Rain again on the coast and, as usual this year, the ACT is the driest location within my “drive to adventure” ratio. We could do another long wack through the increasingly dense regrowing bush to tag another Namadgi summit, or we could, in equal time, walk a long, long way, on trails and tag a Namadgi summit that requires only a short bushwack.
A few friends of mine had walked into Big Creamy Flats (the normal campsite for ascending Mount Namadgi) a couple of weekends previously and that 12 kilometre distance had taken about 6.5 hours – a normal pace for that distance of off-track travel. In 6.5 hours, we could walk a long way on tracks, and, as we had done our last two trips from Yankee Hat but had never been into the Cotter or Orroral Valleys we chose the long walk over the shorter off-track walk.
With the Orroral Road closed, access to the Orroral Valley is via the north from the Corrin Road or from the east via the Apollo Road. Orroral Ridge Road, which used to be open to vehicle traffic is now closed to vehicles so that adds about 3 kilometres and an extra 300 metres gain to the day, but, over a 900 metre gain/loss and 20 kilometre day what is an extra hours walk, and, after all, we are here to walk.
The air is clear and crisp and after about an hour we are walking down the Link Track (also the AAWT) with a view of the Orroral Valley and Orroral Tor 300 metres down. There is a bridge over the Orroral River but it is acting as a dam and the fire trail is flooded for about 75 metres with calf deep and very cold water. We sit on the bridge for a snack before wading across and continuing up the other side of the valley to another major fire trail junction. Fire trails run north and south up the Orroral Valley and we follow the Cotter Hut fire trail up another long hill to a ridge crest where we turn off onto the more trail like Australian Alps Walking Trail (AAWT) which immediately descends down old stone steps to cross Sawpit Creek before the final climb of the day up to Cotter Gap. It is nice to be on single track and off fire trail.
Passing by Split Rock, Pond Creek has flooded into marshy flats and it is a struggle to keep our feet dry. It is forecast to be a chilly night and it would be nice to have dry instead of frozen shoes next morning. The sun has tipped behind ridges as we approach Pond Creek Flats and cross the south fork of Pond Creek. I knew of a campsite here, but we could not find any established camp but do find a dry spot on gravelly granite soil with water nearby. By the time we have the tent up and a hot chocolate brewed up, dew is settling thickly on everything and it is early dinner and into the tent for a long winter night.
All the way down the hill from Cotter Gap we have been hearing the mournful howl of a dingo and intermittently we hear its long, lonely call through the night. Like a wolf or a loon call in Canada, the sound is evocative of deep wilderness and lying warm in the tent with the stars glittering in the frost hard night sky I feel that deep sense of joy and belonging that comes from being far from people, roads and civilisation.
I am up in the dark of early morning with the water on for hot coffee which we drink in the tent, a delicious luxury, before packing up and putting on every piece of clothing we have brought with us to walk stiffly down the track towards the Cotter Valley.
In the open grasslands of the Cotter Valley we meet another bushwalker packing up preparatory to walking up Mount Bimberi and we exchange some small talk before fording the Cotter River and walking south down the Cotter Valley until our trail forks off to climb 500 metres up to Murrays Gap.
On a bit of flat ground below Little Bimberi there is a tremendous campsite with a view over Mount Namadgi and the Scabby Range with a clear running creek a short distance away. Murrays Gap is boggy and sodden and we turn off the track to the south as soon as we reasonably can and walk steeply up open snow gum forest emerging at 1800 metres at the saddle between the east and west tops of Mount Murray. We scramble up the granite slabs on the east peak of Mount Murray to look out over the Cotter Valley and the line of ridges and mountain tops that roll away to the east.
Before the fires, trip reports indicate there were no views from the main summit, but the snow gums are burnt and mostly dead, and the views now are nearly as good as from the east summit. We rest and eat lunch in the sun but cannot stay too long as we have 11 or 12 kilometres to walk back to camp and the winter days are short.
Dropping down to Murrays Gap we land into the middle of swampy ground and I finally give up trying to keep my feet dry after stepping into several ankle deep puddles. Back down in the valley, near Bimberi Creek, at 3.30 pm we meet some bike-packers pushing their gravel bikes along the fire trail. They are heading to the Oilfields Hut for the night and have a long push up the steep trail ahead of them. Intermittently, we wonder if they make it that night as they have gravel bikes not mountain bikes and they are pushing the bikes not riding even on the flattest bit of track.
Back across the Cotter River and past some kangaroos on the plains and we walk back uphill to Pond Creek Flats and our small campsite. It is another early to bed night although much warmer with much less frost and the dingo has moved on and apart from the odd thump of a passing kangaroo or wallaby, the night is dense and dark as only winter nights are.
Into sodden shoes the next morning but luckily not frozen and again we leave camp with all our clothes on walking stiffly in so many layers. It is a 300 metre climb up to Cotter Gap so that warms us up and we have our first of two stops of the day on a boulder in the sun overlooking the Orroral Valley again.
Knowing that the final 8 kilometre 400 metre climb back to Orroral Ridge would feel like work I let myself listen to a talking book on my MP3 player. Doug also listens to a podcast on the final hill. “Generally,” Doug said, “I like to be in the moment when I am out in nature.” While I agree wholeheartedly with the sentiment, “Right now,” I say, at the bottom of a long uphill track with sore feet “I don’t want to be in this moment.”
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