Fury Gorge- The Call of the Abyss- Part II

Fury Gorge, quite simply put, is a perfectly terrible place to visit. From the moment I heard the story of Hellyer's journey, I was intrigued, and became obsessed with the idea of descending into Fury Gorge. This was during the days when I was guiding on the Overland Track, and each time we’d stop at the Fury Gorge lookout near the base of Cradle Mountain and I’d gaze into the gaping abyss, my imagination would wonder; what would it be like to descend to the bottom of this ‘horrible ravine’?

Scrub! Victoria Peak. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, Nov 2022.

At its narrowest point, Fury Gorge is about two kilometres wide and three quarters of a kilometre deep. The Fury River has been hard at work for the last few million years. The walls of the gorge consist of broken cliffs and dense vegetation. Everything about the place says in no uncertain terms: stay out.  

Looking back towards Mt Farrell. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, Nov 2022.

My intention was to stay true to the spirit of the original expedition. I would travel self sufficiently on foot from Lake Mackintosh near Tullah, close to the point where Hellyer crossed the Mackintosh River, all the way to Cradle Mountain. I would head into country that was mostly unknown to me, with no maps, no electronics and no device that allowed me to call for help. I would use a compass as my only instrument for navigation, alongside Hellyer’s letter that he wrote to his superior, detailing their journey. I would go at precisely the same time of year as Hellyer and his party did, only 194 years later.

Hellyer was in a party of five and they travelled with dogs and muskets so they could hunt, but I would go on my own with ten days of food and my bushwalking kit. Initially I had two friends who said were keen but bailed on the trip in the lead up. Perhaps their sense of self preservation was stronger than my own.

Lake Mackintosh, Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, Nov 2022.

On the 13th of November, 2022, I drove up to Cradle. I had left my trip intentions with two friends and allowed two weeks for the trip. From Cradle, I hitched a ride to Tullah. I walked up and over Mt Farrell, then descended to Lake Mackintosh the next day. It was from here, not far from the place where Hellyer crossed the Mackintosh River that my journey began in earnest.

To be continued…

Fury Gorge- The Call of the Abyss-Part I

Some places we do not go because we want to go. Some places we go because we have to go.

Tributary valley to the Fury. Pentax MX, Ektar 100 November 2022.

I. The Mackintosh Expedition 1828

“...but this was no place to stand still in even for more than one moment’s consideration, for the storm now came in with more violence than ever and completely doubled us up, as we were standing half buried in the snow...Now we had no alternative, retreat into the gully or perish, and we made for the horrid ravine as our only refuge...” 19th November, 1828. Henry Hellyer.

Henry Hellyer was the surveyor given the arduous task of finding suitable grazing country in the north-west of Van Diemen's Land. In 1828, he led a party of five men and a pack of dogs on a desperate journey to explore the rugged country to the west of Cradle Mountain.

They struck out from Burghley on the 7th of November, with two weeks rations, muskets and high hopes, but soon found themselves in country that was too steep to traverse, vegetation that was thick and exhausting to get through, and the weather deteriorated as their trip went on. One day, as they were scrambling down a steep slope, 'Mr Fossey had a bad fall and broke his bottle of brandy'. Dire circumstances indeed.

Having crossed the rising Mackintosh River, Hellyer decided to venture deeper into the mountains toward higher ground and into unexplored territory in an attempt to return to the starting point of their journey. It was a gambit that nearly cost the men their lives.

A few days later, having gone across Granite Tor, they were on the exposed plateau of Pencil Pine Bluff, wading through waist deep snow, unsure which way to go. They were ill prepared to cope with the severe conditions. Their only hope became descending into the immense ravine of Fury Gorge. By seeking refuge in this tremendous gully, they were able to get out of the wind, find water and shelter for the night. The place they most feared to go was the place that saved their lives.

Break in the blizzard. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, November 2022.

To be continued…

The time has passed...

or it hasn’t come yet.

The Sentinels. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, September 2023.

Bonnie’s Bucket. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, September 2023.

The beach of Lake Pedder hides below. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, September 2023.

Bye bye Făgăraș

Post trip reflections from the Traverse of the Făgăraș.

Mushroom shelter and grave. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

Going on a quest where our life may be at stake, we are bound to return somewhat changed, which hopefully means we are better equipped and prepared to deal with the kind of challenges we experienced.

At the point where we feel like giving up, that’s the real tipping point in the process of our personal growth. If we surrender to comfort and safety, we will fail to attain the reward that we seek. Perseverance and determination are the adventurer’s greatest asset. Refusing to give up is how we inch toward our destination.

Patchy. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

The other thing I was reminded of is how crucial it is to travel with minimum equipment in the mountains. Especially in the high mountains, where the air is thinner and the slopes are steeper, every additional kilogram cripples us.

Mellowing out. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

The greatest realisation of this trip however, has been just how much I love to be in the mountains!

Above the clouds. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

The pulsating question in the background, which actually underpins our entire existence:

How to heal the Earth?

Afternoon light in the Făgăraș. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

When the going gets tough...

"When the going gets tough, the tough get going.”
- Bob Brown

Path and snow pole. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

Diary, Day 7: Traverse of the Făgăraș.

“Some days, I wake up in the mountains and I think to myself: what on Earth am I doing here? I’m wet, I’m cold, I’m hungry, my body aches, why am I here? What’s the point of all this suffering when I could be completely comfortable back home in town without all this misery?

And then I remember a personal rule of mine when I’m in the mountains.

Make no decisions before breakfast.

Although we may feel miserable when we wake up at first and our outlook may appear grim indeed, I try not to let that worry me. I put on the billy, boil up a brew, drink a cup of coffee and have something to eat.

As I go through these routine motions, I always find that the will to live, to fight, to struggle returns to me and I find reason to continue. Almost always, it comes down to curiosity. It is about wanting to know what is over the next hill. If I wish to get to know this place, I must persevere and continue on my journey…

Unlikely pathways. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

It’s been fascinating being in mountains where the forces of erosion are much more active than what I’m used to in Tasmania. The Făgăraș are steep and often loose, especially at this time of year while the snow is still melting. Almost daily I hear rockfall and the evidence for them are visible on the snow slopes, with loose bits of dirt, rock scattered everywhere. These mountains are exfoliating their skin constantly, which of course adds to the exhilarating thrill of the mountaineer. Even the smallest bit of skin cell, a rock the size of an apple has the potential to kill or maim…

Steep country. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

A good expedition is like this, a stripping back of sorts. As the trip goes on, we get leaner, hungrier, more ready for business. All things external that are not immediately relevant are discarded. Our clothes get filthy, our bodies start to smell, we get dirt beneath our fingernails.

But beneath all this roughening up, there is a sense of clarity that we gain, and this comes from striving towards the goal of our quest. How far we are willing to push ourself speaks of our determination and commitment.”

Poor visibility. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, June 2023.

-A.S.

Speaking the truth

“He is isolated among his contemporaries by truth and by his art, but with this consolation in his pursuits: that they will draw all men sooner or later. For all men live by truth, and stand in need of expression.”
-R.W. Emerson

Snow pole on high point. Pentax MX, Delta 100, June 2023.

Refugio, ice axe, mountains. Pentax MX, Delta 100, June 2023.

Snow slope and debris. Pentax MX, Delta 100, June 2023.

Mt Lespezi. Pentax MX, Delta 100, June 2023.

Kindness

“Be kind, whenever possible.

It is always possible.”

-Dalai Lama

Spot the chamois. (Rupicapra rupicapra carpatica). Pentax MX, Delta 100. June 2023

Frozen glacial tarn. Pentax MX, Delta 100. June 2023

Hikers traversing snow slope near Negoiu. Pentax MX, Delta 100. June 2023

Prominent Camp. Pentax MX, Delta 100. June 2023

Făgăraș Skyline. Pentax MX, Delta 100. June 2023

Brown Bears

Transylvania is one of the last strongholds of the brown bear in Europe.

Misty days in the Făgăraș. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Sliding down a snow slope, using the adze of the piolet as the break. I hear a noise. I stop and look up. About a hundred metres from me, high on top of an escarpment, 2300m above sea level, is a bear cub, running away. It stops, then looks at me. It has a big head, big ears.

’But where is mummy?’ I wonder.

Approaching the summit of Negoiu. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

It that moment, mamma bear pokes her head out from behind a big rock and looks straight at me. A fully grown brown bear. She probably weighs about 400kg.

Făgăraș skyline. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

A split second later, mamma bear and her cub both retreat.

Before I even have a chance of grabbing my camera, they disappear.

I don’t see them again.

That way. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Presence

Chapter IV: Traverse of the Făgăraș

Snow filled glacial tarn. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

And so our chronological photographic essay continues. We are only up to day three of the traverse, and near the start of the second roll film.

Back toward the ridge. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Mountains not only have presence, they demand presence.

Path of rockfalls on snow slope. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

The mountain was shedding its skin in the spring melt. The summit soared, calling the world to it.

Kicked steps on snow slope. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

The storm approaches, bringing electricity to the air. I stand on wet snow, holding a metal ice pick, approaching the summit ridge of the tallest, most prominent peak around. Mt Lespezi.

Down to the valley below. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Sliding down a snow slope, using the adze of the piolet as the break. I hear a noise. I stop and look up. About a hundred metres from me, high on top of an escarpment, 2300m above sea level, is a bear cub, running away, then stopping to look at me. It has a big head, big ears.

’But where is mummy?’ I wonder.

It that moment, mamma bear pokes her head out from behind a big rock and looks straight at me. A fully grown brown bear. She probably weighs about 400kg.

A split second later, mamma bear and her cub both retreat.

Before I even have a chance of grabbing my camera, they disappear.

I don’t see them again.

Rising mist. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Lightning strikes and thunder cracks the sky.

Connecting the dots

“For many hundred years, wild, remote places were often gathering spots for important meetings."
-Martin Shaw

Heading into the alpine zone. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Early spring in the Făgăraș. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Wild horses. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.

Plummeting valley. Pentax MX, Kodak Pro 100, June 2023.