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--- 195806 [2016/04/08 09:16] – [In Tasmania's South West (Part 3)] kennettj
+++ 195806 [2016/04/08 11:53] – [In Tasmania's South West (Part 3)] kennettj
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 Eventually we were together again, climbing up among the crumbling dolerite columns of which Mt.Anne is made; and what a terrific thrill to stand upon that summit on such a day. Just about everything that was worth seeing in southern Tasmania could be seen and appreciated; even Precipitous Bluff, practically on the southern coastline, stood out clear and sharp against the blue sky. Just to complete the picture, we were again visited by our old friend Lloyd Jones of the Aero Club. He flew the Cessna over from Lake Pedder and buzzed us a friendly twice, skimming over our heads so low that we could easily enjoy the astonished expressions on the faces of his tourist passengers. That plane covered the distance from Pedder to Anne in five minutes flat, a journey that would take we bushwalkers two full days - but at least we could stand there on our own two feet with a vital pride in the achievement behind us.
-Lunchtime saw avery entranced party satisfying their scenic
+Lunchtime saw a very entranced party satisfying their scenic appetites with what surely must be one of the most beautiful natural landscapes in the world. From the rocky eastern edge of the plateau our gaze shot down plummeting precipices into the lovely blue depths of Judd's Charm two thousand feet below. Across
-appetites with what surely must be one of the most beautiful natural landscapes in the world. From the rocky eastern edge of the plateau our gaze shot down plummeting precipices into the
+the lake the incredibly steep slopes of Mt. Sarah Jane, completely covered by the densest and greenest mantle of vegetation (something for the tigers) I have ever seen, rose up nearly to our own level. Far beyond the southern tip of the Charm and some intriguing hanging lakes cradled in their own circle of mountains, the sheer slab of Federation Peak dominated the razor-sharp horizon of the Arthur Range. These features stood out in their attraction and competition for the eye, but even without them it would be a sight that no true bushwalker would be likely to forget.
-lovely blue depths of Judd's Charm two thousand feet below. Across
-the lake the incredibly steep slopes of Mt. Sarah Jane, completely covered by the densest and greenest mantle of vegetation (something for the tigers) I have ever seen, rose up nearly to our own level. Far beyond the southern tip of the Charm and some intriguing hanging lakes cradled in their own circle of mountains, the sheer slab nf Federation Peak dominated the razor-sharp horizon of the Arthur Range. These features stood out in their attraction and competition for the eye, but even without them it would be a sight that no true bushwalker would be likely to forget.
-The rest of the day was spent in leisurely exploring the many interesting features of this remarkable mountain mass. Wild flowers there were a-plenty and of course Henry and Arthur were in their element while Joan and I contented ourselves with trying
-to photograph the landscape at large. Finally, after almost twelve
-hours of exposure in that brilliant sunshine, it was no hardship to return to our high camp and think about the inner man, for we had had our fill in overflowing measure. At twenty minutes to nine we sipped coffee and watched with wonderment as the sun, distorted into the shape of a fiery ten gallon hat, sank into the
-ocean fifty miles to the south-west. It had been OUR day from beginning to end, and as the full moon peeked over Mt. Anne, we
-slid into our sleeping bags to sleep the sleep which only the great outdoors can bring to bushwalkers.
-The next morning it was time to be off the mountain. Only three days remained of our trip, the three days it would take us
-to walk out to Maydena. Only the continuing spell of fine weather tempered our regret at leaving Mt. Anne behind. And so, quietly, each engrossed in his own thoughts, we descended the ridge and looked back, and looked back again. At Condeminion Ck. the gear was recovered and the loads reorganised - ah, that loathsome lump
-was getting lighter at last and it was not hard to take. Lunch and a well-earned bath at Huon Crossing and camp at Woody Island set the pattern  the day, a good day made even better by a memoralple campsite and a still more memorable menu. From our tents pitched in a clearing amid beautiful gum trees, we looked
-out ait Mt. Anne again for the last tiz,3 its peak ablaze in the low rays of the evening sun. Spread over a respectable period of about
-three hours, it was a pleasure to engage in a marathon eating effort of six "courses" - tea, soup, salmon fritters and mashed potato, apricots and mellah, coffee and finally rum cocoa for a nightcap. The forty odd salmon fritters conjured out of a 1 lb. tin of salmon
-were a masterpiece of bushwalking economy. The one trouble was that we burnt too many of them when the lot of us raced out on two
-occasions to take pictures of the sunset. (Like all sunset
-a.
-pictures, the colours improved no end after the first impetuous shots and we graciously gave Kodak a second dividend.) ":;' mighty
+The rest of the day was spent in leisurely exploring the many interesting features of this remarkable mountain mass. Wild flowers there were a-plenty and of course Henry and Arthur were in their element while Joan and I contented ourselves with trying to photograph the landscape at large. Finally, after almost twelve hours of exposure in that brilliant sunshine, it was no hardship to return to our high camp and think about the inner man, for we had had our fill in overflowing measure. At twenty minutes to nine we sipped coffee and watched with wonderment as the sun, distorted into the shape of a fiery ten gallon hat, sank into the ocean fifty miles to the south-west. It had been OUR day from beginning to end, and as the full moon peeked over Mt. Anne, we slid into our sleeping bags to sleep the sleep which only the great outdoors can bring to bushwalkers.
-trip", breathed Joan with a sigh as we bedded down onto a soft
-mattress of cut bauera, little dreaming that on the morrow we would be cursing this innocent looking shrub as we pushed through it along the track,
-How well I remember our first encounter with the enemy.
-Previously we had enjoyed our arguments with the local walkers on
-long trousers versus shorts for Tassie bushwalking. "Wait till
-you strike our bauera," they laughed. We were not convinced then,
-but after braving it for a few hundred yards in shorts, we were forced to admit defeat. It was then that Arthur could not find
-his trousers; every nook mad cranny of the "Mountain Mule" was
-examined but although the oaths became more bloody, still no long pants were forthcoming. It was a shorts job for Arthur that day,
-and a rather painful one at that. Only when he went to bed thrt
-night did he unearth his precious pants - right down in the bctL,,pm
-of his sleeping bag cover. I have steadfastly refrained
-setting down in print the muffled language which filtered out from
-the inside of his tent that night.
-Those last two days were really enjoyable for their variety - good solid track (?) walking through country that was always delightfully changing its character. There were the cool damp myrtle forests with their vines and mosses and their atmosphere of great age and decay; (how can we forget the stumbling over the interminable trees fallen across the track); there were the open button grass plains with their quartzite outcrops, the stretches of green forest where giant ferns formed a canopy above the track and the pleasant interlude of gum trees with good burning wood, and of course, not forgetting the patches of unspeakable Tasmanian mud to make life interesting. Personal incidents
-and laughs were two bob a dozen with a party of such character as
-ours and we revelled in the life - it was bushwaking and comradeship at its very best. All too soon we found ourselves surrounded
-by the signs of civilisation, until at the end of our last day four bushwalkers with all the character of a long tough trip stanped upon them walked quietly into the little town of Maydena
-It was here that the famous Tasmanian h:,spitality treated us so
-unexpectedly and so unstintingly to glorious hot baths and home- cooked food. Civilisation would indeed have been hard to take without such compensations.
-i nd so our trip had ended, as end they all must; that is except for the hundreds of colour slides and the bragging and the endless story-telling and the reminiscenses, and as far as all that
-was concerned, it had only just begun. THE END
+The next morning it was time to be off the mountain. Only three days remained of our trip, the three days it would take us to walk out to Maydena. Only the continuing spell of fine weather tempered our regret at leaving Mt. Anne behind. And so, quietly, each engrossed in his own thoughts, we descended the ridge and looked back, and looked back again. At Condeminion Ck. the gear was recovered and the loads reorganised - ah, that loathsome lump was getting lighter at last and it was not hard to take. Lunch and a well-earned bath at Huon Crossing and camp at Woody Island set the pattern for the day, a good day made even better by a memorable campsite and a still more memorable menu. From our tents pitched in a clearing amid beautiful gum trees, we looked out at Mt. Anne again for the last time, its peak ablaze in the low rays of the evening sun. Spread over a respectable period of about three hours, it was a pleasure to engage in a marathon eating effort of six "courses" - tea, soup, salmon fritters and mashed potato, apricots and mellon, coffee and finally rum cocoa for a nightcap. The forty odd salmon fritters conjured out of a 1 lb. tin of salmon were a masterpiece of bushwalking economy. The one trouble was that we burnt too many of them when the lot of us raced out on two occasions to take pictures of the sunset. (Like all sunset
+apictures, the colours improved no end after the first impetuous shots and we graciously gave Kodak a second dividend.) "Mighty trip", breathed Joan with a sigh as we bedded down onto a soft mattress of cut bauera, little dreaming that on the morrow we would be cursing this innocent looking shrub as we pushed through it along the track,
+How well I remember our first encounter with the enemy. Previously we had enjoyed our arguments with the local walkers on long trousers versus shorts for Tassie bushwalking. "Wait till you strike our bauera," they laughed. We were not convinced then, but after braving it for a few hundred yards in shorts, we were forced to admit defeat. It was then that Arthur could not find his trousers; every nook mad cranny of the "Mountain Mule" was examined but although the oaths became more bloody, still no long pants were forthcoming. It was a shorts job for Arthur that day, and a rather painful one at that. Only when he went to bed that night did he unearth his precious pants - right down in the bottom of his sleeping bag cover. I have steadfastly refrained setting down in print the muffled language which filtered out from the inside of his tent that night.
+Those last two days were really enjoyable for their variety - good solid track (?) walking through country that was always delightfully changing its character. There were the cool damp myrtle forests with their vines and mosses and their atmosphere of great age and decay; (how can we forget the stumbling over the interminable trees fallen across the track); there were the open button grass plains with their quartzite outcrops, the stretches of green forest where giant ferns formed a canopy above the track and the pleasant interlude of gum trees with good burning wood, and of course, not forgetting the patches of unspeakable Tasmanian mud to make life interesting. Personal incidents and laughs were two bob a dozen with a party of such character as ours and we revelled in the life - it was bushwalking and comradeship at its very best.
+All too soon we found ourselves surrounded by the signs of civilisation, until at the end of our last day four bushwalkers with all the character of a long tough trip stamped upon them walked quietly into the little town of Maydena.
+It was here that the famous Tasmanian hospitality treated us so unexpectedly and so unstintingly to glorious hot baths and home-cooked food. Civilisation would indeed have been hard to take without such compensations.
+And so our trip had ended, as end they all must; that is except for the hundreds of colour slides and the bragging and the endless story-telling and the reminiscenses, and as far as all that was concerned, it had only just begun. THE END
 ====== Your Walking Guide ======