the dark blue one, and the dark blue with a lighter blue line down the back. We found these worms everywhere during the next three days.

We also found two brilliant yellow ones, one on the flank of Round Mountain and a second one on the other side of the Tumut river, on the Farm Ridge Fire Trail, on the way back on Sunday. These were smaller than the blue ones, perhaps 4 cm long. The blue ones would have been about 8 cm long.

As we progressed south, the weather improved and Jagungal loomed larger on our left hand side.

The peaks kept disappearing behind cloud, but we were getting a pretty good idea of the terrain on the northern side, which we thought would help us later. It didn't.

I kept regretting that I hadn't brought a tripod. Charles is on the left, Andrew in the middle and Thomas on the right.

A few kilometers on we came to the first bridge, and we stopped there for a drink. Andrew, one of his feet uncomfortable, found a couple more leeches squashed under his toes.

With the weather improving and getting on more quickly than we had anticipated, we were in pretty good spirits. Most of us were carrying more than we should have been, pretty common amongst occasional walkers. Too much food, too many changes of clothing. Too many gadgets, too, between the four of us. Who was carrying 90% of them?

We met Greg Layman shortly afterwards. Obviously very experienced, he seemed to have a very great knowledge of the mountains. He gave us several route notes and a copy of the Victorian Mountain Tramping Club map of the Round Mountain area and the Northern approaches to Mount Jagungal. We talked for quite some time. Greg had been out alone for nearly a week, and was returning to meet his lift out. Thanks for your help, Greg.

Not too long afterwards we met a trio of English people, a bloke and two women. I'm not quite sure if we were guessing or whether they told us that they were part of the British Olympic/Paralympic team, and checking out the mountains before going home. They were exceedingly lightly equipped, each carrying only a very small daypack. When I asked them about this, they suggested that our packs were full of luxuries. Tents? No they weren't carrying them. I don't think they were carrying much other than food, and then not too much of that, either.

On the other hand, they were moving like the wind, Lycra and joggers and British flags more evident than anything else.

They told us that if we were headed for Grey Mare hut we'd probably meet the Dutchman, who was in the mountains for three weeks, was carrying two rucksacks and had a radio. They had spent the previous night with him in O'Keefe's hut.

We checked out the ruined hut at 214027, finding few remains other than stacked corrugated iron, but also the peculiar growth of grasses, again lawn-like amongst the more natural snow grasses of the plains. Then we went on to Derschko's hut for lunch.

I didn't take a photo of Derschko's. I had been looking forward to seeing it, imagining it as being something special. The 'Huts' book certainly suggests it, and I had heard before that it should be seen. But I found it sterile and unappealing. I'm pretty sure I wouldn't see it like that if the weather had been bad, or if I had been ski-touring. It has double-glazed windows and lots of insulation, so in a blizzard it would be more than welcome. But other than that I found that after a quick look I lost interest. One point to make, here: if you were heading north looking for the hut you just wouldn't see it unless you deliberately looked back frequently. Missing a hut seems hilarious when the weather is good. It can kill you if the weather is bad.

After lunch we continued south. An easy road. Slight undulations but nothing too difficult. We were anxious to see if we could find the beginning of the Strawberry Hill Fire Trail, because we wanted to use that to approach Jagungal on the following day. None of us were too keen on an uphill bush-bash with full packs, and although it didn't look far we wanted to keep bush bashing to a minimum. (Talk to someone who was there about the Ink Bottle climb of the year before!)

After fording the tributary of the Tooma at 218967, we climbed what looked like an easy slope to the supposed start of the Strawberry Hill Fire Trail; the four of us agreed afterwards that it was a short killer slope. I don't really know why: it's easy to rush at them without breaking your stride if you aren't paying attention, and you very soon get exhausted. Anyway, we had a very long rest just there, under the pretext of discovering the start of the fire trail, which we didn't.

Twenty something kilometers with a full pack is fine when you do it regularly, though even then it's not so bright on the first day; we keep meaning to walk more regularly, but every time we go out we bite off more than we should chew on the first real day. So we were all flagging by then. Oh, we were keeping up the pace, and still moving along quite well. But really, we were all knackered. With the possible exception of Charles, I suppose.

I know that by the time we had spotted Grey Mare hut in the distance, I was just about ready to drop. But we still had several more kilometers and a ford to cross before then. We dragged ourselves on.

As we approached the hut up the long slope from Back Flat Creek, a fox suddenly broke cover and ran hell for leather up the track towards the hut, bounding and leaping with speed and agility. A couple of hundred yards from the hut he broke right and disappeared into the scrub of the hillside.

Grey Mare hut seemed to us to be another good one. Clean, well constructed, reasonably air-tight but sadly without the renowned murals. Anyway, Hans the Dutchman was there, and very interesting he proved to be. Was there anywhere he hadn't been?

Andrew got interested in the mine, and cleared the entrance to the first adit. Poking his head into the hole he had cleared, he could see that it was about thirty feet long. He covered it carefully again, lest children, picnicking with careless parents, should become lost and trapped in the mine.

Just after dusk the storm that had been threatening broke, and in the first rainfall Charles and I scurried to get into the tiny two-man tent we were sharing. Andrew got into his, too, though Thomas chose to sleep in the hut. The rain intensity increased until Charles and I gave up trying to talk. The noise was greater than any I had endured in a tent. The storm went on for some time, but I fell asleep before it ended.

Saturday 4th November, 2000

I was awoken by cries from Charles that it had snowed in the night. It wasn't quite light by then, and though we could see the whiteness everywhere it became quite clear that it was, in fact, hail from the evening before. No wonder it had made such a din.

We were quite late away that day, each of us, I think, secretly anxious about having overtaxed ourselves the previous day. However, by the time we had crossed the Back Flat Creek all three of us were feeling strong, and had decided to take the Strawberry Hill Fire Trail rather than approaching Jagungal, packless, from the north.

The route is, in fact, quite easy, though the fire trail is invisible until you top the hill. We bush-bashed straight up the side of Strumbo Hill, which wasn't too bad, but unnecessary: the best route would clearly be beside the stream immediately to the south of Strumbo... easy and virtually no bush to bash through. Aim to emerge on the saddle at 231954. Incidentally, we were half way up Strumbo before it dawned upon Andrew that his walking stick was also a monopod. From that point on, I was able to include myself in the pictures.

From there it is an easyish stroll around the contours to where we picked up the indistinct remains of the trail exactly where it disappears on the map at 243955. Follow the trail on up the slight rise, wheel left towards the saddle that you'll see there, and Jangungal will appear three kilometers ahead, looking brilliant and very impressive from that angle:

We added two kilometers to our distance by keeping to the contours rather than dipping into the valley ahead. We stopped for lunch in a hollow in the snow grass overlooking expansive sphagnum bogs, and I bored everyone witless with a rambling account of my Grandfather.

Two hours later we were climbing the steep slope of Jagungal. It was pretty hard going, and we stopped for breath every five minutes or so. But before we knew it, we had scaled the worst and had only four-hundred meters to go to the saddle. Once there we dropped our packs and climbed the peak unencumbered... it felt like we could fly.

Behind us you can see the snow-covered
main range, god knows how many kilometers away.
The concrete pillar (trig point?) is not constructed
on the very highest point of Jagungal, but
maybe it's the more convenient one.

At the top we toasted our absent friends, particularly Artie, in a fine whiskey, which I can tell you tasted much better up there than at lower altitudes. Away to the west we could see Wheeler's hut, an old friend; and to the South we could still see Grey Mare hut, quite clear if you knew where to look.

So down we went, and though we thought that a bit of bush bashing wouldn't hurt going down, we were very tired by the time we reached the rain gauge at the bottom something like an hour and a half, maybe more, later. Those who have climbed it from the north claim that the track up is fairly easy to see, but going down we saw no sign of a track.

From there it was an easy 2 kilometers to O'Keefe's, though once again the last five hundred meters felt like about three ks. When we reached O'Keefe's, we were greeted by four students from ?? Uni. Great young fellows, who, without being asked (we wouldn't have asked) got all their gear out of the hut and took themselves off to their tents, where they stayed until morning. They warned us about possum, about rats (the hut book was full of warnings) and they saved the day by offering loo paper... we had run out that morning.

I slept that night in the hut, as did Thomas. The other two pitched tents. A good night for me... slept like a log.

Sunday 5th November

Next morning we were out again quite late. Feeling good, we rolled along at quite a rate, and forked left at Farm Ridge hut ruin. A terrific spot. Someone once had great dreams of a tourist lodge there, or something similar. If the area had developed in that way, it would have been a hit. I'm glad it didn't work out though.

On the other hand, it's a shame that the hut was left to just fall down. A good basalt chimney and pretty good cattle yards are pretty much all that remain.

Climbing the ridge to the top it started raining, and we had a cold downpour for the next hour or so. The views of the Tumut Valley were terrific.

We dropped down into the valley to make the Tumut river crossing as the rain stopped. The plain was just like the Brecon Beacons in South Wales. The river was wide, but easy to wade, though as cold as hell. Never mind, there was a walloping great hill to climb to warm us up. Charles and Thomas forged ahead, Andrew and I staggered up behind. Thomas almost came a cropper when he slipped on a rock while crossing a tiny rivulet, risking a broken ankle that he managed to avoid, and we arrived thankfully at Round Mountain hut again by about 2 p.m..

We rested, had lunch (I picked up a leech after sitting on a sawn log in shorts... obviously lots of them around there after rain), and eventually struggled tiredly up the last hill back to the car.

We enjoyed a light beer each, still cold under the floor of the Forester. We stopped briefly in Tumbarumba for fuel, and were home by seven p.m..

A great trip.

Acknowledgements:

To the National Perks and Goodlife Department who gave us free use of their backyard

To the Kosciuszko Huts Association who do such a brilliant job... don't weaken.

To our absent friends... you missed a great walk and a lovely drop on top, Artie.

To those we met along the way.

And finally to our families who made it possible for us to get away: absence makes the heart grow fonder.

Kosciuszko National Park, North to South, February 2004

2006-11-29T19:56:00.000-08:00

Kosciuszko National Park, North to South, February 2004 - diary

Day 1.
Hut @waypoint DAY1HT

Started well... Gavin in time to the second, Eric ready on time... weather great, forecast good, off we went, Wendy filling everybody in on the chequered family history as we drove.

I was so busy chatting as we passed through Tumut that I forgot to turn off to Lacmalac, and headed off on the Snowy Mountains Highway. It wasn't till we got to the telephone spot, the layby almost at Blowering lake, that I realised what we were doing and turned back - twenty minutes lost, but I suppose that's no big deal, really.

Godfrey waiting in the road as we got to Mack's Crossing. Hello and introductions, a quick photo and that was it, on our way.

The big hill not much of a difficulty, and half way up we met a couple of the local farmers, Dave Smith, was it? Grizzled old chap, but possibly not much older than me when you think of it... anyway, they stopped their ute and had a yarn through the window, and told us that instead of staying at the river we should use the hut just a couple of k's, maybe miles, further along the track. I thought it was very doubtful, but who knows?

The walk was great, rolling countryside, lovely river-side pastures, masses of birdlife, parrots and wattle-birds mostly. Sun shining but not too hot, Gentle breeze... fabulous.

Stupid socks giving me a bit of gyp, at just one spot under the left heel. Tommorrow I'll wear that thin pair of wicking socks under the other pair, and see how that works.

Anyway, we stopped for a rest under the most fantastic apple tree... there were several trees there, but this one was huge, and laden with big and beautiful apples, lots and lots of them.

Eric was slower, worried about his foot, which was hurting in the same way mine was.
We stopped for lunch for a very long sleepy time, and then got to the river very early, at about 2pm.

After a while, about an hour, dozing in the shade of a huge tree, we decided to move on to the hut - several four-wheel-drives came barging through the river - there was a ford to replace the bridge, which was broken in several places, and they waved, but that was all.

So up we got and toddled along - the valley was beautiful, lovely broad pastures bathed in sun and flanked by trees, cattle ambling through long grass, all that sort of stuff. We arrived very shortly at the hut. (I'm writing this at 4 Mile hut, four days later, and trying hard to catch up). We all liked the hut - two big rooms, four beds with mattresses, table, chairs (all broken, but usable), a big verandah partly enclosed with another two bed-frames. Two horses in the home paddock, one very old with hardly any teeth.

I chose to sleep on the verandah with the best mattress, Godfrey inside on another, and Eric and Gareth pitched the tent and slept there.

Explored the Peak river, very small by then, drank some wine which Eric had brought, cooked, talked and had a great time, really, then early to bed, around nine, an hour after sunset.

Great night, very late getaway, with coffee percolated! and a good breakfast. Got away around ten am, and walked further on past the last of the leases (3?) and into forest country. Road winding higher and higher, filled up with water at a tributary which we thought was the Peak, but which wasn't.

Eric slow downhill because his feet were not doing well... his boots allowed too much slippage, and downhill forced his toes into the tip of his boot. We found the turn-off to Atkinsons fire trail without difficulty, but I was immediately filled with foreboding - the trail was locked and heavily overgrown right from the the start. This proved to be the truth... sadly.

The map was pretty accurate - the right streams in the right place, etc, but the going was really rough, brambles and the usual scratchy things clawing out for unguarded parts. The way was fairly steep, too, and we were hot and tired . When we got to the end of the trail, which we followed fairly easily, there was just nothing. Expert map-reading to the fore, with every detail explored, but to no avail. I took a GPS reading, and we were in the right place, but there was simply no north-south trail there, which should have taken us to the peppercorn fire-trail and so to long plain.

So Eric and Gareth beat around the bush for more than half an hour before I insisted that we accept defeat and reatreat back to the Goobarragandra Powerline trail, and thence to Yarrangobilly.

We had no map for that section, and it took till 5.30 to arrive back at the trail. Nevertheless we walked on, mostly uphill, until 6.30, where we stopped at a powerline maintenance track to camp the night. Not too bad a spot, though everybody else seemed very unhappy about the chance of falling limbs from trees, and tried to find places away from trees... of course, the week before a girl camper outside Sydney had been killed by a falling branch.

Great dinner again eaten in double-quick time, though we didn't know when we would next find water and had to be very sparing. We did okay, though, and into bed, driven there by mosquitos and other flies - they were the worst I can ever remember in the mountains.

I camped on the opposite side of the road on a nice flat spot, but underftrees, and used only my bivvy bag - there didn't seem much chance of rain . Into my bag double-quick, but it was so hot I was sweating immediately, so got out of my sleeping-bag and lay only in the bivvy. Still really hot and sweating. Had to zip up the bivvy to keep the mossies out, more sweat. I was hoping they would go away as it grew darker, but they didn't.

Went on like that all night, holding just a small gap open around my mouth, afraid of CO2 poisoning.

Half way through the night a funny barking, purring noise nearby, and I got my torch out for a look around - at first nothing, but noticed two golden eyes reflecting the light, with a shadowy shape clinging to the side of the tree... sugar glider? possum? Something like that. Sounds of very small branches falling throughout the night, but nothing bigger.

Tuesday morning
Beautiful day again. Packed up and on the road, not knowing how far to go, nor where the track comes out, except that it will be very near Yarangobilly river on the Snowy Mountains Highway.

Very low on water, considering that we don't know when we can get more, so go on cautiously. But it is a great day with cooling breeze, the country is great, the company is fantastic. Godfrey and I walk together for lots of the time, discussing religion, education, philosophy etc, then we all meet again and couples change.

Eric's feet not good at all, but he struggles slowly on, perhaps 3km per hour, while the rest of us manage around 5, so we stop and wait. It would be kinder to slow down and walk with him, but he doesn't want us to, and it seems patronising, so we go on most of the time and wait for him at various spots - hard to remember to give him long enough to rest, though. Mind you, he does make it clear when he wants to rest and for how long.

At around noon we come across the first signs of water, and around 12.30 we find a small stream. Very snakey. We have seen heaps of tiger snakes, and several smaller 30cm snakes, all of whom simply lie doggo on the trail. We have a long lunch with lots of water, then press on.

Eventually we arrive at the end of the track, the spot where, long ago, I came across that blue tongue. So it's another 2 km on the road to Yarrangobilly.

At Yarrangobillly we meet a scotsman who has been cycling around the world for many years... I think he said since 1998. Carries everything in panniers front and back, everything patched and masking-taped, but all functional.

We look at Eric's feet, and eventually decide to walk on the road for the ten ks to Rules Point. Rain is threatening. The walk is okay from my point of view, but we have come a long way already, and everyone is pretty tired, particularly Godfrey. However, everyone plods on determinedly.

AS we walk it is dawning on me that the best camping place is another two ks after Rules point - the spot on the Murrumbidgee where Wendy and I first camped all those years ago. Particularly if the wind is up, we'd need shelter of some sort.

I say nothing until we are at the top of the hill just past the first the first turn-in to Yarrangobilly caves, from where you can see Rules Point a couple of ks ahead, though it always looks shorter. I broach the subject to them all one-by-one as they come up to me, and they all agree.

When we get back up Long Plain to the turn-off to the camping spot, I point out to Gareth that Long Plain Hut is only two ks away. He thinks we should press on to there. Godfrey rolls up, and I suggest the same thing, and tiredly he says let's press on. So we wait for Eric, and reluctantly he agrees too. So off we plod, me staying behind with Eric. It's not that far, and within half an hour we are in the dry. It had, actually, dried up and was hardly spitting by then. Found a mattress, four inches thick foam, and I made sure Eric got it. I got a piece of carpet, Gareth a smaller bit, and Godfrey one of those cheap, thin earth-mats. So we had a great night on a not-too-hard floor.

Next day 12 ks to Marika on Wallaces Fire trail. Beautiful day again with the same cooling breeze. Ten ks on the road, hard on the feet, though I don't mind it myself. Got to Bullock Hill Horse Camp by noon, talked to young tubby horsewoman who was preparing to ride solo to Tantangarra to meet friends. I asked about the danger of going solo... Got a radio, she said.

Great lunchtime with Gareth and Eric rehearsing Eric for his play... funny to listen to in an American accent.

On then along peppercorn fire trail, then Wallaces after two ks.

Eric very slow now, and the grass much longer than when I was there in January - seemed VERY snakey, so everyone put on gaiters. Got to Marika around 3 pm, but Eric wanted to push on to reduce the distance for the last day. We eventually camped by the road 7ks from 3 mile dam, a great lovely spot, vey comforatable although the grounds looked very tufty.

Went to bed at sundown, and the dew started immediately... I was amazed, it was almost like rain, at least the quantity was. Dripping into my bivvy through the opening. Thank heavens no flies, so I could open the head of the bag up.

In the morning it was really cold, not much above freezing. I got up early and went off into the woods for a strip wash - just a cup of water, for there was none on the track. Everyone up early, but we waited for our gear to dry and didn't move off till 9.30 or so. This suited me, because I thought that Geoff and Andrew would be walking in to meet us on the track, and I didn't want to miss them, or take a different route nearer the lake.

Again, brilliant day with the same cool breeze - how lucky we've been with the weather.

At 11am along come Geoff and Andrew, much to Godfrey's surprise, and we swing along together very happily. By noon we are at three mile with beers in our hands, and shortly I am sorting gear from my supply bag.

Eric tries his CDMA phone and it gets a full signal, so I speak first to Kirsty and then to Wendy, who is pleased.

Eric shows us his feet, and the whole of the ball of the foot is one big blister, torn at the back, at least on one foot.

At about 2 pm we get away, Andrew and I, with hugs to Godfrey and the others.

We head over Mt Selwyn and on to 4 mile hut, for another great night, night five.

Ring the Frenchies for a laugh, and Sharon for an entry in the green thing.

Leave 4mile 9.30. Beautiful morning again after another clear & dewy night. V. fit, small splinter in R little finger.

A long day, 22km to the McKeahnies river. Andrew v. tired, walking very slowly. Great rolling country after Dr Phillips hut.

Got in @ 6pm, dinner, wash & bed by 8.30.,

Tomorow 6 km to Makeys, 16 to O’keefe’s, 18 to Tumut River

Sat 19 th.
Cold early, fairly clear sky. Up @ 6.45

Sun slow to emerge through scattered thin cloud. Andrew slow getting ready - too much gear!

Finally ready @ 8.45

11.15 @ Mackeys. Great hut. Cuppa & dried tents (to find bog paper!).

1.00 @ Doubtful river- great trout stream! I washed Tshirt & shorts, Andrew had a go @ fly fishing- he knows v. little about it. I showed him roll-casting & a few other tricks.

Lunch & hopefully away by 2.15, but more probably by 2.30.

Yes, it was 2.30.

Great afternoon for me, swinging along, but Andrew traling badly a km behind @ each stop.

Phone signal on the slopes of Jagungal, rang home.

Beautiful evening. Decided on Dershko‘s anyway. Big storms away to the south, huge clouds & lightning. Red sky @ night.

Sunday 20th. Schlink Hut-
Woke to rain. Not too bad at first, but increasing. Pooh!

Undecided what to do. First we're off in the rain, then we're staying put till it ends, then we're staying til 9am to see what happens. Currently, (8am) we're stying til 9 then going on to Grey Mare (8 km) either for lunch or for the night, depending on conditions. Fine. Writing up earlier parts of the diary, kneeling on my gloves with the keyboard on the bench!

Well, I managed to balance the top of the woodbox on my knees, and typed for an hour like that, getting up to date with the diary.

By then the weather had lifted, and though there were still a few sprinkles, we set off. I had a few doubts about how good my jacket was, but the weather gradually improved, and by the time we got to Grey Mare Hut, it was pretty clear, and the jacket had withstood a fair shower without leaking. The breathability seemed not too bad, though it felt as though it was wringing wet inside, especially the arms.

I was against going up the hill to Grey Mare hut, but Andrew really wanted to, so up we came, and had an hour for lunch. As we set out again, the clouds over Valentines seemed very ominous, so we have returned to the hut for an hour or so to see how it goes. I rather suspect that it won't get much better or much worse... it's simply very grey at the moment, no rain, or not more than the occasional spots or two.

I think we are nearly two days ahead of schedule, and if we get to Schlink today we stand a good chance of getting in to Thredbo on Tuesday. I'd personally rather get there on Wednesday, but I wouldn't hang around in camp just for that. If we do get in on Tuesday we'll simply have a totally free day there - and two nights in a nice bed with a shower.

The way I feel now, I would be perfectly happy if only the weather would improve - and this is only one half-bad day.

6.15 - a bad half day it might have been then, but the afternoon has been a stinker. We finally set off at 1.45, after two false starts, each time the clouds over Valentines growing darker and running down into the valley. Eventually we decided that we WOULD go, and not turn back even if it turned nasty. The first 3/4 of an hour were fine, with four boots-off river crossings. Then came the first big hill and it started raining just a little way up it. It didn't take too long, maybe twenty minutes (my hill-climbing ability has improved out-of-sight since the Bongong trip in November... I suspect I'm as fit now as I have ever been in my life (or will be again, perhaps).), but by then it was pissing down and blowing hard.

Anyway, we stuck it out. The road went down to the Geehi, where I had intended to camp tomoorow night, Monday, in the original schedule, It would have been okay if the weather had been fine. Another boot-off crossing, but a lovely river to fish (some other time).

Then up the other side, which I had thought was going to be terrible, but which was actually relatively easy, not much more than five minutes, I think. From there we were on a plain rather like Dartmoor, more or less treeless in the main... I suppose we are near the tree line. Andrew thought we were near the Valentine hut remains (the web site had said it had burned down), but he had mistaken the river... it was very small, while the Valentine is another very big river, perhaps bigger than the Geehi at this stage.

The rain was on and off at this stage, and though we were wet it wasn't too bad. We trudged on for less than half an hour, and lo and behold, there was Valentine hut, red-sided and apparently intact. The river crossing was relatively easy, with a nice causeway someone had built across most of it.

Then up the hill to see if the hut was real, and if so, if it was intact. Fortunately it was, and is.

Valentine's hut is pretty good.You come in through the front door and the first thing you see is a Fatso pot-belly from Masport... just like old time, although we didn't have a Fatso.

Beyond that is a main room with a great old table with pegged joints, several chairs with padding intact, several benches. Seat eight, I suppose. Then there are two bunk rooms with three bunks in each, though the bottom bunk in each is a double. No mattresses, of course, so we have to make do with our earth mat type mattress, better than nothing but a bit hard. They are great on earth, but the hardness and flatness of the bunks in all the huts makes them pretty rough to sleep on. However, better to be in here out of the rain than out in a tiny tent!

After we had arrived the rain increased in force until it was absolutely belting down. Handy for collecting water in billys, but otherwise not too good. The Fatso is old and worn and leaking air everywhere, so very innefficient. But better than nothing, and still it warms the hut, which is, today, pretty cold.

It's now 6.45 pm, so I'm hoping no-one else is going to turn up, leaving us free to do our own thing.

Tommorrow, irrespective of weather we are going down to Gungarten Power station. There are three huts on the way, Schlink Hilton, Whites River and Horse Camp, so it shouldn't be too bad. However, it could be unpleasant if it is pissing down all day and we have no-where to stay other than tents.

I think if it is still bad when we reach Horse camp, then we might stay there rather than pressing on with nowhere to stay for the night. We'll see. I'm hoping for another bright and beautiful day, and some warmer weather, too.

Monday 21st Feb - Day 9. It's morning, and we have a new plan.

Over to the west we can see relatively clear sky, but this clear patch is not moving. It rained heavily all night. It is now desultarily spitting, almost from spite, it seems. It just doesn't want to clear away.

We got up at 6.45 after a not-too-bad night - I discovered that I can make the mattress comfortable even on a hard flat surface by really inflating it hard... Bliss!.

I also discovered that I can make a passable pillow by takling my spare clothes and my jacket and stufing them loosely into the sleeping-bag bag... how long it takes to learn!

So, the plan - we wait here till 11 am, then walk to Horse Camp Hut, Schlink Hilton for lunch.

However, if it doesn't clear, we simply stay here another night. This is fine by me, because we have till Thursday to get to Dead Horse Gap, and that's only three easy days away, or two hard days.

The basic route now is Guthega, Perisher, Charlotte's Pass and Kosiuszko, then DHG.

We'll see.

11.30 am. Still undecided. Lots of menacing cloud, spotting, wind has come around to the west, but not strong.

Thinking about noon.

Thinking about 12.30!

Finally got away at 3.15! Rain not too bad, but well wetted by the time we got into Schlink Hilton by 5.30, and it was great! A big wood-stove with glass door, very efficient, big room with lots of windows, beds with matresses!, and pillows!

We decided to stay, as the rain was coming down in stair-rods. It did clear beautifully by eight, though, and we had a great sunset. After dinner we walked up to Schlink pass and phoned home - Wendy at a BPW meeting, but Sam in.

Good night's sleep, up early to a beautiful day, away by eight, stopped at the pass agin to phone home re love and extra supplies.

Whites River hut ok but not great, Horse camp hut very good with stove, loft and good water, Good table etc.

Heading for Perisher and up to Seaman's.

Actually went through Guthega, illawong lodge, and up the hill to the saddle between Twynam & little T.

Spent brilliant night a little s of there - windless, frosty, full moon.,

Left @ 8.45, kosie at 11.30.

Great on top of Kosiuszko, many people, good fun place with huge sort of 'Community' spirit, everyone talking to each other. Weather fantastic, calm and totally clear sky.

The night on Twynam was brilliant - in the morning there was frost on the tent, but in my bag I was warm and dry. The dusk the night before was fantastic - blues of all shades as the sun left the land. There was a layer of cloud a couple of fingers above the horizon, and as the sun dropped through it and turned red, the whole scene was lit up in red. Beautiful.

In the morning I woke just before the sun came over the rim of the mountain, and it was similarly fantastically blue, just Mount Townsend lit by the sun. Totally ... well, total.

To the East, a blanket of morning fog covering the land from north to south.

Lunch and beer at Eagle's nest... like an oasis. We have rather gorged ourselves, with wedges, beer, coffee and now hot chocolate. The guy let us recharge our phones here, too... straight out of the blue. Bloody good of him.

So Dead Horse Gap tonight, and meet Geoff at 9.am in the morning.

Thurs 24
DHG. Tents froze last night. After we got in, I washed all the clothes I had on, but the sun went down almost immediately, so I wore damp knickers (leaking cap to bladder) & wet shorts to bed... not too bad. They were dry this morning, of course.

Despite frost, we were both warm & comfortable in bed.

A bit rushed getting ready to walk back to DHG proper this morning, but here now @ ten am,
waiting.

Geoff rolls up 3 mins later. Beers, slaps on the back, grab supplies, second beers, etc..

On the road by 11.30.

Easy walk in to Cascade Hut, arriving around 2 pm. Two very rude people camped there, older guy, beautiful young woman. 'Where have you come from?'

'Why do you want to know?' 'Because we're just being polite,' Geoff said. 'We choose not to say ... that's our way.'

And so it went on... quite unpleasant.

Pitched camp, sky looking a little threatening. Still early, might go for a lie-down.

25th-Great night, beautiful morning. Very little dew. Away 8.30

Easy walk to Tin Mine Hut, though fairly hot with no wind. Geoff not doing too well, but I think he'll manage.

Last full day tomorrow. The route looks quite easy, not so much up and down as today. We'll aim for the hut marked a k or so south of Freebody's, which is supposed to be a ruin. Then if all goes well I'll duck down to the border 3 ks south, and Geoff says he might come with me. Back to the hut again for a last night's sleep.

The walk along ninemile fire trail looks all downhill, with maybe a slight uphill to the lip before decending the precipice.

I'll be glad to go home now. The last two days might have been a bit too much, and I'm feeling tired and a bit jaded now.

Fog drifted in after an early dinner, and a bit of wind from the SW, so we moved the tents away from the trees and prepared for a very early night. 7.30!

As we were getting ready two trucks - 4x4 ute-types, one with a canvas covered tray, drove slowly by. Looked as though they were going to come in to the camp-site but changed their minds when they saw tents here... pig hunters or brumby-catchers, we supposed.

So early to bed. I slept very badly, the pillow not quite right - should have used my jacket in the pillow.

Got up at 11pm for a slash and the fog was thick, the droplets forming on my legs.

Rolled about all night, it seemed, and with nearly a full moon, even the fog didn't stop it being light enough in the tent to see fairly well.

Thick fog still around this morning, but I had half expected rain, so this was a bonus. It's eight now, and the sun is just visible through the cloud, so I expect it will burn off pretty soon.

Last full day, roughly 28 hours to go till we meet Helen at Snowy River.

Same truck as last night XKL728,
passenger with discoloured front tooth, caught me in the nude beside the Ingeegoodbie River.

27th-Last day

Great day yesterday-fog didn't clear till 1 pm, but the road was easy & lovely. Took the short cut just before Freebody's, which naturally took longer as the obvious track became fainter & disappeared. Freebody's a heap of flat iron in a beautifull meadow valley.

Hut with no name a bit of a mess, obviously not adopted by National Parks or KHA.

I went on alone to the border to discover that parks border is 1.5 km north of where the map says.

Noisy night with horses whinnying, dingos howling, fox barking, night-birds calling.

Slight squits this morning.

10 ks out down nine mile fire trail-all downhill.

Hume & Hovell walk - (1) a tale of failure

2006-11-29T13:08:00.000-08:00

h&h WALK DIARY

The first three days were hell. Starting were myself, Michel Dignand, Andrew Blake, Peter Lockley, Greg Scott and Charles Oliver. We started at Yass more-or-less on time, but we had 57 kms of tarred road ahead, which knocked hell out of our feet. The distance, too, was ambitious - 20km for the first day left us all knackered and most of us with blistered feet - for me, the first time I've ever had blisters. We stayed the first night at Warroo Traveling Stock Reserve (TSR), and got water from a very nice elderly lady on a property looking out over a fabulous view. She was collecting eggs with her grandchild in a pushchair. A good night with lots of rain, but we camped and dined well before the rain started, and it ended just as we got up at around 7am.

The second day was no better, with 28 km to the next TSR, Sugarloaf... we were exhausted, had walked in pouring rain with ten million flies (their shit covered all our clothing) and now everyone had very bad blisters. Charles says he didn’t, but he was never seen without boots, and no-one really believed him.

By the time we got to Sugarloaf Creek, with the TSR 400 metres further on, we decided to stay at the creek. The weather was threatening, and I, as nominal leader, was convinced at that time that we could go no further and, if sensible, should pull the pin on the whole trip. I was very gloomy that night, and said to the others that they should consider finishing the trip,

Had a terrible night with death-and-destruction nightmares, bad chest pain for an hour, and much loss of sleep.

My new tent works well. It is quick and easy to pitch (two minutes?), with plenty of room; the only drawback, minor, is that the only way I can get into it is head-first, and then turning once inside. This means, for instance, that you can’t sit in the entrance, take your boos off and then swivel into it, as you can with other tents. Pity the colour isn’t lighter, say yellow, as an emergency aid.

Rucksack less good as the harness is too short. It is designed for a short person, I assume a scout of about 15, or a woman. Glad it wasn’t too expensive.

On day three we decided to go on to Wee Jasper for beer and a final decision. For some reason everything looked much better in the morning, and we started off cheerful and not in too much pain. The beauty of the country helped. We arrived in Wee Jasper buoyed up and determined to continue with the schedule as published. The shop was closed!

We had a few minutes of deep gloom, then the owner appeared and opened up for us. Coronas all round, and some chocolate.

We decided that we will go on, and even try to exceed our short schedule for the day (14km) and try to get to Log Bridge camp, which would make it around 21km for the day, but included climbing Mount Wee Jasper, an ascent of 700 metres.

I called Gareth and Caroline, and left messages about our probable change of plans: we would definitely be at least one day late at Thomas Boyd Trackhead. Same message to Geoff and Tim via Ros.

Walked to Fitzpatrick Trackhead and had lunch, washed clothes and waited for them to be almost dry. We were in very good spirits.

That was a rough afternoon. After the first steep section we cam across a couple of Brown Snakes, the lightest-coloured one Ive ever seen (very milky coffee). Wee Jasper mountain is very steep, and as it started raining half way up, we were very tired indeed. Peter Lockley was very near his limit. At the top, cold and wet and pretty much exhausted, we voted to continue to log Bridge, which, on reflection, we probably shouldn’t have done. Got into Log Bridge campsite after dark, traveling on our torches. Everything wet.

My rucksack seems to leak at the slightest damp, and my sleeping bag was wet.

I couldn't eat much, just a cup o soup, and crawled into my bag with my clothes on. Very soon steamy warm, and by morning the bag and my clothes seemed pretty dry.

A great campsite with a table under a good shelter, plenty of flat campsites.

14 km today to Micalong camp.

I'm not feeling too bright, slightly sick.

However, we are not in too bad shape. Yesterday at Fitzpatrick Trackhead we were in great form, all of cheerful. Not quite so good today, I think.

It would be nice to have a dry day without too many hills. If so, and if we can afford a longish lunchtime, I'll unpack and see if I can dry everything out.

Geof Ashley might have to pull out of the walk because a friend of his, Greg Knight, has died, and Geoff will have to attend the funeral; this might not be a bad thing if the going remains as tough as this.

Looks as though we might meet Caroline and Gareth today, and might even make it to Thomas Boyd Trackhead on time.

Walking stick good as soon as you are off-road, and particularly helpful on hills.

Wednesday lunchtime, Bosawa camp - a beautiful spot.

Tuesday we left Log Bridge camp fairly late (9.45) and started walking already tired and depleted. Within an hour, I think I was beginning to feel quite bad. The route was picturesque, but very up-and-down. The whole walk seems to be designed to take you to out-of-the-way places (that usually means steep and difficult) of interest, and the rocky gully down the long gorge of Miller's creek, then up Pompey creek past Pompey's Pillar was such a side-trip, but part of the route.

I fell, potentially disastrously, on a rock half way down Miller's creek. For a few moments I thought I had broken my arm, so great was the impact and the pain. It turned out that I was lucky. I did have quite a gash, which I didn't notice at first, but the blood dripping thick and congealed finally alerted me to it. Charles cleaned me up with scarce water and a sticky plastic pad and a crepe bandage, and it has been more-or-less okay since.

However, from that point on I was buggered - woozy and weak. I couldn't make it out. By mid afternoon, I was dead on my feet. Sure, I kept going, but really only just - one foot in front of the other.

Finally we got in to Micalong camp , and I have never been so glad to get into camp and stop walking. (for the record, I was clearly suffering from dehydration and exhaustion from the previous three days.)

Washed clothes and self (ponging pretty high) and went to bed, slept for a short while, got up and started pouring water, tea and food into myself. By six thirty I was shivering and sweating, but by seven thirty I was feeling a million times better, if not quite well.

Bed, sleep, up in the morning greatly improved, though still a long way from fit.

13 ks today. By-passing Bosawa (a very nice campsite), we are heading for Micalong swamp, at the spot marked as 'Boardwalk'.

The morning's walk took us along Micalong Creek, a great little river. It felt somehow like a detour similar to Miller's Creek and Pompey Pillar, but in fact wasn't. There was a reasonable descent, pretty and fairly narrow along benched tracks, with the Micalong roaring and brown not far below us. The weather was great, the air beautiful, the birds amazing and the plants largely in full bloom. The predominance of purple and yellow in the colours of mountain wild flowers was noted again, and particularly attractive, I thought, was one plant with light-purple flowers and a lovely contrasting green of the foliage.

All in all we were in pretty good heart. Mostly our feet were still hurting, but we could all, I think, ignore the pain by now. Maybe our nerve-ends had given up?

The maps showed a fairly sharp climb, something which, by then, most of us were dreading, myself included. The climb is caused by the cascades and water-falls, mostly very dramatic, of the Micalong river. There had been enough rain over the past few weeks to have the river roaring down, brown as milky coffee, whitened by a zillion bubbles as the river throws itself from rock to rock, from fall to pool below and on over the next rocky barrier. It was beautiful, awe-inspiring and wonderful to see.

Maybe one of the most important reasons for having tracks such as this is to allow us to visit these magnificent spots without having to become full-on explorers?

It was here we met a team of Australia Conservation Volunteers, maintaining the track. They had a truck up on one of the logging tracks, and were staying, it seemed, at a hutted camp nearby. Good for them. They were doing a great job.

It took quite a while to climb this section of the track, and we took a long recovery break afterwards. When we did resume walking it was along predominantly forestry trails flanking the devastation of harvested pine forests, kilometre after kilometre of smashed and blighted land, with thousands of tonnes of broken timber discarded on the hillside. 'Why?' was the question on everyone's lips... but we had no answers.

Bossawa campsite was stated in the book to have been left immediately next to this devastation, with the suggestion that it might be moved to a 'nicer' location at some time in the future. This must have been done a while back, because we found the campsite quite perfect. The Micalong, docile now that the gradient had been reduced to almost nothing, ran quietly between deep peaty banks, tea-coloured and lovely. A log bridge led to the shelter in the middle of a grassy clearing.

Washing clothes most days in that incredibly high humidity meant that we had not yet been able to get them fully dry, though we draped them over the outside of our packs. At Bossawa we were able to dry them fully for the first time, spread on grass and bushes as we ate and rested.

The camp is too close to Micalong Campsite, really, only 7 km according to the book. We had to make much more than that in a day, so were headed to the suggested campsite at the head of Micalong Swamp where Chinaman's creek runs into it.

The walk was pleasant that afternoon, though un-inspiring: logging roads through mostly devastated harvested forests. Several roaring jinkers raising tails of dust half a kilometre long, industrial-looking signs and landscape. I suppose in the few years where trees have grown but have not yet been harvested, these tracks could be pleasant - but what are we talking about, ten years out of thirty?

However, when we crossed the boardwalk over Chinaman's creek and came across the campsite, (unofficial and therefore untoileted and unsheltered), we were enchanted. Does that sound too prissy a word? But I think we were. We found a wide, lightly-treed area of lawn-like grass overlooking the long flats of the swamp with natural forests (all but one spot in the distance) surrounding us. There was bags of timber for fires from fallen trees, very good water in Chinaman's creek (scooped carefully from between the marsh-plants) and wonderful weather. We arrive at around four pm, pitched camp and rested. Charles and Andrew investigated the ruins of Webb’s Hut amongst the blackberry, and returned with a spray of narcissi, which they handed to me with due ceremony as being nominal ‘Leader’.

At around six pm we cooked and ate and told stories and jokes in a desultory manner, then lit the small fire and sat together as the sun set behind the trees, and the swamp gradually darkened and disappeared.

It was a moonless evening (not sure what time the moon rose, but when I checked the paper today I note that it is rising at 6.am and setting at 9 pm, so that explains our moonless nights) and very soon the stars came out. Surprisingly, not a single satellite was seen, but we only watched for a short while before climbing into bed. A great day of around 13 km.

Thursday 3rd November.
Chinaman's creek to Thomas Boyd Trackhead. 19.7 km

Greg is clearly the fittest of us, as I expected. Doc, as usual, is next. Peter seems to be struggling, and I might come good by the end of the day.

The route today seemed not too bad on the map, though we have generally come to regard this as being no real indication – a ten-metre rise and fall can feel not insignificant when you are tired, and still not register on a topo map.

So we set off with the expectation that we would reach the last water for several kilometres in a couple of ks time, and set off quite cheerfully. The weather was fine again (that was promising the third dry day in a row, a real pleasure), and the gradients relatively easy. We strolled along at around 5 ks/hour for a while, topped up our water and continued up the flanks of Mount Nimbo. At the sudden clearing beneath a big power-line we got a telephone signal and I spoke to Ros Ashley, and got messages from Caroline and Gareth, which indicated that they had reached Mt Nimbo a couple of days before, and then gone home – very sensible.

A long, gradual climb took us near the top of Nimbo, and though I could see the top, I chose to conserve energy while all the others left their packs and climbed the summit. I rang home instead, and spoke to my son, Sam, and raised the possibility of him coming to Thomas Boyd Trackhead on the Goobarragandra the following day to rescue us, if the vote took us that way.

The original plan had been absurd: we could not walk 25 km each and every day, with no breaks, for 18 days. Not in terrain such as we had experienced, and probably not in any terrain. Some of the walkers to join us in the next week were known to be weak in one way or another – knees and feet, to say nothing of brain for wanting to join us.

For us to carry on, we would have to re-schedule the walk to cover an average of 15 km each day, not 25 km, and probably include a lay-day at Thomas Boyd Trackhead. This would throw the whole organization of the trip.

My response was that we should pull the pin while we were still in one piece, to re-think the whole trip and start again in the autumn. I intended to make this known to the others during the course of the day.

From Mount Nimbo the route ran steeply down almost all the way to Stoney Creek in the Goobarragandra valley, and it took us a very long time. We stopped amongst the elms at the The Hole, where we found notes from Tim Hackney and Geoff Ashley who had also returned to the Trackhead. On down we went, until rain threatened for a while, came and went for an hour, and then began slowly to increase. It was hot and wet inside our rain jackets, the sweat being almost as bad as the rain.

It was at a clearing just north of The Hole that I put my proposition for abandoning the trip, and it wasn’t received well; or at least, no-one wanted to seem too keen to adopt the plan. I suggested we vote on it after reaching the Trackhead.

Reaching Stoney Creek, we were faced with another killing ridge to climb, due, we believed, to the landowner who refused easy passage to the valley. This last climb dispensed, I think, with any thoughts of NOT abandoning the trip, especially as the stragglers caught the full force of a torrential rainstorm as the first in arrived at the Trackhead.

There to meet us were not only Tim and Geoff, but also Ros Ashley and her friend Penny who had decided to return with steaks and spuds and tomatoes and beer and wine, and they couldn’t have been more welcome.

We sat and rested and drank a beer and then a glass of wine, and it was great to see Tim and Geoff, and we couldn’t believe Ros and Penny, but were grateful. The vote was taken, and the trip abandoned.

That is, the three of us who were planning to go the whole 440 km decided to pack it in; the others decided that they would have one more day with no packs, then go home too.

So we ate and drank and were very merry under the shelter of the Trackhead, and then we said goodbye and thanks to Ros and Penny, and started to pitch our tents. – Lo and behold, Wendy Lockley drove into camp, clutching a huge tub of KFC!

Wendy, hearing the tone in Peter’s voice during his message of earlier in the day, had decided that he needed a hug and a treat, and drove all the way down that evening!

It took about two minutes to revise the plan: the three of us would leave with Wendy immediately. I would return first thing in the morning to gather up the packs of the day-walking four (Charles Oliver, Andrew Blake, Geoff Ashley and Tim Hackney) and then meet them at the end of the day and drive everyone home.

We did just that.

We surprised Lisa Scott and Wendy Dignand, and next morning I drove down to the Thomas Boyd Trackhead again. I picked up all the packs, waved them goodbye and drove to Tumut for a good front-to-back reading of the Sydney Morning Herald over a cup of coffee. After that I drove to the Blowering dam, walked to the text H&H camp, ‘Blowering’, which overlooks the lake, and sat down to write up the rest of this diary. I had a fabulous, lazy and relaxing day.

At 3.30 I picked up the other walker where the walk crosses the Snow Mountain Highway, and home we went.

We learned a lot from this walk, I hope, and we will re-assemble in the Autumn for a second go.

Tharwa to Thredbo - 250 km solo, October 2006

2006-11-28T16:30:00.001-08:00

Tharwa to Thredbo, October 2006
(pics can be found at: http://www.flickr.com/photos/micheldignand/)
250 kilometres in eight days of solo walking.

Plan- to walk from Tharwa on the outskirts of Canberra to Thredbo, around 250 km.

Have bought new CDMA phone, will maybe buy a new lightweight camera too.
Glad this keyboard is working... it makes such a difference to walking if I can write as well aswalk!

The plan was this - bus to Canberra, get a lift from my son Chris to the Tharwa Visitors Centre. This is what I did.

Kiandra, October 16th Drove to Kiandra to hide a food cache of three large coffee tins containing metho, batteries, maps and food for seven days. It was a dull windy day, and I hoped the weather would improve.

The start - October 17th
Wendy dropped me at the Station at 6.45 am. The ride was interesting, smooth and fast. We changed in Yass,and went on to Canberra, getting to the Jolimont Centre at 10.30.

I rang Sam, but couldn’t get him. Conscious of the short life of the phone battery. Wandered into Civic with the idea of getting a radio, which I did, at DickSmith, a neat little Sony. I later discovered that the ear-pieces would drive me mad, but of course that came much later.

Got a call from Chris, then, who said I should get back to the Jolimont, because he was waiting there with my lift, his apprentice. Short of fuel, and hoping to find some, they drove me out to Tharwa, which was further than I had thought it would be. On arrival they dropped me off and drove away. Short and sweet, exactly what I wanted. Sam rang during the ride, and I had to tell him sorry, I was already on my way.
It was hot and windy. Neets had warned me about the size of mount Tennent, and it did take me 2.5 hours to climb. But it wasn't any more than the start of many walks. The path was very well marked, with bridges over creeks and even benches every now and again. Views over Canberra, of course, spectacular.
At the top I took the old Alpine track, went a kilometre and realised that it was the wrong way, a new track having been formed. Turned back having added two kilometres to the distance.

The new track is terrific, heading down into one of those wonderful valleys of grassland... must have been an ex-farm. Kangaroos everywhere.

Becoming tired at that point, and it was getting on for 4 pm. I must have been careless, and missed some sort of turn off somewhere, because before long I was on an un-sealed road heading down steeply. I should have known I was on the wrong track, because the map said I should have been climbing by then. But as I was already quite a long way down, I didn't fancy a big climb back up, so foolishly continued.

I tuned in to find Radio National, but on AM, not FM. So listened to not-too-clever Late Night Live, then the news etc, while I wandered on along the wrong track.
At the bottom of the track I could see a road heading high up into the hills surrounding, and I realised that, most probably, I had a hard row to hoe: how true!

Climbed out of the first part of the valley and found myself on a tarred road: Apollo Road, the road toHoneysuckle Creek Tracking Station, abandoned now, where I had been told that there was water and a good campsite.

I waited at the roadside for a ute coming up out of the valley behind me as he opened the gates I had climbed over. Yes, he told me , this was the Apollo Road, and Huneysuckle was at the end of the road, but it was... oh, maybe twelve kilometres!

I was tempted to ask for a lift, but restrained myself. I doubted the twelve ks, because that would have been impossible. But six ks was likely, and that's how it turned out. The proper track would have taken less than half of that, but there it was, I was there and Honeysuckle creek was 6 ks away.

So I plodded up the hill, very tired, very uncomfortable because of my inability to get enough water into me (this seems a problem when I'm working hard). I knew that if the worst came to the worst I had around three litres of water with me, and I could camp on the roadside.

Most of the roadside was narrow, sloping and uncomfortable, but it would have been alright.
It was hard work, and six o'clock by then, and getting dark. The road was mostly steeply uphill, and I didn't seem to have a map that covered my position, but the gps told me I was about 3 ks off the eastern edge of the map, so I plodded on. Hard work.

I was also worried that I was exhausting myself so that tomorrow would be hellish!

Just as it was getting really dark, a vehicle came past me. I waved it down, and it slowed, but then suddenly pushed on. Bugger, I had only wanted to know where I was. However, in the last light I got a fix that told me I was just two ks from Honeysuckle. Head down and trudged on.
Ten minutes later came to the Walking track I should have been on, and shortly after a huge sign for Honeysuckle Campsite.

When I arrived there was a 4x4 with three people, lighting a fire in the rather good dining area (covered, comfortable, table and benches! GasBarbecues!)
Wandered over and said g’day, but they literally ignored me! I think they were the people who slowed down and then went on.

So pitched camp in the dark, made tea then dinner,but couldn't eat more than a few mouthsful. Put the rest down the toilet, and went to bed.

Slept well, showers during the night, woke at 5.30 and got up feeling pretty good. 4x4 people had gone (must have gone the night before). I was more or less ready to go by 6.30 am, but a huge storm came over, so I sat tight and wrote this.

The weather forecast was for showers and thunderstorms. Bugger!
It started to clear, and I was thinking of moving on when it started raining again, so I decided to sit tight until it cleared again. Wasn't expecting rain after such a long dry period, but the Brindabellas are probably different.
It rained on-off, on-off for some time, and at nine o'clock I decided to get going anyway. Pack-cover on,anorak, hunched shoulders, and started off. Lo and behold, ten minutes later the black thunderous clouds disappeared, the sky cleared to a wonderful blue, and I had to stop to take off the pack-cover, mostly because it closes the gap between pack and body, a ventilation thing.
Kangaroos everywhere.

Needless to say the track started off uphill, and for an hour I plodded, pausing every 50 paces. I've found that if I do that I get on up the hill very well, without getting tired. I've been doing that consciously ever since, and it seems to work.
At the top of the hill I got telephone reception and phoned Sam, Wendy and Chris, and Eric as an afterthought.

From there the road went down, down, down, all the way to the bottom of the Orrorral valley, site of the ex-space telescope. That was number two, because Honeysuckle creek had been one too.

Beautiful valley again, grassy plains between fairly high ridges, again thousands of kangaroos. Stopped atnoon, but carried on for an hour before lunch.
Ahead of me was a long steep climb to Cotters gap,no longer on a fire-trail, but on a footpath. I determined to keep a very close eye on the navigation, checking very carefully at least every hour, comparing GPS with the map. This worked very well. When I get to Oldfields I'll do that check again, comparing GPS to map, to make sure I full understand the off-set with old maps, which all of mine are.
Reached Cotters Gap with gratifyingly little trouble, and headed down once again to the Cotter Valley. I wasn't sure where to camp, because the AAWT guide says you can't camp at Cotters hut, nor within 100 metres of the river. With yet again another wide open plain before me, this wouldn't have been a problem, as there were good camping spots everywhere.

However, went to Cotters Hut, couldn’t find the bridge, but the river was very shallow anyway and I just waded it - new boots are good for that.

The hut was locked and unfriendly. Not even a porch.I had been hoping for that at least.
Anyway I pitched camp at the hut, no-one to object, and got to bed at around 7.30, just after dark.

Slept quite well, I thought, but very tired and lethargic in the morning. Took a real effort to have breakfast, pack up and go.

No particular pains anywhere, just feeling like going back to bed with a cup of coffee, some toast and a good book.

Yesterday I had been plagued by a pinching between the waist-band of my rucksack and my belt... I had tried to separate the two by slinging my belt lower and hitching the rucksack higher. It dawned on me eventually that the answer, which I had obviously done subconsciously on previous trips, was to place the rucksack waist-band ON TOP of my belt - absolute bliss, though I think I will have slight scars or bruises there.

Anyway, next aiming point Murray's Gap, yes, you guessed it, at the top of a four-hundred metre hill over about four kilometres. In fact, though the map looked as though it was showing a hellishly steep 400m, it wasn't too bad at all, though it took me four hours to get from Cotters Hut to Murrays Gap. I wasn't feeling too bad, and was contemplating getting to Oldfields hut for lunch and maybe heading on towards Hainsworths ( this would have been impossible, being another twenty ks further on, but I hadn't looked at the map at that point).

So, four ks from Murrays Gap to Oldfields, all downhill.

It should have been easy, but by the time I reached the bottom of the hill and crossed the stream (beautiful one-and-a-half pound trout lying mid-stream), I was buggered, feeling sick and tired, and I knew I wouldn't be able to go any further than Oldfields.
I dragged myself to the hut, ate my lunch with lots ofwater on the verandah, and then laid my mattress on the bed-frame (hope I don't puncture it) and laydown in my clothes.

I don't think I slept, but after a couple of hours I was cold, and dragged out my sleeping bag. Then I was too hot, though of course I could open it.
So now it is 6.30 pm. I'm still feeling a bit feverish. I've lit the fire to conserve metho, and had dinner and coffee. I should have washed clothes or something, but frankly I was too ill.

Have no idea what is the matter, except for the probability of simple exhaustion.
So now I have to think about my plan. One possiblity is to save a bit of time, maybe two days, by going to Long Plain and hitching a lift to Kiandra, and going on from there at a reduced pace, so that I still make it to Thredbo by the Saturday at the latest.

Then I might take a couple of days off work anyway,to recover and to help Wendy get the house back into order.

We'll see.

I've done the GPS thing and checked the map, and made several notes regarding the relevant positions of GPS and map, and decided that I will take the Port Phillipfire trail to Long Plain and try to hitch a lift from Rules point to Kiandra.

It's a shame from the achievment point of view, but it was always a big ask, trying to fit the walk into a limited number days, due mostly to the Mirror Sailing Association weekend falling a week later than I would have liked.
However, just the fact that I am doing this planning and actually thinking about things is a good sign...I guess I'm feeling slightly better.

I was using more metho than I should have, so the night here with a fire and billy is good.

If I get up early (5.30 sees dawn well and truly broken) I'll light the fire, boil lots of water and have a good wash myself, change clothes and then wash the dirty ones (I guess I'll leave the wool shirt unwashed). Then hopefully away to Hainsworth Hut by 8,8.30.

I think it's about 18 ks, so shouldn't be too much. Also, no really big hills, just two medium ones, from memory.

Actually, I'm feeling much better now, listening to music on the Sony, some sort of folksy classical stuffon an ABC station, I think, but I don't know which station it is.

Friday morning, day 4. Up at six am feeling much better. Lit fire, made breakfast, boiled billy can of water for washing clothes, and did this about ten minutes later. Then boiled another billy and had awarm, all-over wash, naked at 6 am with frost all around. Funny, no frost at 5 am, but moderate frost by 6 am.
At the moment I'm writing this while drying clothesin front of the fire. I expect I'll get under way by7.15, and head for Hainsworth. If it's easy I might go on to Long Plain...

That would mean early start for Kiandra, which can'tbe bad.

BUT I don't want to feel like yesterday again. Of course, I'll be fitter by miles, so it might be okay.We'll see. The other point about getting to Kiandra is that I can phone from there. Maybe before that.

Forecast is for some rain or showers today, and there is a lot of cloud at the moment, so the earlier I start the better.

Forecast for weekend is fine but cold.

Well, I started from Oldfields at 7.45, and now I'm at Long Plain Hut, 25 ks onwards.

At the top of the hill above Oldfields I got a signal, and called home - no reply. Left a message. Wondered if it was Wendy's mental health day, and if so she might be in the gym, or in the shower. Called 15 minutes later, and again an hour after that.

But I couldn't get a reply. Should have rung Rivpsych, or Sam, and got a message through during the day.

Not being able to talk to her all day has been unsettling. I got a brief signal at about three, and a message came through, but it was from Eric.

Of course, worrying about it is a waste of time, but I find that I can't help it.

Anyway, walked all day in a growing wind, furious from the north and then from the west, at least 30 kph, but maybe more. I would have said force 6-7 on the oldscale.

It was cold, too, though I walked all day in just my wool thermal, which seems to be living up to the promises of the manufacturer. Just as well, at the price.

Near the water thingo near Pockets's hut saw a dog, trotting towards me happily until about 50 metres away. Could have been a dingo, but looked more like an Alsatian to me. Anyway, he belted off the moment he saw me.

Up towards Pockets I looked at the land, and wondered if it wouldn't have been much more sensible to avoid going all the way around Howell's Peak and the Gurrangorambla range. So after careful consultation of maps I turned off and started cross-country. It looked as though it would save me two kilometres and two hills.

It started very well, the whole area being criss-crossed with wild-horse tracks, some at least as good as the average well-used footpath. There were so many that direction was no real problem, and in fact I sauntered along quite smugly. The wind was increasing, blowing my hat inside-out.

In fact it was great, striding out over open heathland on good paths, and heading in the general direction I wanted to go. Getting back onto the right path was going to be a slight problem, but I knew pretty well where it went.
So all well and slightly cocky about it till I came to a slightly bigger stream than most, Sally Tree creek, with a lot of boggy land beyond it. Tussocks etc. However, it didn't look too bad. I crossed the stream and put my foot on what looked like the opposite bank: my left leg went in to the knee, promptly followed by the right.

I wallowed about for a while, trying to get out of it but only getting in deeper. I turned and sloshed back across the river again.

I found another crossing place, and this time managed to balance on the tops of tussocks. It looked like about 400 metres of this, and it was going to be exhausting. It was.

I was also keeping my eye open for snakes, particularly Tiger snakes, as they love that boggy ground full of frogs!

After ten minutes I realised that a little way from me was what looked like a path, and sure enough, when I reached it, it turned out to be yet another horse track. Of course they know the best places to get across.

So it wasn't far then to safe ground, and eventually I re-gained the proper walking track. Had it been worth it? I expect so in terms of time; and if I had followed the horses I might have saved myself a very sticky, effortful time getting out of it. And if I had decided to take that short-cut 1 km earlier, I would have save a lot more time and distance.

Got to Hainsworth hut at around 1.30, with 18 kms behind me. Had a quick lunch and decided it was much too early to stop for the day, so at 2 pm I headed off for Long Plain. Wind was amazing, building all afternoon. Not too much fun battling against it. As I approached the Port Phillip fire trail, I realized that in those conditions it would have been a bit foolhardy to carry on into the trackless area towards Witzes Hut, where there was very little shelter if the weather did indeed get worse as forecast. My decision to make for Long Plain Hut was a sensible one. 25 ks for the day.

The plan is to hitch a lift in the morning as far as Kiandra, then continue as original plan with possibility of getting out at Geehi Dam (two days early) or Guthega dam (1 day early).

The problem with walking long distances alone is that there is just nothing to do at night. It's a quarter to six. I'll have dinner in a minute, dragging it out and listening to the radio, then early to bed once again.

Goodnight!
Saturday October 21st.

2 PM.
I'm always astounded at my mood-swings. Last night I was looking for any excuse to give up the walk and go home, even though I had had a great day's walking. After the day before that, when I was ill at Oldfields, Friday was terrific.

But Long Plain hut is sooo depressing - empty, dark, no character.

I went to bed at six thirty in the evening, more because I had nothing else to do than for any other reason; I expected a long night of lying half-awake, cold and miserable. Not being able to contact Wendy when I could so easily speak to others made me miserable.

I had some wierd dreams - one so horrible that I made a real effort not to go back into the same dream. And then one where I'm the first to come upon a frightening scene - a car has run over a dog. The driver has stopped, undecided what to do, the dog is howling. I run up just as the driver is going to drive on, and say 'Stop!' in a commanding voice. He does. I get down and crawl under the car and find one of those little black & tan dogs with big eyes, short legs, appealing faces, slightly snub noses (I don't know what they are called, but not too dissimilar to King Charles Spaniels). It has a name tag on which is engraved 'Chow'. It seems unhurt, or at least, no limbs broken. I test it gently and it seems okay. There lots of people looking on, so I say, 'Will someone phone a Vet?'.

A few seconds later I get an answer: 'We can't get a signal'.

End of dream.

Now, get this: at lunch time today I finally got in touch with Wendy, who tells me Ziggy has got out on to the road, and of course she has no road sense at all. How's that for coincidence?

Anyway, when I wake up it is five-thirty (well, maybe the first time I wake was around five, because I remember thinking that it was already becoming light.

The night, for once, has flown by. Usually my nights are long and boring, with many wakings and trying to get back to sleep. It was great to wake up like that.

The worries of the night before were gone, a quick calculation reassured me that if I could get to Four Mile Hut by the end of the day, I could easily get toThredbo on time.

It was, however, a miserable dawn. Long Plain was covered in low cloud, and a bitter wind was howling, this time from the East. How can we have bitter winds from the East?

I made strong coffee to overcome the dreadful taste of my mug/jug (never will I use one of those again, especially as I've always measured perfectly well with an ordinary plastic mug), got my sleeping bag and wrapped it around me, and then remembered the radio - I got it out and had missed the first five minutes of 'Round the Horne'. This cheered me up more than anything could have, and I laughed my way through 20 minutes, enjoyed my coffee and was warmly wrapped in my sleeping bag.

The down jacket is good, and I love it; but when you're not working it's not warm enough for real cold. I guess it must have been hovering just above zero. No frost, because of the wind.

So I packed up slowly and aimed to be away no earlier than eight (I wanted to get a lift, if possible, to Kiandra, and I reasoned that there would be little traffic going that before nine am. I was right.).

I nearly went without my daily strip-wash because ofthe cold, but in the end, realising that I could get more fuel at Kiandra (my food-drop), I boiled a billy and had the luxury of warm water. Found I needed to wash off the last of the bog, too, though I had got the worst off in the tiny, muddy stream the night before.

I left Long Plain Hut at 7.50, and headed into a really cold easterly (I suppose that means an anti-cyclone in the Tasman sea). I had on everything except my jacket and my thermal leggings, including my gloves, which I dropped from my pocket as I was leaving the hut, but noticed a hundred metres down the track, thank heavens.

I was happily listening to the radio on FM, very clear, but you have to hold the radio in your hand, and keep turning it to get best reception. After avery short time it becomes almost automatic.

Plenty of traffic going to Tumut, I noticed, but none going to Kiandra. The wind was so fierce and so cold it nearly had me tripping over. However, when it's cold you don't sweat, so you use less water and you stop ponging so much.

By nine thirty, half way to the top of Bullocks hill, the third car I thumbed stopped. I had written 'Kiandra' in big letters on the back of one of my maps, and held the thing up to passing traffic, and it seemed to have done the trick - not a long lift if I turned out to be dreadful!

My benefactors were a pair of mechanics from Tumut, Bernie and 'Me'. Me was half drunk already, though I guess he was still drunk from the night before, and still slurping from a can of VB. His eyes were bloodred and his speech was slurred and reaction times slow. Fortunately it was Bernie who was driving, an older man. They were, predictably, going fishing for the weekend, had the tinny on the back, and going trolling in Tooma dam. Hope they survive, but you know what they say about liquor and water!

They dropped me off ten minutes and fifteen kilometres later. I was so pleased, but of course I could still have made it to Four Mile Hut even without a lift. It made for an easy day in iffy weather. I still walked14 ks or thereabouts.

The phonebox at Kiandra was blessed relief from the wind, and I called home from there. No reply. Left message.

Rang Nigel to confirm Friday pickup at Thredbo (will re-confirm from Schlink on about Wednesday).

Rang Sam at Bruce... his message box was full. Rang his mobile, woke him up.

Told him I was well, and asked him to get Wendy to send a brief message, because I was worried at no response. He sounded drowsy but fine.

So on to the food cache half way up Dunn's Hill. No problems. The wind had dropped, or I was in the lee of something, so I was very comfortable there. I wrenched open a beer, wondering if I could manage to carry the remaining five? (I did).

I had forgotten the chocolate (which had been one of my big things when planning the cache) and it was great surprise.

I filled right up with metho (metholated spirits), though I bet I'll finish with half a bottle. I've never been caught without fuel, but I'd hate to be.

I left the old maps (and notes) and took up the new ones, transferred seven day's food and soups, packed everything away, hid the cache (I hope to be able to pick it up on the way back with Nigel... I hope he'll agree, or it'll mean anther car trip sometime) .

And went on my merry way, only seven ks to do.

Opposite Mount Selwyn I phoned home again, and this time was answered by Wendy, at last. Boy, does she ever sound resentful! But she’s been having a torrid time, especially with the Zigs going missing which must have been horrendous. So I'm sorry, but she'll cope, and we must sort a few things out when I getback.

Got here at around 12.30, I think. Place was even better, including a beaut bench made by a professional 'bush-carpenter', Beasley's Bush Workshop.

The log-pile was most impressive and extensive, and I warmed myself up by bringing down more good wood than I will burn, though I haven't actually sawn it up.

With the stove lit the old place does warm up, even with this freezing wind blasting through the place.

I'm half expecting John Siseman and his two companions to arrive this evening. They left the day before me from Tharwa, doing a complete re-write of his AAWT book, north to south.

I might have overtaken them by missing Witzes, but who knows? There were no tracks in front of me yesterday, where there had been the day before.

I'd like to meet the guy and talk about his next edition (particularly GPS aids), but on the other hand I've been alone 5 days, and last night notwithstanding, I'm happy with my own company for the moment. Added to that there is a thin mattress here and a warm fire, and if no-one arrives I'll sleep in the hut. I guess if no-one arrives in the next hour they are unlikely to.

Now follows a lecture about the 'Ultimate 500' the stove here, which I will send to KHA.

The Stove at Four Mile Hut.

The 'Ultimate 500' installed at Four Mile Hut is a wonderful design, offering terrific warmth from a handful of timber.

On cold nights, as the log book attests, many grateful walkers, skiers and riders huddle around it.

Yet they are still cold, as innumerable stories in the log book show.

Why is this?

Even the slightest knowledge of physics provides the answer: pot belly fires, as is this one, work most effectively in the middle of the space they are intended to heat.

To make matters worse, the one at Four Mile is placed in an open fireplace. So what's happening to theheat? It's going straight up the chimney, together with more cold air sucked in through the door and through the innumerable cracks.

But to move the stove to the middle of this tiny hut would ruin the place. So what is to be done?
The solution is so simple I'm surprised no-one has come up with it before, or if they have, that no action has been taken: a reflective, air-tight seal must be placed around the back of the stove, preferably some distance back from it.

Alternatively, move the stove forward one metre and seal the opening behind it... not such an attractive solution, given the dimensions of the hut.

A wonderful example of the perfect installation of these stoves is to be found at Derschkos Hut: slap bang in the middle of the hut, with no external chimney to suck away the heat.

But why do this? Why take any action at all. The existing set-up has been there for many years, and it has achieved its major aim, that of protecting the hut from accidental fire.

Three main reasons:
1. to warm the hut far more effectively.
2. to prevent people from having the stove goingfull-bore for the duration of their stay, which shortens the life of any cast-iron stove (I'm assuming it is cast iron, but I'm no engineer).
3. to lessen the amount of fuel burned to achieve a much better outcome.

End of rant re the stove.

Going back to the surprise of the chocolate, I don't eat it much these days, but I found it sort of greasy. Wish I had put in a few Milo bars instead.

Have cut lots of wood for the hut, but ended up with a few cuts on my hands in the process.

Just listened to the end of the Jazz show (funny to think we'll probably hear Sam on it in a couple of years!) and the News. Not that there is much sense on the news, and I had been hoping for a weather report, which didn't eventuate.

The wind has died down, save for a few breaths here and there. The sky is almost completely clear. Easy to recognise why people love this hut so much. Some terrific drawings of it, one in the log book and another on a 'welcome to 4 Mile' note on the wall.

I've taken some photos of the place (again), and I might try something sometime.

The benefit of this cold is that there are no flies!

7.20, just about dark, so maybe no other takers for the night.

Sunday 6.15 am

What a night! So cold the waterbags froze hanging above my bed. Had to unfreeze them before I could make tea this morning.

Was wearing everything last night except spare socks and jacket. Had to get up around ten pm to put on jacket. Which in turn meant no comfy pillow, but the rolled-up tent did the job okay. Slept quite well on double mattress.

Second matress was 1" piece of plastic open-cell foam, but made a hell of a difference. Will take it with me today, as it is likely I'll sleep in a hut tonight - Mackeys, I hope. 25 ks again, but relatively easy walking.

Lots of wind at times during the night, but a beautiful clear-sky dawn. I'd guess from the thickness of the frost, which was forming already at 10 pm lastnight, to have been at least -5 °C, maybe lower.

Got up at dawn, 5 am. Made fire, made coffee,listened to 'I'm sorry, I haven't a Clue' from BBC...funniest thing I've heard for years. Must try to record it or podcast it, along with 'Round the Horne'.

Hoping to be away by 7.15. Hope the wind has gone!

Really enjoyed my stay in 4 Mile Hut.

Day six. A fabulous day. Didn't get away until 8.15, as it turned out, because things always take longer to organise, and because just as I was leaving I realised that I didn't know where my gloves were. So I searched for them and found them, of course, in the bottom of my clothes bag at the bottom of my rucksack.

The sky was crystal clear dark blue all day. A gentle cool wind kept me cool, and I strode out happily, listening to the radio for much of the day. Rang Wendy from the ridge over Dr Phillips, and though she was moaning about how hard things are, she was fine, as is Sam.

Had lunch at Dr. Phillips, at around 1.15, and wandered on happily. Passed our campsite on McKeckies creek or whatever it is called, and from there on, heading for Mackeys, I began to get very tired, and by the time I got here I felt exhausted.

As I opened the door, though, the sun streaming through the window, and the warmth from the sun on the metal walls, made the hut seem like a magic, welcoming place.

However, I had a quick beer and waves of tiredness swept over me. I was so tired I could hardly get my dinner. I did that slowly, then crawled into bed. Wearing everything, even gloves. I don't think it was anywhere near as cold, but I expect I'll do that for the rest of the week.

I'm in an amazing situation: I have too much time! Apart from asking Nigel to pick me up as early as possible on Friday, I really don't want to change the overall plan. But how do I spend the time between now and then?

So today 18 ks to Grey Mare Hut. Tuesday to Valentine then Mawson.

Wednesday, Mawson to Schlink Hilton. That leaves me with two days to have a crack at the Main Range, as long as the weather is good.

I won't go over the top unless the weather is like this - clear and stable. What are the chances of that? We'll see.

Going to use the new loo now - last time here it was burned and lying in a rusted heap... I note from the log that it was re-built the following month.

A late start today. I hope to be away by 9 am.

The new loo is interesting: It is the first one I have seen that limits the access of air, with an almost sealed door (rubber flap to concrete floor). I'm wondering why, but it seems that a wind-proof loo might be an improvement over the usual, airey loos.

I’ve measured my pace today. I take 110 paces/min once fit. Almost metronomic in its regularity. I measured it several times on different country, up and down, and I always put my heel down for the 111th time as the hand sweeps by the minute. Amazing. The length of my pace, of course, varies with the angle of the path, but on the flat it is 2x140 on my stick, but now I’m back home I can’t remember how I did it… I’ll have to measure again.

Monday evening (day six). A wonderful day. Sky once again deep blue and clear all day. Virtually no wind. I really hope this will last out till Thursday, so that I can tackle the Main Range.

Saw a huge hare belt across the track at the third creek before Doubtful creek. I hadn't really recognised how big they can be. And fast? Well, yes, but not much quicker than a rabbit.

Doubtful creek has to be one of the most beautiful in this area. I stopped there for a while, but not too long. In fact, most of the day I have spent wondering about the actions of the two body chemicals that I know of, adrenaline and endorphine.

I started to think about how I can start a bit low, but very soon my spirits rise. Very soon after that, I have a hard time not speeding up, and then, for the rest of the day, I just keep pounding on.

So what comes first? I believe that adrenaline is essential to power and speed, and I'm wondering if endorphines trigger greater supply of adrenaline? Something to look at in the future.

On the flanks of Jagungal I got a signal, and a message from Chris. I phoned him very briefly, but then noticed that I was down to one bar on my battery symbol, and I don't know what that means.

So I'm going to hang on to the battery until I reach Schlink pass, when I shall phone Nigel to confirm (bottom of the lift at Thredbo, between noon and 2PM (but could be late)), and then Wendy if I have battery left.

So on I went along that lovely plain. Of course, the track around Jagungal goes up and down pretty heavily, and always seems to be longer than last time, and the climb up the edge of Strawberry Hill is much steeper and longer than I remember it.

I rolled on along the ridge and finally got a view of Grey Mare. On the way, I took a bearing on the pointy mountain on the horizon, and I believe it to be Mount Tate.

I had become concerned about sharing the hut tonight, but fortunately it is now dark and once more I'm alone.

It would be great to meet someone and have a chat, but at the same time I'm used to being on my own now, and I am enjoying my evenings in huts, with fires and the radio.

Great reception here, all channnels. Also, heard a tune today on 2WG of all programs, (actually Star FM) which was a very strong anti-war pop song. I don't know who sings it, but it talks about her boyfriend who is now a Killing Machine, but will probably be dead by Christmas. 'If God is on our side, then God is a clown!'.

Must google it. (Did Google it, but found nothing).

Of course nearly all the rest of the tunes Ilistened to were about how sexy I am, or my boyfriend is. One about breaking heart.

Is Grey Mare one of the most beautiful sites in the mountains? I don't know, but it must be close. I believe Mawson's is supposed to be great too, and I look forward to seeing it tomorrow.

The trouble with Grey Mare Hut is that one gets drawn to the door all the time, to look at the view. Okay, not much is going on, not like at the sea; but nevertheless I keep being drawn to the door. Just as well it wasn't so cold tonight, because I kept the door open until well after dark, just looking out. A pity they don't have a window in the door.

The hut was clean as they have all been, but to my great disappointment there was no billy can. Well, there was a collection of lids, and a billy with holes in the bottom. However, I did very well with just my stove this morning at Mackeys...
Must break in here and tell you that I had my most complete and careful strip wash ever this morning. Completely naked on the grass outside the hut (the steel walls of the hut warm up very quickly in the morning sun, which streams in under the verandah and makes the cosiest morning tea spot!)

One can of moderately hot water, one flannel. Rub soap with flannel until water soapy. Half-wring flannel, wash hair and face, including the ears very carefully. Dunk flannel, half wring. Armpits, neck and upper body.

Dunk flannel, half wring. Feet and legs. Then naughty bits, good and proper. Then more water and do naughty bits again. More info than you need?

It was delicious. Warmed another pan of water and rinsed all over, in the same order.

Stayed naked in the sun (no wind) while I packed, and left about 9.15.

Back to Grey Mare, though I'm growing tired now @ 7.30 pm.

I have sawn down a fire-killed tree from some distance away with a not-too sharp saw, and chopped it up. I lit a small fire, and of course, this hut is reasonably insulated so despite being an open fire, it warms up nicely. Not cooking (used stove) but just for the pleasure.

Had dinner (Alfredo: It was delicious, and I'll have to get more of that. I've never recognised before how nice it can be. Always gone for the cheesy versions which on this trip have made me feel a bit queazy. Mind you, everything I ate in the first few days made me feel like that.)

And someone left a real mug in the 'I don't need this, I'm leaving it for others' box, so I swapped it for the stupid measuring thingo I had brought. Yippee!

Checked that bearing I took earlier, and it does seem to be Mount Tate, though without a protractor and proper bearing compass I can't actually be sure about it.
So now I'm going to read and write in the hut log-book, maybe check on the route for tomorrow, and then go to bed. How about a Milo first? Mmmmm.

Dreams last night:
I had a small trawler in Plymouth. Sam was with me. We got under way, and I found that the engine throttle was right in the front of the boat, completely unreachable by the helmsman. For some reason, I didn't get Sam to handle the throttle, but Instead I hauled the wholeboat out of the water by its bow, so that the curve of the hull could produce a turn, thus turn away from danger.

Woke briefly and then was on a bigger trawler, something like my father’s trawler, Sabella, and we'regoing well out of the harbour. I turn to talk to Sam, look back and see we are about to hit something, so put the helm down full over... and she gracefully capsized!

Shades of Mirror sailing!

Slept brilliantly, warm and comfortable. Went outside twice during the night (drinking lots during the night leads to much night weeing) and the night was relatively warm. No frost or mist, really rather warm for this altitude.

So day 7!
A bit of light cloud in the East, but not much to talk about. Last time I was here there was a huge bank of black cloud hanging over the higher country over Valentine's, and Andrew and I walked into heavy rain.

So to Mawson's this morning. Of course, it's so close that maybe a better plan would be to visit there, then go to Schlink Hilton, tackle the Main Range on Wednesday/Thursday, and sleep at Dead Horse Gap on Thursday night. This would allow me to get up on top before weather breaks.

I'll think about it.

Sitting outside the hut in the morning sun, and a hare, again a big one (or maybe that's the standard size?), hops out about five metres from me, and,without seeing me, hops off slowly down the hill.

It's 6.30. Guess I'll pack up, bathe again, and get going. Grey Mare/Valentine/Mawson/Valentine/Schlink - around 15 ks, so a fairly easy day.

Have found no loo here at Grey Mare. Muct check this.

Yesterday was thinking about 'Letter from Wagga Wagga' or similar...

Found the loo, straight up the hill from the back of the hut. Remember it now.

Also found that I had left my phone on since yesterday lunchtime, and it is still alive but down to one bar. Hope there is enough to confirm with Nigel.

Tuesday evening... how my spirits go up and down!
Only 15 ks today, from Grey Mare through Valentines to Mawsons then on to Schlink. But five of those turned into seven very hard ks, cross-country with virtually no tracks over swampy, rocky land covered with burned scrub stuff, similar to heather. I scratched my leg fairly deeply and bled a bit, to the delight of a million flies who completely covered the scratch in seconds. How do they know? It was a fairly fly-ridden day, with the temperature a bit higher. Not too much radio reception today, either, which might have lowered my spirits.

I had imagined Mawsons similar to Wheelers, for some reason. But from the outside it was more like Hainsworths, a big slab of a place, ugly and unimaginative. However, when you go inside things are different - a well-designed entrance lobby/timber and tool store, and two doors leading in: the main room is great, cosy, homely, lined with caneite, has a small library (poetry, Klause Heinneman, Lawson etc).

The other room is a dump, empty and bare.

A team calling themselves 'The Secret Squirrels' have been looking after the place for years, and obviously consider it 'thiers'. Quite right, I suppose.

Ate lunch and left, looking for a more direct route (when I read the instructions properly, it was clear that I shouldn't have gone all around the valley, but in an almost straight line up and over the hills. It's always difficult to read route instructions in reverse.)

The person who named Cup and Saucer mountain must have had a very good imagination, because I can’t see it.

So I got back on the Valentine fire trail very tired indeed, and my right foot was hurting like billy-oh... the Achilles tendon, I think, which felt as though a bar of steel was pressing against it. This had something to do with going cross-country, because after a while on the normal track the pain eased. I was pretty lame for a while.

So here I am alone again at Schlink Hilton. The mattresses are still here, and I'm taking the cleanest one. Considering the situation here, I'm amazed they stay so clean.

The stove works brilliantly, more effective, I believe, in extracting heat from a small amount of timber than the one at 4 Mile.

I'm so tired and so down (not desperately, but down anyway) that I'm going to bed with a book once the billy has boiled, and I might take a day off tomorrow, maybe just moving down to Whites River, though of course this hut is far more comfortable. We'll see.

Woke to a miserable day. Day eight, Wednesday 25 .
At the moment it is pissing down, though all the radio stations are saying 'no rain'. So I've decided, for the moment, anyway, to have a day off. I've had breakfast, and now I'm waiting for the rain to stop to go and get more water and do some washing. Boiling water on the stove here is slower than directly on a fire, but I do have all day, after all.

My left knee is hurting like hell. Not an acute pain, but an ache. When I'm lying down I have to keep moving it around. I have some extra voltaren, and I might take one to see what happens... no, I'm already taking three a day, so I won't do that, just give it time to rest.

Acording to the book I've done 204 kilometres. Add my mistake-extras and I suppose it's about 220 in all.

Of course, you get all sorts of sillinesses on a trip like this: for instance, although there is a gap in the rain for the minute, I can't go and get water because I have coffee in my cup, waiting for the water to boil, and I need the cup to fill the water bag!

This bad weather is supposed to clear by early afternoon.

I should have been a weather man. It is all I predicted it might be - wind and horizontal rain.

So I made my coffee and had a lie-down, had a short doze, I expect. I heated water and washed my shorts, the filth streaming out of them. The first wash left the water like mud. Hot water and soap do make a difference. I didn't expect my little hotel-sized soap to last long, but I've used it everyday on myself and washed clothes with it regularly (shirts, socks and knickers), and it's still looks about the same size.

On previous trips I have simply rinsed stuff, including myself, in cold water. This has been a mistake. I have had no difficulty doing it the warm-water-and-soap way, and that's what I'll do in future.

So I'm feeling much better now. Just wish I could get Radio National!

I'm going to drink tea, read and wash things all day.

Must put a comb in my washbag... do it NOW.

Did get radio National perfectly after all: just hang the radio on the wire over the stove and sit at the end of the table, with my back in the wood-pile! Pity I didn't work that out this morning at 5 am!

My ears don't like the earpieces, particularly the right ear. They work well, but I need something outside the ear, rather than inside.

It's just started to rain again. It was obviously a good decision to have a lay-day.

5.15 pm Wednesday.

So I've had a great day, really. Went up to Schlink pass after lunch (well, nearly 3 o'clock really), and got through immediately to Nigel who will, good fellow, meet me around 2.pm Friday at the Main Ski lift.

Then rang home to leave a message, which I did, then tried to read a message from Wendy which said, in part, that Sam is worse, and there is somethinga bout a clinic. So I hope all goes okay. But before I could read the rest the screen darkened with a message that the battery is too low, and it is darkening to save power... so I switched off in the hope I could make at least one more call.

However, by the time I'm back I'll be able to use pay-phones, I assume. The main thing is the message to Nigel has got through.

The wind is still strong, but the sky is clearing. I'm wondering if it will die away, the wind, that is, at sunset? That seems to be the pattern here.

A big disappointment is that the main range is still closed, the same areas as two years ago. I'm really very cross. Mind you, technically I'd be within my rights if I did go over the top, because the sign said 'summer 05/06', whereas we are now 06/07. But, if I did and it was supposed to be closed, I'd feel guilty,and there might, in any case, be no track markers, and of course I don't have the book with me to tell me where the right track is.

Options are:
1. ignore sign and go over the top.
2. do the same route as last year, if the weatherlooks fine and settled.
3. go Munyang/Smiggin/Charlottes/Kosciusko, camping at Charlottes somewhere.

Road-rangers came by this morning for surprise visit, two guys checking out the road. What a job!

Now I wished I had asked them to let me speak to Summit Ranger Tim Greville on thier radio, to ask about the summit route.

However, I didn't and now it is too late.

Dinner and bed, though I have dozed a bit during the day, reading an almost silly novel by some ex-british MP about the usefulness of genetic engineering in 2010.

Thursday 26th - day nine.
Well, the big day - over the top. I've sort of decided that unless there are signs specifically prohibiting the Main Range this year, that's the way I'll go. It looks easier, and I might not ever get a second chance.

The weather is brilliant, there was yet another calm night last night after sunset, not a cloud in the sky so far, and though I guess it'll get windy later, it's a great morning.

I have to admit I have slight butterflies about it, as though I was doing something dangerous or something, but I think that's simply because I'm alone and because I’m not really equipped for the Main Range if the weather turns really bad.

So a quick preparation this morning and off.

Friday - day 10.

I'm sitting in the YHA Lodge in Thredbo, enjoying the last of my Milo, some coffee and breakfast.

What a hell of a day yesterday - Fantastic!

First, the weather could not have been better. Fine, not a cloud etc. Coolish, but not cold, though the frost on the steps of Schlink Hilton had not melted as I set off.

Got to Whites in no time at all, no signs about not going over the top, so signed the log and off I went. So easy to get on the top. The track petered out a few times, and there were no real indications of the best route. Anyway, up I went.

Pausing for breath as I reached the top, and looking back, it was obvious that going up at Schlink pass would have been even easier.

The top was a lovely walk over short grass, easy going. The breeze started at about 9.30, from the NW, and of course it kept it up all day with increasing force. It was slightly colder than I would have liked it, but it kept me cool. Navigation was bit of a problem for once, and it took a while for me to work out why: from the rolling grounds you walk along a shallow valley, not too boggy (that was one thing, it wasn't too boggy - there was water there but no depth of sodden soil), and then turn right at Consett Stephen Pass. But if you look quickly at the map it looks as though that is a pass through a gap in a chain of hills. I couldn't work out for a while why everything looked wrong, and it wasn't until I actually crossed through the pass, quite clear because of the Guthega river valley down below, that I realised I had been reading it in reverse, looking for a pass through a chain of hills rather than a bridge between two valleys.

Once I had sorted that out in my mind, the rest was easy. There was no distinct path, and identifying the peaks with my map was difficult, though of course the GPS made it easy to know where I actually was. So Mounts Anderson and Anton were hard to work out. Must look at a bigger scale map.

I had lunch in a quiet hollow at the base of mount Anderson, where I could take a good look at the face of Mt Twynam. From the north it looks huge, though in fact it wasn't that difficult to deal with.

I could see a distinct path up most of the distance, though of course it is often easier to see these paths from a distance than it is to find them when you're right up close to them.

I picked up the Soilcon road, for that is what the path turned out to be, at the base of Mount Anton, and it was a great help in getting over the massive bulk of Mount Twynam, though I lost it at that crucial point somewhere over that huge, quarry-like hollow to the NE of the mountain. My decision to go straight up the mountainside from there was vindicated when I regained the road 3/4 way to the top.

By then I had decided to get all the way to Thredbo that day, though I was unsure as to whether I would be able to actually get down the mountain-side before dark.

I did my usual thing then of not stopping at all except for a breather now and again on the steep bits, and I really stepped it out. I noticed that up or down, it made little difference to pace until I reached a certain critical angle of climb. Fit? I think so.

I was having a bit of trouble from my Achilles tendon, if it is indeed that, and found it quite painful from time to time. It didn't hurt going downhill, nor most of the time on the flat... no, I'm not sure when it did hurt; but it's hurting today, walking around. I wonder if it is a problem with my boot? Oh no, not another search for a boot!

Anyway, I was stepping it out, not thirsty and having to remind myself to sip now and again. The building of the stone path around Carruther's Peak seems to have progressed hardly at all, only about 500 metres or so since I was there 18 months ago.

I did take a short-cut at the point on Mt Caruthers when the roadway veers off to the west for half a k before swinging back on itself, feeling a little guilty at the plants I could be destroying in doing so, but aware that for fifty years or so walkers had been randomly crossing this route walking on everything, without doing too much damage. It was only when the walk became very popular that it began to cause a problem.

I saw one walker at a distance as I climbed Carruthers, and shouted - he waved, but he was obviously on the Circuit from Charlottes Pass, rather than being a traveller. Then, coming out of the Albina Lake bit I met two others, a bloke and his very attractive partner, heading towards me. We stopped and chatted for a short while, mostly about lightweight walking, and how far I was going etc. They, too, were just doing the Charlottes Pass circuit. They toldme about the last lift time (4pm, dammit) and that there is a very good YHA in Thredbo, so I determined to do that, and got even more of a hoof on.

There were several big snowdrifts over the path, and they were difficult to walk over, like soft sand. Anyway, I was cracking on and loving the sensation of moving so fast over a landscape so devoid of people...it was unlikely that I would meet anyone else at that time of the afternoon.

By five pm I had reached the base of Kosciusko, and went straight on to the raised foot path, almost flying along it. It is the easiest walking surface ever, springy and smooth, so that one raises one's feet only centimetres.

From an environmental point of view it seems brilliant, leaving, once built, almost no effect on the land beneath. Wendy and I first walked on it in1980, and the majority of it looks as though it has been there that long. I'm almost convinced that it should cross the whole Main Range, but perhaps that would be overkill. It should, however, replace the ludicrous granite-slab paving that is being laid at the moment... Why isn't it?

At Kosciusko there was another of last year's signs prohibiting use of the northern section... I must get in touch with NP&W about this - either remove the old signs or update them, and make that universal, unless there still areas to be guarded.

And so to Eagles Nest, unfortunately closed, and down the long, boring descent into the Thredbo valley. Saw a wombat forraging and being bothered by two crows, close enough for a photo (which was blurred).

The steep continuous slope began to hurt my heels, particularly the left one, and if the slope had been much longer I might have ended up with a blister. Fortunately this didn't occur, but I was a bit dubious as I got to the bottom. Went straight to the pub and had a beer, got directions to the YHA, where I met Kingston, a young (20, I suppose) fellow who was just so kind - very cheap room, all to myself, en suite, and also some left-over shampoo which happened to be in the office. A few minutes later he came in and offered some of that stuff Sam uses to cover up the smells, because I had asked about the supermarket (closed).

Showered, de-smelled and brushed my hair (with my toothbrush - it works) and went to the pub for an appalling but big chicken burger chips and salad, which I mistakenly took with two more beers, instead of wine.

Bed.

Waiting now for Nigel at around 10 am at the lift.

9 am. Waiting on the terrace. Thredbo isn't a very well-organised place - I suppose the profit system means that there is little co-operation, though obviously they could save (or make more profit) with a bit more organisation.
For instance, even though there is a daily school bus arriving at 8.30, (from Jindabyne) there are no newspapers on it. Now, it could be that the bus goes all over the place, or that the papers don't arrive at Jindabyne until after it leaves, or something of the sort. But I'd have thought it would have paid to get the papers here earlier, and cooperatively.

In so many ways this could be an improved tourist centre in the summer, but our system means that we don't all work together.

Anyway, what do I need to do to my gear to improve it?

I need to get a slightly bigger rucksack. The only trouble is that my Vento 30 is the most comfortable bag I've seen. The main feature seems to be the mesh/spring frame, which keeps me cool. I'd love tohave the same bag slightly bigger (40 L?) with improved side-pockets to accommodate a water-bag. Putting my water in the side pocket has been a big improvement, but of course the shape etc hasn't been so good. And, ditto, the zips are all failing.

The straps were a good idea, though all of them were sewn in slightly the wrong places. The quality of thebuckles, however, is another matter altogether. They all need to be replaced by Tatonka quality buckles.

SO: 40 L, long 3litre pockets on each side with top zips, same frame, lighter material, big front (back) pocket to replace current Bum-bag. Preferably, two big pockets. Say one for cooking things, one for bits and pieces.

A comb.

Better towel? Better facecloth? Collect packets of hotel soap (or find where to buy small tablets)
Sachets of smelly stuff to deodorize.
Smaller lunches - half the size?
Better mug clip FIXED to strap.
Glasses case fixed to right shoulder strap.
Better designed shorts/longs.
Wool shirt with collar and maybe short sleeves (well, you can always roll sleeves up, so maybe long-sleeves).

Do something about right boot - prevent big toe touching (thought I had managed that!)
Investigate Achilles Tendon.
Slighty thicker ground mat.
Slightly better sleeping bag - more money better bag?
Sell all other gear... an embarrassment.
Don't forget compass next time.
Better map case and method of attachment.
Perhaps better rain gear?

But if all these so-called improvements put up the overall weight, there is no point. Better to be a little uncomfortable than to carry too much.
Solar charger and longer-life batteries.
or: a telephone recharge system via dry cell batteries. This must be possible.
(it is… I have since bought a device that gives 2 hours from an AA battery, and found others that give 6 hours from a throw-away battery pack for $9)