Cloud From Both Sides: Part 3

Lake Judd on a perfect morning

It was clear all night. That much I knew from the profound cold that settled over the lake, descended from the treetops, and crept into my tent. I pulled my beanie lower and snuggled into my winter-weight sleeping bag, atop my winter-weight sleeping mat. Good choices, I thought to myself, before nodding off again. Until the birds gently broke the silence of another perfect morning: our final one here.

Lake Judd at the Anne River Outlet

I returned to the lakeshore for another extended bit of sighing admiration. Over breakfast we seemed caught between the pull of spending more time in this sublime place, and the push of heading homeward via a hot lunch. I considered it my duty to prolong our stay a little by taking an age to pack up. My main excuse was that there had been a heavy dew on the outside of the tent, as well as condensation on the inside. Perhaps some sun might dry things a little. (It didn’t.)

 

My Tent ... Not Drying

Eventually I was packed and ready, and we began retracing our steps towards the Anne River crossing, and the site of yesterday afternoon’s planned burn. We expected we would see and smell smoke soon, but it wasn’t until we were nearly at the bridge that we caught the tarry whiff and saw the blackened bush. Back towards Mt Sarah Jane we noticed a few tendrils of smoke that could easily have been mistaken for low mist. The burn had been small and cool, the overnight temperature and high humidity quickly quelling what was, after all, a late season burn. There was little risk this burn would break any boundaries today. Cooler, small-patch burning is now one of the main approaches of Parks in this kind of country. It lowers the risk of out-of-control, landscape-wide burns during the hotter, drier months.

Burned vegetation close up

But fire is notoriously difficult to keep on its leash. As we walked along the track, we raised our eyebrows once or twice, seeing how close the fire had come to the raised boardwalk. Thankfully the accurate bucket-work of the helicopter pilot had done its job. We meandered down the Anne River valley, glad that the track (mostly) kept out of the sodden lower parts. Above us Schnells Ridge stood bright bronze against a blue sky. Cloud had obscured that aspect of it on the previous morning. Larry and Libby both looked up at the open, lightly-vegetated hills with a longing I recognised well. They were hatching plans to have a more thorough look at the range another time. 

 

Schnells Ridge and some burned ground

As we sidled easily and comfortably along the flanks of the ridge, one of the others asked the origin of the name “Schnells Ridge”. I took that on notice, and said I’d try to find out. I learned that there’s some debate about it. But it seems probable that the ridge was named in honour of Phillip Schnell who, with his brother Harry, explored and prospected the upper Huon Valley and the south-west in the late 19^th century. It may seem odd to us now that there’s such a connection between the Huon and this area. But it’s only since the 1970s – and the tragic damming of Lake Pedder – that the south-west has been accessible by road from the Derwent Valley via Maydena. Before that the quickest way in was by foot or bridle track from the upper Huon. Sometimes the lens through which we view the world can be small.

The morning now grew warm, and our shuffling legs moved us along: occasionally uphill, but mostly down; steadily westward, ever homeward. But there was one more little meteorological surprise in store for us. Our old companion, the cloud, paid us one last visit, embracing us with all the enthusiasm of a large, wet dog. The warmth of the morning suddenly gone, we stopped to put on a warmer layer. And then we cloud walked, through a grey and circumscribed world, all the way back to the car.

Libby Cloud Walking

 We’d had clouds on both sides of our walk. Or to adapt Joni Mitchell’s words:

 

We'd looked at clouds from both sides now
From up and down, and still somehow
It's cloud illusions, we recall
We really don't know clouds at all

 

A moist web in the mist

As we drove back, and chatted about our walk, we decided it was what we experienced between the clouds that really stood out. Lakes, cliffs, mountains, moraines, hills and an impossibly blue sky, all in good company. And maybe those things stood out all the more because they were sandwiched between cloud. A blessing sandwich, if you will.