Knee-deep and Knackered: A Month in the Southwest Tasmanian Wilderness

Turning 30 is a milestone that demands a suitably symbolic adventure. For Andrew Wear, that meant (almost) 30 days of walking through the Southwest Tasmanian wilderness, from the Southern Ranges to Federation Peak.

Day 1

(Moonlight Ridge)

Breakfast at the B&B was good, but a nagging desire to get going meant I didn't linger. A quick hug and I was away.

The rain increased in intensity and frequency as I gained altitude. The track was muddy and steep, but occasional shafts of sunlight through the rainforest were beautiful.

Up above the tree line it was very wet, and it was necessary to walk (or wade) through the water and mud that had inundated the track¦

The rain is belting down on the tent at the moment and the occasional gust of wind makes the tent shake and vibrate.

Day 2

(Ooze Lake)

As the sun began to rise, so did my spirits. It was easy walking across rocky, exposed terrain and I arrived at Pigsty Ponds in full sunshine.

The silhouette of Federation is unmistakable ' I recognised it as soon as I saw it.

The sun was out on my arrival at Ooze Lake, and there were a good couple of hours before it dipped behind Lake Mountain. But I was pretty buggered and really felt like just collapsing in a heap.

Day 3

(Pandani Saddle)

I had my first clear view of Precipitous Bluff today, towering over New River Lagoon. It presents like a fortress; a gothic castle protected by cliffs hundreds of metres high.

The track off Pindars Peak entered thick scoparia scrub. It was horrible and I've developed a strong aversion to it.

It's been tough going with a heavy pack, especially over uneven, muddy or steep terrain. I'm spent.

Day 4

(Wylly Plateau)

Today was the sort of cloudy, still day that's quite beautiful. Occasionally the cloud would lift to reveal hazy glimpses of the coast, where the sea appeared becalmed.

Up on the open ridge leading to Mt Wylly it was good to relax and let my mind wander.

And then I remembered I'd forgotten the pegs. All the way back at Pandani Saddle, some two hours scrub-bash away. It started to rain just as I made the decision to go back to get them, leaving my backpack by the track.

The pegs were there at Pandani Saddle, under the tree, exactly where I'd left them.

Back up on the ridge a strong south-westerly wind was starting to blow, it was pouring, and I had pegs but no backpack.

Back down the ridge. Where's the bloody backpack? I would survive a night out, but it wouldn't be fun shivering in a space blanket. Still no backpack. I searched frantically for what felt like hours. The rain continued as it became darker.

Then I saw it, almost at the foot of Mt Wylly.

I cried. Relief mostly, I think. But I didn't linger in the rain. It was on with the pack and up Mt Wylly, and on to camp at Wylly Plateau.

I was soaked to the bone and filthy. Even my jocks were soaked. I stripped and lay there naked in the tent, then washed my poor battered and bruised body with a dish cloth¦

The wind is battering the tent in gusts and the rain is falling steadily. But with dry clothes, sleeping bag and dinner, things couldn't be better.

Day 5

(Precipitous Bluff ' Low Camp)

The weather at Precipitous Bluff low camp has been atrocious. I arrived soaking wet with the rain pouring down.

There has been a gale blowing in from the south absolutely shaking the tent, making me wonder if the pegs will hold. It's blowing heavy rain in squalls.

It's strange not having a watch. I don't really know if I've slept in or am up early, or whether I'm walking quickly or slowly.

Precipitous Bluff, though shrouded in cloud, is still magnificent. Towering about this campsite are cliffs that soar upwards into the mist. Leaping down out of the mist is an impressive waterfall tumbling down the cliffs, giving off a continual dull roar.

Day 6

(Precipitous Bluff ' low camp)

It's still atrocious weather this morning and I won't be going anywhere today. Visibility at ten metres, freezing, wind blowing in very strongly from the south, intermittent rain blowing in with it¦

The tent is doing a good job to remain upright and shed most of the water ' save for a vague feeling of slight dampness and the occasional mop up, I'm dry¦

I'm getting a little restless now. Doing this for days on end could do one's head in. It's a pleasant, indulgent sort of tedium, but I'm over it. I've resorted to correcting the typos in Chapman's guidebook.

Day 7

(New River Lagoon)

The ascent up PB through thick, eerie cloud was beautiful. It involved climbing and scrambling up the side of PB via a steep gully, with the thundering waterfall for a centrepiece.

At some point coming down the other side I began to emerge from the clouds that had been shrouding PB and I could see New River Lagoon.

It became much more difficult ' and much more fun ' when I lost the pad and had to fend for myself in the dense rainforest.

Arriving at New River Lagoon, I simply sat quietly and listened to the water gently lapping at the lagoon, the wind in the trees and the flies buzzing around my head.

Day 8

(Turua Beach West)

Wading down New River Lagoon, the pack didn't get wet and I didn't fall. I surprise myself.

I was accompanied by hundreds of black swans and their honking. It became so still I could see my face reflected in the water. Luckily not with too much detail.

I'm sitting on the beach writing this in my blue fluffy pants and blue fluffy jumper. I look like Grover from Sesame Street, but I'm warm¦

The sun has just come out in its full glory, minutes before it drops below the horizon. Magic. I think I'll wait here for the sunset¦

I've just been for a barefoot walk along the beach at sunset. It is so sublimely beautiful, such a magical moment, such a special time that I feel like crying.

Day 9

(Louisa Creek)

The track up the Ironbounds was a solid trek, often muddy and quite rough.

At the top I found a suitable rocky vantage point and settled in for lunch. Cup-a-soup only, as food supplies were very short.

During lunch, two old blokes from Taree popped by for a yarn. They were positively glowing, telling their war stories from a week out at South West Cape. I hope I've got their spirit when I'm their age.

Puff the Magic Dragon has been in my head a lot today.

A third of the walk (in days) is now completed. I feel like I'm just warming up.

Day 10

(Freney Lagoon)

Today was hot. I caked sunscreen on everything I could but I still think I ended up sunburnt on the backs of my knees.

Cox Bight blew me away when I first saw it. Emerging from the tea-tree scrub into brilliant sunshine, there was a gorgeous beach with a four kilometre stretch of white sand. The water was turquoise in colour and waves were breaking cleanly and simply.

A darkening sky and an early arrival made time drag. I spent the time swimming in the outlet creek and going for long barefoot walks to both ends of Cox Bight.

Day 11

(Melaleuca)

About a kilometre or two from Melaleuca there was a quick lightning flash, then thunder. About thirty seconds later I was hit by an intense storm, with rain belting down, lighting crashing around me. But then it was over.

At Melaleuca I've found myself being quite sociable, playing crazy soccer on the airstrip, or talking for an hour or more with the birdwatchers in the hide.

Tonight, there were about twenty people in the hut eating crays caught by visiting fishermen and drinking wine. A very special moment.

Day 12

(Melaleuca)

It's been fantastic having long leisurely conversations. Either witty banter or bushwalking anecdotes with the younger bushwalkers, serious conversation with the caretakers or more gentle conversation with the somewhat elderly walkers from the Launceston Walking Club.

There was quite a build up of walkers here today as no planes flew out yesterday. Everyone was waiting to get out so there was a bit of cabin fever silliness and lots of talking about when the planes would come.

It feels like the end of the world here. Somehow this tenuous attempt at civilisation just highlights even more how wild this place is.

Day 13

(Joan Point, Bathurst Harbour)

Just four hours from Melaleuca I've had to call it a day here at Joan Point, which is on the southern side of the channel separating Port Davey from Bathurst Harbour. The wind is blowing strongly, there are whitecaps on the water and a half to one metre swell. There will be no boat crossing today.

There is an amazing sense of wilderness in this part of the world; no roads, very little evidence of European history. What little human presence there is feels small and insignificant; Melaleuca, the odd sign, a boat cruising up Bathurst Narrows.

Day 14

(near Spring River)

It was largely buttongrass walking today ' not all that exciting ' following the Spring River. My heart wasn't in it and I was wishing today's walk to end.

I've found myself thinking of the end of this walk, feeling a bit homesick. I re-read C's card and I felt a bit emotional. It will be good to meet Andrew on Tuesday.

I'm tired, I feel like sleeping.

I'm feeling reckless with food, with fuel, but I must stop. But there's something in me that doesn't care. I want to eat, and I want food now. Bugger the consequences.

Day 15

(Watershed Camp)

It rained all day today. But it wasn't too cold and shorts sufficed.

There were a number of significant creek crossings to worry about. The second major creek on the Lost World Plateau was the scariest, involving a crotch deep wade with nothing to hang on to. It was a hairy experience, but the pack stayed dry.

I'm not that excited by the Port Davey Track. In fact, I'm pretty much over squelching and wading through knee-deep water and mud. And although it's pleasant scenery, there's nothing dramatic along the way, no destination, no milestones.

Day 16

(Crossing River)

My profligacy has meant that I am now essentially out of fuel and almost out of food. There may be enough fuel left to boil one cup of water.

I'm pretty much over it and am not enjoying it at all. It's not as if I'm pining for the comforts of civilisation, just an end to this dreary, endless slog through mud and water¦

I've managed to cajole the stove into delivering up one last meal, but only just. The lukewarm, half-rehydrated cous cous was a winner.

Day 17

(Junction Creek)

I hate waiting. The sun's getting lower in the sky. Andrew surely can't be too far off?

(Lake Cygnus)

Andrew was loaded with so much food it was ridiculous. As well as food, he had brought turpentine, instead of shellite. It does burn in the stove, though cold and very dirty.

Carrying very heavy packs up Moraine A, we gained 800m of altitude as the sun was setting.

It was beautiful up the top near Mount Hesperus, but we couldn't linger. During the long twilight, we toiled on and arrived at Lake Cygnus, under the light of a bright half moon.

Day 18

(Lake Cygnus)

The black soot from burning turpentine is everywhere. I think it might drive me mad.

(Lake Oberon)

The walking today was relatively brief, but hard with big, heavy packs. I'm buggered.

The walk down into Lake Oberon was postcard beautiful, with beautiful stepping stone trackwork and pandanis; the view recognisable instantly from the Dombrovskis photos.

A beautiful tiger quoll wandered through camp in the middle of dinner. Cat-sized, with a big nose and a long, strong possum-like tail, I felt privileged to see it.

It's now completely still; quiet, save for a bird twittering nearby. A thick cloud hangs in the lake basin. A currawong just gave an eerie cry that echoed across the cliffs¦

I've just been outside to the loo in the last of the twilight. There's a dull blue light in the air and a mystical thick fog over and through everything. The torch light hits like it does an object. So still.

Day 19

(High Moor)

Lunch today was in cloud on the summit of Mount Capricorn, quite fitting for the arch Capricorn on his birthday.

Today's walking was without a doubt the most technically difficult day of walking I have ever done. It was greatly reassuring to have Andrew there who has done the route before and is a very competent climber.

Returning from the loo tonight, I found that Andrew had strung up balloons. He presented me with a fudge (with candles) and a party popper. Quite a surreal and surely memorable birthday.

Day 20

(Haven Lake)

It was another big day today of sustained scrambling and climbing. It often involved precarious down-climbing on badly eroded sections and there was barely a moment when I could relax my concentration for fear of making an error that would lead to serious injury or worse.

I'm still flabbergasted that anyone conjured up such a route in the first place. It is so improbable that looking back I can scarcely believe we traversed that crazy terrain.

Day 21

(Lake Vesta)

There were reasonable conditions when we left this morning, but a half hour after leaving Haven Lake we reached an exposed saddle and the rain started, together with a freezing wind.

I began to feel pretty average from late morning and I've been crook since. I've been asleep and/or tossing and turning all afternoon with a high fever and a slight stomach upset.

I've been pretty lucky so far, as I've pushed my body pretty hard. I've walked every day for 3 weeks, save for just two rest days.

Day 22

(Pass Creek)

We achieved quite a bit today as we got on a roll. We walked down Moraine K, and ultimately to Pass Creek where we joined Sam.

Arriving at the Pass Creek campground, Sam was there as we knew he would be (we'd been following his footsteps). He had brought scotch whiskey and the news that Mark Latham has resigned.

It's eleven PM now as I write this. We've had a big day's walking and my legs are worn out, but I feel quite energised. There's more life in this walk still.

Day 23

(Stuart Saddle)

After a dirty, muddy climb up Luckman's Lead, the climbing turned to clean and enjoyable rock scrambling past the Boiler Plates. A steep descent down a gully yielded beautiful views of a sparkling Lake Leo.

After dinner we climbed The Dial, where we watched an evening fog form about the peaks then sink into the valleys. Coming down, the orange glow of the sunset lit up the rock face of the Boiler Plates.

There was a dew forming, and with the air cooling it was off to bed for an early night. We have a big day tomorrow as we head to Federation itself and, if all goes well, a summit attempt.

Day 24

(Hanging Lake)

Dinner last night would not digest and remained like a brick somewhere between my throat and stomach. I was up half the night vomiting or rushing to the loo. A miserable night.

Today was a stinking hot, cloudless, breathless day ' hotter than yesterday and tough to walk in. Still crook, I was absolutely dripping with a horrible, feverish sweat.

With my fever gone, the climb up Federation this afternoon was not overly difficult, although the exposure was tremendous. We were all reasonably quiet on the way up, concentrating on making clear, decisive but gentle moves.

Finally, after more than three weeks of staring at this mountain from afar, I was standing on the summit, 1224 metres high, topped with a garden gnome. This was the symbolic culmination of this walk and signalled the imminent return to civilisation.

Federation provided the best views of the walk without question. Pindars Peak, PB, Bathurst Harbour, the Western Arthurs. We could trace out the entire route of my walk.

Three days until we're back in Hobart, counting down the days more with curiosity than with anticipation.

Day 25

(Hanging Lake)

Another scorcher today. I awoke sweating with the tent in full sun, then enjoyed a long, languid breakfast, accompanied by a large contingent of Southwest Tasmanian March flies.

(Cutting Camp)

We scrambled across the southern traverse this morning, leaving late, but hurried along by a few drops of warm rain and some scary-looking clouds.

There is something beautiful about climbing. When the move works and the balance is right it feels effortless and graceful.

It's really hot tonight. The change came to nought ' just Federation playing with us.

Day 26

(South Cracroft River)

Talk today was of things of home ' of tax, road safety and HECS.

A lethargic pace continued after a long, slow lunch and we eventually arrived at the South Cracroft River. A relatively early afternoon arrival allowed us to rest our weary bodies and exercise our frisky minds.

Already a hint of nostalgia has crept in, and we've reviewed the trip photos on Sam's digital camera.

Day 27

(Hobart)

The rainforest was beautiful as we climbed up to the saddle separating the Cracroft and Farmhouse Creek catchments. Shafts of sunlight through the rainforest canopy illuminated bright greens everywhere, drawing the eye upwards to massive myrtles.

With gentler walking through dry eucalypt forest, we continued in warm sunshine to Farmhouse Creek, gently content, satisfied at completing an amazing walk.