Preamble:
Apparently, Budawang is a variant of
the Aboriginal word Boddawong, and the namesake peak in the National
Park was previously used by Aboriginals as a place to light signal
fires and to observe the movement of people between the highlands and
the coast. Or, at least that is what the NSW National Parks website claims.
View from Mount Tarn
Modern day explorers might be forgiven
for thinking Budawang actually translates to scrub, dense, scratchy,
well near impenetrable scrub and would likely question the veracity
of reports that indicate people moving between the highlands and the
coast could be seen from Mount Budawang as any trip into the Budawang
Wilderness Area generally involves a body and soul destroying thrash
though head high tangled scrub.
Walking up the Bibbenluke Valley
That was the case until the fires of
2019 and 2020 ripped through every Australian state and territory
leaving a horrific landscape of incinerated forest and wild life.
These were fires that created their own weather,
raged for months, destroyed towns and villages, and killed 33 people and an estimated 1 billion animals. To call the fires
devastating barely conveys their impact.
Profile Rock Hill
Some six months on from the fires, many
National Parks are still closed; the budget and man power for
re-opening the Parks is just not up to the gargantuan task of
clearing all those trails and repairing and rebuilding visitor
facilities. But, the Budawang Wilderness is open to bushwalkers,
perhaps because it is wilderness and park management has always been
limited. And, although I would not wish to see another bushfire
season such as 2019/2020, the walking in the Budawangs is easier than
ever before due to the large scale destruction of the infamous
Budawang scrub.
South end of Mount Tarn
Wog Wog to Corang River Camp
I had ambitious plans for this three
day trip into the Budawangs. Conditions should be just about perfect
for scrambling up a number of Budawang peaks, camping high on the
plateau tops taking advantage of recent heavy rains providing plenty
of readily available drinking water, and simple travel through burnt
forest. The reality was somewhat different. But then, reality in
the Budawangs is always a little more humbling than one imagines.
View from a short diversion off the Scenic Rim trail
The first omen of problems was the
weather forecast "windy" one day, "very windy"
the next two days. Windy in Australia can be very boisterous indeed.
On a sea kayak trip to Wilsons Promontory in 2018 we had winds in
excess of 60 knots. Every easterly gale was followed by an
equivalently intense westerly gale. Fun times.
View past south Mount Tarn towards Monolith area
But, I was determined and, as Doug
quipped later, the "Sandra distortion field" was in full
effect. This is my own unique disruption in reality wherein all
trips are easily achievable by doddering grannies, the weather is
always benign, the rock solid, and the protection secure. However,
in an acceptance of what I began to characterise as "perhaps
some trivial winds" I adjusted our trip plans so that we would
be camping in a valley not on a summit and walking in and out via a
familiar track. In hindsight, I still had ridiculously ambitious
plans.
Descending off the Corang Plateau
We left from Wog Wog and walked in to
the heart of the Budawangs via the Scenic Rim track. I have always
found this a pompous and somewhat inexplicable name for this faint
footpad through thick scrub that crosses plateau tops past Corang
Peak and Korra Hill. In recent years, the scrub has been so thick,
dense, and high that there have been few views until one nears the
northern end of the Corang Plateau where the magnificent Bibbenluke
Valley stretches into the distance. Even the summit of Corang Peak
required acrobatics to catch a glimpse of a view.
Looking into Goodsell Creek canyon
Post fires, the track is completely
different and the Scenic Rim track is truly scenic. The gorges of
Goodsell Creek and Broula Brook fall away to the north of the track,
while the forested Wirritin Ridge is visible to the south. The view
from the edge of the Corang Plateau is as magical as ever, the sedge
wetlands eye popping green against the surrounding dark sandstone
cliffs.
Looking down from Corang plateau
It had been a blustery walk thus far.
We had stopped for a short break above Goodsell Canyon but then had
walked steadily on. Descending from Corang Plateau we were buffeted
by wind and had to be careful not to lose our footing on the steep
descent down conglomerate slabs to the valley. There was no shelter
to be had at Bibbenluke camp area. All the large trees had burnt and
only sticks remained of the normally thick scrub.
Corang Peak and plateau
We continued walking gaining the
plateau past Yurnga Lookout and heading north towards Mount
Bibbenluke. A number of times we left the trail to look for
sheltered camping spots but nothing seemed very protected so we
continued on hoping to find a better site beside the Corang River.
Last time I walked this section of track it was as thick as a wombat
tunnel and there was nothing to see but bush. Post fires, the
scenery is quite lovely with glimpses of tall cliffs and meandering
streams.
View from Mount Tarn
The most frequently used campsite near
the Corang River had an ugly firepit with broken beer bottles smashed
in it - something I never thought I would see this far from
"civilisation" - and was, post fires, quite exposed to the
wind which was now tearing up the valley.
Towards Mount Hoddle
After a lot of scouting around, we
found a much more sheltered spot further downstream nestled into a
gum forest and beside a tributary of the Corang River. By the time
we set up our tent and brewed tea it was nearly sunset.
Track atop Mount Tarn
On cold, dark and windy winter nights
one spends a fair bit of time in the tent, and, as is my usual habit,
I spent some time poring over the map and planning our next days
activity. In my mind, I saw us strolling along a meadow like
landscape, travel made impossibly easy by the fires. First, we would
climb Mount Tarn. The map showed a mess of weird squiggly contours
on the summit plateau but clearly marked was a 910 metre contour at
the far west end which must surely be the true high point.
Scrambling up to the old trig location on Mount Tarn
From Mount Tarn, we could stroll over
to Mount Haughton, on the map the track is marked (incorrectly) as
breaking through the cliff line so we could at least get onto the
plateau if not the 900 metre high point - which did appear ringed by
cliffs. If time permitted we could have a look at Mount Hoddle,
although at this point, even I thought I could be over-reaching. And
all the while the wind roared up the valley.
Looking over the southern end of Mount Tarn
In the dark of night, the Sandra effect
began to fade. All night the sound of the wind was like the
proverbial freight train. It never eased, there were no lulls at
all. At times, it would scream in louder than ever, but all the time
it was a constant steady almost deafening blast. It felt like trying
to sleep wedged into the carapace of a jet engine. Eventually, I put
ear plugs in to try and dim the noise.
Burnt scrub in the pass to Mount Tarn
Mount Tarn
In the morning, we drank big mugs of
coffee, I sat huddled in the tent with my sleeping bag around my
shoulders while Doug manned the stove. Around 8.00 am we headed off
and quickly picked up the Mount Tarn track as it climbs north up a
broad ridge towards the western end of Mount Tarn. After gaining a
scant 30 or 40 metres of elevation, the track completely disappeared.
On the map, the track traverses north across steep ground above and
west of Angel Creek. This is what we did. Awkwardly clambering over
dozens of large fallen eucalpyts which had toppled in the fires our
feet sliding on steep slippery ground. Near the head of Angel Creek
we crossed its two forks of the creek easily and scrambled up through
steep rainforest to reach the base of the cliffs surrounding Mount
Tarn.
Angel Creek
At a prominent gully and west of where
the track is marked on the map, we found easy passage onto the
plateau top and here the convoluted contours on the map made some
kind of sense. The plateau of Mount Tarn is made up of a series of
narrow cliffs that run echelon across the plateau. At the southern
end are a series of stepped plateaus that cluster together, while to
the west is the 910 metre high point atop a stepped cliff.
Scrub and cliffs on Mount Tarn
Thick bush still guards the cliffs so
despite the fire passage is not entirely easy. Easier, but not easy
as the stems and trunks grow mere centimetres apart. We pushed
through burnt scrub and scrambled onto the first of a series of
echelon cliffs. A steep drop down to the west so we scrambled back
down east and into a corridor between the first cliff and the second.
Landscape laid bare by fire
An easy and aesthetic short scramble up
the crest of the second cliff and yet another higher cliff behind.
This time we were able to scramble off the back and through another
corridor to the next, and we hoped highest cliff. Up again, this
time weaving up short sections of rock between vegetated gullies.
And all the time the wind. So strong that on the last scramble up we
were afraid of being blown off.
Fun scrambling up Mount Tarn
On a small rock plateau, we found a
cairn and the remnants of an old trig. The wind had by now
intensified and standing was difficult. To the west, dark scudding
clouds threatened rain. We hurried off, carefully retracing the
route until we were at the base of the second cliff band surprisingly
sheltered from the wind and the rain clouds had passed by to the
south. We took a short break and discussed our plans.
Log crossing Wog Wog Creek
My earlier plans for the day were now
looking increasingly vainglorious. Travel had been slower and more
complicated than expected. There had been no easy strolling through
meadow, just steep slippery side hilling, bush-bashing, and scrub
fighting. And, on top of that, the weather was deteriorating.
The Anvil and the Scrub
Accordingly, we scaled down our plans
to merely walk across Mount Tarn and hopefully get a good look at
Mount Hoddle with the idea of coming back later to climb that
mountain. We had no anticipation of finding any track on Mount Tarn
so were surprised when we stumbled onto a reasonable track almost
immediately. As we followed this track north, a storm blew in, the
background 30 knot winds increasing rapidly to closer to 40 knots,
driving horizontal rain and sleet. Within minutes we were near
soaked through and beginning to shiver. Rounding one of the pagoda
formations we searched for a cave and found only two tiny crevices
where we huddled with packs across our chests watching sleet and rain
stream across our view.
Arch near the north end of Mount Tarn
Fifteen minutes later, the squall had
passed, and, we emerged from our hiding place and walked to the
northern end of Mount Tarn where the trail disappeared down a pass.
Mount Haughton was less than a kilometre to the north but the wind
and the imminently threatening rain dictated prudence so we walked
back to the pass we had used to gain Mount Tarn and slithered down to
Angel Creek.
Tree ferns near Angel Creek
Instead of side-hilling back to the
track, we hiked uphill to the ridge crest and easy travel down the
ridge-line led us back to camp where, within minutes of arriving, the
rain began and we crawled into the shelter of our tent.
Walking back to camp
It was a long, dark, windy, rainy,
noisome night. I got out twice, once to fix tea and shore up the
tent which was getting increasingly buffeted in the wind, and once to
cook dinner. Doug stayed inside. No need for both of us to endure
the elements.
Descending off Mount Tarn
We made no grand plans for the next
day. The weather forecast we had got before leaving had our last day
with even stronger winds so our plan was merely to escape before our
tent was shredded. It was a long night. At some point, as the wind
blew and blew, and the tent deflected in the wind Doug who had begun
to worry about a broken pole and slashed tent asked "where is
the nearest camping cave?" I could not imagine trying to pack
our gear and walk several kilometres to search for a camping cave in
the depths of this dark night. Eventually, I slipped into a restless
sleep from which I awoke every few hours to calculate the time until
daylight.
Budawang Wilderness
Corang River and Cascades
At first light, we hurriedly packed the
tent and our packs, and slipped away from camp as the sun rose over
Monolith Valley. The trees along the hills near Mount Bibbenluke
were tinged pink in the early morning light. We followed the trail
down to Canowie Brook, I had relented and was using my trekking pole
to keep my balance against the wind. Normally, I consider a trekking
pole a crutch and salve for weak legs and only use one in
extraordinary circumstances. I had come to consider this trip worthy
of letting my somewhat lofty principles slip.
Sunrise
At Canowie Brook we turned north and
followed a faint foot pad out to the Corang River. This is the
normal route of Corang Circuit which I have walked a couple of times
in the past. At the Corang River, we found a sheltered spot and
stopped to brew coffee and eat breakfast. The sun was out and off
the plateau tops the wind felt more manageable.
Morning light near Bibbenluke
Closing the loop on Corang Circuit took
much longer than it should have as we kept losing the trail due to
fire damage. One minute, we were on a clear track, the next it would
disappear completely under fallen trees or through rocky ground. The
stretch along the Corang River past the cascades looked very
different since the fire, the rocky ground and pools laid bare and
burnt trees like skeletons across the landscape.
A very bare Corang Cascades
At Goodsell Creek we found the track
quite clearly only to lose it again a few minutes later. Mostly we
just walked by compass and reckoning, following a general route
towards the Scenic Rim trail. We had one more break by a sparkling
clear creek less than a kilometre from the final trail junction and
then we were on the Scenic Rim track and heading for the car park.
Walking down past Bibbenluke
The last hour on this trail always
feels long. Feet are beginning to ache from the rocky ground and
packs are feeling heavy. The trail seems to determinedly go up and
down across the terrain instead of finding a smooth ribbon. On this
day, however, I wondered why we are always in such a hurry to move on
from the moment we are in to the next moment that we anticipate. Why
do we not live just now in this piece of time?
Walking out under the soft glow of early morning
I had been anticipating and planning
this trip for several weeks and yet here I was wishing it to be over.
In my heart I knew that within a day of getting back home I would
wish I was back out in the wilderness, with the wind tugging at my
clothes and at my heart strings and all at once the last hour on the
trail brought peace, joy and a delight in being lucky enough to walk
off into the woods away from civilisation to a place where life is
raw and consequences are real.
