Rams Heads: The Western Fall
Return to Part 2: Alice Rawson
Much to my surprise I had a great night. I was comfortable, and slept better than I usually do when camping. I woke every half hour or so and had a tablespoon of the hot water, which I began looking forward to as the most wonderful drink I’d ever tasted (no doubt was biased by my thirst). Thankfully I had no trouble keeping it down. My legs, however, felt sore and were unusually slow to recover from yesterday’s walking, which I guessed was due to dehydration.
There were flashes of lightning from 3:00, then the booming of thunder as the weather got closer. A series of showers came through, drumming on the tent. We slept in since we weren’t in a rush. We rose at 8:00, and by good fortune there was no more rain. Indeed, it looked to be clearing, despite the forecast of rain continuing throughout the day.
We packed up most of our gear, leaving the tent up in case of further showers, then had breakfast. I was still suffering from the effects of gastro: I wasn’t remotely hungry and didn’t want to eat, but I did have a coffee.
Purple eyebright.
To decide whether to abort or continue the walk I needed to know whether I could keep water down, so I drank a couple of cups to see what happened. I filtered this water as I didn’t want to risk exacerbating what I had. Having said that, I don’t believe I picked up my illness from the water out here. I already felt off before we left Jindabyne yesterday, so I’m certain it came from the town. When it was clear I had no trouble with the water, I decided to continue the walk as planned. Aborting would have been a miserable end.
We finished packing and set off uphill to Muellers Pass. I struggled with a lack of energy, and needed to stop frequently to recover. Judging by how much I was drinking, I was still dehydrated. It was a relief to reach the Main Range Track as it was flatter and had a good surface.
As we sidled Mt Northcote we got wonderful views along Lake Albina below us, seemingly perched on the edge of a precipice above Lady Northcotes Canyon. On the other side of the valley rose rocky peaks flecked with patches of snow, including Alice Rawson Peak where we’d seen the opposite view yesterday.
Lake Albina appears to hang above Lady Northcotes Canyon.
Sidling above Lake Albina.
After Northcote Pass I suggested to LS she have lunch here, since the track would soon curve around towards Mt Lee and be fully exposed to the wind. We found a spot to sit but, when LS realized I wasn’t eating, she changed her mind and walked off. I plodded along after her.
The wind did indeed pick up as we neared Mt Lee. Behind us there was a good view of the long ridge running off Townsend alongside Lady Northcotes Canyon. Ahead was the spectacular Club Lake with its distinctive shape, moodily lit by a mix of sun and shade, below the snow-streaked southern face of Carruthers Peak.
Club Lake.
We’d enjoyed a relatively flat track since Muellers Pass, but that ended with the climb up to Carruthers Peak. I didn’t have much energy, and found the walking a grind. At the top all I wanted was to lie down for a rest.
Many groups of walkers had arrived at more or less the same time, and were stopping for a break. We found a spot to ourselves out of the cold wind. The sun came out, and I lay on the grass with my hat over my face, enjoying its warmth. I was catching just enough of the breeze to be pleasant. It was one of the best moments of the walk, peaceful and relaxing.
LS had her lunch. By the time I got up all the other groups had left. The views from the peak were great, and we were fortunate to have clear weather to enjoy them given the weather forecast. Behind, I could see much of where we’d been over the past few days, while ahead was the edge of the Western Fall, with the sharp profile of The Sentinel leading up to the rounded crest of Mt Twynam.
Leaving Carruthers Peak.
We descended to the saddle, then left the track behind to continue straight ahead up towards Twynam. The climb didn’t go on too long, and I was spurred on by thoughts of reaching camp. Where the ridge running down to The Sentinel branched off to the left we followed it, picking up a foot pad. The peak looked impressive from this angle, standing alone at the edge of the range.
We hadn’t descended far when we came to a fence enclosing much of the Strzelecki Creek valley. A notice informed us it was an exclusion zone, set up in an attempt to control a hawkweed1 infestation. Disappointment filled me: the campsite I was aiming for further down the ridge was right next to the creek. If it was fenced off I didn’t know what we could do instead, with very limited options for placing a tent and finding water in the unfenced area.
The only way to find out was to go and look, so we kept going. I fervently hoped we wouldn’t need to come back up. At a saddle we were confronted with a huge snowbank running right across the ridge, too tall and steep to climb over. This was an obstacle I hadn’t expected in summer! It felt like the bad omens were piling up for this camp.
Scouting ahead past the snowbank.
To save potentially wasted effort, I decided to scout ahead without my pack. I skirted around the snow, which was difficult on the steep slope with its covering of slippery dead and flattened grass. I continued following the fence, and with relief found it ended short of the campsite. A map of the exclusion zone attached to the fence confirmed it. And even better, no one else was there.
I returned to LS with the good news. With my heavy pack on I was careful bypassing the snow, and got past without too much trouble. LS didn’t fare so well, slipping over and sliding down the hill twice (once she’d started sliding it was hard to stop). I carried her pack back up to help her get back to easier terrain. With the excitement over it was an easy walk down to the campsite.
We stepped across the creek into our beautiful little valley. It was a secluded spot, tucked in against the main Sentinel ridge, and enclosed on all other sides to some extent. Beside the creek was a grassy sward, flat and level, with plenty of space for our tent. Upstream was a waterfall, then the creek flowed over a few small cascades as it passed our camp, before plunging steeply off the edge of the range through a slot in the rock. LS was as pleased with it as I was.
Arriving at Strzelecki camp: about as good a campsite as you could wish for.
Not only was this a great campsite, but it holds a special place in my memory as it’s the first place I camped when I graduated from daywalks to overnight walks about 37 years ago. It was a magic place to start camping, though that first night wasn’t much fun as it was a few degrees below freezing, and I had a sleeping bag better suited to about 20 degrees warmer.
We put the tent up, then I got my chair out and sat in the sun. There was a pleasant warmth when it was shining, but whenever a passing cloud blocked it the coolness of the breeze was uncomfortably apparent.
LS had gone off exploring, and after a while I joined her. Downstream from our little valley the creek flowed through a miniature gorge with a rock slab floor. We scrambled carefully through it, reaching a series of waterfalls, then descended to a vantage point where we could see the creek plunging off the edge of the mountain range.
Downstream from camp the creek had cut a slot through the rock.
This creek flows past the Opera House hut2, dropping 900 metres in a mere 2·5 kilometres to reach it. In my planning for this walk I’d tried to include a visit to the hut. Despite knowing how difficult the routes to it were in theory, it was another thing to stand here and witness exactly how steep and deep the valley was. The idea of walking it was horrifying.
Strzelecki Creek tumbles down a series of waterfalls as it drops off the range.
We hadn’t long returned from our explorations when a bank of thick fog rolled in from the head of the valley, against the prevailing wind. In no time it had blotted out the sun, and brought a chill to the air. Earlier when I’d been struggling on the trail, the thought of lying down and resting was the lure that kept me going. So I was more than ready for a snooze, since sitting outside had lost its attraction. After a comfortable hour under my sleeping bag, I got up to make dinner.
Fog rolling in from Mt Twynam.
Despite having not eaten for more than a day, I genuinely felt no hunger. I trusted my body was telling me it wasn’t ready for food, and in any case my gastro symptoms continued. I did have a soup though, since I was concerned about my salt intake3. While I was walking today my left leg had a few twinges suggesting it might cramp, though nothing eventuated. I cooked dinner for LS, then had a coffee.
The fog made the evening chilly, and with no prospect of a sunset I was more than happy to get back into the tent. I felt cosy and warm under my sleeping bag, with the peaceful burbling of the creek a couple of metres away.
Continue to Part 4: The Tail of the Kangaroo
Footnotes
- Mouse-ear hawkweed (Pilosella officinarum) is a highly invasive weed that outcompetes native vegetation. ↩︎
- The Opera House hut is one of the hardest-to-reach huts in mainland Australia. It’s renowned as costing more to build per square foot than the Sydney Opera House, hence the name. ↩︎
- I was going to bring Staminade on the walk but left it behind at the last minute, much to my later regret. ↩︎
