What is the impulse that always drags you on, around the
next bend, the next headland, over the next ridge? It’s so strong and so seductive. it must be
hardwired. Why is it that you need to consciously decide to stop while your
soul, left to its own devices, will trundle on happily forever exploring the next unseen thing?
The second ski trip of ’14 and plenty of instances of that siren call. What
started out as half a dozen in planning ended up with the usual three buccaneers:
Alex, Doric and I. We’ve done this trio so often now it’s like an
ep of Grumpy Old Men. Except the grumpy bit.
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| No exactly a beauty parade, but look at that determination! |
This was the ten year anniversary trip for me, getting back
into ski touring in 2004 after kids. That year, Doric and I climbed up over Kozzie and dropped down into the country to its northwest, unexplored
territory for both of us. I've still kept my fashion sense!
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| Munyang carpark, dry as, bro. |
This year we also found new country. Two years ago Doric and
I looked out on Tate West Ridge from Mann Bluff and vowed to go there. Last
year we attempted it but the weather was so severe we abandoned the goal. This
year, we would succeed.
Normally we flog up
the Munyang aqueduct trail to Schlink
pass and then up the main range, but this year with good weather and indifferent snow we decided to take a
direct track, up the left side of the valley to Horse Camp and then straight up
the ridge to the Rolling Ground.
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| A horse! |
Hadn’t been to Horse for twenty years and completely forgot
what it looked like. Pleasant little hut with good water, right for lunch
before the ascent.
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| Pretty comfy hut |
Then straight up the spine of the hill, through the
afternoon sun interweaving the dead snowgums. There’s a melancholy about the
dead snowgum forests, with the fragile regrowth ten years on from the ’04
fires. I can’t help but think the next big fire will permanently remove the
snowgums: with this fuel load how can the young saplings and regrowth survive?
What will replace them?
We emerged from the treeline later than we hoped, and with
the afternoon rapidly slipping away we elected to camp where we found ourselves
rather than try to get up to the exposed
Rolling Ground. Clouds were building from the East (!) and after last years’
experience we wanted some shelter from the strong nor easter.
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| Windy camp |
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| Sunset looking East , Munyang centre right |
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| And looking to the West, up to the Rolling Ground |
Next morning, blue
skies with occasional cloud. Struck camp
quickly - for us – and made our way up onto the Rolling Ground. We emerged close to Consett Stephens Pass, and in no time
and with only a moderate amount of disputation we were at last on Tate West
Ridge, our goal for two winters.
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| A happy packing morning |
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In all my glory , headed towards Tate West (BG)
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| Heading up to the Rolling Ground |
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| On Tate West |
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| Tate West looking back to Rolling Ground and Dicky Cooper |
The ridge itself is a
couple of square kilometres of rolling hillocks and gentle bowls, bounded on
every side by steep dropoffs with a
fairly modest spur linking it to the
main range. Delightful country. We made our way to the westernmost high point,
there to set up base camp and wait for
sunset.
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| Riviera on the Tate |
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| Very bloody sensible. |
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| But what a spot. |
A late afternoon detour down a wide gully took us to a
beautiful local prominence, with a few turns along the way.
It was spectacular with sweeping views of Watson’s Crags,
and in the far reaches the Victorian
Alps like a distant wave, foam-flecked and massive.
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| Vic alps in the bg |
And did I mention the sunset? The clouds boiled on the
horizon and loomed in from Jagungal but never fully came over us.
Dinner that night in our camp kitchen was an extraordinary
Mexican feast from Alex that pushed our pan numbers to the limit. Topping it off, there were distant fireworks
in the sky to the east: maybe Charlotte
Pass? Went on for a long time,
fascinating from such a distance.
With the best will in the world we didn’t rise early the
next morning, but what a day! Stunning bluebird. With slimmed down packs we secured the camp
and headed off towards Tate pass. Doric had an ugly blister forming so while he
sorted it at Tate saddle I doodled almost
to the top of Tate – spectacular stuff.
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| From Mt Tate, Mann Bluff in centre |
Then the siren a called and we went on round Mann Bluff (see
this post), dropped sweetly down a swooping arc then up onto another ridge
directly overlooking Watsons Crags. Exhilarating ascent of a big steep-sided hill with
stunning cornices , and lunch in paradise.
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| Climbing to a luncheon appointment |
This whole area features immense bowls with long sweeping
sides and cornices. Intoxicating to be in.
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| Homeward bound, Doric far right of shot |
A long and satisfying traverse brought us back to the spurt
of Tate West, and a few runs down a
gorgeous overspilling slope. As Doric slogged up it.
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| The camp is on the ridge directly above the skier ( Alex). Pic: Alex Taylor. |
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| Almost home, but snap a few teles in. Pic: Alex Taylor. |
Before returning to camp I took a detour out to the far
northern tip of Tate West, looking down the soaring valley to the Geehi dam and
with Jagungal aloof in the distance.
That afternoon the clouds came in again and we had an even
more amazing sunset than the night before, with the sun framed by the blazing clouds.
Weather forecast that night said things would be getting
foul the following afternoon, so we resolved to make an early exit, get down to
Guthega, hitch to the car and slip away before the thunder started.
Next morning, antibluebird.
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| Very bloody cheerful. |
Whiteout with visibility only about 100m. My GPS had the pass marked on it but with all the rolling hills and the
knowledge of the steep edges all around us the trip to find the pass
was an exercise in concentration. Despite my marker being out by 100 metres –
which made a difference in that terrain – we found the pass and could see
beneath us the clear skies under the clouds leading to the dam.
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| Looking for the pass |
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Guthega in the
distance |
Long, slow and messy traverse through the trees and rocks on
the ridge ( note to self, next time take the northern side) and finally we were
back in human – mediated territory by the dam.
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| Arrrrgh! |
Didn’t take long to get a lift and so home. Well, as far as
Canberra where we got to shift furniture at Alex’s house by way of diversion.
New country, great weather, and as usual long near-hallucinogenic moments of ecstasy
and exultation to be in the mountains again. Brilliant trip and thanks as ever
to my two always reliable, cheerful and interesting shipmates.
(Pix in this entry a combination of mine and Alex Taylor's)
