The Fazackerley Range Circuit – just
the name, putting aside the write up which promised “beautiful
scenery … the summit of MacGregor Peak … fabulous vistas”
conjures up an image of a glorious walk along a scenic ridgeline with
the Tasman Sea crashing onto the sea cliffs below. The reality, as
we discovered, was something completely different.
We had joined one of the local walking
clubs on this circuit hike on the Tasman Peninsular. The day started
out with the group sprinting up the fire road on which the hike
started at a pace that was clearly not sustainable – at least for
this group. This rush from the summit gates happens with all groups,
young and old, world-wide (as far as I can tell) so Doug and I
sauntered up at our usual pace knowing that we did not need to worry
about keeping up. Sure enough, ten minutes up the track, red faced
and panting the group had stopped for a rest.
Firetower
Continuing on, 45 minutes from the
start of the walk, a stop for morning tea was called. I did yoga,
Doug drank some tea, the rest consumed carbohydrate primarily in the
form of gluten, which is undoubtedly why they all needed morning tea
in the first place. Further along the track, we passed a fire tower,
but even from one level below the top (as high as you could climb) we
could only barely catch a glimpse of Pirates Bay.
Beyond the fire tower, the track
plunged in dark rainforest and the pace of our group slowed
immensely. There were logs to climb over and under, slippery rocks,
and many different varieties of fungi which seemed to fascinate the
group. It was all very delightful in a dim, dark way, but it was one
of those rare cloudless and calm days that seldom visit Tasmania and
both Doug and I wanted to be out in the sun up high on a mountain
range as we had – wrongly – imagined this walk would be.
View from the fire tower
Eventually we reached the trig station
on 591 metre high MacGregor Peak. By slithering out onto a slimy
rock, we could again glimpse Pirates Bay and Cape Hauy to the south.
For some bizarre reason, it was apparently lunch time, although it
felt as if we had just stopped for morning tea. There was nowhere
with a view, dry ground, even a hint of sunshine to stop so we
huddled in the dense bush in a very small clearing. Thankfully, the
cold weather meant we did not stop for long.
The track followed the Fazackerley
Range – a name far too baronial for this forested ridge –
northeast to a col and then descended a short distance to Schofields
Road. The walking pace was so slow my legs began to twitch. We
reached a muddy road and a sign pointing to the car park and, I had
hopes that the group might speed up the pace now that the walking was
clear and easy.
Pirates Bay and Cape Hauy
But, people were now feeling tired, and
so, although the pace did increase somewhat, it was still feeling
fairly slow. I jockeyed back and forth across the track caught
behind the two people in front of me, much the way that new puppy
does when he wants to run and is not allowed. The leaders
instructions for the walk were to turn left back to the parking lot,
but somehow every one of us missed the junction where a half buried
sign pointed up a road that turned sharply back on itself and led
back to the parking area.
At some point, I began to get the sense
that this walk was going horribly wrong. We were, I was sure,
getting further and further away from MacGregor Peak and the parked
cars. A couple of times, I gently asked the leader if we should
perhaps stop and consult the map (why had we, on this day of all
days, forgotten our mobile phone which contained all the topographic
maps for Tasmania?) but our leader was suffering from the optimism
that Andy Kirkpatrick describes as “quickly turn[ing] to
disillusion or delusion” and was clearly in the dangerous delusion
category as the path we were following was leading steadily away from
our objective.
Just the kind of dark, damp place you want to spend a rare sunny day
Finally, the map was extricated from
the pack, and somehow, the leader convinced herself that we were on
the right track and heading towards the cars. Although I buzzed
around, much like an annoying mosquito, she would not relinquish the
map and I had to be content with this clearly misguided belief. I
wandered down the track and caught up with Doug and – sotto voice –
said “we are lost and going the wrong way.” Doug laughed,
thinking I was joking, I assured him I was not. His humour, however,
was contagious. I laughed too, surely soon enough, the delusional
bubble in which the leader was firmly floating would break and we
would turn back.
But, we continued on, time passed,
another junction was reached, and finally the party did stop to
consider our predicament. The leader eventually pulled out her
mobile telephone on which she had a map showing the road we needed to
take and our location. We had clearly been travelling in the wrong
direction for the last couple of kilometres. Clear also, was the
route to the cars. Back the way we had come to a junction and then a
short walk of no more than two kilometres to the cars.
As much as we saw the sun all day
Just as it is universal for groups to
sprint off at the start of the day at a pace that is unsustainable,
so it is universal to never want to turn back, no matter how sensible
turning back is. Half the group, including the leader,
argued to take the road to the left – a road which was not on the
map and could be going anywhere. Doug and I, myself now determined
that, after twenty years of mountaineering and not one unplanned
night spent out, the first such event was not going to occur on a
walk that I could do in under three hours a scant four kilometres
from the car were arguing – stridently in my case – to walk back
and take the correct turning to reach our starting point. The
remainder of the party was, as is also universal, sitting on the
fence to see which “leader” would prevail.
The leader walked down the wrong track
for a hundred metres, and, I like to think, had time to consider the
implications of remaining under her delusion, and returned with the
welcome decision that we would turn back. I asked Doug later what he
would have done had the group kept walking further and further in the
wrong direction and he answered that he would have gone with them. I
like to think I would not. After all, at some point, group think, if
it is clearly wrong think, needs to broken. Of course, the whole
thing was made more difficult as we had left our car in Sorell and
the couple we had car-pooled with were keen to keep going the wrong
way. Although we might have easily returned to the vehicles, short
of stealing a car, we would not actually be able to leave the parking
lot.
Jelly fungi
Thankfully, those decisions remain
academic. The encroaching darkness was finally the spur the group
needed to walk faster and with the leader checking the map at each
junction we walked back the way we had come to where the correct
turning, direction sign half buried in regrowth, pointed back towards
the car park. We reached the cars just as the battery on the mobile
phone, and our only reliable navigation device (I had also forgotten
the compass) died.
There are two lessons to be learned
from yesterdays fiasco. One is to always practice what Andy
Kirkpatrick calls “nav paranoia” and never trust “100% in
others judgement.” The second is to research trips much more
carefully before you sign up for them. I might have previously written – not even that long ago – that I seldom wish I hadn't
gone out but frequently wish I had – yesterday, however, was the
exception. Had I known this would be a slow boring walk buried in
dark forest away from the rare sunshine I would never have gone.
And, that is entirely my fault for not looking more carefully at the
map and relying instead on an overly optimistic (perhaps just a
different viewpoint) description in trip schedule.
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