Wayfinding

“You see, when I first came to this country, I was trying to, best I could, to acquaint myself with it, with the landscape, with the land.”

-Olegas Truchanas

Ice Detail, Olympus Em-1, August 2017.

“For us, as for animals, an ability to find our way in the wilderness is not so much development of intellect, as it is a sharpening of the senses, and the awakening of reactions to the terrain.”
-Olegas Truchanas

Iced Lettuce, Olympus Em-1, August 2017.

“Bushwacking is not thrashing about in a lot of thick country hoping for the best, nor is it taking a blind stab at an entirely unknown stretch of wilderness and expecting somehow to come out before dark. The master touch is to go places with as little interference as possible, without becoming tangled up in impossible going.”

-Olegas Truchanas

Frozen Lake, Native Pine, Olympus Em-1, August 2017.

“Tasmania is not the only place in the world where long-term, careful argument has been defeated by short-term economic advantage. When we look round, the time is rapidly approaching when natural environment, natural unspoiled vistas are sadly beginning to look like left-overs from a vanishing world. This vanishing world is beautiful beyond our dreams and contains in itself rewards and gratifications never found in artificial landscape, or man-made objects, so often regarded as exciting evidence of a new world in the making.

The natural world contains an unbelievable diversity, and offers a variety of choices, provided of course that we retain some of this world and that we live in the manner that permits us to go out, seek it, find it, and make these choices. We must try to retain as much as possible of what still remains of the unique, rare and beautiful. It is terribly important that we take interest in the future of our remaining wilderness, and in the future of our National parks. Is there any reason why, given this interest, and given enlightened leadership, the ideal beauty could not become an accepted goal of national policy?”

-Olegas Truchanas

Frozen Fagus Leaves, Olympus Em-1, August 2017.

Leaves of Grass

“Resist much, obey little.”

-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

Up the valley. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

“Not I, nor anyone else can travel that road for you.
You must travel it by yourself.
It is not far. It is within reach.
Perhaps you have been on it since you were born, and did not know.
Perhaps it is everywhere - on water and land.”

-Walt Whitman, Leaves of Grass

The mountain that shall not be named. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

“Keep your face always toward the sunshine - and shadows will fall behind you.”

-Walt Whitman

Subtle Rainbow. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

There and back again...

To go up, or turn around?

The gully was loose and it was steep, the rock walls of quartzite rose up on both sides of me. The only way onward led up onto a boulder, then to a steep ramp and a face of rock, with a large and solid tree near the top of it, growing out of the rock. Beyond the tree, I could see some kind of natural rock platform, which could have been the way to the summit, or the top of yet another cliff.

It was at that point I wished I had brought a rope.

The mountain called me to it. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

I had left my camp by the river at first light to climb the mountain that shall not be named. For years, this mountain has called me to it, and finally I was here, ready to meet it. I took my pack with me that morning, with my day-kit and left my brown tent set up on the brown buttongrass plain among the brown tea trees with all my sleeping gear in it. I figured it would be best to be back at camp by dark.

I took my torch, map, compass, first aid kit, warm layer, raincoat, camera, lunch, and water for the day in my canvas pack. I had my scrub gloves, packrafting boots and canvas gaiters on. The way to the top would lead through the forest. Then to the base of the cliffs.

Forest Detail, Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

 I arrived at the base of the southern ridge about two hours after I left camp. I had made good time. There was a large rock buttress about the size of a three storey building here. It was an obvious landmark, one I had spotted from camp. I finally knew exactly where I was. I was at the place where I could launch an attempt at the summit.

I figured one of the gullies would lead me to the top. There were cliffs in every direction looking up, with some obvious gullies. Except that the central gully I tried ended in cliffs. I retreated and then tried the gully to the left of centre. Which brought me to my dilemma of the rock face in front of me. The smooth slab with the tree above it. And the scary rock hollow to the left below it.

I was without a rope. To continue, or to turn around and look for another way?

One of the gullies. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

I chose to turn around, when I remembered it was my mum’s birthday in three days time. When I remembered that, I knew I had to descend.

I descended the steep and loose gully, managing to dislodge one rock only, but it was the size of a rock melon, and it kept tumbling. Eventually, it stopped.

I arrived back at the base of the southern ridge. Back at the big rock. I had to have another crack. Another attempt, even further out left. Which also ended in cliffs. Retreat and descend. Some loose climbing down a tree. Eventually back at the base of the big rock for the third time.

On my fourth attempt, I followed the gully to the right of the south ridge. Which had a stupendously dense tea tree thicket in it. I was worried for my eye balls, imagining it skewered on the end of a sharp tea tree branch. I battled my way up, as gracefully as I could. I was sweating and panting hard. I was rising above the forest, until eventually I arrived to a bit of a notch that had to be scrambled. I did, only to arrive to the base of a giant overhang and a chimney. For the third time, I knew I had to go back down.

I had one serious attempt left in me. So I tried the gully even further to the right. Which had a good feeling about it. For the fifth attempt, I figured I was onto something. This time, the gully would go. Surely!

At one point, I had to crawl through a hole beneath the cliff to keep going up. I did this, having to take my pack off and pull it through. I could smell the summit breeze. And as I kept going up, I eventually arrived to the same place I was at about 45 minutes before. The same bloody chimney and overhang I got to at the end of my last attempt!

There was simply no way up.

I retreated back to the base of the southern spur to the big rock. I had spent four hours trying five different gullies; and all of them ended in cliffs.

I had run out of time. The mountain was not going to let me pass.

The way not traveled. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

It was mostly with relief that I set my compass bearing and started down the slope, counting my paces. Those gullies were some of the least friendly places I have ever been. I was happy with my decision to turn around, but the possibility of the central left gully connecting to the top played on my mind.

Alas, there was no going back. Not on this trip. It was back into the forest and back down to the river. It was on my way down that I remembered I took no photos of the cliffs. It’s not that it was not pretty enough or anything. The view from those gullies was incredible, out above the forest and the mountains, all the way to the big dead lake and beyond into the great southwest. But I was so focused on finding a way to the top, I only took one photo during those four hours attempting to find the way to the summit, and that was in the thicket, inside one of the gullies. 

Foam eddy in river. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

Finding the way back meant hitting a saddle that wasn’t immediately obvious in the forest. With some luck, but mostly because of the compass and the map, I eventually arrived to this saddle. From here I had to attain a high point, then descend to the river, and aim to find my tent before dark.

I eventually arrived to the bottom of the mountain, to the tea tree and buttongrass plain by the river. The tea trees surrounded patches of open buttongrass in a great mosaic that stretched over half a kilometre. And among one of those little patches was my brown little tent.

It took some time. But I did find the brown tent in the brown buttongrass and brown tea tree plain. The river led me back to it. I walked into camp with two and a half hours of daylight left. I was back at the river, back where I had started.

That day I met the mountain and I managed to return safely.

-A.S. 20/7/2025, Brushy Creek.

Toward the Mountain

I was visited by Paddy Pallin in my dream. I was riding my bike and pulled up at this beach. Paddy came up to me and I instantly recognised him.
”I am so glad to meet you Paddy. I am here for the handover”, to which he replied:
’The handover has already happened.”
Then we went about fixing my bike together. He also wrote me a sentence in my notebook, a little pearl:

“No one can open any doors for you in this life. Only you can do that.”

A.S.- 2nd of May, 2025 on the way to the mountain that shall not be named.

Foam pool. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

The approach from the big dead lake, toward the base camp where I could launch an attempt at climbing the mountain, was reasonably straightforward. This was the reason I chose to paddle in, the reason I haven’t attempted this mountain until recently; it is only in the last year that I’ve had access to a packraft. The alternative walk in would have meant a lot more distance and a lot more elevation covered.

The open buttongrass plain led me to the river, which I followed on higher ground, crossing a number of gullies. Buttongrass and tea trees are the best of friends, and it is unusual to cross the gullies without finding tea trees that close above the head and grow close together. Slowly but surely the mountain on my right rose up higher as I got closer with each step. The mountain on my left also rose up as well; a potential adventure for another time. I only had a four day window, and I was keen to focus my energy on the mountain that drew me here.

The mountain that shall not be named.

Leaf litter in dead trunk. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

There appeared to be a large clearing on the other side of the river, at the base of the mountain. From here, a day trip could be attempted with a fair chance of making it back before dark. I dropped off my open lead, into the scrub and down to the river.

The river was low, it had been a dry autumn and summer. I was glad I had left my packraft by the lake’s shore; rafting the river was not an option at this level. And at higher level it would have been a bit messy anyhow with all the fallen logs. Best to walk; it may be slow and tedious at times, but it is the most reliable form of transport I have discovered to date.

I crossed the river on a log with a large foam eddy swirling on one side. The forest was tangled, but not too tangled. I followed the river upstream, and eventually saw the sky above the steep banks on the right. I figured the clearing must be near. I climbed up the little ridge and found my campsite for the next two nights. I set up my brown tent among the brown tea trees on the edge of a brown buttongrass plain. The river was to be my guard rail that would eventually lead me back to my tent.

It was day two, and it was too late in the day to attempt the summit, with only about three hours of daylight left. I opted for a cruisy afternoon, to be followed by an early start the next day. I wished I had brought my kindle so I could read my book. I contented myself with soaking up the bush around me, the twittering of the little birds, the swaying of the trees in the breeze, the cascading of the river below me.

The Mountain. The south ridge on image right. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

My eye however, was attracted to the mountain. I spent hours looking at it, as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon and the shadows lengthened, I studied the chaotic cliffs and the dense scrub, trying to discern whether there was a line that would go, and where that line was. There were a lot of cliffs, but they were also quite broken up. There was an obvious gully further around on the north of the mountain that would go, but I was keen to try the direct route via the south ridge. I knew it would be steep and it would be scrubby. I knew I would encounter cliffs.

I also realised that I had made my first error on the trip. I had left my rope with my raft. I would have to face the cliffs with my hands and feet alone.

Black mushrooms. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100.

-A.S. Brushy Creek, 12/7/25

A New Way

…to the mountain.

The mountain on the afternoon of day one. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

The mountain. It is a star, and it lies not above, not below, but between the two.

For many years this mountain has been on my mind. It has been calling me to it. Its precipitous slopes, dense forests and scrub, its marvelous skyline. The summit is ringed by cliffs on most sides. It is a long way up from the river. I pored over the maps; the contour lines were too close together and too chaotic to tell me anything useful.

Everything about the mountain appeared to be telling me not to approach it.

Except of course, that it stands out and it beckons. I knew I had to go.

The path to the mountain is through the forest… Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

I went ‘old school’, with map and compass. I had a four day window. It was early May and the weather forecast was fair. I left my trip intentions with a couple of people I trust, and the plb at home. I drove to the end of Clear Hill Road, parked Maggie the Magna, left my phone inside and locked the doors. I put the key in a safe place.

I was going solo this time.

Raindrops on tarn. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

I unrolled my packraft and loaded its tubes with the dry bags. I stashed my pack inside, closed the airtight zip and inflated it. I wore my dry suit, pfd and attached a line from me to the raft. I did not want it blowing away from me on the open water. It was a big, dead lake.

It was flooded over fifty years ago, when they built the dam across the Gordon River. The dead stags of massive eucalypts that died over half a century ago still hang eerily over the water. I paddled among the ghosts of those trees. There was no wind and all was quiet.

Dead stags in big dead lake. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

It was the first night of my trip and I was camped on the lake’s shore. Now that I could see the mountain, I finally asked it whether I may ascend it. The mountain at first gave me a sense of a bad premonition. After the initial wave of this passed, the mountain granted its permission.

I sensed that the outcome of an attempt to the top via the south ridge would likely be a safe return, but that a bit of trouble could be expected. There was a magenta sunset over the lake.

At that point, I only knew two things: the way to the top was gonna be steep and it was gonna be scrubby.

Hidden in the oily depths. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

-A.S. Brushy Creek, 5/7/2025.

The Quiet Adversary

“I do not set out to conquer Nature, to subdue it. I want to be part of it, to survive within it. I have no desire in me to overcome the river, there is nothing in me which expresses itself as a challenge.”
-Antonius Moscal

Dead Stags. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

“For me the attraction of wilderness is not escapism, but to satisfy my curiosity.”
-Antonius Moscal

The mountain awaits. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

“I see god in nature and as I’m part of nature, I’m part of god also.”
-Antonius Moscal, Franklin River Journey (1980).

Sunset on the Lake. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

“A river is conquered not when it’s paddled, but when it is damned.”
-Andy Szollosi

Magenta Sunset. Pentax MX, Kodak Image Pro 100, May 2025.

Living the dream

Scene at the bottle-O:

Me: How’s things?
Bottle-O guy : I’m living the dream.
Me: You’re living the dream?
Bottle-O guy: There are probably a billion people whose dream is to live my life. I am not one of them.
Me:…

Barn Bluff, April 2025, Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super.

“Even in the most dreary situation you keep your eyes on where you want to be.”

-Rockwell Kent

Flying. April 2025, Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super. Photo by Amy Hamilton.

“If you think you know what your life has in store for you, you are probably wrong.”
-Andy Szollosi.

Sitting, smiling. April 2025, Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super.

“And the goal in life is to be in harmony with yourself and find your route. We’re not here to force other people to follow our route. I found my route, you found your route and everybody finds his or her own route. Then you can become yourself, not somebody else. So in parkour, really the main thing is to concentrate, to figure out what you want to do in life, where you want to go in life, to give yourself all the tools to get there, to not listen to people, unless it’s when people have positive comments and are commenting to help you move ahead. Don’t listen to the rest. And you advance.”
-David Belle, founder of parkour.

Mountain and Tarn, April 2025, Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super.

Fagus

Also known as deciduous beech, tanglefoot or nothofagus gunnii. It is a deciduous tree that grows in lutruwita’s highlands. Its leaves have beautiful colours when they turn in autumn.

Fagus, Central Highlands, Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, Apr 2025.

What is also remarkable about these leaves are the geometric grooves that are embedded in them. They are kind of similar to crinkle cut chips, although that description doesn’t really do them justice. The fagus leaves have a central line along their length, and all groves radiate out from this central line. The leaves are no bigger than a person’s thumbnail.

Clearing mist with scattered tanglefoot, Central Highlands, Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, Apr 2025.

The fagus has adapted to Tasmania’s highlands, to extreme cold. I think of them as the best friend of the ancient Pencil Pines. I have often seen fagus position itself around those old pines, almost as if to form a protective barrier around them.

Nothofagus gunnii. Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, Apr 2025.

Late April is usually a good time to see the turning of the fagus, as the tiny leaves turn to orange, red, then to rust, brown and eventually fall off the tree and collect on the ground, where they are often frozen and covered by snow.

I was lucky enough to see some of it turning this year.But I felt a bit unlucky when I discovered I had black and white film loaded into my camera at the time.

-A.S. 13/6/25, Brushy Creek, nipaluna / Hobart, lutruwita / Tasmania.

Up in the paddocks

“Why do we seek the wilderness? - one day I will answer.”

Eucalypt Forest near Mersey River. Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 super, March 2025.

Never mind, the never-never,
trickles down cliffs
Onto wide open plains.

Bluff above river. Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, March 2025.

The wombat waddled,
Our guests ate scones and waffled,
Birds amused, whistled.

The Nipple. Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, March 2025.

All quotes in this post are from one of my journals, written in 2017.

-A.S. 5/6/2025, Brushy Creek.

Suffering in Paradise

"You think your pain and your heartbreak are unprecedented in the history of the world, but then you read." - James Baldwin

Deep cut in cliff. Pentax MX, Ilford XP2, April 2025.

I think suffering is good for the soul. It creates depth, feeling, understanding, and of course, pain. And when the pain stops, the world appears quite vibrant, alive, wonderful. That is the best thing about suffering. The bit when it ends.

Afternoon light in river valley. Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, April 2025.

Wild places often extract a toll from the visitor. Often it will be in the form of obstacles presented to us, and often in the shape of obstacles we didn’t expect. Despite our best preparation, the place may make us suffer. The place may make us pay for our mistakes. If we leave our boots out in the cold, they will freeze. And if we are out in the wild, even if they freeze, we will still have to wear them.

Wild places are inspiring, rugged and beautiful. They are also unforgiving and impartial to our existence and suffering.

If we are arrogant, dominating, and underestimate the challenges the place may present to us, we are more likely to suffer than if we go in prepared, and with humility. We must show the place respect. For me, this means taking the place on its own terms.

To take the place on its own terms means not to seek its transformation in order for our visitation to take place. It is also acknowledging that visitation may have certain impacts, which may degrade the landscape. So there is eternal tension there, and the challenge is finding the middle road.

How much modification of the original environment is appropriate in order to facilitate visitation?

If we wish to transform a place, to suit our needs, we have begun an interaction with it. The nature of the interaction is a reflection on us as people. What kind of effect will my interaction evoke in the landscape?

Edge of Plateau, panorama.Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, April 2025.

Sometimes I ask myself, am I a visitor here, or a custodian?

One may venture that a custodian spends a lot of time in a place in order to understand it, to learn its ways and its needs. A visitor is someone who comes once and may never come again. A custodian is someone who returns time and time again, and notices the changes that have taken place.

But the beauty of visitation is that all custodians were visitors once. At some point, people ventured somewhere new and a foreign environment and slowly, they formed a connection with it, and eventually the place started to feel like their home.

One of Tasmania’s most visited mountains. Pentax MX, Ilford XP2 Super, April 2025.

…they paved paradise, put up a parking lot’.

- Big Yellow Taxi, Joni Mitchell,

A.S.- Brushy Creek, 31/5/24