A Trip to Mount Wellington
A year or two ago the discovery of a new lake [ed: Lake Tali Karng] at the foot of Mount Wellington, to the north of Sale, caused a considerable amount of interest in the part of Gippsland nearest to it, and two or three small parties were got together and went to see the new wonder. One tourist was so delighted with the beauty of the lake that he conceived the idea of forming a party of ladies and gentlemen, who should take a week’s outing and make the lake their terminus. Accordingly during Christmas week he issued invitations, which about thirty accepted. Arrangements were made to start from Glenmaggie, a lovely spot about nine miles from Heyfield, in the basin of the Macalister, just where it issues from the mountains. From the undulating hills of Glenmaggie the summit of Mount Wellington, beside which the lake lies, can well be seen.
At Glenmaggie the party numbered ten ladies and about sixteen gentlemen, including our hospitable host, but more were to join us at Glenfalloch, a cattle-station owned by our entertainer’s father, about 25 miles up the river.
Our spiritual and bodily welfare were not likely to suffer, as we had a clergyman and his wife, a reader in the church, and a doctor, all of whom were agreeable companions on our journey. Besides these there were a couple of students, a shire engineer, who was also a representative of amateur photography. The party was completed by several other gentlemen from the neighbourhood; one of whom, in conjunction with our host’s brother and a surveyor, were indefatigable in mastering and “shepherding” the horses when we were in camp.
The road lies for some distance over the downs, as we may call them, of Glenmaggie, then along Blanket-hill, a lovely green ridge commanding a magnificent view of mountain and plain. Deep down to the right the valley of the Macalister, with Ben Cruachan in the distance; to the left the gorge separating us from the densely-wooded Black Range. From Blanket-hill the Macalister may be seen winding among the rich alluvial flats it is celebrated for, and small wonder that we stopped our horses to admire the picturesque view, though to some of us it was quite familiar.
The river was reached by a long cutting, and we rode beside its banks and along occasional cuttings till we came to the end of the rocky sideling, where on a flat we camped for lunch. The camping place was on the bank of the river, which just there forms itself into rapids, with small green islets in mid-stream; then It takes a sharp turn, and a long smooth reach of water is before us. Another reach higher up looked so tempting that some of us had a swim; but, alas, when we returned the tea was all gone and the eatables packed up, so with sadder hearts and a great feeling of emptiness we had to hurry on to our horses to start with the rest. Soon after we forded the river, here a much finer stream than near Maffra and Sale. Some of the ladies were a little nervous, but bravely repressed all signs of the feeling. As we crossed the river twice more in a very short time, they lost all fear. Before long we left the Macalister and journeyed up a branch called Hickey’s Creek, where we caught the first glimpse of the bold and rugged scenery in store for us. The sides and summits of many of the hills, instead of being wooded, are abruptly precipitous and rocky, and our leader, on a fine black horse, rode backwards and forwards, fearing anyone should miss the points of greatest interest. After a couple of miles of this country, we began to clamber up a steep ascent, well named the Big Hill; many of us who had pity on our horses walked, and were very hot and tired when we arrived at the summit. Once there we were fully repaid, for right ahead the valley of the Macalister stretches for miles, bounded on either side by grand mountains, running to 2,000ft. and 3,000ft., and between these ranges are the low, green hills of the Glenfalloch station, with just enough trees for beauty, white still lower can be seen the cleared flats, with the river winding and sparkling over its rocky bed. Far up the valley we could distinguish a house and out-buildings—the Glenfalloch homestead—our camp for that night. When we could at last tear ourselves from the view, we soon reached the house, and were welcomed with shouts and halloas, both very heartily returned. That evening we found our entertainer, his brother, and sisters had made, as at all other times, great preparations for our comfort.
In the morning we were roused at daybreak, and a couple of us went down the river for a tent. On coming back we saw a number of kangaroo—about the only wild animals noticed, except wild fowl, being, I expect, frightened out of their senses by the noise we made. Just as we got back, two or three were starting off, with a packhorse, in order to get early to our next camping-place, about 26 miles up the river, and have the tents ready by the time the main body should arrive. Breakfast over, we caught and saddled the riding horses, loaded the pack-horses with provisions, photographic apparatus, &c., and made our real start for the lake. Three gentlemen left us here, our muster-roll numbering twelve ladles, sixteen gentlemen, and a boy, so that, with the packs, there were 36 horses to be looked alter. We rode for some distance through the Glenfalloch hills till we came to another ford, where one of the party distinguished himself by turning off on Glencairn-road instead of going up the Wellington Valley, and having a couple of hours lonely riding, partly in heavy rain; however, he got on the right track and met two comrades hunting for him. The party just before this had been very downhearted. They were much scattered, one man as they thought lost, and the rain coming down heavily. The lost man being found and the rain having stopped, all went well again.
The scenery along the valley was becoming more and more beautiful, till, when about twenty miles from Glenfalloch, in crossing a low saddle called the Gap, we had our first real view of the Crinoline. This wonderful mountain is about 4,500ft. high, and stands between the Wellington and Macalister. It is well named the Crinoline, being exactly the shape of one. The hoops are represented by the parallel ridges of rock, and the resemblance is completed by the presence of an enormous “improver.”
Within 100 yards Mount Wellington broke on our view, the great mountain, 5,300ft. high, wooded at the bottom and crowned with enormous precipices. One of these precipices on the south is called the Nob, and it towers aloof from the rest some hundreds of feet in height.
From the Gap we soon reached the homestead, or rather hut, of the Wellington run, and in a very short time we saw the tents at the camping place. After unsaddling and hobbling our horses we had our tea, and as the ladies were a little weary, they retired early, having ridden about 26 miles, forded the Macalister twice and the Wellington no less than 26 times. The camp was on a beautiful green flat, covered with trees, the river on one side and low green spurs on the other; moreover, there was capital feed for the horses, a very important factor in our arrangements. Just by the camp, the right and middle branches of the Wellington, coming from opposite points of the compass, meet in a straight line and flow away at right angles, presenting a charming little scene. Next morning, in mustering the horses, our surveyor and his companions had only found 35, and the former, after riding for over an hour in vain searching for the missing horse, suddenly burst into laughter on discovering that he was riding it himself. After our morning’s meal, we caught the horses, and started with one pack carrying provisions for the lake, about eight miles distant. We forded the river several times, and then went up a spur for some miles, having glimpses of Mount Wellington on our right and the Crinoline at our back. Suddenly the spur turned sharp to the left, and there, about 800ft. below us, lay the object of our search. Right under us was a spur of immense broken masses of rock, over which we could see parts of the surface, though most of it was hidden, and to the right Mount Wellington rose straight out of the water to a height of over 2,000ft., crowned by the Nob, which looked grander than from our last point of view.
We were obliged to leave our horses here and walk down to the margin over a steep and rocky road, the pack-horse walking unconcernedly where one would hardly think a goat could go. After a deal of scrambling, we arrived on the brink. There lay a sheet of water nearly a mile long and five or six hundred yards broad, entirely surrounded by great mountains, the least of them nearly 4,000ft. above sea-level, and having steep and rocky banks on nearly every side. The lake is about 2,500ft. above sea-level, and its greatest length is from east to west. It is narrowest where a small stream—a branch of the Wellington—flows in, and its greatest width is near the east end, where a low hill runs right across the valley, forming a natural dam. There is no outlet apparent but about a mile from the lake a stream has been discovered running from under the rocks. One of the best theories accounting for the presence of the lake is that the sides of Wellington and adjoining spurs have slid down through some great earthquake shock, and thus dammed the river back. This theory would seem to be supported by the fact that Mount Wellington is all broken and scarred on the lake side. Another theory—due, I think, to Mr. Howitt—accounts for it by glacial action. There are a few waterfowl, and we could see small fish, but it is doubtful whether there are any even of moderate size. Our photographer took two views, but was disappointed in not having time to obtain one from the spur where we left our horses, and which we all thought the prettiest. At the lake some of the gentlemen were possessed of all that remained of a bottle of whisky, most of which had leaked away on the road, and were just about to enjoy it when an unlucky wight let the bottle fall into the lake. It was very amusing to see the pannikins dipped into the water before all the taste bad disappeared.
About 3 o’clock came the tug-of-war, climbing back to where we had left our horses. The ladies were helped up hill in various ways, some gentlemen pulling them by straps over their shoulders, while one lady held on to the tail of the pack-horse; even then they were very much exhausted, and I do not think that any of the gentlemen were sorry to have the hill behind them.
That night we had a terrific thunderstorm, the lightning being very vivid, and the thunder reverberating up the valley like cannons firing round our ears. Most of us, except the ladies, got a little damp, but the poor doctor, who had camped outside under an umbrella, looked very wet and miserable at the fire next morning, and we found he had passed most of the night in a puddle. We were to have gone that day to the snowy plains, but it rained till about 3 o’clock, and we passed the time hauling wood for the fires and getting wet. However, there were many ludicrous incidents, which kept us in good spirits, so between singing and laughing we had rather a pleasant day; and, to say the truth, I do not think the ladies were sorry for a rest. We managed to get dry by evening, and after another concert round the fire we retired for the night. Next morning we were up early, as usual, and started for Glenfalloch, where we arrived in detachments before dark, some of us with the packhorses being a good last. The day after being Sunday, we “togged up” to the best of our ability, being minus clean collars, neckties, &c., but we cleaned our boots and shaved ourselves, so I daresay we looked respectable enough. We had church about 11, our pastor being very good to us in preaching short and appropriate sermon, during which I am afraid some of the congregation were inclined to nod.
We passed the afternoon and evening very lazily, and next day started back for Glenmaggie. After lunching at our old place by the rapids, we found that the fun of camping out was nearly over, and so not altogether full of joy we arrived at our starting point about 6 o’clock, having been away six days, and having, as we had all agreed, spent one of the pleasantest weeks in our lives, that pleasure being in great measure due to the untiring efforts of our host and his family to entertain us on our journey.
