Fury Gorge, The Call of the Abyss, Part VIII: The Fury River

It was five months later, in April 2023 when I was able to undertake a second attempt to visit the Fury River.

The route across Fury Gorge, similar to the line Hellyer and his men took in 1828. Spot the open buttongrass patch? Hasselblad 500CM, Portra 800, April 2023.

This time, I started from Cradle and allowed four days. The philosophy was the same; solo, no maps, no comms, just a compass, but this time, being late autumn, I opted to take a head torch due to the shorter days. I also took a different shelter this time, a Paddy made 'Golden Tan' canvas tent that was made about sixty years ago and originally belonged to Ian Boss-Walker, who wrote one of the first guides to the 'Reserve', titled 'Peaks and High Places'. This tent was probably not that different from the kind of tent Hellyer and his men would have used all those years ago.

The old paddy made tent. Hasselblad 500CM, Portra 800, April 2023.

It was a long day to reach Pencil Pine Bluff from the trailhead and I walked the last hour in the dark. The next morning I was standing on the edge of the precipice, looking into the abyss. The Fury River was down there, at the bottom, waiting for me. The scale of the landscape made me feel so small. In some ways, the most difficult part was to make the decision to descend. Some places we do not go because we want to go. Some places we go because we have to go.

Morning mist rising from Pencil Pine Bluff. Hasselblad 500CM, Portra 800, April 2023.

I opted for a direct spur heading straight for the only open buttongrass patch in the gorge I could see. As I descended, I traveled through time, from the deep past to the present. The top of the gorge contains rock that the river cut through millions of years ago. The bottom is freshly cut and still being shaped by the flow of the river.

About a third of the way down I entered a dry eucalypt tea-tree forest and was forced to skirt around quite a few cliff bands. The descent took about three hours in total. I lost 750m of elevation. About a hundred metres from the river, the vegetation turned to tangled rainforest. And then, there it was; the Fury River! I waded across without incident; the water came to just below my knees. I set up camp in a small buttongrass patch, with the walls of the gorge towering over me. I drank from the Fury River.

I felt like I was a very long way away from home.

The Fury River. Hasselblad 500CM, Portra 800, April 2023.

Fury Gorge-The Call of the Abyss: Part VII: The Snowstorm

“It now became a serious question whether we should extricate ourselves at all and we determined to start very early tomorrow and have a long day before us.” -Henry Hellyer, 20th November, 1828.

Due to the blizzard, I had made the decision to leg it out of Pencil Pine Bluff on the 21st of November 2022; to abandon the idea of descending into Fury Gorge and to exit along the most efficient route possible. Better to abandon the objective of my trip and to make it out than stick with the objective and not make it out at all.

Barn Bluff during one of the short breaks in the weather. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

From Pencil Pine bluff, I headed South; summited Mt Inglis without trouble, but started descending on the wrong spur, back towards Granite Tor. I caught my mistake in time and backtracked to the summit. After Inglis, following the Fury-Divide proved tedious with some bands of snow laden scrub that soaked me to the skin.

After a solid five hour march, I had made it to the base of the cliffs high up on Barn Bluff. I was wading through knee deep snowdrifts on the scree slope, the wind howling past me in a roar, knocking me off my feet in places. I had to move as fast as I could to stay warm, despite wearing my full blizzard kit. It was tricky keeping balanced on the snow covered boulders, but I couldn't slow down. I had to keep moving as fast as I could. I felt the mountain challenge my right of passage that day. It was a test I passed, but only barely.

I eventually picked up the SE ridge and started descending. I left the promise of a snowy death behind me with the cliffs of Barn Bluff as they disappeared in the mist. I got to Waterfall Valley in a bit of a state, entered the public hut, found it empty and positively warm. I checked the temperature gauge and saw it read seven degrees Celsius. It was strange to transition from a state of great peril to perfect safety in such a short time.

It snowed steadily all through that night. A number of saturated walkers arrived around 6pm, who had walked in from Ronnie Creek. I thought I would have a reasonably easy day to walk out.

Benson’s Peak from the OT. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

The next day brought the most tempestuous conditions I have ever seen on the Cradle Plateau. Even on the well formed Overland Track, I was struggling to cover ground among waist deep snow drifts, a howling westerly and a saturating drizzle that soaked me to the skin within half an hour. I met three hikers at Kitchen Hut who had spent the night there and were likely to spend another night before walking out because they were too scared to leave. Later that day there was a helivac from near Windermere further down the OT, where two wilderness guides saved the life of a public walker who had succumbed to hypothermia.

I shuddered to think what would have happened to me had I descended to the Fury River the previous day. Attempting to climb out of the gorge, only to end up having to traverse the exposed Little Plateau in the deep, wet snow would have been nothing short of suicidal. I was content with my decision to abandon the objective of my trip, for the primary objective always trumps all others, and that is to return alive.

On the tenth day of my trip, on the 22nd of November, I reached Cradle Valley around lunch time. I drove back to Hobart via Burnie, as the wind had brought down a telegraph pole across the road at Wilmot. I had made it out in the nick of time. But the call of the abyss had not been subdued.

I knew I would have to do another trip, to visit the Fury River.

Honeymoon Island. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

To be continued…

Fury Gorge- The Call of the Abyss, Part VI: The Decision

“The snow now fell so thick all round, that we could see nothing whatever, and were completely puzzled which way to go, or what to do as we had arrived at the edge of a tremendous gully many miles in width.”

-Henry Hellyer, 18th November, 1828.

I woke to find that my tent had failed to keep the water out; my sleeping quilt and mat were both rather wet. There was about five inches of snow outside with the promise of more. Visibility was down to a hundred metres. I was on an exposed alpine plateau with no tracks and no maps. I had two days of food left. My resolution to descend to the Fury was ebbing away as the seriousness of the situation dawned on me.

The head of Fury Gorge. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

It was that day that I finally understood why Hellyer and his men descended into Fury Gorge. They had no alternative. When he wrote, ‘descend into the gully or perish’, he meant every single word. They had no waterproof gear, no knowledge of the country they were in, they were at the end of an arduous journey, and they were probably severely hypothermic. Hellyer didn’t make the decision to descend into the gorge. That decision was forced upon him.

As I packed up my tent in the building blizzard, I realised that it was time to get out of there, along the most direct route available to me, or I might not make it out at all. And the most direct route out was to avoid the gorge and to stay high up on the exposed ridgetops, over Mt Inglis, then across the Fury Divide to Barn Bluff before dropping down to Waterfall Valley and the relative safety of the Overland Track.

Despite the call of the abyss, Fury Gorge would have to wait for another day.

Pencil pines in the blizzard. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

Thinking back to that morning, I still have some level of regret at the decision that I made. A part of me wishes that I was determined enough to descend into Fury Gorge; despite the blizzard, despite the insufficiency of my shelter, despite my dwindling rations, despite the fact that I’d be committing to a more difficult exit route, despite knowing that I’d likely be overdue and cause the people who love me great anxiety. A small part of me wishes that I had stuck with my plan and descended down to the Fury in the blizzard, just like Hellyer and his men did.

In the end, it was my knowledge of the country that allowed me to make a decision that Hellyer simply couldn’t.

I just wished I had a bottle of brandy. Or at least that I had a pack of dogs.

Pencil pine stand, Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

To be continued…

Fury Gorge- The Call of the Abyss: Part V

Pencil Pine Bluff. Hasselblad 500C/M, Ektar 100, April 2023.

I walked out towards the great drop off at the edge of Pencil Pine Bluff just as an eerie mist came in. I had made it to the great precipice. I stood looking into Fury Gorge. At first I was unable to see much further than a hundred metres down. Then, the mist parted and what I saw left me feeling numb. The rocky escarpment that marks the edge of the plateau drops down in a series of quartzite ridges, chaotic and sharp. The depth and sheer nature of the gorge stunned me. It was so much bigger and steeper than I had imagined. I had a deep sense of foreboding, looking down. I finally understood how desperate Hellyer and his men must have been to drop into this ravine. 

Scattered pencil pines. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

As I stood there on the edge of the abyss, the weather deteriorated rapidly. My plan that day was to descend into the gorge, but my intuition told me to seek shelter and pitch my tent. It took me a while wandering around on the plateau in a dazed and confused state to find somewhere out of the wind among the pencil pines. I didn't feel cold, but it was snowing by the time I had pitched my tent. Later I realised I had been in the early stages of hypothermia. The wind had swung from a northerly to a south-westerly. I figured I'd sleep on it, and make a decision as to whether I would descend in the morning.

Blizzard on Pencil Pine Bluff. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

Fury Gorge- The Call of the Abyss- Part IV: Granite Tor

“This was a shocking day for any miserable creature to be out in, nothing but violent gusts of wind with hail and rain.” 15th November, 1828. - Henry Hellyer

Boulder in rainforest on Granite Tor. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

The 16th of November dawned clear, and I had reached the Sophia River by lunch time. I found a comfortable ford where the water came just above my ankles. As I struck out on an open buttongrass lead to the NE, I felt as if I was right on Hellyer's heels. But my open lead soon gave way to a thicket of tea trees that reached well above my head. Another hundred yards and I was in the bauera, looking for a way out.

What took Hellyer and his men one day from Victoria Peak to Granite Tor took me three long days. The open buttongrass plains that Hellyer described have been completely overgrown by scrub: tea trees, cutting grass and bauera. Hellyer noted in his letter that he suspects the 'natives' keep these valleys open with the use of fire, both to maintain their hunting runs and to keep their migration paths open. But it's been nearly 200 years since Tasmanian Aboriginals have lived on this land. I felt a distinct sense of absence on this part of my journey. It felt like I was in country that was abandoned, forgotten.

One of the more open sections of tea tree forest. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

I was in the scrub for three days, following a NE bearing, always looking for the path of least resistance, without much of a clue where I really was. Nevertheless, I came across some delightful features as I drew closer to Granite Tor. I crossed a creek at a cascading waterfall that had a series of infinity pools in it. I saw granite boulders the size of houses within the rainforest, completely covered in moss. I laid hands on great trees that have stood the test of a thousand years. At no point did I see signs of previous passage by people.

Sub-alpine scrub on the western side of Granite Tor created a formidable obstacle. The final 100m to the top took about an hour. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

It was on the 19th of November that I reached Granite Tor. It had taken me seven days to cover a distance of thirteen kilometres as the raven flies. But I had overcome my main navigational challenge. From here, I knew the country would open up and I was in a place where I was more familiar with the landmarks. Seeing Cradle Mountain gave me heart.

The only patch of open buttongrass west of Granite Tor that I found. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

I felt a great sense of achievement in having made it this far. I had transitioned from no man's land to a place that was somewhat traveled. I had crossed a threshold and there was now only one obstacle in the way.

Fury Gorge was calling me to it and I went willingly.

Looking south from Granite Tor, towards the Eldon Range. Pentax MX, Ektar 100, Nov 2022.

Fury Gorge- The Call of the Abyss: Part III

I woke on the 15th November near the shore of Lake Mackintosh with a premonition that great danger stood in wait for me before I reached Cradle Valley.

Fresh snow on Mt Murchison. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, Nov 2022.

I had slept long but felt lethargic; it was as if my body knew there was an ordeal ahead and wanted to get as much rest as it could before it all began. The air was chill, and it felt more like the end of winter than the start of summer.

The ridge of Mt Farrell and Lake Mackintosh. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, Nov 2022.

My first objective was to climb onto the shoulder of Victoria Peak to the SW, so I could survey my route ahead towards Granite Tor and pick out a line to follow. I had Hellyer's letter that he wrote to his superior, Edward Curr, detailing their trip. Hellyer's description of the country became my map and guided me in retracing his footsteps for the following week.

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

From a high point on the shoulder of Victoria Peak I spotted a NE line that seemed to pass through a saddle and traverse gently undulating country. Although I couldn’t really see the open 'grass-tree plains' that Hellyer wrote about, the route I identified seemed to head towards Granite Tor in more or less a straight line.

But I was soon to discover that walking in straight lines is quite problematic in this part of the country.

‘Open Grass-Tree Plains’ - according to Hellyer 194 years ago. Pentax MX, Cinestill 50, Nov 2022.

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.