Among the Mountains of North Gippsland
Between Mount Howitt on the Main Divide and Heyfield on the Maffra loop of the Bairnsdale railway a straight line measured off on the map indicates about 60 miles. This line passes through a broad belt of extremely mountainous and rocky country, a region still practically as nature made it. The only settlement that exists extends back along the narrow alluvial flats of several of the deep river valleys that have cut their way through this old highland area. The furthest out homestead is still more than 30 miles south of Mount Howitt, and beyond this lonely settlement hundreds of square miles of some of the roughest country in Victoria is to be found. Geographically, this area is described as a deeply dissected plateau. That is to say, river action has carved out an intricate system of valleys in what was once a broad table land. Remnants of this ancient land formation still remains between the deep valleys, and form a series of fine mountain masses, rising from 4000 to over 5000 feet in height. Much of this high country must ever remain uninhabited, for the snow covers it till late in spring, so that it is only possible to use the snow grass area for a few months in the year for grazing purposes. “The Crinoline” is one of the lowest but most accessible of a dozen or more mountains of this part of Gippsland. Important river valleys, and its characteristic rock structure make it, however, a fine vantage point for a comprehensive survey of the scenery and geography of a most interesting mountain area.
The ascent of the mountain was made in January of the present year by the writer and his father, while waiting in the ranges for the third member of the party to arrive from Glenmaggie, when it was intended to explore some of the little known country to the north towards Mount Howitt. Our camp was established close to the swift flowing Barkly not far from its junction with the Macallister River, more than 30 miles by bridle track to the little township of Glenmaggie, which lies among the foot hills fringing the northern side of the great Gippsland plain.
Early on the morning chosen two horses were saddled, and an easy ride of about five miles up the pack track along the valley of the Glencairn Creek brought us to the Glencairn homestead. This lonely habitation has been established for over 40 years, and is the outermost dwelling of this thinly populated district.
It is more than ten miles of rough travelling to the nearest neighbor, and nearly 40 miles to the post office and store. Three fords must be crossed, and when the floods are up the inhabitants of Glencairn are practically isolated from the rest of humanity. The owner of this secluded mountain retreat, Mr. Sweetapple, was much interested in our doings, and welcomed us most heartily. The horses were left in one of the paddocks, and the owner set out on foot with us to point out the best spur by which to ascend to the top of the mountain. A saddle in the sharp edged spur to the east of Glencairn was reached, and here the few directions were received. A few moments’ survey of the scene from the narrow water parting of the saddle gave much for deep reflection and admiration. The broad, wooded and elevated Glencairn valley lay on the west side, with its small patch of rich black soil cultivation, and its homestead half hidden beneath a few lofty pines. Beyond, the wooded mountains rose steeply above the valley.
To the east, and down some 500 feet below, lay the deeper Macallister Valley, overlooked by rocky scarps of the narrow ridge dividing the two parallel valleys. On the opposite side of the river the huge Shoulders of the “Crinoline” rose by wooded and grassy slopes or rocky spurs to its almost bare and precipitous summit. The succession of almost horizontal projecting ledges of sandstone which girdles its rocky top were clearly marked. To this development of rock structure is due the hooped appearance to which the mountain owes its name. A rapid descent by a zigzag cattle path to the river was soon made, and a suitable spot for fording was chosen in the bouldery bed of the Macallister. A flask was filled with the beautiful clear water of the river, for although small springs exist on the mountain they are not easy to find. The spur was reached, and the ascent began in real earnest. The grade is by no means an easy one, for in a distance of not much more than two miles it is necessary to rise 2800 feet above the river bed. Occasional short spells gave opportunities for admiring interesting glimpses of river valley, rocky scarps and mountain tops. As the ascent proceeded the grade became somewhat easier, and the atmosphere more exhilarating. Between the rocky knolls of broken sandstone on the spur, well grassed saddles became more frequent. Wild flowers wore abundant, and some of the slopes were literally flowering meadows, bedecked with the graceful blue bells of Wahlenbergia, interspersed with small white and yellow everlastings. Snow gums, stunted trees with white stems, now took the place of the various eucalypts of the lower slopes, and indicated the zone of winter snows.
A halt was made on the shoulder of the last steep climb, to gather strength for the final assault. From here the view looked out eastwards across the overlapping spurs of the great valley of the Wellington River to the big flat-topped mass and precipitous sides of Mount Wellington. The mists had hardly lifted from its summit, but the prominent, rounded and outstanding bluff on its northwestern face was visible, standing watch over its curious mountain lake, hidden in a deep valley 2000 feet below. A marvellous combination of blue haze, and cloud shadows rested in the Wellington valley. One required little imagination to believe that he had been transported to one of the finest of the Blue Mountain scenes. The projecting ledges of the summit were now within hail, and the rocky architecture of the cliff faces could be studied in greater detail.
The softer red shales which lie between the hard sandstone layers have yielded more rapidly to the combination of weathering forces which attack every mountain top with slow, but irresistible, force. A great vertical joint splits the top of the mountain in two. It forms a considerable gap at the top, and continues as a cleft down the mountain face, forming a scar visible many miles away on the Wellington side. A tough piece of climbing, and the mountain was conquered. The aneroid indicated an elevation about 3500 feet above sea level.
The lower knob of the double top consists of a flat table of rock, of not many square yards in extent. From its bare, windswept surface a particularly commanding view is to be obtained. Two deep valleys on either side lie at the spectator’s feet, nearly 3000 feet below, and separate the steep rocky ridge which falls to the south towards the junction of the two valleys.
A great panorama meets the eye in every direction. Bare snow plateaus, deep blue hazy valleys winding among wooded spurs, which rise steeply to the mountain tops; abrupt cliff faces, with rocky, projecting ledges, overlook the shadows of the valleys. More than half a dozen mountains, rising from 4000 to 5000 feet in height, show clearly along the sky line. To the northeast, and less than five miles away in a straight line, Tamboritha, 5381 feet, rises slightly above the general line of the range on which it stands; its wide spreading base and slightly flattened top give it the appearance of a large truncated pyramid. It is not an attractive mountain, but it is comparatively easy to ascend, for a mining track from the Wellington valley passes over its summit. The view from the top, however, is probably the most comprehensive one to be obtained of this region.
Mount Wellington, 5363 feet, more than twice as far to the east, is a much more imposing mountain. It is a great bluff of precipitous porphyry, and is one of the few of these high mountains visible from the Gippsland plains. Mount Useful, 4756 feet, is perhaps a better known mountain. It lies away to the southwest on a southerly spur of the Main Divide. Its flat, basalt capped top rises only slightly above the general outline of the range, so that it is not always readily picked out. Across the valley of the Barkly, in a more westerly direction, two more flat topped mountains are to be seen on the line of the Main Divide, Fullarton’s Spring Hill and Connor’s Plains. These mountains are of interest to the geologist, for in their rocks he reads a wonderful page in the past rock history of Victoria. Their basalt capped tops represent the remnant of an extensive lava flow which was poured out ages ago during one of those great volcanic periods which disturbed the peace of those prehistoric times. Though these mountains are now the highest part of the surrounding country, with river valleys on either side more than 2000 feet below, it is clear from the thick deposit of waterworn river gravels underneath the basalt cap of Connor’s Plains that this high region was once a great river valley. Here, then, we have the river valley of this ancient land surface forming the mountain ranges of today. Nature’s weathering agents have held full sway in this region for a very long period, and swift flowing mountain streams, assisted by other agents of rock destruction, are gradually sculpturing the mountain face and subduing the rocky plateau. This work of ages has not been min vain, for the great waste-filled basin of the Gippsland plain has been slowly formed from the detritus of the barren rock region, and is one of the most fertile and well watered tracts of Victoria.
Many other thoughts are called up by the sight of these high mountains, and men of varied tastes would all find much to ponder over. Artist, sightseer, scientist, miner or settler would all have different views and opinions of this great landscape. The miner finds little encouragement in barren sandstones, shales and conglomerates of this tract, though to the geologist there are many intensely interesting problems in its rocks. The settler is hardly more favorably impressed than the miner. The high snow plateaus afford only a few months’ summer feeding for mobs of cattle driven up from the plains by a few hardy and expert bushmen. Some of the tablelands, however, are practically inaccessible for grazing purposes. Steep grassy slopes in a few favorable places can be profitably used for grazing by settlers who are fortunate enough to have some country on the plains, or some rich alluvial flats to work in conjunction with the steep slopes. Much of the area is admirably adapted for sheep, but the absence of outlet for the wool debars this industry. No roads exist, and it would be necessary to drive the sheep to the plains for shearing. This undertaking would often be impossible under present conditions, for no bridges of any kind exist, and flood waters would form impassable barriers at several crossings.
One more mountain deserves notice. Mount Skene is seen away to the west over the upper course of the Barkly. It is a prominent but distant feature on the western horizon. Two very steep shoulders lead up to its long level top, one on the northern and the other on the southern face. It was not our good fortune to gaze long on this great natural contour map spread out around us, for, though the weather was beautifully clear for a short time, the mists dropped like a shroud with amazing rapidity on the summit of the “Crinoline,” and blotted out all but the dark valleys below. The little Glencairn homestead could he seen as a small speck down in the sheltered valley across the western scarps, which overlook the nearer Macallister valley. This was the only sign of civilisation, and reminded us of our downward task, which we hastened to prepare for.
The same spur was followed; familiar spots noted on the ascent were observed again; dancing heaps of the lyre bird were crossed in some of the more scrubby parts of the ridge; crops of wild cherries, though not very tempting in ordinary circumstances, however, led us astray this day. The water bottle had been long empty, and the throats were still dry, so that anything moist was acceptable. We soon found that we had got off the main spur, but did not care to retrace our steps, for we could not miss the river valley below. However, the descent became steep and troublesome, and long before the river was reached we rued the mistake. The mists concealed the familiar points on the ranges, and by the time the river was reached we were not sure of the gap by which the easiest route to Glencairn passes.
It was decided to follow up the river to look for this spot, but after several miles it became plain that we were much too high up the valley. As it was now getting dusk, we determined that, instead of going back, we would cross the river, and climb the cliff on the other side, to reach the Glencairn valley. This proved no easy task, and 600 feet of hand and leg work was more than we bargained for as a finish up for a heavy day’s climbing. On reaching the ridge a short descent was made to the interesting Glencairn Valley. Striking evidence bears token to the fact that this valley was once occupied by a considerable stream, though it is now dry. In past times some agent of change has diverted its waters through some other channel.
A few miles of easier travelling through the open forest of this pleasing glen brought us to Mr. Sweetapple’s home, where we were again welcomed, and the owner insisted on our remaining as his guests for the night. Much interesting information was gained during the evening from the host’s store of bush history, and local geography. Next morning a return was made to the camp near the Barkly.
