Central Plateau Variations: Part 1

[A bleak and windy day on Tasmania's Central Plateau]

When it comes to bushwalks, there’s often a degree of cat herding. Dates, walkers, venues, vehicles and variations are all part of the mix. By the time those are settled, the weather for the walk can sometimes fall into the “like it or lump it” category. Certainly it would on this occasion.

Our planned March walk would see six of us back in familiar territory, walking from Lake MacKenzie across Tasmania’s Central Plateau, into the Walls of Jerusalem. Most of us had done it 3 years earlier (see here), and loved the country so much that we welcomed the chance to return. One variation this time would be a more earnest search for the elusive Ritters Track. Another variation would be our arrival times. We’d be wandering in like Texas Rangers. (If that doesn’t ring a bell, treat yourself by checking out the first 45 seconds of this incredibly cheesy clip https://youtu.be/r2F4K7nbcgs) 

[Three set off from Lake MacKenzie]

Libby was the first “Texas Ranger”, having chosen to walk in a few days early, keen for some solo time, as well as to try out a new tent. Jim, Larry and I would come in next, and meet Libby at our Blue Peaks campsite. Tim and Merran would join us there a day and a half later.

One very neat variation was that Libby, Tim and Merran had already done a car shuffle for us, which would save Jim, Larry and me from having to leave a car at the Walls of Jerusalem carpark, and double back in another car to Lake MacKenzie to start our walk. So the three of us got going relatively early in cool, windy and sometimes showery weather. The weather was such that stopping was unpleasant, so we made good time and surprised Libby out of her tent mid afternoon.

[Seeding mountain rocket bring colour to an overcast day]

She had tales of strong winds, sleet and even snow. She grinned as she explained she’d secretly been hoping for some snow. Nonetheless she had possum-wide eyes as she told us about the strong winds she’d had to deal with. (Her One Planet Goondie 1 had stood up to it perfectly.) By now the afternoon was a little calmer, and the two of us with Helinox chairs settled in for a comfortable cuppa, while the other two feigned indifference.

On that count we carried a secret with us. Libby was, for now, sitting in a Helinox Chair Zero borrowed from Tim and Merran. But those two late comers would be bringing in a brand new one. It was one that we’d all shared in purchasing for Libby as a Covid-delayed wedding gift. This, of course, was to be a surprise to her. So it was hilarious when, after dinner, as we stacked the two "undressed" chairs in bushes out of the wind, spontaneous comments about the chairs exhibiting mating behaviour began to come out. How long, we idly wondered, was the gestation period of a chair? Perhaps the next morning would be a little too early for the appearance of any offspring. But later in the day: who was to know?

[The Helinox chairs getting "acquainted"]

Other excitements were to occupy us most of the next day. Neither Jim nor Libby had been to see the enormous cushion plant “colony” that Larry and a few of us had stumbled upon some years back. The weather more or less cooperated, and we set off towards that wonderfully small eminence, Little Throne. While we were winding our way around the end of one of the lakes, I was startled to find a tiger snake stretched out on some rocks over which I’d just jumped. It seemed little interested in moving, and we took our time to gawk at and photograph this beautifully marked creature. 

[A tiger snake sunning itself]

A little while later, from the top of Little Throne, we were able to message Jim’s wife with a picture of the tiger. She, being a notorious snake-phobic, sent suitably shrieky messages back, and we all chuckled at Jim’s tease. But not long afterwards I noticed Jim was not his usual jovial self. This became more apparent when he suggested that we might make this our turn-around point. We other three, all keen to see the enormous cushion plants, outvoted him. So he shrugged and reluctantly came with us.

[Atop Little Throne]

I had a reasonable idea where we would find the cushion plants. However, not for the last time on this trip, I was glad to be walking with a navigational nerd. Larry had marked the spot on his GPS, and this saved us from wandering around too much before finding it. I’m not sure if it was the bleakish weather, or Jim’s bleakish mood, but there was not quite the excitement I’d expected in the presence of this botanical wonder. Still, we lingered and photographed at length what is still the largest cushion plant “forest” I have ever seen.

[Part of the enormous cushion plant "forest"]

[There are often many species in a cushion plant community]

Although the rain held off, the weather was becoming cloudier and cooler. So we wasted no time in getting back to our campsite, this time taking the more direct route through the lake-dotted lower country. We had calculated that Tim and Merran wouldn’t be with us until around 7pm, and in this weather that looked like being well after our bedtime. We’d all eaten dinner by 5, so it looked like some of us might have to rug up and wait around for our friends’ arrival. Then, just after Jim disappeared into his tent, we were surprised to see Tim and Merran coming over the rise and into our campsite.

They’d managed to leave much earlier than expected, and had made good time in trying conditions. We gave them a bit of time to put up their tent, but before they’d finished cooking their dinner, the rest of us started ahemmming loudly. Tim, taking the hint, reached into his pack, and Merran handed over the gift chair to Libby. “They’ve had a baby” I called out, and we all laughed at the way our jokes had fitted so well with the timing of the gift. Libby was completely ‘rapt, not least because she wouldn’t now have to settle for a damp log for a seat.

[Libby: a happy camper in her new chair]

And so we were all together at last. Tomorrow, we hoped, we’d all venture further into the Central Plateau. We knew, after all, that a Texas Ranger’s “work is never through”. 

Return to Blue Peaks 2: Slow and Steady

Travel, walking, sadness all take their toll, and none of us is ashamed to be heading to our tents by 8pm. Currawongs call reveille, but otherwise our camp beneath the pines is quiet. A deep stillness settles on the nearby lakes, which mirror twin hills. The peace of being here bears me swiftly towards sleep.

[Twilight beneath the pencil pines] 

The zip of a tent wakes me. I fumble with my torch, learn it’s 4am. That’s 8 hours of sleep, my fuzzy mind calculates. A good night’s rest, it continues. When it starts to add that perhaps we should all be up and about, I quickly hose down the idea. Instead I get out to relieve myself, and find Jim doing the same.

It’s cooler now, though not cold. The sky is filled with stars, but they’re oddly muted, untwinkling, as though seen through gauze. It must be mist or high cloud.

Our friend Tim D will be joining us later this morning. He’s estimated he’ll arrive by 10am. But as he’s never been to this place, I wonder if it could be closer to 11. So it’s back to the tents for a lie-in.

I lie a lot, doze a little, until voices start exchanging greetings and weather reports. I have a low-level glimpse of the lake out the end of my tent, and see what’s either low cloud or fog. Eventually I unzip the tent and emerge to find a breaking fog, and a couple of boiling billies.

We’re slow over breakfast, knowing we’ll be waiting for Tim D before we go anywhere. Tim O enthralls us with his adventures in breakfast cuisine. This time it’s bhuja and scroggin-infused muesli topped with liquorice, chocolate and milky tea. The less adventurous brew straight tea and follow it with some coffee, which in turn requires “second breakfast”.

[Happy campers on a slow morning] 

Eventually Jim gets restless and decides he’ll go out to check on Tim D. It’s just as well. He finds Tim a few hundred metres east of our site, in the act of walking on towards the next lake. It seems a photo I sent him, which was meant to indicate the rough vicinity of our camp, was of somewhere else entirely. Ooops – mea culpa!

I brew a compensatory coffee, and help Tim find a good spot for his tarp/tent set-up. By the time he’s had a rest and got himself set up, the sun is out and it’s almost lunch time. We consider eating that first, but shame ourselves into at least starting our walk. Putting lunch into our day packs, we set off for an afternoon stroll to Little Throne.

For a change we wander west around our lake, and Middle Lake, towards Little Throne Lake. Before we get to that last lake, we need to do some running repairs on Mick’s right foot. Despite trusty old boots and not much walking, he’s developed a nasty heal blister. He’s fussed over for quite a while, and comes out of it with an improvised bandage. This lasts all of twenty minutes, by which time he suggests he’ll go back to the tent and rest his foot.

[Over-servicing? Mick gets blister treatment.]  

The rest of us make for Little Throne, which again proves surprisingly far away and slow to reach. But it also rewards us. From the top we gaze out on thousands of lakes, the in-filled hollows resulting from the vast ice sheet that once covered the area. It’s the kind of perch from which anything seems possible. A map is one thing; this bird’s eye view is something altogether more tantalising. Tim D and I figure out some reachable mountains, and hatch a quick plan for tomorrow’s walk. Jim looks down at a nearby watery short-cut across Little Throne Lake, and announces a plan of his own.

The shallow crossing proves a little more involved than it appeared. Tim D offers to try it out, slips off his boots, socks and trousers, and eventually gets across the water. 

[Tim D. pioneers the lake crossing] 

We’re shamed into following. It’s not especially cold, but the bottom is alternately mud and sharp rocks, and our barefoot progress is slow and cautious. Libby gets across with minimal drama, then remarks on the unmanly squeals coming from some of us, most particularly the plan’s originator. We point out that a long-legged woman has certain advantages over shorter-legged men, one being her height and the other being … how shall we put this … an “anatomical absence”, perhaps?

After a deal of laughing, videoing and whinging (from some), we’re all safely over. Once there and dried off, everything is fine again. Despite his earlier whinging, and the fact that our short-cut has saved us all of two minutes, Jim declares “his idea” a winner. We hear about its marvels much of the way back to camp. And lucky Mick hears a much-expanded version when we’re re-united, even though certain video evidence takes the edge off Jim’s alleged heroism.

[Mick captures the triumphant return]

Games at Little Throne

Let’s start in the middle. It’s day two of a three day pre-Christmas walk. Tim and I have set off with few expectations, walking to an area neither of us knew and of which we’d heard little. It’s just good to be out in the bush, and on a walk that will allow Tim to test out his injured shoulder without too much risk or effort.

[View from the campsite towards Middle Lake] 

In a case of worst-laid plans going aright, we’d discovered a delightful campsite, sheltered in a stand of pencil pines, just a short walk from a large lake. We’ve had a peaceful night and a lazy morning, and have wandered around the eastern rim of Middle Lake to the shore of Little Throne Lake. Of the hundreds of lakes that dot this part of the plateau, these two are among just a handful with names. The latter lake is named after the humble but conspicuous crag that sits above it: Little Throne.

[Tim spies Little Throne (left back) from Blue Peak] 

And here the games begin. Little Throne Lake has many spiral arms, making crow-flight walking impossible. We check our map; conjecture about possible short cuts; look at short wades that might get us to our destination more quickly. But we end up surrendering to its convoluted shore line, content to take in the ever-changing scene.

At one point we pause to check out a wedge-tailed eagle that’s busy doing the same to us. She rafts on the warm air; circles with a slight tilt of a few feathers; sails towards us then away again: all the while keeping her head still and her eyes at least half on us.

[Broken reed patterns at the outlet of Little Throne Lake] 

A corner or three later we’re entranced by rafts of wind and wave blown reeds that have accumulated at the lake’s outlet. We invoke Van Gogh, Mondrian and other abstract artists. But which of them could have created this incredible work, its pieces not only intricately and artfully stacked, but also undulating due to the water flow beneath them? After several minutes of enchantment we reluctantly depart for the summit of Little Throne the peak.

The previous night we’d spied this knob from the summit of Blue Peak. While it’s lower than the surrounding peaks, its bluffy shape and cleft, gun-sight summit had invited further exploration. And so here we are, ascending through low scrub, on a sporadically cairned route, to the top of Little Throne.

The games continue when we find that there are three contending summits. Fortunately it doesn’t take us long to ascend all three, and then we settle down to lunch with a grandstand view. All around are landmarks that are familiar – the distant Walls of Jerusalem; the nearer Forty Lakes Peak; even our campsite beneath Blue Peak – as well as lakes that are largely unknown to us. Despite its relative lack of elevation, our little throne could just as easily be named Hundred Lakes Peak. I count more than forty just to the west. The count to the east would exceed that easily.

[Panorama west from Little Throne, over Little Throne Lake] 

Tim and I seem to have remarkably similar views on many things. We often come out with the same thought/joke/response at exactly the same time. This has led some believe that we were once joined at the hip. We respond, quite reasonably, that this would have made life remarkably difficult for our mother, given we were born five years apart! Nonetheless, when we come to our final game of choosing where we’ll go after lunch, it proves a short one. We simultaneously express the same preference for walking back around the far (western) side of Little Throne Lake. And so we do.

[Looking north to Blue Peak over an unnamed lake] 

Although it’s a much longer route, the journey back to our tent takes almost the same time as our journey out. We arrive back just in time to get inside the tent before the rain gets heavy. I snooze while Tim meditates (see, we’re not identical!) and the rain stops in plenty of time for cooking.

Afterwards we have another chance to photograph sunset over our unnamed lake, before heading back to the tent to discuss gratefulness. Because whoever has been rolling the dice for this walk, we’re very grateful. Our Blue Peaks/Little Throne sojourn has hugely exceeded our expectations. Who said it can't be all fun and games?

 

[Sunset from our campsite]