a period of peripateticism passes ...

Peripateticism: (noun)   travel from place to place, esp. working or based in various places for relatively short periods: the peripatetic nature of military life.

We were very flat after receiving the news of our friend Bob’s passing. The next day we had a slow start to the morning, went into Natimuk to the cafe and then back to the lake, not really feeling like having a climb. After a quiet couple of hours reading we thought we should do something, so headed off around the lake for a walk. It was probably the best thing we could have done. Gentle exercise and engagement with the environment 

with lots of quiet time to talk about Bob.

Di got some more bird photos, including of some she hadn’t identified before. Early in our perambulations she took this photo of a Whistling Kite:

Next, for her grandchildren she got one of this creature in an unaccustomed habitat:

We arrived at Natimuk Lake towards the end of the duck shooting season. As we walked around the lake we couldn’t help but notice thousands of spent shotgun shells lying on the shore, representing thousands of dead ducks, I guess. Here is a small sample:

While I can understand the desire of some folks to engage in the primeval drive of hunting, 

I can’t really fathom why 

they don't pick up after themselves. 

Such a lovely environment; do they need to leave all this rubbish laying around?

At one point we came across this decoy that had been left behind. It looks like a small pit had been dug beside it so the shooter can sit comfortably low to the ground with his legs inside:

One thing I can't quite understand is how some birds are protected while others aren't.

There are mobs of Black-tailed Native Hens running around

that look like they'd cook up a treat

but they get a free pass. How come, I wonder?

And what about the Black Swans? Now one of them would feed a family. 

Thankfully, they are protected.

While we were walking, Di got this photo of a group on the wing:

Those beautiful white wings which always seem so unexpected are something, aren't they?

Next was the Black-winged Stilt. We'd seen a few earlier, but she finally got the chance to get quite a good snap:

First thing that morning before our circumperambulation, Di noticed these Pelicans and Black Swans cruising the shore together:

The day after our walk it was in to Melbourne for a footy match. We arrived in plenty of time to perv the outdoor shops in Little Bourke Street, have lunch at +39 

then walk to Docklands Stadium to see 

the mighty Bombers reign supreme over the Saints.

On Sunday as we drove back to the Wimmera, it became increasingly gloomy looking and it started raining not long after we arrived back  in Natimuk. The locals would have been very happy with the 10 mm of rain that fell in the evening and overnight. Monday was a bit brighter so we did a route Di hadn't done before, one that neither of us had done, and another that we hadn't done for several years. An enjoyable day out. Back at the lake, Di got some more good bird photos, especially this one of some Red-necked Avocets:

Quite a nice photo, but my favourite is this one she took early that day. If you look closely, you can see their peculiar up-turned beaks:

She also got a good shot of this Eastern Great Egret:

It seemed to like to hang out with its cousin the White-necked Heron,

as Di saw them together throughout our stay at the lake:

I'm not sure if they weren't having an ongoing pissing - or perhaps a pecking - competition. Both birds grow to over a metre in height, 

so maybe they were vying for supremacy of the wetland!

There were lots of Crested Pigeons about. We usually saw them on the telephone wires or whooping about in the trees near camp but this one was pottering about in the mud flats:

The next day brought a nice surprise: Geoff Gledhill, whom we hadn't seen for over a year, dropped by by the lake just before as we were getting ready to head off for a climb. After a chat and a cup of tea we all went off together and did a few routes. It was very interesting hearing about the work he'd been doing for Tata Motors over the past year in India and England. He'd been lured out of retirement to help get a few design glitches on some new vehicles sorted out, and hadn't been climbing in over a year. It was nice to share with him his first day back on rock. 

The next day we had booked our vehicle in for its 60,000 km service and after we'd had that done we decided to take a little drive to say farewell to the Wimmera, as we'd be heading off the day after. We had to go through Dimboola:

On through Nhill and to the highlight of the drive: a visit to the Little Desert National Park.

There was a 3 km walking loop that turned out to be quite a delight. We saw these two curious kangaroos just as we were leaving the lodge

which acts as a centrepiece for the park:

We saw a few bandicoots scurrying about but weren't quick enough to get a photo. This area is also an important habitat to the endangered Mallee Fowl, which can grow up to 60 cm and 2.5 kg. Maybe the should have been protected a bit earlier ...

We weren't lucky enough to see any of them, but what made the day were the lovely textures of this little desert. It has been very dry now for over two years, and the way this banksia has split in two halves - one dead, the other very much alive - reflects that:

There is evidence of the area's cattle farming heritage scattered about the place, including this dilapidated cattle loading platform:

Our walk took us through a number of vegetation regimes which seemed to be differentiated by subtle changes in altitude: a metre or two determining whether enough water collected to support trees. Where trees did grow they were generally pretty stunted, with the exceptions being some quite large Callitris pines. Where it was drier, little but low, wiry scrub grew. At one point we came across this dead bit of wood that had been colonised by a neon green lichen:

 But what a difference standing water makes!

Almost back to the lodge we came to this large billabong:

  

Beside it was a wonderful gum tree:

Underneath was a rich litter of gum nuts, twigs and marsupial scat:

We loved some of the little details in the bark, including this combination of colour and creasing:

But the child in both of us couldn't help but think what fun our grandchildren would make of this arboreal microcosm of tree-trunks:

Farewelling Arapiles, Natimuk Lake and the Wimmera we drove to Tullamarine Airport on ANZAC Day with an old friend on board. Roxanne Wells had started climbing with Bob McMahon on an Adult Education course in the mid 1980's and we got to know her shortly thereafter. We were on our way across Bass Strait for Bob's funeral and wake in Launceston, which was to be held the next day. We arrived at the airport early enough for me to watch the first half and listen in the departure lounge to the second half of the 

iconic ANZAC Day footy match, with the mighty Bombers smashing the Magpies. 

You bloody beauty!!!

Bob's funeral was a fitting farewell, with over 650 people from all walks of life in attendance. The local newspaper even managed to present an excellent obituary. It was a very sad day, but an opportunity for many to celebrate the rich life of this remarkable man: his friendship, his generosity, his love of the world wild and his contribution to the future of Tasmania.

Back to Melbourne the next day, and a long drive northwards. We stopped for the night off the beaten track at Blowering Reservoir, near Tumut, NSW. Here's a picture of our campsite:

Up the next morning and on to Batemans Bay. Another nice camping spot:

Quite a nice evening by the sea too:

After having a stone guard fitted to protect the rear window of the Prado from rocks ricocheting from the Ultimate on rough roads, we drove north to where we are now, at Currarong near Point Perpendicular.

We managed to get a great climb in yesterday just before the drizzle started and turned into steady rain. Today wasn't much chop in terms of weather so we had a lazy start, caught up on our laundry and did a few other necessary chores. 

Isn't it funny how things come to mind while you're just rolling along without external pressures getting in the way? We often reflect on how fortunate this life has been to us, and how rich has been the tapestries of our interwoven existences. Apropos of nothing in particular - or maybe it's as a result of living in this covered-wagon-like camper of ours - the theme song from the musical "Paint Your Wagon" came into my mind this evening as I was thinking about this blog. If you aren't familiar with it, or in case you'd enjoy a bit of nostalgia, here is "Under a Wandering Star" on Youtube:

And, as one thing seems to lead to another, for some reason while I was playing that song, the film "Shiralee" jumped into Di's brainspace. Here's a much-loved image from that classic Aussie film:

Di was especially nostalgic about the funny duck-like toy that Buster was dragging around with her. She remembers being disturbed by Buster's dad continually walking off, leaving her to follow ... or not!

(Sort of how I feel at times when Di goes striding off into the yonder, really)

That's about it for now. We're off to the Blue Mountains in the morning as they are closing Point Perpendicular for at least a few days to repair the road. A bit of a disappointment as we were really looking forward to doing a bit more here. 

I guess heaven - and climbing above the deep blue sea - can wait.

See you next time.

Autumn: The Wimmera, Natimuk and Mount Arapiles

It’s much drier here in the Wimmera than it has been for a couple of years as the heavy rains and flooding that filled Lake Natimuk in early 2011 haven't been followed up. However, there’s still quite a lot of wildlife around, especially birds. 

After we’d been cragging today we stopped in town for an ice cream. In the native pepper trees across the road from the pub a big mob of Long-billed Corellas was hanging out keeping cool. (For our northern hemisphere readers, they are a type of COCKATOO). Their range is limited to a fairly confined area, centred on the Wimmera. Our comprehensive bird App (Morecombe) tells us that it is "now uncommon due to loss of habitat". Here’s a companionable couple Di singled out of the bunch (click on the photo for a bigger view):

In contrast, the more common Little Corella can be seen in mobs in their thousands.

And the KANGAROOS never entirely disappear. Here’s one that was bounding through the scrub below the crag the other day:

Okay.  With the cockatoos and kangaroos covered, I can tell you about other things Wimmerian. Now that Autumn has arrived the farmers have begun burning off the stubble in the wheat fields. Thankfully, the fuel burns off quickly so there isn’t a lot of smoke left when they are done each day. Yesterday we had occasion to watch one of the locals setting fire to one of his paddocks. Di shot this photo out the car window. If you look closely (click on the photo to expand it) you can see the implement he is using as he rides along on his dirt bike. A diesel canister with a “wick” drips lighted bits of fuel behind:

Here’s a longer shot of the paddock he’s burning:

Characteristically in this area there are large gum trees sparsely scattered throughout the wheat fields. Maybe leaving that little bit of habitat is one reason why there is so much bird life in the area. The photo below, taken from near the top of the climb we did today looks east. Through the smoke you should be able to make out Natimuk Lake, where we are camped:

 Towards the southwest a much hotter fire is burning:

My guess is that it’s logging slash, as this is the sort of smoke plume we get in Tasmania in the autumn when Forestry Tasmania is doing what they like to call “controlled” burns. Unfortunately, they’re not always “controlled”. Infamously, a number of years ago they burnt a big stockpile of Huon Pine logs, an invaluable an irreplaceable resource. Not happy, Jan.

Anyway. The Wimmera. Many of you will have never heard of it. It’s the southwestern area of Victoria. Here’s an image from Google Maps of the district:

Horsham, the main town and service centre for the area is about 300 kilometres west of Melbourne on the Wimmera Highway.

It’s an area with a number of towns with great names. Nhill (pronounced “nil”) is one of them. Such a random name that someone decided to use it in a film title. Road to Nhill actually won a prize at The International Thessaloniki Film Festival in Greece. Go figure.


Stawell isn't an odd-sounding name, but it’s a very historic little place. Once booming during the Victorian gold rush, this now-sleepy town comes alive each Easter when it hosts the Stawell Gift, sometimes referred to as the World’s Richest Footrace. (It may or may not be. We Australians have a wonderful capacity for hyperbole.)


Warracknabeal and Goroke (pronounced Guroak) do qualify as odd-sounding places though. As does Dimboola, which I leave for last as it is the birthplace of Tim Watson, once the captain of the Essendon Bombers in the Australian Football League, and an absolute legend. His son is the current Bombers captain and won the Brownlow Medal last year. Go the Bombers! (You know, just in case you might have glossed over the hyperlink to Australian Football, I'm going to embed it so you won't miss the opportunity to see what this mighty game is all about. Here it is:

But back to places in the Wimmera. Natimuk is where it’s at as far as we’re concerned. This is the cultural home of Australian climbing. The local pub - the National Hotel - even has a number of large climbing photos hanging from the walls. Here’s what it looks like from across the road:

Just next door is the Arapiles Mountain Shop:

Phil Wilkins, the proprietor, reckons he opened his doors sometime around 1987/1988, so he’s been supplying climbers with gear and resoling shoes for them - and other climbers all over the country - for about a quarter of a century. Here he is with my newly resoled Miuras, discussing with Di the pros and cons of different sorts of rubber:

Wombat - Phil's Border Collie - has been keeping Phil company for about the past fifteen years. Once a regular feature of the shop, she’s getting a little tired. She likes to be close to Phil, but tends to hang out in the car these days rather than in the shop:

 Before climbing put the little town of Natimuk on the world map, there was wheat farming. For a long time. They discovered way back when that the soils hereabouts are very good for growing wheat. But they needed water. This plaque is testament to the efforts one man in particular made to distribute water to the local farmers:

Natimuk was the local service town, hence the size of the pub, and also the location here of a courthouse:

Nowadays it’s pretty sleepy. In fact a few of the locals have come to a complete standstill:

A few days ago the daytime temperatures dropped from the low thirties to the low twenties. Much nicer for climbing, especially in the sun and especially for us delicate types from the lower latitudes. The last couple of nights the mercury has actually dropped to six degrees. This is brilliant because insects have literally disappeared - overnight!


It’s Wednesday today and we’ve been here in the Wimmera for ten days. We’ve climbed at Mount Arapiles on eight of those days, walked the fifteen kilometres around “The Mount” (as the locals call it) on another day, and had one day of total sloth.


All in all, we’d have to say it’s great to be back! Here’s a photo I took of Mount Arapiles on the way to the crag yesterday morning:

This closer shot shows the famous Watchtower front and center. We were on our way to do a route called Skink, which starts up the right side of the Watchtower (the obvious corner in deep shade) then traverses out and into the beautiful feature that sweeps up and right:

Speaking of Skink, Di took this photo of one of the cliff locals a couple of day ago 
up at The Atridae:

On our way back to the car via an obscure pathway, we passed a little boulder with this chair sitting in front of it:

The local boulderers like to relax in comfort between having a go!

Back to the Watchtower Faces, this next photo shows Di rappelling the Right Watchtower Face, with the line of Skink up and left of her:

Along with climbing some old favourites, we’re also trying to do a few routes that we haven’t been on before. Here’s a photo of Di starting up a very pleasant moderate called Chameleon Connection further along on the Right Watchtower Face:

After three or four pleasant pitches we took the walking descent and I snapped this side view of the Right Watchtower Face. The obvious feature is Watchtower Crack, with Skink wending its way away to the right:

North-facing as they are, the Watchtower Faces are too hot to comfortably climb on a lot of the time. But, as temperatures have dropped, we’ve been doing more in this area the last few days. Today we got back on a wonderful route with the great Hemingway-esque name of “Wall of the Afternoon Sun”. Di snapped this shot of me leading through one of the crux sections on the first pitch:

She also took this photo of a guy following his girlfriend up the last pitch on a route called Watchtower Chimney that Di led way back in the Middle Ages, well 1968 actually. If you look closely you might be able to make out a pack hanging from a daisy chain attached to his harness. Not the way this route is usually climbed:

I mentioned earlier that the overnight temperatures have dropped right away. However, we are very cosy in our Ultimate camper trailer. Check out this photo I just snapped of Di playing Sudoku:

It’s 8:30 and she started talking about getting into bed to read her book but decided to stay up and play her whistle instead while I finish posting this blog. Very nice indeed. I’ll leave you with this lovely photo she took of this morning’s sunrise:

See you later!

Postscript

It's now Thursday. After a late start we spent the middle of the day in Horsham dealing with some necessary correspondence. Returning to camp, we found ourselves crying twice within fifteen minutes, experiencing at one moment the heights of joy and in the next 
the depths of sadness.

As we were nearing Natimuk, news came on the radio of the passing of the Marriage Equalisation Bill in the New Zealand Parliament, effectively redefining marriage in New Zealand, thus bringing into law - by a sizeable majority - legalisation of gay marriage. The most moving aspect of this event was the fact that, prompted initially by a lone singer in the gallery, the parliament burst into singing a well-known Maori love song. It was wonderfully moving to hear on the radio. If you have yet to experience it, here it is for your appreciation:

If that doesn't leave you with tingles all over your spine and tears in your eyes you're tougher than me, but then that wouldn't be saying much would it?

Literally within minutes of that inspiring moment we arrived at camp and immediately received a call to let us know that Bob McMahon, a very dear friend, had passed away overnight. He and Di were born within a few days of each other in the Queen Victoria Hospital in Launceston. While Bob grew up in Stanley and Di in Launceston, they got to know each other when they went to Uni and had been friends through rock climbing since. When they weren't much more than kids themselves they enjoyed a climbing trip to Flinders Island together with spouses and one year old sons.

In his early years Bob was a driven climber. He pioneered much of the climbing in Northern Tasmania, and was involved in lots of new route activity in Freycinet National Park. From the tiny cliffs in The Gorge on the fringe of Launceston's CBD, to obscure crags scattered along the two Esk Rivers, to the mighty escarpment of Ben Lomond, Bob was the main man. Anyone who was anyone coming to climb in Northern Tasmania would link up with Bob to explore new routes and push the boundaries. Anyone who is a climber and knew Bob over any length of time will have myriad fond memories and stories to tell of his escapades, enormous sense of humour and quick wit.

Bob was also a talented artist. He worked for a time as a senior secondary art teacher but couldn't bear the grind of the bureaucracy that is the Tasmanian Education Department. He did not suffer fools lightly, especially if they were promoted fools. Recognised by his peers for his talents, he acted as State Moderator for Pre-Tertiary Art. Bob always threw himself into whatever he was doing with full gusto. One hundred percent commitment, that was Bob. After resigning he did some amazing painting. His massive landscapes of parts of Ben Lomond were jaw-dropping in scale. He followed this up with a period of potting, creating some massive earthenware urns with Celtic motifs. I have always regretting not purchasing one when I had the chance. Fifteen years or so ago Bob's artistic passion and inspiration was transferred fully to photography. His eye for light was breathtaking. Amongst the best work I saw were landscapes he took along the northwest coast of Tasmania while undertaking another of his passions: bushwalking. Bob had set himself to circumnavigate Tasmania by foot. The last time I talked to him about his journey he reckoned he'd got a bit over half way, taking family members and friends along various sections with him. And for every bit he had a good story.

In recent years Bob reluctantly became a leading light in the fight against the building of a pulp mill in the beautiful Tamar Valley in northern Launceston. Gunns Timber, in league with the Labor State Government thought they could do as they pleased with this little corner of paradise, but they hadn't reckoned with Bob. Through his inspiration many Tasmanians stood up to the vested interests that have pushed the little people around for too long in our wonderful but sometimes parochial part of the world. 

Bob was a Tasmania legend. His death leaves a huge hole in many lives, but his enormous contribution to climbing, the arts and the conservation movement leaves Tasmania a better place. He is survived by his wonderful wife Susie, his son Andy and daughter Selty
and a bunch of wonderful, wild grandchildren.

Vale, vale, vale Robert McMahon.