Persistent and regular rain in the west and southwest this summer meant I half expected this walk to be rescheduled. We’d already committed to the $100 per person each way fare on the World Heritage Cruise boat, which would drop us off and pick us up from Heritage landing. That wasn’t quite as close as Southwest Expeditions could get us, but they sailed every day and the dates worked better. I got home from 4 days at Derby, had a day to sort my gear out, and set off to Strahan. The weather looked surprisingly good. The worst rain was forecast to hit us overnight after our first day and then we’d only have drizzle intermittently.
I met Wayne, who was the prime instigator of the trip, in Strahan. He’s another peak bagger intent on working his way through the list including all the green nasty ones. He’d worked out which peaks I had left to climb that he also hadn’t done and we set aside some dates. The first lot fell through due to weather, the second lot due to my work changes. This lot made it!
We met up shortly before 7:30am at the Strahan wharf. Each of us had spent the night sleeping in our cars in random spots to avoid paying for a fancy campground. We loaded our kayaks and gear, checked our return trip could be flexible if we finished early, and then waited to board with everyone else. I felt a bit out of place – too young and certainly underdressed for the occasion!
It wasn’t the fastest route to Heritage landing, we went via the Heads, poking our nose into the Southern Ocean and then spending an hour at Sarah Island. I let the 200-odd tourists begin the walk and zipped around on my own afterwards. I’m definitely not good with crowds. Finally we headed up the Gordon river. Only one or two of the tourists on our level were excited by the white bellied sea eagle that flew past our starboard. When we got to Heritage landing Wayne and I became much more interesting than the wilderness that everyone had paid to come and see. We had many pairs of eyes on us as we loaded up our kayaks and plopped them into the water. I was very aware of not falling out as lowered myself off the wharf and into the seat, which was a little way below me!
We both made it gracefully, waved our goodbyes, and felt somewhat like famous people might as we shot between the boat and the scrub, out onto the open river ahead. The tail wind was most helpful and we soon rounded the corner ahead, finding ourselves alone in the wilderness. The adventure finally felt like it was beginning!
The first 7 odd kilometres to the Eagle Creek track passed quickly enough, and we spotted where we thought the track went as we floated by. The next 7 kilometres were a tad harder, my back ached and there wasn’t much by way of distraction. We disturbed a number of ducks and cormorants and then, out of the blue, I heard a massive splash behind me. It was big, and yet I thought we were the only people on the river. I turned quickly and caught sight of a dolphin jumping out of the water again. I laughed with awe and astonishment, and yelled out to Wayne. I hadn’t known they’d come that far up river. That made my day, and I paddled along relatively happily.
We paused to stretch our legs and check out the camping at Snag point, declaring it pretty good. But it was only 4pm and we had enough time before the rain was due to bucket down, so we settled on getting to St John’s falls, where we could shelter in the hut and not even get our tents wet. Such luxury! The last hour seemed to stretch, my back was very ready to stop and so was I! Butler island came into view and then Warner’s landing. I spotted the hut through the trees and found the beach below it tucked round the corner. I could have whooped with delight. I probably would have if I was alone.
We pulled the kayaks up the beach, unloaded the gear we needed, and set about making ourselves comfortable. A yacht sailed by under motor, and the dolphins were in tow! Over dinner we planned a rough itinerary for the next day, said hello to one of the sailors who stuck his head in, and enjoyed the sound of the rain on the roof when the heavens finally opened up. I couldn’t get over dolphins and how nice it was to be dry!!
It rained most of the night, at times heavily, but we woke to a still river and largely clear skies. And a platypus playing by our kayaks!! He or she stayed to waggle us good bye, and then we were off up the steaming river, accompanied by noisy lyrebirds, silent cormorants and perfect reflections. My anxiety about the rapids increased the closer we got to the confluence of the Franklin and Gordon rivers, and I let Wayne take the lead. He’d paddled up rapids before.
The first, just before Shingle Island, was small but very quickly proved to be almost stronger than me at full paddle. I got through, and worked my way into a calm bit of water on Shingle Island. Wayne, whose kayak was smaller than mine and didn’t have a rudder, got pushed around a bit more and ended up on some rocky pebbles that the water didn’t quite cover. He hoiked his kayak up and over and jumped in on the high side, still needing to work hard to get the rest of the way across the flow of the river to where I was. We both agreed it would be folly to attempt to get much further up stream. It used all our power just to do that one and it was as small as we could expect to get. I was relieved, I didn’t fancy a swim and I was sure that’s where things would have ended if we’d kept trying to get upstream.
We sorted our gear, loaded everything we needed into our packs along with 4 days of food (just to be on the safe side) and hauled our kayaks up high on the island and then tied them to bushes for good measure. There wasn’t much rain forecast for the rest of the week, but you can never be too safe! The river level was low enough too that Shingle Island wasn’t actually an island, it connected with the eastern bank and we didn’t even have to try to keep our feet dry as we plunged into the bush.
Having said that, we were soon drenched from the sodden scrub. We had a total mix of botanical delights as we clawed our way closer to the range. From climby horizontal and dense forest to a horrible mix of bauera, cutting grass, tangly weed and fallen logs, and occasionally some open forest walking or even soft ferns. It was never all that fast going, especially on the low flat plains where the scrub was stubborn. I well and truly hogged the lead, but Wayne didn’t seem to mind.
I reflected on a podcast I’d been listening to on the drive up, which has put out 9 episodes on guiding principles for a life of flourishing (eudaemonia). It struck me as fascinating that many were the things that I had learnt or got from bushwalking. The first, accept that life is a struggle. My goodness, that’s sure true for off-track bushwalking. Sure there are some lovely bits at times, but often it’s just plain hard. You learn pretty fast to accept that, and deal with it one step at a time, while never forgetting that even the hardest and toughest sections of scrub just don’t last (much like the open bits!).
Another was to find your tribe. All my closest friends are bushwalkers and I’m always amazed how sharing time in the bush connects people on a level that other collective activities don’t always. I still don’t quite know why.
There was one on finding a way to be useful. I’m sure one of the reasons I like bushwalking is because I’m good at it. There’s not much I can’t do, and I’m pretty good at finding an efficient route and if need be, helping others if they don’t like rock hopping, are more nervous climbing with exposure, or don’t have the strength to scrub-bash all day long. I also get a lot out of writing about my trips for those who want a bit more info before they set out on a particular walk.
Two more guiding principles were to invest in your body – both nutritionally and through physical activity. I may not have the best diet when I’m bushwalking (I do eat yummy, nutrient dense, food!), but I find it the most enjoyable way to stay fit and active. It offers both cardio and strength benefits and I find it a mindful practice too!
Finally there was one on ‘momento morai’, which is about recognising that we only have the current moment to live in, and to be grateful for all the things we have in our lives. Walking doesn’t allow you to be anywhere but in the present moment, and time and time again shows you stunning aspects of nature to marvel at. On this trip, the dolphins and the platypus were the two that come to mind most immediately, but I could think of many more, even stuck in the thick of the scrub!
I realised that this was probably why bushwalking was, and always would be, a massive part of my life, and why it helped me to feel by and large, like I was living in a state of eudaemonia. Perhaps other walkers feel similarly.
But I digress, substantially! Perhaps the fastest section was the first climb up to 300 odd metres, during which the forest was thankfully pretty open. That wasn’t the case for all climbs, and the final one for the day, up and over the ridge before Smith’s river was simply horrid. Steep and covered in deep bauera, it took its toll.
Wayne hadn’t even wanted to climb it, he had voiced a clear desire to camp at about 4pm near some water. The only problem was there weren’t any suitable flat bits of ground around the river before the ridge, and given the proximity of Smiths river and what looked like an open button grass patch near it, i expressed a preference for one more climb. Wayne agreed. It wasn’t fun or pretty, and the way down the other side was steeper and covered in even thicker bauera. We didn’t have much choice where we went for that bit, we just tried not to slide down too fast and to leave a good enough bash that getting back up would be only steep, not a physical fight as well.
At the river I left Wayne to scout out a camp site in what I thought would be open button grass. I don’t think he was convinced and he chose to stay by the river. I returned with the excellent news that there was a patch of ferns in the open about 100m away, that would be a bit lumpy but much drier than in the squealchy, oozey rainforest floor near the river. He accepted my recommendation and we collected water before heading for what would be home for the next two nights. The best part about making it to Smiths river was that we were about 2/3 of the way to Princess range which meant we could have a crack at the mountain just with day packs. We also had an open spot, which meant sunshine to dry out some of our wet gear!
We set up our tents, made and ate dinner and enjoyed the evening in our own tents. I tried not to baulk too much at Wayne’s suggested departure time of 6am. I didn’t think we needed it but it is always better to be safe rather than sorry, and perhaps he thought he’d need it, in which case we both did. I set the alarm dutifully, and settled in to tending to some sore spots, writing out some notes, charging devices and finally listening to some audiobook. I was surprisingly tired after the days effort, but keen to see what tomorrow would bring.
It didn’t start well. As I sat in my tent, mostly ready but finishing up breakfast, Wayne popped over to say he wasn’t going to attempt to summit. He didn’t think his body would make it, and I realised that the day before must have taken more out of him than he’d let on. I felt for him, knowing what it is to have struggled all day for a few kilometres only to have to turn around when the summit was in sight. This was not the kind of mountain you wanted to come back for.
He asked if I was good to go on alone. I put on a brave face and said of course, but mentally had to work hard to reframe my thoughts. There’s a massive sense of reassurance when you walk with others that all of a sudden disappears if you find yourself in the scrub alone. You know there’s no one to take a turn in the lead, pick you up when you land on your back like a turtle, or to bounce ideas off and think challenges through. I was going to miss Wayne and all the things his company stood for very much.
I lay in the tent for a little bit, waiting for it to get light enough to see the scrub better and then set off. I made good progress. The first little ridge was largely open forest, both up and down. And the next bump was also a relatively good climb up. The bauera started on my descent to a small saddle before a horrifically slow bash up onto the Princess range. It was largely bauera, sometimes cutting grass, and there was plenty of steep bits and hidden fallen wood to navigate. When it was kind the bauera was knee or waist high and easy to wade through. Mostly it was over head high and required throwing my body weight against it, clawing at it and eventually trying to get some purchase on it with my feet. It was a very slow slog. And then it started to drizzle, and I was soon soaked through and through…again!
When I finally popped out and saw a couple of button grass plants I whooped with enthusiasm. That was premature. Sure the bauera wasn’t as prolific, but now I had stubborn shorter scrub that was even harder to bash through. I had some reprieve when I ran into rocky slabs, but they were few and far between and often I couldn’t see them for the scrub so happening upon them was pure luck. Finally I stood within 60m of the summit, marvelling at how green it was. I accurately surmised it was going to be nasty. It was. I wandered from the marked point on my gps to the two scrub-covered highest points that I could find. There was a slight footpad between the two under all the scrub, but it had had plenty of time to recover from the last human visit and the bash was unrelenting.
It had clearly been visited at some time in the past, I’d found two bits of relatively well intact pink tape (one when crawling on hands and knees through bauera) but I can’t imagine it getting much foot traffic. It was nearly 1pm, and I said a silent thanks to Wayne for making me start so early. The trip back would be faster, and I wasn’t worried about finishing by head torch, but it was nice not to have that pressure.
I dropped back to one of the rocky bits and send off two messages so people knew I’d made it, ate some food looked at the view, then started retracing my steps. I did my best to stay on the same track as it was much easier going, but at times it was hard to find or required acrobatics that exceeded my skill level. It was much faster, even taking the extra time to make sure I stayed on it. The snakes liked my bash too, one of them requiring a lot of foot stomping to get it to budge. I felt a little guilty, but I just didn’t have the energy to bash a new route around it. When I walked wearily into camp 11 hrs after I’d left I think I woke Wayne who was happy enough to see me safely returned.
It didn’t take me long to get in my tent and evict all the mozzies and a couple of wasps who clearly had the wrong idea about who got to hang out in it. I later watched one of the wasps take down a fly who was also trying to get in – fascinating! After working on rehydration i felt like I could start to stomach the thought of dinner, and then finally I had the energy to tend to all the new holes in my pants and some additional raw spots on my body. I was grateful when Wayne opted for a later start and the shorter objective of just getting to Shingle island the next day – my body might need a bit of time to recover, and it could definitely do with a cold water swim!
It was pleasant waking naturally to the day light, although the wasps were back in no time to make it slightly less comfortable. The rain had visited in the night to make everything nice and damp for us yet again. We breakfasted and packed, neither of us looking forward much to the scrub bash ahead. The first ridge was going to be the worst – steep uphill through bauera, and then just a long weave and a bit of climbing through the jungle gym mostly, with the odd bash. Our bodies were tired and sore, but they’d get us there regardless of their protestations. They didn’t have a choice!
Off we went, finding the first hill as expected, but better than we feared. We then had the difficulty of trying to retrace our steps through the more open forest, which was still variable enough that it was possible to get stuck in slow climby stuff. Neither of us had much energy for that. We stopped more frequently and longer than we had in the way in (I’d finally twigged that Wayne needed to stop to drink – big oops!) and though the walking generally seemed easier, and probably a tad faster, we took longer overall. That didn’t matter, we still made it to the river in time for me to dry off my wet gear, have a much needed wash, sculpt a nice and level tent site on the sandy beach on Shingle island and work my way leisurely through half a bag of chips while I waited for dinner to rehydrate fully.
Wayne had told me he was going to paddle back rather leisurely, stopping to check out some camp sites along the river for a future club trip, and that he’d meet me at the Eagle Creek track camp site on Sunday evening. He’d obviously decided to scratch Elliot from the list too. That meant I’d have a day to get as close to the mountain as I could, and then a day to summit and get back to the river. It also meant a whole heap more solo walking, but sometimes that’s what it takes when you have a goal to achieve.
I woke with dawn, packed my gear and waved goodbye to Wayne, who was also packing. I was under the impression he’d be camping at St John’s falls or Snag point and I confirmed that I’d see him on Sunday night at the start of the Eagle Creek track and would also message him from the summit. It was an overcast, occasionally misty-drizzly morning, but so still once past the rapids (which I fishtailed perfectly through!). I paddled steadily, initially having quite a bit of help from the river flow. That waned once I hit the Gordon and eventually disappeared the further I got from the Franklin river.
The jetty at St John’s Falls was empty when I arrived, the rafting group expected to be there would have departed shortly before I did. But my friend the platypus was still there and came over to say hello before ducking away with shyness when I made too much noise. Turns out he isn’t the only one on that stretch of the Gordon, and I was lucky enough to spot another two closer to Snag point.
I’d have been stoked to just enjoy the reflections and my platypus encounters but the river had more treats in store. The dolphins were back, at least 5 of them, one very small. I spotted them ahead, drifted over and let them frolic around me for a bit. Eventually I paddled off but they rejoined me a little while later and together we moved downstream. It was hard not to laugh at their effortless antics. I was in no rush, I knew I had more time than I needed, so I spent it enjoying them. The cormorants were hanging out in groups his morning, and I learnt they make a honking sound, though I don’t know what message it conveyed.
Amongst all of this activity there were a lot of peaceful moments, where both the surface of the water and the silence of the landscape were broken only by me paddling my way through it. I watched a single myrtle leaf fall onto the smooth water ahead, casting out a perfect series of circular ripples and was once again struck by awe, but not entirely sure why I should be. Why should I ascribe so much beauty and meaning to that over so many other things? I still don’t know.
I’d been experimenting with my paddling technique so when I arrived at the Eagle Creek track camp site my back was no where near as sore as it would normally be. Having a brief break and leg stretch at Snag point had probably also helped. I sorted out my gear again, took time to savour a coffee and an apple before setting off on the second part to my day. As I did so, Wayne paddled by, which surprised me given what he’d told me earlier of his plans.
Before leaving I filled in the log book. It had been placed there at the end of 2019 and almost a full 3 double sided pages had been filled – not many. Most people seemed to visit for the purpose of kayaking. One lamented not finding Jesus while another had come for multiple orgasms (apparently successful too!).
The Eagle Creek track was very clearly sign posted and looked rather highway-like at the start. If you were at all confused as to where it went there were plenty of pink tapes to complement the cut track and old markers. It passed through dry rainforest, wet rainforest, tea tree, bauera and cutting grass, and wasn’t anywhere near where the maps have it marked at times. It was pretty special walking along it in some parts, young Huon pines on either side brushing their fronds against me. You don’t get that very often.
The track eventually started to climb up and up, following a ridge just to the north of Scorpion Creek, which had some remarkably loud falls on it given how little real rainfall we’d had recently. It climbed up and over an unnamed knob at 390m. At the start of the final and steepest part of the climb someone had scratched ’Pig Hill’ onto an old track marker, which made me chuckle. I can imagine climbing it with rafting gear wouldn’t be much fun (though I did double check it wasn’t an official name on the map, just in case!). The track became less well marked and required more care to follow shortly after this. On the way through wet rainforest down to Eagle Creek moss covered the ground and fallen logs and hung off trees. It was scattered with freshly fallen leatherwood petals, looking as if someone had just gotten married and had thrown petals instead of confetti into the air!
I filled up on water from the creek and made the short climb out of the river gully to an open button grass plain. Not quite the one I’d planned on departing from, but it turns out the track doesn’t actually go through that one, regardless of what the map suggested. It didn’t matter, this was just as good a spot.
I decided to walk a short way towards the Elliot Range through the plains and stop whenever I found a spot with a view. That was asking a lot, as the plains weren’t all that open or conducive to camping. The mix of scrub made walking a bit of an effort and there weren’t many tent sized spots that were flat and relatively bump free. I settled on one 30 minutes later, even though there were two more patches I could look for one in, 200 and 500m ahead respectively. I was only 1.5km from the summit (straight line) and I didn’t think getting closer today was crucial. In fact, I was quite reassured that the ridge didn’t look as cliffy as I’d feared and I was relatively content with what tomorrow’s attempt at the summit would entail.
So, despite it being early, I stomped down the scrub as best I could, pitched my tent, and set about drying my sweat soaked clothes. I discovered I had jack jumpers as neighbours, though I hadn’t seen their house, and wasn’t keen on moving so we were just going to have to get along. Aside from that discovery, and needing to keep the door closed more than I would have preferred after two successfully made their way through my defence system and were discovered climbing on the ceiling, I had an easy afternoon resting up for the final mountain of the trip.
I made more sports-tape running repairs to my increasingly holey pants, wrote some notes, checked over my planned route, chatted with Tim and enjoyed a cold dinner (I’d opted for ultra light weight for this one). At one point I discovered a tick on my doorstep, and have to admit he very quickly got finger-nailed. I don’t have much patience for ticks!
I slept well despite the slightly uneven site, and woke with the day at 6:30. The cloud was low and though I was in no rush because I wanted to time being on the summit for when it lifted, I also knew I had a relatively large day ahead, and it may not be easy. So I ate, dressed and even packed my gear up inside the tent. I opted to leave it standing partly so I could look for it and partly to keep everything else dry when the sprinkles came. That only took half an hour, but it was long enough that the cloud had lifted enough for me to see a short way up the ridge.
I was restless and chose to set off which was probably just as well when the button grass turned big and clumpy, the head high shrubs stiff and the bauera joined in too. I was quickly sweating and puffing and not moving very fast at all. I had a brief reprieve in old forest when I dipped down to one of the tributary creeks to Wattle Camp creek, but was soon back in the button grass and other scrub mix. When it ended I had some good bits of open forest and some horrible mostly bauera bashes on steep inclines. I did my best to navigate to the rocky knobs I could see and then sidle under or around their bases.
The higher I got the easier things became, which was just as well – it took something like 2 hrs to move the first 800m up the climb and there had been moments I doubted I’d make it. That’s one of the downsides to walking alone. There was only one tough bash through thick and immovable scrub just before attaining the ridge, but being so close meant it didn’t matter how long it took. I knew I’d make it by then.
I popped onto a relatively open ridge just in time for the rain, and cursed my luck. I’d really wanted views from the top, but at this point I couldn’t even see the top, which was only about 300m away. I navigated by gps and when the helipad, another platform and two buildings popped into view I knew I was pretty much there. The summit cairn was insignificant, but someone had at least put a rock on a rock.
I sent messages as promised and discovered Wayne had already got the boat out. Perhaps that was why he was hard on my tail the day before. I hoped I’d be able to find someone to help me with my kayak when it came time to load and unload it, that being one of the requirements of using World Heritage Cruises. I didn’t have time to think further on the matter, as the wind and rain combination was cold and everything was getting wet.
I donned rain jacked, ate some snacks, drunk some water and started back along the ridge. Just before I came to my drop off point the cloud lifted and I got some of the views I was after. I wasn’t going to whinge how they could have come a few minutes earlier, I was just glad of them! I was surprised at how defined the D’Aguilar range looked (the Daggy range is what Tasmanian’s apparently call it because they don’t know how to pronounce it!). I took some photos, enjoyed them, and eventually followed my bash down. Boy was I glad for it. It made things a whole heap easier and I got back to my tent much faster than anticipated. It was hot and sunny now and I took off my shirt as I packed up my tent, to give my sweaty back and shirt a chance to dry. Apparently there are some benefits to finding yourself alone in the bush!
The return to the track and back along it was uneventful. It seemed to take ages, but I think that’s cos I was ready for a wash, fresh clothes and to be heading home. Also, I had a handful or two of chips left to polish off in the kayak, and I was a bit peckish! But I made it back shortly after 4 and set about all the indulgences I had planned for the afternoon. The wash totally came first!
I had plenty of time before dark, and felt like I should probably do some study, but was just a bit too tired. Instead I fell asleep listening to a podcast on paediatric fever.
I woke at dawn, the first thing I could hear was the funny, gentle kind of sound of dolphins breathing and occasionally splashing. So I got up, made coffee and watched them swim, assuming they were feeding. They had the whole river, so I’m not sure why they chose where I was to play, but I was stoked. I let the moment drag on. I had till midday to make my way the 7km down river to Heritage landing. The dolphins eventually worked their way downstream, and I packed my gear and set off, catching up with them at Heritage landing, before they zipped around the corner and out of sight.
I took my time unpacking my kayak and figuring out how to get it up the steep stairs to the walkway and then went for a wander round the loop. I really liked some of the I formative signs, which taught me a bit about what some of the plants had been used for by the indigenous people living on the west coast. I returned to the kayak and dug into my breakfast and a second round of coffee, why not?
As I sat on my kayak waiting for my lift I heard splashing in the river and initially thought the dolphins were back. But no, this time it was a seal coming to say hello. He or she rolled around while cleaning its face. It was as effortless and as graceful as the dolphins. A cormorant came to feed in the water under the wharf until I moved too noisily in an effort to get a better view, whereby it launched itself with difficulty into a low flight, wing tips clipping the surface. In some ways, it made everything look as hard as the seal and dolphins did easy. It swum mostly underwater, only its head sticking out, and it certainly didn’t fly with the effortless glide of an eagle. And yet it had its own elegance.
A catamaran from Gordon River Cruises showed up at 11:00, so silent with its electric motors. I wished I’d booked with them instead, but it turned out they couldn’t take kayaks. More people took photos of me. I had a good chat with the skipper while the couple of hundred passengers went for their 400m walk. He said he’d only seen the dolphins in the river twice in the last few years. Reckoned there were some wild salmon running at the moment, which explained some of the fishy looking splashes I’d seen over the last few days. He’d also seen the seal several times in recent days. In return I gave him some info on camp sites and times to spots further up river – he hadn’t been but had always wanted to go with his family. I hope he gets there at some point.
I waved the boat good bye, and settled back down to enjoy 40min (ended up closer to 60) of silence before my ride turned up. It passed quickly enough, and soon I was bracing myself with being the centre of attention for another few hundred tourists. The skipper helped me get my boat on board after the tourists had disembarked and I treated myself to an orange and almond cake for lunch. Unfortunately they didn’t have any real food – I had to pay for that when booking my ticket and hadn’t had the foresight. Mind you, if I had, it would have turned up on Wednesday’s boat, which was when I was actually booked in for! I was just going to have to wait till Strahan. I sat on the top deck, used my sunscreen for almost the first time this trip, and sat back. My work was done, it was time to enjoy going home!
All up:
Day 1: 22.63km kayak, 4 hrs
Day2: 7.20km kayak, 1.5 hrs AND 8.3 km walk, 7:51 hrs, 581m ascent
Day 3: 9.3 km walk, 11:12 hrs, 953m ascent
Day 4: 9.2 km walk, 8:47 hrs, 477m ascent
Day 5: 23.03km kayak, 3.5 hr AND 7 km walk, 3.5 hrs, 595m ascent
Day 6: 12.8 km walk, 9 hrs, 813m ascent
Day 7: 6.7km paddle, 1 hr
rockmonkeyadventures 
Great trip report, it makes a nice reading
But I would like to congratulate you on the photo starting the text. It is really a very good shot!
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awesome effort Becca to get to a couple of tough peaks, scrub sounded horrendous in parts but one step at a time and a few scratches to boot and you made it. Love the motto of ‘momento morai’, live and appreciate the present moment. Observing and relishing the antics of the platypus and dolphins sounded like a real treat.
Recently, Zoe, Jen and I were mesmerized by a platypus diving and searching for food near Adamsfield. We also admired a Wedge Tailed Eagle soaring in the air currents just above our heads near the summit of the Thumbs. Cheers
LikeLiked by 1 person
Awesome effort to solo these two. RE the pink tape, we climbed Princess Ra 14 years ago [ http://tinyurl.com/m5xscr32 for pretty basic photos recycled from old LWC show] leaving the Franklin near Galleon Bluff – and very similar botanical challenges to your route. We were followed by a NW/PhilD group approximately a year later who went up Franklin in sea kayaks like your route. They were known to tape their return routes with biodegradable tape although 10-12 years would seem a bit long for biodegradable. I still have Elliot to look forward to.
LikeLiked by 1 person
Elliot is much nicer! 😃
LikeLike
Nice trip report Becca. I was unaware of the man made features on top of the Elliot Range. Such a shame. I had been daydreaming about climbing it, but I don’t think it will be on my bucket list now. You were so lucky to see dolphins and a seal in the Gordon. The only creatures I have seen on my several trips through there are 2 platypus!
LikeLike
It is still a nice view! And stunning paddling…
LikeLike
A trip report to match this magnum opus! Well planned and executed and praise for doing the hard slog solo. Great photography that tells so much like the mayhem of fallen trees to climb through and the range of fungi you encountered. The opening shot is perfect. Thanks Becca
LikeLike