With Tim having forced leave between Christmas and New Year there was no better time to go for a final bushwalk for 2023. He chose and arranged the destination: truwana/Cape Barren Island. He booked flights, contacted the indigenous representatives and inquired about logistics concerning flying with gas (not OK), weight restrictions (more than we would want to carry) and transport on the island (not much, unless you knew people). That meant for me it was very much a trip that just fell into place. All I had to do was work out what to take, buy a few snacks and prepare some cold potato deb meals.
We had a busy day between Christmas with Tim’s family and leaving, which we spent prepping and packing, and making sure the house, garden, chooks and cat were all taken care of for the rest of the year. Then we were off, avoiding Christmas travellers on the drive up to Bridport for the 30 minute flight on a 6-seater single prop plane. The views were pretty spectacular, until we approached truwana/Cape Barren and we entered the drizzling clouds!
We managed to hitch a ride the short distance to the Aboriginal centre to make ourselves known (as requested), and then started what we knew would be a long but relatively flat road walk. We’d asked the guy who’d picked us up at the airport if there would be anyone willing to take us 25 odd km along the road, but he didn’t sound optimistic so we took the hint and just started walking. We were passed by a surprisingly large amount of traffic (for an island where most people live in the northwest corner and rarely leave it), but only the last vehicle (a guy on a motorbike travelling the opposite direction) stopped for a chat.
It was drizzling and most of the hills stayed under low cloud, but we didn’t bother with rain jackets because it was hot and muggy and the drizzle made it nicer! Unfortunately it made it difficult to see Munro as we passed by, but we could still spy the start of a couple of possible routes, and we decided for the middle option, which headed a tad west of due south from the road, taking the least steep ridge up Big Hill, before swinging southeast to head to Munro itself.
The scrub reminded us of Flinders, unsurprisingly. There was new growth on everything but our favourite plant must have been the grassy trees which we called grugs. Some had such character.
The road, on the other hand, brought back memories of walking the Tarkine coast. We knew we had plenty of time, but as we headed further east the road became less well maintained and increasingly sandy, which made for more difficult walking. We grew tired, and didn’t feel the usual elation at the fact that the scrub also became lower and the walking more open as we plodded along. We became numb, concentrating on just getting to Dover river, which was where we’d leave the road.
We had been a little concerned at how dry a lot of the rivers we passed were, and Dover river was another one where the water sat instead of ran. I began to worry that we may not find it easy to camp near water. We’d find out soon enough. For now, we were just stoked to finally be at the spot we’d chosen to leave the road. We put on gaiters, had a snack and set off. The change in rhythm and being able to walk wherever we wanted gave us both renewed energy. We went from being dead on our feet to feeling like we could walk for hours more!
The land was open, and any fears we’d harboured over the scrub being worse than it looked were quickly put aside. It was easy and pretty. I mucked around on a headless grug trunk until I realised it was inhabited by bull ants that weren’t happy with my intrusion! I got away with only one bite on a lower leg, and considered myself fortunate.
The boggy patches were bone dry. My worry about water increased. I led us purposely through features that looked like soaks and rivers on the satellite imagery. They were all dry. We headed for the most prominent looking section of river about 4km from the road. I walked through the reeds, shoes barely squelching on the dry river bottom. We wondered what the animals were drinking – we’d seen a few, but very few. Fingers crossed they’d moved somewhere that could support them all.
The drizzle returned early enough to soak us during our last efforts to find water and we chose to set up the tent in a flat gravelly spot sheltered by trees on the western and southern sides (it was quite windy). We had enough water for dinner, breakfast and a bit of walking, so we decided to alter our planned route up Kerford to go via Rices river, which became very distinct as it approached the sea. With that sorted we tended to stiff and sore body parts, ate a yummy dinner, and fell asleep before it even got dark. It didn’t last. Our bodies were busy trying to recover from the exercise and probably also a bit of dehydration and we tossed and turned for a few hours before our racing hearts finally allowed us to sleep consistently.
We woke to a clear day, that was already warm. Excitingly Kerford was out from the cloud, and we could finally get an idea of what it would be like (albeit from a very long way away!). It didn’t take much to pack bags and dress, though it was weird that our initial objective was water. It was with an unusual sense of pressure that we began traipsing south, although the going remained relatively open and for this we were grateful.
A small flock of black cockatoos sung at us as we passed, and were in much the same spot to welcome us back on our return. Kerford ducked under cloud cover again and stayed that way for the next few hours. We nearly stepped on an echidna and later a copperhead snake, and spent plenty of time relocating big fat furry and multi-coloured/-patterned spiders who had woven their webs in inconvenient spots. I wish I’d take more photos of their individual variations. One even had an impressively spikey bum (which I’m sure has a technical name like abdomen or something) but I was too tired then and didn’t realise the magnitude of their individual variation.
Our route took us over a number of rivers, and they too were dry. One had a squealching of blackish water, but we decided to head for the point at which Rices river was massive. As it turned out, luck was on our side, and we almost walked right into some reedy soaks that were tannin stained but otherwise clean enough. It saved us a kilometre or two and left us in a better position to reroute towards the climb up Mount Kerford. We’d both brought a dry bag so we could carry extra water for the day and following morning and we filled these as well as our bladders and bottles.
We left the water with renewed spirits and headed for the ridge we w1anted to take to the summit. When we arrived we dumped all our extra water and just took what we thought we’d use. The best part of Kerford is it’s pretty much flat to the bottom, then straight up. There isn’t any false summits or massive undulations. But that also means the climb is without reprieve.
Open grassy plains take you up the first bit, and then we found ourselves in a mix of rocky slabs and stunted trees. We wove our way through until we finally stood 400m horizontally from the summit, and 200m vertically. This was where we figured the real work would begin. The understory was a little annoying, but easy enough to wade through. The rocks began to appear in large slabs closer to the top, and we just followed my nose and managed to avoid getting cliffed out.
It was hot and humid, and poor Tim was in overpants thanks to the particularly scratchy scrub of truwana/Cape Baron island. We moved slowly with frequent stops, but the distance closed steadily. At the top we circled around the north eastern side of the summit boulders and with a bit of guess work found a route that would lead to the highest rock. Up we clambered, just in time for the sea mist to blow in and cut off our views! We sat for a bit, the strong wind cooling us in our sweat-soaked shirts rapidly.
After dropping off the summit rock to enjoy a snack the cloud had dispersed and we popped back up briefly to check out the view. We spied none of the yachts racing in the Sydney to Hobart, though that had always been a long shot. It was nice, though, to see the island from a bit of height. Most of the day had been spent on the plains without significant variation in altitude which made it hard to get a good view of anything much. But the mountain top revealed views of the nearby hills, the plains, the coast line, the nearby islands and even Flinders and mainland Tassie. A hawk popped by to visit, coasting on the wind currents.
We soaked it in and then it was time to retrace our steps. It was a slow plod back on weary feet, but at least the first part was all downhill. By the time we were half way back to the tent I was knackered and finding it difficult to make decisions about which way to go round scrubby bits and Tim took over. This allowed me to traipse behind him without having to think. It was just what I needed. In that fashion we walked back into camp 10.5 hours after having started out, with tired bodies and feet but happy hearts.
We stripped off sweaty clothes, hung them out to dry in the wind and sun, and set to work on sorting another cold potato deb dinner. They went down remarkably well – 100g potato deb, a teaspoon of veggie stock powder; a tablespoon of mixed dried and ground veggies; some cubes of cheese and salami and way more water than you think you need. Yum!
The next morning had forecasted rain, but when dawn woke us around 6 and it was dry we were rapt not to have to pack up a wet tent or go slogging through wet grasses back to the road. So instead of our planned lazy start we got up and packed at once, keen to be off the plains if anything did eventuate or to spend as much of the afternoon as we could on a beach near Munro.
Our feet protested the donning of shoes but at least they’d stay dry today. We started a little clumsily as our joints and muscles warmed to the challenge, but eventually fell into rhythm, picking a clump of trees, a grug or a patch of different coloured grass to aim for just to keep us roughly on course. It’s easy to wander off a line when the terrain is so flat and featureless.
The sun came out, hot for so early in the morning and it had us quick to lather any exposed skin with cream. We’d been caught out the first rainy day and Tim had a pink neck and backs of the legs that we didn’t care to exacerbate. The colours of the land were bright and lovely – so different to the day we’d walked in. The mountains were visible too and it was amazing how fast one receded into the distance and another grew nearer.
The cockatoos were still out and about and brightened up the road walk, as did another (or the same) hawk. Otherwise we puzzled over some of the animal prints in the soft sand, chatted intermittently or walked in comfortable silence.
We were both very keen to get to the beach and let our feet rest. We had a stop to collect water for the rest of the day and the following day, because it was the last source of water we knew we could rely on, and then ducked off the road where it met the coast and found a spot nestled out of the 50kmh winds. Learning from friends’ past errors, we made sure to check the tides so we wouldn’t get flooded out by the early morning high tide. Satisfied, we dug out a level tent platform and had a restful afternoon wading in the shallows or otherwise trying to escape both sun and wind. The winds made things slightly less enjoyable but we weren’t complaining! In fact, we spent much of it fast asleep!
The next morning the wind was still tugging at the tent. I peeked out to find dawn had long gone. One of the downsides to rising to the sun instead of an alarm is you often miss the sunrise. Our long days had certainly taken their toll on us and we needed all the rest and recovery we could get so it was just a matter of luck if we rose early enough. This time we didn’t, but we did get a nice little sun shower and rainbow over near Flinders as we packed up the tent. I should note, we’d also missed all the sunsets, having fallen asleep long before sundown!!
Along the road we strode, so focused on our objective for the day that we didn’t find it as tiresome as it had seemed at the end of some of the longer days. In an hour we were at the gradual ridge that leads from the road up Big Hill, and then towards Mount Munro. We dropped all our extra gear and went with day packs as we wove our way slowly up the ridge. The going was better than expected and was largely a weave, sometimes a push, and very, very rarely a bash. Higher up there were giant rock slabs that were just great for walking up! They also provided stunning views of the coast and Flinders. We did our best to hop from one slab to the next, where we could. We nearly stepped on a massive blue tongue, who showed us his displeasure at this, but we were just happy to see an alive one, all the others having been flattened by cars on the road.
In this fashion we popped out onto the grassy and rocky summit of Big Hill, holding on to our hats as the westerly was still blowing with full force (and would for the rest of the day!). We ducked out of the wind behind a rock slab to celebrate the small victory before Tim lead us down the grassy slope towards the climb up Munro. The going looked like it should be much greener than it was, but in reality much of the thick greenery could be woven through with a little bit of luck and a decent nose. There was yet another different kind of spikey plant to be well avoided. Again, I took a few snaps but didn’t get a full catalogue of all the new (to me) spikey flora of truwana/Cape Barren Island.
We very quickly discovered a line of ‘a rock on a rock’ which could hardly pass for cairns in their own right but because of their association to one another and to other cairns that clearly were cairns (two or more rocks on a rock) we decided that perhaps they could be trusted to show us the way. And sure enough, they wove a sensible route through the honeycomb of ridges that we continued to follow them. Unfortunately we lost them for a bit and decided to do our own thing, which turned out to be just right and we happened back across them!
The summit itself was one of those affairs where the scrub is stunted and interspersed with groups of boulders. It was hit and miss when it came to choosing paths that kept on weaving a clear line through everything, and we did a little bit of pushing through the green before we arrived at the three groups of summit rocks. There was a cairn on the middle one, but it didn’t look highest, so we figured we’d visit them all, just to make sure! We sat out of the wind and ate a snack, drunk some more water, then turned around to walk all the way back.
We found a better route off the summit, but otherwise roughly retraced our upwards route back to Big Hill. It was clearly the day for snakes and we saw a number of whips as well as two really big tigers, one at least of whom looked like it had recently eaten a meal. Somehow we avoided them all, only getting bitten by yet another variety of prickly scrub. truwana/Cape Barren definitely has some species that are new to me! The cicadas or crickets or something was also not put off by the wind, and their endless sounds could be heard all day long – it was one of those sounds of summer. They were still going when we lay in our tent later that night!
We roughly retraced our way back down the ridge, but ended up falling off the western side, sometime after coming across a magnificent rock ledge that just begged to be sat upon while the view was admired. Tim was determined to work our way back to the ridge but the road was close enough and my ankle, which I’d twisted a couple of times in the scrub and on the uneven ground, wasn’t super happy with traversing the slope so we made a beeline for the road instead.
It was only a 250m road walk back to our gear, which we repacked before settling into another 10ish km road walk. I remembered the local store in town and we quickly decided an icecream on the way to the airport would be in order. It was with great disappointment that we arrived to find that the store shuts at 3pm and it was almost 5pm. I’d been holding a lot of hope out for that ice cream. Instead we added it to our list of things to do the next day, when we flew back to mainland Tassie.
For now though, there was nothing for it but to continue plodding down the road. We’d decided against another beach camp, opting to be nice and close to the airport so we didn’t have to walk very far at all the following morning. In fact, we planned to roll out of bed, throw the gear into our bags and stroll onto the plane in a matter of about 15 minutes before the plane was due to depart. Then we could have a lovely big cooked breakfast in Bridport before returning to our non-bushwalking lives. We found a sheltered and hidden spot in the trees at the end of the runway and made it our final home for the trip.
We woke way too early and dozed in the early morning light, grateful for the shade of the trees. The bugs loved the green tent fly and swarmed all over it. In due course we packed our gear and made the ridiculously short 800m walk down the road to the proper entrance to the airport. A perfect flight and a delicious breakfast later and we were feeling prefect happy with ourselves.
All up:
Day 1: 28.5km, 6.5hrs, 434m ascent
Day 2: 23.9km, 10.5hrs, 802m ascent
Day 3: 17.1km, 5hrs, 217m ascent
Day 4: 25.3km, 10:22hrs, 1235m ascent
Day 5: 800m, 12mins, 44m ascent
Total 95.6km, 2688m ascent
rockmonkeyadventures 
Sounds like a fabulous adventure in a rarely visited dry location, love the shape and form of the grass trees (balga, Grugs, yakka-gum, Xanthorrhoea) in the photos Becca. My favourite tea drinking mug has a balga on it.
Well done Tim for organising all the logistics and sharing the journey to beautiful Cape Barren Island! Happy New Year!
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Happy New Year to you too! Thanks for the more official names of the grugs too 🤣!!
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