Overland Track 2009. Kitchen Hut to Waterfall Valley via Cradle Mountain

Cradle Mountain and Benson Peak 

Okay, here we go with another retro post from my hike on the Overland Track in 2009. This entry might be the last regarding this trip for a couple of weeks at least, as believe it or not, three years later I've been busy with a few things which next up might be worthy of an entry. Also, this is a 'word heavy' post, which may seem surprising for a day of such little walking, but it really needs a solid write-up just so you can really get the full effect (on my brain) of this interesting day.

I spent the evening sleeping on the loft in Kitchen Hut and the only problem during the night was the frequent noise of a possum/Yeti that rummaged around on ground level. He was certainly fossicking, but I had my pack safe and sound next to me. It was all very casual until morning when I heard footsteps approaching the hut which managed to fire me up to get out of bed. As I stumbled downstairs I was greeted by a bloke walking in who was slightly taken aback to see some bloke in Kitchen Hut standing there in his jocks. His opening line could have been, "Why don't you have any pants on?" but instead he said, "In all the times I've come up here, I've never seen a day so clear."

Pants or not, I had to take his word for it as this was my first time to the area. Peeking outside, it certainly was a dramatic change from the previous day's weather, as the sun was shining and Cradle Mountain was well and truly in sight. In my previous post there's a photo taken late in the day with the mountain shrouded in cloud and as a comparison, here it is again from the same spot taken on this sunny morning.

Cradle Mountain from Kitchen Hut

In these fine conditions I no longer had an excuse not to attempt a climb of Cradle Mountain and also have a vague fantasy of getting up Barn Bluff on the same day. I sat down to eat breakfast and contemplate the mass of delorite in front of me. The snow on the mountain itself didn't look too bad, so at a distance I was quite confident of getting up there.

Leaving the pack at Kitchen Hut I set off with a few essentials and began the climb up. It was pretty simple fare up close, as there's a line of metal poles leading the way. Snow was in patches, but nothing to really worry about, except on some sections of slope where there wasn't much to hang onto. I had some moments of slipping and sliding as I tried to dig my feet in and as the next photo shows, the odd pole was handy to hang onto when I thought I'd go for a fall.

Climbing the snowy slopes of Cradle Mountain

Things were going well once I reached a series of rocks which I could climb...

...and I really thought the summit was well and truly in sight. I'd taken the slippery sections very carefully, but now I was feeling a lot more confident on these rocks. I began to think I'd be casually taking in the view next to the Cradle Mountain summit cairn within half an hour at the rate I was going.

Well, that was until I reached a point where the ground suddenly levelled out and in front of me was a spot which my John Chapman notes describe as;

"...descends briefly into a high saddle. A final steep climb up a rocky gully leads to the top."

I looked back at the level section that took me a little by surprise...

...and the view straight ahead.

I could see the poles lead across the saddle with the final climb to the right, but all that built up confidence on the climb was suddenly gone in an instant. That inner warmth was replaced with the the feeling that's technically known as the, 'died in the arse feeling' or DITAF for short. Did you know the French have a similar term, but 'feeling' is replaced by 'experience'? That of course would be pronounced as DITAÉ.

The reason for this apprehension? The snow in the shadows was hard and icy, but the real problem was to the left of the picture above...

The snowy slope descended to well, nothing. Just a big lot of fresh air and I contemplated what that was. All of my technical thinking concluded it was a bloody big, vertical drop. I didn't have any fancy footwear such as crampons to negotiate this section, so if I fell and started sliding, there wouldn't be anything to grab hold of to arrest my fall other than the ground so many hundred metres below.

I did have a cursory attempt by trying to hug the rocks to the right of the metal pole in the previous photo, but it was tricky and even if I got across the slope in one piece the heavily covered final climb looked even worse. Crank up your coke-bottle glasses and you'll see a pole that was lying horizontal. WTF? Had it falling over? What was under that snow? How could I climb that in measly old hiking boots? Oh, you can't see that pole on the far side of the saddle? Okay, get to the optometrist, but in the meantime here's a zoomed in photo...

The camera was level when this photo was taken... 

I forlornly looked to the right and the summit was no more than ten to twenty metres of vertical climb to go and in distance no more than fifty metres of walking, but I only had one thing on my mind.

"YOU PRICK!!!"

Oh yeah, that's the mountain I'm cursing, not myself. I'm not much of a risk taker, so I was done. Too many things ran through my mind of what might happen if I slipped and started sliding down that saddle. What do they say? 'There's no need for risks, as the mountain will always be there another day'. Actually, who said that? Did anyone?

I was so bloody close, but after sitting down for about 15 minutes to contain my depression and curse not bringing a noose, I decided to turn around and head back down. The whole 'climb two mountains in one day' idea was now gone, as I looked across at Barn Bluff and decided all I'd probably find, is the same problems I had on Cradle Mountain.

Barn Bluff

There were some nice views as I slowly made my way down though...

Climbing down Cradle Mountain

...until I had my only real 'fall' drama of the day. On one of those angled snow covered slopes I stepped with my right foot which sunk down past my ankle. I continued forward with my left foot expecting my right to pop out as I continued, but of course, it didn't. It remained firmly in place as I lost balance and fell over until I was in the position of right foot snagged and flat on my back facing downhill. It really was a disappointing position to be in. If my foot released and I remained sliding on my back I considered the terrain around me. It wasn't a certain death situation, but more likely a few head injuries on the rocks around. Maybe the odd traumatic subdural hematoma? Even a traumatic subarachnoid haemorrhage?

I spent a few seconds admiring the blue sky, before managing to lever myself out and gingerly walk back down to the bottom with a constant thought regarding the Cradle Mountain summit tilt of, "Well, that was a waste of time".

Back at Kitchen Hut it was time for a quick snack before continuing on to Waterfall Valley. I was basking in the sun when a young group of people turned up being led by some bearded bloke. They stopped and settled down for lunch, but I noted no one really acknowledged I was there, so I thought I'd act the 'annoyingly friendly hiker' and engage with them.

I asked the leader, "Where are you going?"
He said, "Day trip. After this we're going back down by the Face Track".

Knowing what I was told by the woman and boy the previous day about being unable to find the Face Track due to the snow, I said, "Oh okay. There were some people here yesterday who said they couldn't see it and gave up looking".
He said, "Well, there's a difference when you know what you're doing like I do".

With that comment the 'tool meter' lit up as can't help it, but I'm always suspicious of people who are supremely confident. In the past I've been led astray by confident people who I found out later didn't have a clue! I live by the Bertrand Russell quote;

"The whole problem with the world is that fools and fanatics are always so certain of themselves, and wiser people so full of doubts."

Anyway, I kept my mouth shut and thought, "Okay, okay, let the legend go".

That was until he went to the corner of Kitchen Hut, unfurled a large string with a number of prayer flags on it, strung them up on the corner of the hut and then lay down on the ground and commenced taking photos of them angled up against the building. I was munching away whilst thinking, "I gave you the benefit of the doubt and now you're confirming that you're a tool" whilst also wondering, "Are prayer flags portable? Can you just carry them around and pop them out when required? You know, first dates? Job interviews? I need to bone up on my Buddhist knowledge, but frankly the overwhelming thought was this wasn't a spiritual moment, but rather a lame photo opportunity.  

I'm not sure if he was trying to impress his group, but one woman said, "What are you doing?" He mumbled something about carrying them to mountains and for a moment there I was thinking I was actually standing next to K2 instead of the 1545 mt Cradle Mountain. She then replied, "Why don't you go to a bigger mountain?" Sensing that someone was going to take the piss out of him at any moment, he promptly removed the flags and they weren't seen again . I guess he had enough photos anyway. Why would he do that? Impress people? The group he was with didn't have looks of awe on their faces and me? Well, I'm just a burnt-out cynic, so it was never going to excite me.

Surely that's it regarding this bloke? Oh no, there's more to come and I'm certainly glad for the glory of the blog that it didn't stop. There's a comfort station next to Kitchen Hut which one of the blokes in the group started to walk towards. The intrepid leader yelled out, "Where are you going?" to which the stroller pointed to the relief station. Surely that should have been it for that conversation shouldn't it? No, of course not, as the boss screamed out. "What are you going to do? Number ones or twos?"

I began to wonder if this bloke was not just the 'Portable Prayer Flag Puteruperer', but also a member of the 'Cradle Mountain Bowel Police' which patrol the area. With internals bursting the embarrassed man indicated he needed to pee. Oh yeah, if you're wondering how he indicated. No, he didn't get his dick out and spray us with urine. He intimated the 'holding my schlong in my hand' method.

I kid you not, but the leader then yelled out, "What? Just piss in the snow! Just remember not to eat the yellow snow! HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH!!!!!!!"

Now, for the life of me I can't understand why anyone would just piss on the ground when there's a toilet about ten feet away. When I get out my car at home and am busting to go, I don't just piss on the tree in the driveway or have a dump and hurl it over the neighbours fence, as I know the comfort station is about 7 seconds away. Hell yeah, even us chumps from the western suburbs of Melbourne have some decorum. I assume most people are similar? If I don't do it at home, why would anyone do it in this pristine area?

Oh yeah, the yellow snow joke was never really funny. I might have had a lip quiver momentarily due to a slight internal chuckle when I first heard the joke in 1972, but even on that first time I never thought it of it as a thigh-slapper.

Actually, talking of thigh slapping. Do you remember that movie in the 1980's called 'The Secret Policeman's Ball'? I saw it in the cinema and there was a bloke in the audience who would repeatedly slap his thigh at the jokes. Even then I remember thinking, "I wish I could find something that's that funny".

Anyway, back to the snow and the leader laughed so hard at his 'yellow snow' joke as if he really invented it right then and there. Surely not? So, with a bloke now pissing in the snow about ten feet from me I knew it was time to get out of there. You may wonder, "How does the fiasco man remember this stuff?" Well, that's easy, as on long hikes I take a note pad to record crap for future use in a post!

I headed off and the walking was pretty easy with the odd snowy section easy to negotiate unlike the previous day.

Snow on the Overland Track - Barn Bluff in the distance.

There were frozen pools of water which were starting to melt under the midday sun...

...and the turn off to Barn Bluff was getting closer.

One thing I liked on the track was a number of old timber marker poles which had been weathered and covered in moss. They always make a good photo opportunity, but on the following year I noticed there weren't many left having been replaced by steel star-pickets. Not really the same thing, but I guess a lot more sturdy for the weather.

The snow was pretty patchy which meant there were plenty of rocks for lizards to prop up on and bask in the sun.

Sun loving skink

Continuing on, I passed the Barn Bluff turn off and with a bit more walking began the descent to the Waterfall Valley Huts. I'd plenty of daylight to spare, which gave me an opportunity to potter around the camp. I walked into the main hut which has a heater and observed hiking gear and a sleeping bag on one of the beds. I couldn't see anyone, so I thought I'd be thoroughly unsociable, not wait for whoever owned the gear to return, and set myself up in the old hut.

Old Waterfall Valley Hut

There is a waterfall nearby, but the photos I took are so average I think I'd rather show you a friendly wallaby that was hanging around instead.

That's it for a thoroughly entertaining day. It might not have gone to plan, but at least I managed to get some material for this blog entry. I sat outside watching a fantastic sky during dusk...

Barn Bluff at sunset - Waterfall Valley

...and clouds passing Barn Bluff which looms above Waterfall Valley.

If I only I had the camera I have now on this trip. Oh well, it was time to relax and consider the next days walking which was going to be my 'short' day. Considering I'd barely got going in two days, having a short day of walking to come sounds a bit daft, but that's the way it goes. I'd planned for eight days of walking and I was going to use the lot!

Overland Track 2009: Ronny Creek to Kitchen Hut

Dove Lake from Marions Lookout

Anyone who knows the Cradle Mountain area will look at the title of this post and say, "Did he only walk that far in a day?" Well, yes I did, but don't forget I only had half a day once I hit the boardwalk at Ronny Creek with the uphill slog to Marions Lookout to come! Actually, I'm not sure if that is a good enough excuse?

The opening of the walk is a casual affair on nice boards, but even then I was waddling a little from the small car that was on my back. Although the start was simple, there were highlights almost immediately. About 200 metres in, I was confronted by two blokes heading in the other direction who appeared to have been hiking in a coal mine for the past month or so. They had to be the dirtiest looking blokes I had ever seen on a hike and I'm not sure where they'd been. Day hike? Western suburbs of Melbourne?

Considering the apocalypse that had occurred the day before, the weather was fine and sunny. I made pretty good time to reach Crater Falls which is a nice spot amongst trees, but you know what? Waterfalls in lowlight due to the overhead vegetation meant all the photos I took on the Lumix were, how do you say? Crap? About the only photo I liked from the bunch taken here was this one of the sunlight filtering onto leaves above the water. Well, in hindsight even that photo could be better. Don't you hate photography? There's always something I can see wrong in just about every photo I ever take.

I left the waterfall behind and continued to chug along to my next destination being Crater Lake. There's a boatshed on the waters edge which I'd seen a million times in photos, so I was looking forward to a perusal.

Crater Lake boatshed.

The shed is long disused and I really wanted to spend some more time looking around this spot, but I had to keep moving. What's interesting is that the photos I took lakeside really could be better, as I'd left the camera on it's default setting of 4.3 in relation to framing. I think 3.2 looks better and that's what I like about a DSLR. Did I know any of this in 2009? Nope.

Passing the lake I now began the steady climb up to Marions Lookout. Frankly, this was a pain with the pack I was carrying. The track reaches a steep incline in which a chain has been installed to help punters such as myself drag themselves up. I was also duelling with a lot of day trippers who were bounding by with postage sized packs on their backs.

Chain leading to Marions Lookout

I made a point of being super courteous on this section. If I saw someone about two kilometres away I'd stop to wait for them and exchange greetings as the passed by. I'm a friendly bloke aren't I?

You know those last few lines are crap don't you? Yes, I did wait decades for people to descend whom I'd seen approaching with my portable Hubble telescope, but the real reason I was being so generous with the passersby is that I was ready to vomit from the effort. Don't laugh, but in order to speak calmly I'd regulate my breathing as we spoke to give them the impression that I was a pro who did this sort of stuff everyday. Pretty embarrassing, hey? The multiple stopping did give me a chance to look back from where I'd come, with Crater Lake in full view during the climb.

Looking back whilst climbing Marions Lookout

It took a while, but I finally reached the top and there were literally dozens of people about taking in the fantastic views. There's Crater Lake on one side...

Crater Lake

...and Dove Lake on the other.

Dove Lake

There was also the odd snowman. Look, they were all pretty piss-poor, but at least an effort was put in. This is one of the 'better' ones on a track sign.

Snowman on Marions Lookout

Things were a lot different now I'd reached some height. The sun was still shining, but it was a lot chiller which meant rugging up against the cold. Cradle Mountain was looming ahead and it's an interesting looking mountain. It looks like the top has been lopped off, as it doesn't have any sort of a traditional peak, but rather hundreds of dolerite columns.

Cradle Mountain in the distance

There was some snow around, but it didn't look too bad. Now, with the hard climbing out of the way, I was confident of cruising up past Cradle Mountain and if I was making good time, continue to my original destination of Waterfall Valley Hut. What do you reckon? Famous last words? Not in this blog surely?

Well, so far you're wrong as there was only patchy snow to negotiate and Cradle Mountain was now getting closer.

Cradle Mountain

I was going well until I came across a few undulations which although weren't steep, they did have lots of snow in the depression of the hills. I elected to stick to the track by following snow poles, but it was at this point I came to a crawl. The snow was deep and soft with most steps being knee deep and sometimes further. Having that bloody heavy vehicle pack on my back was not ideal at this stage.

Following the snow poles... 

What did I expect? I wanted snow and now I had it, but I'd prefer some harder stuff rather than the quicksand I was given, thanks. I've no idea what was below me, but at certain points I could hear water running underneath. It was about this point that I officially abandoned my tilt at getting to Waterfall Valley Hut. I don't mind walking in the dark with a headlamp, but I didn't want to do it in snow. I'd never tried it before and this wasn't the place to start practising.

Looking back to Marions Lookout

Somewhere before in a post I've written about what happened next. I've no idea where though, so I guess I'll have to write it up again. Right. Most steps were knee deep which I was slowly getting used to, until something gave away below me and I sank with one leg up to my hip. I could hear water rushing underneath and with the other leg at a weird angle I was a little stuck. Lucky for me though I was walking with a pair of Exped trekking poles that said 'Mountain' on them, right?

Well, no. As I sunk a pole into the snow in order to push myself up I became aware that the pole had separated with the bottom half buried in whiteness. All that was left in my hand was the top half of the pole which was no longer than a standard spicy sausage. "How could this be so difficult?" was my thinking. In the end I dropped my pack and dug around myself to extricate my leg, as I found it impossible to lift in that sunken position. Then it was digging time again to find the other half of my trekking pole. With that finally done I was able to step back and take a photo of the offending chasm, although it doesn't look too bad in the picture.

The large man swallowing hole... 

The snow release program had taken a while, but I managed to slog on with Kitchen Hut now in sight which was where I was going to stop. It was getting late in the day and I was looking forward to putting the feet up for the evening. It's actually listed as an emergency hut where accommodation is frowned upon, but that's the way it goes.

Kitchen Hut

It's a nice looking hut which is in two levels. The bottom half was wet and not the place to have a nap, but the upper level was dry, so that's where I elected to sleep. If you can be bothered to look online, I've seen photos where snow is as high as the upper door next to the attached shovel. That's some bloody deep snow to be up there! I put my stuff on the 'top deck' and elected to cook and eat outside, so there was no chance of me doing any damage to the hut. I even had reading graffiti material on the walls of the hut to read when going to bed. I was going to post a picture of one of the drawings which wasn't too bad as a drawing with an exception. No problem if it was on a piece of paper sitting on my kitchen table, rather than on the interior wall of Kitchen Hut.

Anyway, whilst fossicking around I was surprised by a woman and young boy who came by the hut. We had a chat and they said they'd come on a day walk and had attempted to climb Cradle Mountain, but turned back due to the snow. They were hoping to return to Dove Lake by the Face Track which was apparently nearby, but after following it initially they gave up as they lost the track and weren't confident to keep going.

Now, the story of meeting these people isn't important right now, but it's needed for the next post when I met the ball-breaker who I mentioned in the previous entry. You're just going to have to wait I'm afraid!

So, that was it for a fairly jam packed day since my bus trip from Launceston in the morning. There were no more people walking through, so I had the place to myself whilst I potted around outside in the snow eating dinner. What do I think the bonus of snow is? There's no worries about running out of water.

As the light started to fade I made my mind up that if the weather was fine in the morning, I'd attempt to climb Cradle Mountain. Well, explore it at least. Weather was hard to predict that evening, as clouds descended and for the most part I couldn't even see the mountain let alone work out a way up. So, I retired to my graffiti and contemplated a chilly evening at Kitchen Hut.

Cradle Mountain (somewhere)

Overland Track 2009: Retro is in.

Cradle Mountain

Times are tough when one has to drag out a walk from three years ago. I do have some dubious reasons for doing so, which I'll explain for the purposes of padding out this particular post.

I walked the Tasmanian Overland Track on my own in September 2009, which was a year before I put the blog together. I'm actually sticking my neck out and say it's the most recognised Australian hike? There was plenty of writing material on this trip and as the years go by, I'm starting to get a bit lost in the brain about it. If I can put it together now, just before Alzheimer's kicks in next week, at least I'll be able to look back at the posts and hopefully remember the hike whilst drooling onto my bib whilst eating puréed fruit.

What else? Oh yeah, I'm still feeling out of sorts, so there's not much walking going on. I think I've spent most of my time going to different doctors and entertaining myself with their strange phrases. You know those ones where the bloke wants to say something that's unsavoury, but dresses it up until it sounds stupid?

One doctor the other day asked me, "How do you evacuate your bowels?" Huh? How many ways are there? I thought the technique was pretty standard, but maybe not? I might have to slip down to the zoo and get some tips. I've seen Gorillas hurl their crap around, so that could be a different method I suppose? A lot of medical findings are named after the inventor, such as Heimlich and his 'Maneuver'. Could there be some obscure German doctor called Dietrich (I really hope there is) who came up with an alternative method and called it the 'Dietrich Dump'? Anyway, when I heard the phrase 'evacuate your bowels' I just envisioned paratroopers parachuting into Normandy in 1944. You know, "Red light is on. Prepare to evacuate!"

Back to hiking? Okay, do you realise I've done this walk twice? The second occasion is on the blog, but no one has read it. I was so pissed off with that, I've decided to enact my revenge and force feed this first trip down your throats. No matter where you look you'll have the 'Overland Track' being slapped across your head.

That's a lot of paragraphs. How about a photo?

You didn't expect that did you? The picture was taken in Tasmania on the way to Cradle Mountain, but I'm getting ahead of myself a little.

Being my first trip to Tasmania, I didn't know what to expect and there's a million horror stories online about the weather, so I planned it big. As in packed really BIG!!! My walk was going to be the traditional method of starting at Cradle Mountain and walking south to Lake St. Clair which is about 90 kms all up. I allowed seven days, but due to the scary stories I factored in a couple of extra in case the shit hit the fan.

The bonus of going in September is I didn't have to pay the track fee. At the time it only applied between October and until June for the peak season when the walk has to be booked. I think the fee was about $160 back then and I just noticed on the Overland Track website it's now $200!! Ouch! If I was going to walk in Tasmania, I wanted to see some gnarly weather, so I was hoping for some snow as well.

It's tricky organising these hikes, so I elected to fly into Launceston on a Sunday. Shop for most of my food and then head off to Cradle Mountain for walking on the Monday. There's a boat which can be booked to pick up hikers at the penultimate hut on Lake St. Clair. Taking the boat cuts off all the lake walking which is about 15 kms and also the Echo Point Hut. Boats don't really turn me on, so I elected to walk all the way through to the end. Once finished, a bus was required to go to Hobart, before finally flying home. How crap are these 'organization' paragraphs? It sounds like gibberish if you have no idea of what the Overland Track is, but it makes sense once I write it up. I just know you want to look at another photo. How about this one?

Not bad huh? I've one more organisational point which is perfect if you're an insomniac, as this will certainly put you into a coma. Transport. Yep, getting around as a solo walker in Tasmania can be painful. There's private operators that charge a fair bit and have requirements on the amount of passengers. One said they wouldn't do the trip unless it had a minimum of six.

It's 155 kms from Launceston to Cradle Mountain and I was lucky to find McDermott's Coaches who would pick me up from my hotel, go directly to Cradle Mountain with a lunch stop at Sheffield for only $50. What? I couldn't find a better mob to get me to the walk as there was no dicking around at all. So, I've got a tip. If anyone tells you that it will cost a minimum of $100 to get from Launceston to Cradle Mountain then I suggest you go to the cutlery drawer in your kitchen, pull out all your sharpest knives and hurl them at the forehead of the person telling you this. If you're lucky at least a couple should stick.

Oh yeah, by the way, there's no walking in this post. It's just an appetizer (a little sour, but that's the way it goes). I couldn't include the first days walk and all the crap I've already written about in the one post. Picture?

Check out that bloke. He's getting the job done. Now, I flew into Tasmania with the heaviest backpack in the history of the universe. Virgin Airlines have a 21 kg limit and I remember scraping in at around 20 kg. Oh yeah, that didn't include my fuel and a bit of food. I'm not sure what I was thinking, but it felt as if a small European car was on my back. I was toting that beastly Sea to Summit/Wilderness Equipment Karijini backpack  which has a meagre 95 litres capacity and weighs in at roughly 25 tonnes. I'm not joking, but if there was a nuclear strike on Melbourne, the only thing you'll find in the western suburbs is the pack untouched amongst the smoking debris.

Don't forget, I also had to carry the crap that was needed for the end of the hike, such as a phone charger, camera charger and hair products. Actually, although I took a few photos there are nowhere as many as I would take today. The problem was I'd just bought the Panasonic Lumix TZ-7 and only had two batteries to last a week. Spare batteries were over a hundred dollars and there were no generic ones at the time. $100 a battery? Up yours Panasonic! So, it was JPEG's all the way which on reflection makes me feel a little queasy. Now it's, 'Give me RAW or give me death".

Okay, that's enough rubbish about the preparation. If I'm enthused I'll recreate the crap I took at the end of the hike as its own post. You'll not believe the items I lugged for the week. I mean that as well.

The bus trip was very comfortable as there were only a handful of people on it which saved me from being sociable. I guess I should mention the photos throughout this post. They were taken in the town of Sheffield and that Wikipedia link mentions how they're a tourist attraction. Some of them are a little bit kitsch and I was interested in this individual. Judging by the look on his face I think some LSD might have been in the catnip.

There was a matching dog as well who appeared to be Valium addicted.

After the Sheffield stop I promptly fell asleep and was awoken by the bus driver kicking my leg saying, "Mate, you've got some walking to do!" That meant arrival, so I picked up my vehicle and struggled to the Parks office to purchase my mandatory Tasmanian Parks Pass. By this time it was past 12 pm and I entered the Parks building to find the power was out. The staff were telling me the previous days weather was so severe that power was cut by falling trees and a substantial dump (snow, not Dietrich) had fallen up at Cradle Mountain.

"No worries", I was thinking until I spoke to a Parks member. She appeared to be either wearing a burqa or was really cold due to lack of power. My plan for the first day was to walk to Waterfall Valley Hut. That's the standard first days walk until she said there was no way I would make it there before sunset due to the snow. Her suggestion was to stay at Cradle Mountain overnight and start early the next day.

I wasn't keen on that idea as I would have lost one of my spare days before I'd even started, so I elected to go. Finally, as an idea she suggested that I should only go as far as Kitchen Hut (which is an emergency shelter only) and stay the night there. So, that was the plan, but before leaving I lashed out and rented a Personal Locator Beacon (PLB) GME 410G which is good peace of mind for a solo walker.

That was it then. I jumped on a shuttle bus which took me to the start of the walk at Ronny Creek and hopped off to see Cradle Mountain up ahead covered in snow, so at least I got my 'snow wish' nice and early. It was time to get going, but that's for another post.

Don't panic, I won't write them all up one after the other, as I should be able to get outdoors for strolls soon as long as the doctor is happy with my 'evacuation' method. It's actually quite refreshing looking back at these pictures, although I noticed I took way too many 'tourist' style shots. The next few posts will be a lot more entertaining just for the story of a dead-set penis I met up near Cradle Mountain who redefined the words, 'ball-breaker'.

So, there you go. As they say in my gym, "Go retro, or go home."

The start of the Overland Track at Ronny Creek 

Bulla Bridge: Then and Now

Bulla Bridge over Deep Creek

Well, this is a post about a bridge. How exciting is that? I do like to live on the edge a little, but there's a valid reason for such a mundane entry. In order to get to the reason for this post I've got to go back a bit and talk about vomit.

Now, a few weeks back I came down with some sort of virus that for some reason decided to get better at an infernally slow pace. I am pleased to say that to go with the virus I managed to come down with an eternal headache. How about a headache that lasts two weeks? Yep, and it culminated a few days ago to the point where I woke up in the morning with a stinker. Okay, "It'll get better after breakfast" was the theory as I made some porridge and a cup of tea. With one mouthful I was suddenly sprinting with knees lifted high and arms pumping as I jumped on board the porcelain bus.

I can say that this was my first non-alcohol induced vomit ever (any under five years of age don't count). Porridge of all things broke my long standing chunder record. Do you realise that the last time I was physically sick was August 1999? That was in New Zealand whilst on a 'skiing' trip. Mm... That was overseas wasn't it? This means my national record goes back before 1999.

I've made a million trips to the doctor (yes, one million) and I was told this enlightening advice, "You are sick with a virus and it might take up eight weeks to get some energy back." What? Eight weeks?! I've got to do a hiking blog!!!  It's been three weeks of feeling constantly fatigued and out of breath which is not the greatest feeling when I'm meant to be walking so I can write a post. If this keeps up I'm changing the blog name to www.fatmanonthecouch.com.

So, whilst feeling wrecked I've spent some time at home and I pulled out some 'ye olde' photo albums for something to do. In one of the albums my mum used to meticulously keep I found the following picture. It was taken in 1963 and features my brother and sister sitting on grass with a caption of 'At Bulla'.

Bulla Bridge - Winifred Evans - 1963

'At Bulla'? I wondered where this spot was and I was intrigued by the bridge in the background. I do love a historic bridge, so I hit Google to track down this structure and guess what? After searching for 0.7 of a second I found a Wikipedia page titled Bulla Bridge.

In my near-death state I figured that visiting this spot to take a 'then and now' photo would be achievable and even more so as it's only 20 kms from where I live. There was the slightly tricky problem of which side of the bridge the photo was taken from, but I guessed that the wall on the right of the photo would be my guide once I saw it in the flesh.

It just happened that the one day I decided to head off for this trip it rained heavily all day. This meant that the photos would be pretty bland with that white overcast sky killing the pictures. Oh well. Now before heading off I had a bit more research to do. The historic Bulla Bridge was built in 1869 by bluestone which was made by convict labour. With that sort of history I wanted to have a look at some older photos, so I headed over to the State Library of Victoria which is a great resource and look what I found.

Bulla Bridge - Mark James Daniel - Easter 1899

There it is again. As there's no wall on the right, I was pretty confident the picture was taken on the opposite side of where my mum took hers. What else was in the State Library of Victoria archives? How about this one?

Bridge, Bulla - Colin Caldwell - 1958

This isn't much older than mums photo, but with the wall on the right behind the ghost I was pretty confident it was taken in the same direction. This photo is still under copyright, so I've left it as it was downloaded rather than cropping the edges which I'd normally do. Copyright can be tricky, so here's the full link to the photo.

I really should stop talking about the bridge and just visit it shouldn't I? I headed off and somehow I was there within 30 minutes. Now, this is where the problems begin. I assume by my mums pictures that they visited the area on a day trip as it was a nice place to spend a day. Lounging on the grass besides the creek looked pretty relaxing.

Well, things have changed in 40 years as access to the bridge is non-existent. If you happen to live in Bulla it would be okay as you can walk there, but not when arriving by car. I ended up parking on the side of the road and then braved the traffic which I noted was a little heavy. How heavy? In my Googling, this Sunbury Leader article noted the bridge is at risk due to 25,000 vehicles driving over it ever day. Every day? That sounds like a lot to me?

Well, time to investigate. I started out on the wrong side, but it was the easiest way to get down to Deep Creek. You're hanging out to see some bridge photos aren't you?!

Bulla Bridge detail.

Mmm...check out the bluestone. Feeling aroused? I thought I'd go for a stroll up the creek to avoid the NOISE OF THE BLOODY TRAFFIC. There were some nice shots further away, but I would have liked a sky with some actual colour in it.

Deep Creek with Bulla Bridge in the background.

It looks really peaceful doesn't it? It may look isolated, but a zillion cars were driving over the bridge a few hundred metres away.

Deep Creek

This side of the bridge looked interesting and worthy of a longer look around, but it was raining the whole time and I had no mojo for exploring. So, I headed back and braved crossing the road which involved a sprint to avoid being squashed. Now was the time to investigate my 'then and now' photo. You know what? I found the small wall that's in the older photos, but it's now accompanied with some 'big green thing'.

Bulla Bridge

Okay, now to line up the photo which will be the same as mums. There was a slight problem though in that the nice grass which my brother and sister are sitting on doesn't exist any more. It's now weeds and trees which are about 20 feet high. Mm... This trip isn't working out to plan as I couldn't get close enough to do my comparison, but this is the best I can do.

Bulla Bridge (somewhere)

Do you now see what my problem was? A slight increase in vegetation over the last 40 years killed my photo ambitions. I still had a bit more exploring to do and thought I'd investigate the rocky part of the creek which is visible in the Colin Caldwell photo earlier in the post. Guess what? Well, that doesn't really exist as I bush bashed to the creek and found a concrete slab where the rocks used to be. Check out some concrete.

Deep Creek and Bulla Bridge

Is this the most disappointing post ever? I thought I'd stand in the middle of the concrete patch and take a few photos. Have a look at my feet. They're getting wet.

Feet action in Deep Creek

What can I say? The whole idea fell apart a little, but I did see the bridge and got wet in the process. I thought I'd throw in the towel and head off. On my way back to my car I saw a cap on the ground which I thought said, 'Nikon'. "Hey, I've got a Nikon! That's my hat!" This was great until I had a closer look at it and it actually says 'Nixon'.

Not Nikon, it's Nixon 

It might have been the ex-presidents hat, but I lost interest once I saw the correct spelling. I braved the traffic again and made it to the car alive, but this isn't where the post ends.

On the way home I thought I'd have a look at the tiny Holden Bridge on the Bulla-Diggers Rest Road. Whilst strolling there I came across a Canon lens cap on the side of the road. How did it get there? Oh well, spare caps are always handy.

Thanks for that.

Now Holden Bridge is rubbish, but I was more interested in having a look at Jacksons Creek which of course has its own Wikipedia page. Apparently trout used to be released in the creek by Fisheries Victoria up until 1990. I'm not sure what I was expecting, but it didn't enthuse me too much. There was a ford across the creek which was part of the road before the bridge was built and this was the most exciting aspect of the whole area.

Ford on Bulla-Diggers Rest Road 

Pretty exciting huh? This is action aplenty for me considering what's been happening the last three weeks. I spotted something in the water which was worth investigating, so I strolled across the ford and what I found was self-explanatory.

I stood around for a little while and wondered, "What the hell am I doing here?" So, it was time to head off and I recrossed the ford whilst taking a photo which shows the dedication I apply to the blog. Look I'm getting my feet wet.

Walking on water

Now, do you notice what's different in this photo compared to my earlier 'walking in water' shot. Well, I'll tell you if you couldn't be bothered scrolling back up. I'm wearing different pants and shoes that's what. It's always advisable to carry a different set of clothes in the car, just in case some government agents want to conduct some surveillance. Hop in the car and jump out again in some new clobber. Pretty cool huh?

What can I say? This has been a pretty low speed post. What about some GPS readings like I usually add to the end of every walk? Probably not on this occasion, as I think the total distance walked was approximately 300 metres.

A couple more things (surely not?). I've noticed I'm doing quite a few 'smiley faces' (one of these things :)) lately in texting and, well, everywhere. It may offend some people who want correct grammar, but I'm making a stand for the 'smiley face'. Considering we don't speak to people any more, how can we express the intent and context of a message? As an example, if I sent an SMS saying, "FUCK YOU!!!!!", the meaning is a lot different if I used, "Fuck you" :). See what I mean? Totally different, so the smiley face is in!

By the way you'd better buckle your seat belts as I've got plenty more 'then and now' pictures from old photo albums to contemplate. This particular visit was pretty much a 'picture comparison fiasco'. It's interesting how times have changed as I can't think of any occasion I want to go back and sit by the banks of Deep Creek like my family did 40 years ago.

Hey, who likes playing Scrabble? I've been competitive with it in the past and years ago I'd play 'Combat Scrabble' with my brother. If I was starting to get on top he'd grasp the board with both hands and hurl it into the air. This would be the cue to attack each other. I'm not lying, but I reckon my brother was the worst Scrabble cheat in history. If he was getting stuck the rules would change and suddenly names, slang and freestyle Latin were allowed. It was tough to notch up a win and the main thing I learnt is that the letter 'q' sucks. Not any more, as I've warmed to it by finding a better use of that beast of a letter.