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