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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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?
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.
No comments:
Post a Comment