Week #2: Sat Phones and Tracks

Not that long since my last post, I’ve been trying out the new GPS, admiring the new sat phone (still waiting on the arrival of the charger, ordered separately, to test this out) and walking the hills around Hobart to finish wearing my boots in. Thus far the GPS has performed admirably (I’m still astounded by how much these have improved this past decade), the sat phone is sitting around tempting me to give up on the unreliable “smart” phone I’m accustomed to (since phones have had the reverse technological progression compared with the GPS, and the decade-old models have better batteries, reception and reliability) and the boots still refuse to give me any blisters.

I’m really impressed with the boots, a pair of Scarpa’s creations. They’ve got old-school solid leather tops, Vibram soles and a goretex lining, came in at $250 and are honestly the most comfortable boots I’ve ever worn. I keep expecting to find something wrong with them, but they’re determinedly reliable! I’m almost getting worried now; I’ve never had a pair of walking boots come close to meeting expectations before, and these have far exceeded them.

Planning still continues, and the route as it stands is as follows…

Farmhouse to Precipitous Bluff (20-23 days)

• Eastern Arthurs (5-6 days) to the start of the Western Arthurs via Lucifer Ridge
• Western Arthurs (6-7 days) to Junction Creek (optional supply drop here walked in from Scots Peak dam)
• Old Port Davey Track (3-4 days) to Melaleuca (food and fuel drop at Melaleuca)
• South Coast Track (4 days) to the Prion boat crossing
• Wade up the shore of New River Lagoon (1 day) to the Precipitous Bluff cavern camp
• Ascend PB (1 day) and stop at the Plateau Camp

From here, there are three options:

1. Vanishing Falls, total 25-29 days

• Vanishing Falls to Lake Sydney (4-5 days off-track)
• Lake Sydney to Farmhouse Creek (1 day on rough track)

2 Hartz, total 26-32 days

• South Ranges (2-3 days) to Moores Bridge
• Moores Gardens (2-3 days off track) to Mesa (allowing for heavy scrub around Gleichenia Creek)
• Mesa to the Hartz Carparks (2-3 days with minimal track)

South Range, total 23-27 days

• South Ranges(3-4 days) to Lune River

There’s a certain romance to finishing the walk exactly where it started by taking the route past Vanishing Falls, but 4 days of scrub bashing to cross a few kilometres of valley doesn’t appeal as much as you might think. Hartz almost closes the loop and promises some good views along the way, but there are a few kilometres of unknown along the way, which probably amounts to scrub-bashing (this is Tasmania after all). I have no intention of heading out to Lune River unless something has slowed the trip down to the point where a quick and easier route out is needed.

Another option, too ridiculous to really consider and all the more tempting for it, is to drop some lightweight 1 person rafts in at Melaleuca, take option 2 through to Moores Gardens and drop into the Upper Picton to raft out to Farmhouse Creek. Much as I’d love to close the loop with a quick rafting trip, I’d be depending on predicting the rainfall a month in advance. By then it would be mid December and, that far up the Picton, an empty river would be entirely possible. Hauling gear down a muddy, leach-ridden ditch is only fun further northwest…

Weekend #2: Injuries, sticks and remote communication

Well another weekend has been and gone. What did I achieve? Not exactly what I planned to do, but it was still useful.

Following word of snow falling up on Ben Lomond, my previous weekend plans were cancelled. This is pretty normal for winter, when I include a powder clause in everything. Ever heard of a powder clause? It was explained to me by a builder in Wanaka. It was my second ski trip to New Zealand and I was riding up the chairlift over a fresh dump of southern hemisphere powder (not the same as northern hemisphere powder, but equally exciting). As often happens on chairlifts, we got to talking about where we’re from and what we do with our lives. He explained that he could go skiing that weekday rather than going to work because he has a powder clause. This clause is part of his employment contract, stating that he doesn’t have to turn up to work on days when more than a certain depth of snow had fallen on Treblecone overnight.

My powder clause is that whenever fresh snow has fallen and Ben Lomond is running, social engagements for the weekend are cancelled.

I brought two others up to the mountain with me on Friday night, both friends with an interest in skiing. One had skied years ago and the other had always wanted to try. Alas, halfway through the first day, the new introduction to the world of skiing was injured in a vicious fight with one of Tasmania’s native yetis. Here, yetis disguise themselves as rocks and pop out of the snow to lash out at passing skiers without warning.

The injury wasn’t catastrophic, but meant an end to her day’s skiing. Ski Patrol moved in and I saw first hand how they immobilised her leg, kept her warm and dealt with the symptoms of shock from an impact injury in cold conditions. Educational, but I doubt I’ll have any of their equipment on hand come summer. A few bits and pieces that are relevant hopefully won’t be of any help, for the injuries they deal with aren’t the sort you can shrug off and keep walking.

But this sounds like the sort of experience I had last weekend, experience for how to deal with everything going wrong… I needed to do some physical training as well.

Summiting the second highest peak in Tasmania in the middle of winter only sounds impressive if you haven’t been there. Even taking the (extremely) scenic route, it was barely over an hour’s casual snowshoeing to reach the peak of Legges Tor and descend the slopes back to the warmth of the ski lodge.

Some relatively easy skiing and a quick snowshoe made for more exercise than a day at the office, but that wasn’t enough.

Then opportunity presented itself in the form of a contest held in the lodge overnight: A stick, two bottles and a challenge. I’m not overly competitive, unless someone gives me a challenge. I was issued a challenge, or at least a previous lodge record was challenged.

The contest is simple: A long stick is balanced on the tops of two beer bottles, and the competitor has to jump from one side to the other as many times as they can without falling over or knocking the stick off. Sounds simple? Probably because it is. Anyone can hammer out thirty jumps without breaking a sweat. More and you start to feel it. It’s like compressing an hour’s cardio into a couple of minutes. Come morning (actually, come a few mornings later), you’re calves are left burning from the effort. I enjoy it though, for the focus that’s required, for the sheer physical challenge and for the grace. Something people usually do when they start out is to land too hard, jarring their joints and tyring them out. To get past a hundred requires lighter landings, and absorbing those landings gradually using your muscles as shock absorbers. It’s why your claves get such a good workout and forces you to practice not wearing your joints out.

Two hundred and thirty jumps certainly left their mark on my muscles, and yet my joints don’t ache at all. It was an excellent reminder of an exercise I should use more over the coming months, for the equipment it requires is scarcely hard to come by and it really is a good way to push your legs…

Since last week, planning has continued. I’ve taken delivery of a new Garmin etrex 20 and have a sat phone on the way. I was going to hire one, until a price comparison showed that buying a secondhand sat phone and getting a one month contract is significantly cheaper than hiring one for a month… As with the decision to buy a GPS rather than a stack of new maps, the length of the walk makes it worthwhile. This way, I also have a sat phone for any future walks.

Will I really need to use a sat phone much? Probably not, but it's like carrying an EPIRB; if I need it, nothing else will do the job. Status updates for any others planning to join the walk partway wouldn't hurt either.

Week #1: Navigation dilemmas

Well it’s around a week since the possibility of doing the walk this summer occurred to me. What have I achieved so far?

Apart from last weekend’s SAREX, there’s been little physical preparation undertaken this week. I already ride or walk everywhere, so  I can’t say that I’ve been doing much beyond what I did anyway. I did spend yesterday's lunch break running up and down a flight of stairs, drawing many a strange look from passing pedestrians and those in neighbouring offices. No doubt those looks will get stranger if I resort to climbing façades or the Salamanca trees instead, but I actually quite like getting strange looks. After all, the only way to avoid them would be to act normal... Yeah, like that's going to happen!

But there’s more to this trip than just the physical side. In reality, it’s not much more physically demanding than any other multiple day hike. The tracks are difficult and I’ll be carrying more gear, but the real challenge for now lies with the other preparation. Food is usually my main organisation concern, but that’s a concern for another couple of months away. Right now I’m more worried about other gear. Some of mine won’t be up to the task.

So what needs to be different? Well firstly, reliability is a major concern. If boots start to fail on day two of a four day walk, they’ll at least survive until the end. If they fail on day two of a four week walk, that’s a serious problem. Stoves, too, tend to suffer from reliability issues. A quick bit of campsite maintenance fixes most of them but I have to plan for all of them.

This week, I’ve been thinking about what I need for navigation. On paper, the walk stretches across 17 different 1:25,000 series Tasmaps. Now a few areas can be comfortably done with less detailed maps, bringing that number down somewhat. Not all of them though. The last section of the walk will be taking one of two routes with no defined trails. Navigation then will be critical. While I’ve resisted the general trend toward them the last few years, I think it’s time to look seriously at digital navigation aids.

The handheld GPS has come a long way since its origins, and still quite a way since the hiking model I played around with a few years back, which gave me an average walking speed of 70kmph. Not bad at all, though I don’t remember making all those 20 second long 40km detours that it showed on the track log. A basic GPS with just a lat/long readout is pretty cheap, but doesn’t work well under tree cover or in poor weather. If I’m not in the trees and I’ve got good visibility, I can just use a compass and the nearest mountain. Next problem: the maps of the area use two different coordinate systems, varying by around 200m. Your basic GPS can’t give you the readout in different coordinates, so best mark the new grids on the maps.

Or, do I just get a GPS with a powerful receiver and a full set of 1:25k Tasmanian maps preloaded? Compared with the cost of 17 laminated maps, that’s actually pretty appealing…  I’d still want a printed map as well for some of the more critical areas, in case of electronics failure. Say the cost of 14 laminated maps then. That's still most of the price of a decent map-capable GPS these days. Considering a Garmin eTrex 20 at the moment, mostly because of battery life and included 1:25k vector maps of Tas.

Really though, without going on about, "when I was your age, a portable GPS weighed 5kg and cost a year's wage," I still have to say that I find it impressive how far the technology has come and the prices they've fallen to. A GPS that fits in the palm of my hand, is accurate to within ten metres or so and has enough battery life to log your route for an entire day can be found for the price of an average restaurant steak...

Of course, using a GPS brings up another problem, or more of the same problem I was already facing. I need a power-supply on track. Cameras, torches, GPSs and mobile phones (large expanses of the Tasmanian wilderness now have phone reception from the peaks, and the advice to walkers is that a phone is as important as an EPIRB in an emergency) all use power. Short trips are easy; a few batteries and you’re sorted. For this trip though, I can’t afford the weight of that many batteries. Easily sorted, because I’m guaranteed at least the occasional patch of sunlight. Some walker-friendly companies have taken to making light-weight flexible solar panels designed to attach to the top of your pack. They charge AAs plus anything running on USB. Everything is charged by USB now, so that has me covered.

I've got some new Scarpas and they're breaking in comfortably without a single blister to show for it, which must be a record for me! Still looking at stoves but I've a few ideas there...

For now at least, I think I’ve worked out solutions to most of the immediate gear issues.

So what else needs doing? I still have to find myself a crew of keen walkers. I’ve repeatedly had people pointing out that once I set dates for each section of walk, I’ll end up with others tagging on for a few days at a time. But there needs to be a small core team that’ll do the whole walk. The process (it sounds so much more organised and careful when I call it that!) has been started and we’ll see how it goes. Again, that’s covered for now.

That leaves me with my other task for the week, deciding on the route of the walk itself. Many thanks to John Chapman here, with his guide books for Tasmanian walks. If you’re thinking of doing a walk anywhere in Tas and you haven’t read his notes, do so. He lists every campsite, how sheltered they are, the availability of water and how long it takes to get between them. He also mentions the off-track walks, and unmarked side trips. It’s thanks to him that I know about one of the off-track ways that I might use for the last leg of the loop. Unfortunately, the other way I'm considering doesn’t appear in his books, and I’ve only found accounts of the conditions at either end of it. A valley crossing the middle remains an unknown, and Google’s satellite photo doesn’t tell me much. Different maps show it as everything from open grassland to thick scrub.

Do I take the route that I know to be immensely difficult but definitely possible, or take the unknown path and risk spending a few backtracking? I do like the idea of a bit of unknown to finish the trip. There aren’t any supply drop points for a week preceding that track, so I can’t afford too much backtracking.

All in all, planning continues quite nicely and I’m looking forward to another weekend of physical preparation. I just have to decide what it'll... Oh look, it’s been snowing!

I think I know what the next round of physical preparation shall entail!

Weekend #1: Snow, climbing, off-track and what to do when it all goes wrong

In reality, most of my preparation must be undertaken on weekends. So following every weekend is a compulsory progress report, with any others in between as events warrant their appearance.


24 hours after planning began, I was in a police boat trying to hold my pack down as we sped along the water, bouncing in the wake of their FRV. With me were two Tasmanian Police and a member of the Uni bushwalking club, preparing to be dropped off in the wilderness with my sister and a caver.

We were dropped on the shore of Lake St Clair, where we checked our packs and set off. Of the fourteen Search And Rescue teams in the area, our objective seemed like one of the simplest. We had to follow a track over Mt Olympus, making two-hourly scheduled check-ins with exercise base to test the coverage of two different SES radio systems and standard mobile phones. We would rendezvous with another team's camp at Lake Petrarch, and walk out to Cynthia bay by 2pm the next day.

Quarter of an hour on good track brought us to the track turnoff, though we'd never have known that's what it was if Hannah hadn't done the walk before. It was a couple of scuff marks, nothing more.

We set off uphill through rainforest, still bereft of any kind of track. Ever walked in rainforest without a track? It looks open and easy, but half the ground slips out from underfoot and any branch used as a handhold is likely nothing more than pulp held together with moss. Add in a 45° incline and it was pretty hard going. Half and hour in, we hit a cliff straight across the hillside. Just six metres of vertical rock covered in dripping moss. Here we found the first signs of a track, an length of pink tape wrapped around a branch at the clifftop, above a route that afforded a few sturdy protruding roots as convenient handholds.



Hannah and I were on this team because of snow experience. Yes, we had both done a bit of climbing, but that hadn't been mentioned in our brief... This ascent was easy, but it wasn't to be the last.


The track vanished immediately beyond the pink tape and we set off blind again. Similar cliffs reared up several times, some with tape-marked easy ascents and some without. By the time we reached the flats up top, the afternoon was half-gone. Snow, bog, thick scrub and no sign of a trail had it past 4pm when we hit Lake Oenone. We had a choice: camp there in the snow and leave at 6am to try and get out in the morning, or press on over the saddle to the Cuvier Valley Track and our planned rendezvous. Our map showed a track down from the saddle into the valley...

Stay or go?

We had just over two hours of good daylight left, and some twilight to follow before torches would be needed. If we could make it to the valley floor by then, we'd be able to find the other campsite without too much difficulty.


That was the theory anyway, which might have worked if it hadn't taken an hour and a half to bash our way through thick scrub, scramble over snow-covered boulder fields and traverse near-vertical slopes by hanging onto the vegetation. We had an hour at most to find a campsite, and the saddle was bereft of a flat space large enough for a stove, let alone tents to hold six people. The other side was a vast boulder-field ending in dense scrub, similarly bereft of campsites, cairns or any signs of a track. There was no choice though, so we set off.


Half an hour later, we struck gold: a tiny pocket in the boulder-field, filled with snow enough to create space for our tents. By then we were soaked through, our outer layers frozen and our feet gone numb. We pitched our tents, ate our meals, donned every bit of dry clothing we had and bedded down for the night.


Dawn happened somewhere, though the mountain and snow-clouds in the way made this seem unlikely at the time. I can safely say that it was the coldest night I'd ever spent in a tent, and our tent nearly collapsed beneath the weight of fresh snow piled onto it. We couldn't see more than five metres when we packed and set off, and it was from the layout of tents that we knew which was was downhill.

Visibility cleared quickly though, and we left the boulders, found ways to bypass the scrub, passed through a band of sparse eucalypts, pushed through a band of some unidentified snow-covered trees which bent easily out of the way and finally hit a wall of tea-tree. It extended down the lower half of the mountainside and was broken only by enormous fallen eucalypt logs, too tall or slick with sleet for us to cross. The day wore on as we wore down, and finally brought us to the flat valley floor. We had four hours to walk the 9 km out to the exercise base when we stumbled on the track.


It was a slight depression in the ground, either an animal pad or a creek, but we followed it because it was going the right way. A flapping piece of yellow tape gave us courage and we set a blistering (quite literally, given how wet our boots were) pace. Every few minutes we would come across another piece of tape, which was fortunate because otherwise we'd have had no idea that we were still on the track. The pad we first stumbled on was the most distinct patch of track we uncovered. When we discovered a marker, it was generally by chance, buried amid tea-tree with no path (obvious or otherwise) leading on from it.


Our pace slowed to a crawl, trying not to lose our way or each other in the dense vegetation, sinking into knee and waste-deep pools that opened deceptively beneath screens of low grass in every clearing. We weren't going to make it in the few hours we had left before debrief. We wouldn't even make it before nightfall. A general despair started to set it.


Then, in one clearing, a ray of hope made it through to us from a relay tower. We had spent the last half-day in a communications blackspot, with no way of calling out, but now a window opened for long enough to let a text message through. Debrief had been brought forward by two hours due to inclement weather. Could we make it back by then? If not, extraction was on offer. All we had to do was find open ground...


Never had we been more energised, taking off for a stretch of buttongrass we had glimpsed  rising on the horizon beyond the next river crossing.

Good communication now possible, we sent out a GPS grid-reference and settled in to wait. A few minutes later, a speck on the horizon resolved into the exercise's helicopter. A brief flight over the kilometres of untracked swamp, pickup in a police cruiser and we were back at exercise base just in time for debrief.

We were soaked to the skin, cold and elated. Chopper rides will do that for you.

We piled back onto the coaster bus to head back to Hobart, thoroughly exhausted but celebrating a weekend well-spent.

As weekends of preparation go, the first one wasn't too bad...

Mission WTL: Walking the Loop…

Years ago, I saw a map of Southwest Tasmania lying on the dining room table and a few things caught my eye. Several walks appeared to connect and almost formed a loop in the wilderness. Could one walk a complete circuit? A few conversations and the perusal of some walking guides suggested this to be a distinct possibility.

Initial estimates put it well over a month and a half, requiring  a minimum of three supply drops and some seriously light-weight gear. A revised version cut down the time by a week but required the inclusion of one-man lightweight rafts and depended on predicting rainfall a full month in advance. A few more revisions and a new plan, not quite completing the loop but getting very close and avoiding such terrain as 7km of dense scrub taking 14 days, brought this down to four weeks, two supply drops and some moderately light-weight gear. We were now leaving the realms of fantasy for those of possibility.

By the time I finally had a workable plan formulated, I was also leaving the free summers of University behind. Compulsory work experience and an inconveniently timed attack of the neurosurgeons used up those last two summers before fulltime work made a four-week walk infeasible. Alas, another dream was assigned the code of “someday” which scheduled it somewhere in the timeline of never.

Fast-forward a few years to life’s circumstances opening the latter half of a November and all of the following December up as potential free-time.

Within half an hour of the possibility of free time arising, I had unearthed my old maps, dug out the track notes and set about planning. Yes, the challenge of spare time now had a solution, but there were still a few hurdles to be overcome:

• The crew of interested walkers I first gathered had since gained fulltime commitments of their own. I had to find new recruits able to drop off the grid for a month. Requirements: free time; walking experience; insane enough to agree; and most of all, a group that gets along well enough that we wouldn’t be at each others’ throats by month’s end.
• My own preparedness. Two years polishing an office chair with my rear-end 8:30-5pm meant I was not physically ready for four weeks carrying a heavy pack through rugged terrain. Worse still, I was out of practice in living out of a pack, navigating and planning trips.

While I started scoping out potential recruits, I also had to start preparing myself.

Why am I writing this instead of getting out and preparing? Motivation. Every time I have to write a post saying that I’ve done no further preparation, I want as many people as possible to take note and guilt me into doing more. Besides, if it works I want to have a written record.