Dungey’s Track: A Horse-Pad in Alpine Country
Published in The Argus, Saturday 9th February 1929, page 46
By R. H. Croll
- The way is one, the end is one,
- And still the track keeps running on
- From change to further change.
- No haste there is, no haste at all,
- Forever loveliness shall call,
- Blue stands the distant range.
To me a finger post, unexpectedly seen in an out-of-the-way place, has an irresistible appeal. It has much the same effect as a map had upon Robert Louis Stevenson. If the track to which it invites be not followed, the pointer stands forever in the mind like an indicator, saying: “This way, and no other, leads to the Land of Heart’s Desire”; and the mists of years make its imagined passage seem ever more desirable.
There was a sign which greeted us in the Wonnangatta Valley, at the foot of Mount Howitt, where a notice might as reasonably have been expected as a creekbed in Collins street. One crossbar mentioned that downstream was “Wonnangatta 2 miles,” the other pointed at the great mountains from which the stream emerged and mocked us with the tantalising statement, “Harrietville, 60 miles”—tantalising because only a well equipped party, stout of heart, and with more time at its disposal than we possessed, could have hoped to tackle successfully the crossing and the traversing of that little known Barry Range which stands like a wall at the head of the valley. That track remains terra incognita: every day it gains allurement in my mind.
Another board which beckoned insistently was noticed long ago in the Ovens valley. It bore the legend “Dungey’s Track,” and it set us wondering what kind of country it would have us travel. It stood some three or four miles from Bright on the Alpine road to Omeo. Later another post with that name on it was observed, but this, still on the Alpine road, was about 40 miles farther on. What had the pad been doing in the miles between? What winding creeks had it traced? What hillsides climbed or “sidled”? What adventures had it survived as it explored the unknown? Always I meant to find out, but not until recently did the opportunity come.
The cattle-men will tell you that this horse pad to the high plains was named after Detective Dungey, who, it is said, used to roam the ranges looking for the elusive cattle-duffer and other offenders. Whoever originated it showed rare taste and discrimination; its ways are ways of pleasantness and its variety is endless. In the beginning its lines were determined by utility, the natural fall of the country here presenting the easiest gradients, but by fortunate chance they embrace also some of the most picturesque views in a locality famous for its scenic features. The upper reaches of the Kiewa River are like the Irishman’s famous stream, “shtiff wid trout.” I know no Victorian river with quite so many of these sporting fish. Two of my companions caught 19 before breakfast the first morning out.
Unobtrusively the track dodges off the coach road a mile past Germantown Snowy Creek joins the Ovens near by, and it is up the valley of that creek that you must go for a good many miles. Incidentally how many Snowy Creeks are there in Victoria? In the Alpine country the name is used almost as much as are Stony Creek, Sandy Creek, and Stockyard Creek in other parts. Steadily height is gained, one of the advantages of this way to the now popular Bogong High Plains being the ease of its gradients. Little creeks come running in, the narrow valley closes, and there is more than a hint of tall peaks in the steepness of the sides. If I had the naming of sections of the track I would call one “The Path of the Painted Trees,” and another “The Lane of Lost Leaves.” Gayer than anything that art dare attempt, a smooth-boled gum, sometimes as a single tree, more often in groups, colours the bush with splashes and stripes of brightest crimson, soft creams and bewildering greens, painted up and down the shapely stem. Young bluegums stand like illuminations, so bright are their leaves of clouded silver. Where these globulus or maidenii have grown they have dropped huge adult leaves upon the ground in scores, some as much as 20in. long, some extraordinarily broad.
At seven miles from Germantown, and 10 miles from Bright, the track rises to Symond’s Gap, a saddle commanding views of Bogong the Mighty, our greatest Victorian peak. Here begins a long siding across steep hillsides which feed the Kiewa. Very fine was the native Veronica, a Pimelia flowered profusely, and the slopes were gay with many other blooms. The river ran swiftly far below, and gradually the track dropped to meet it at a little hut known as Lawler’s. “Started one morning and slept in that night,” was the builder’s history of this hut when we met him on the plains.
Interest grew as the march was resumed. The valley was still narrow. Engaging glimpses were obtained of Mount Fainter, looking in on the one hand, and Feathertop on the other, while all the time the Kiewa hurried in and out of attractive pools in full sight below. Hut Creek was a reminder that here was once a crushing battery, and presently was seen the Machinery Spur, down which, incredibly, the plant was brought from Baldy (Mount Hotham) to this difficult position. The full tale is an epic yet to be written. Some river flats afforded a change of going, a tall, thin waterfall shone and shouted on the left, the Diamantina River was crossed, and Blair’s hut, a well-built, roomy structure, was reached as evening fell. A mile or two before Blair’s the original Dungey’s track had left us. It passes on by way of Dibbin’s hut, on the Cobungra, to rejoin the main road at Rundell’s.
Next day provided the finest views. It was the last of the upward stretch, and it gave the most climbing. From above Blair’s hut, where the Kiewa was finally left, the outlook was superb. Feathertop, aquiline and stern, the most impressive mountain in Victoria, stood in imposing grandeur just across the valley, its great stature fully revealed; the famous Razorback looked its best as it stretched back to meet Mount Hotham; and Mount Loch, facing the faraway Omeo road, showed as the crest of an immense spur rising to the left.
Belts of woollybutts, those eucalypts of the high places, were passed, and the smooth, green, twisted stems of the snowgums took their place. The air became subtly changed, and the clear spaces between the gums were carpeted with snow grass, much of it bearing a delicately toned heliotrope flower head. A tiny tarn, set in a frame of lush green weed and black basalt, was noted at the base of a cliff; the path wriggled past some rocks, and our feet were on the Bogong High Plains, with their long lines of snow poles setting the direction.
Years ago I prophesied that these spacious uplands, well watered, full of charm, with an average elevation of well over 5,000ft., would some day form a health resort and recreation ground for Victoria. Their popularity has grown, and in the last vacation numerous parties made holiday there. The cattlemen’s huts—there are at least six—form convenient centres, the use of which may readily be obtained from the owners. Soon a public shelter, erected at the expense of the tourist committee, the ski club, and the Melbourne Walking Club, will be available. It should help to make winter excursions almost as popular as the summer excursions deserve to be.
