The lure of hidden monoliths...

I love bushwalker log books; but, this one is particularly unforgettable. It is housed in a silver box, attached firmly to a rock on the summit of a little-known mountain. The lid of the box is beautifully engraved with the mountain’s latitude. Due north is marked with a bold arrow. All the surrounding peaks are named and distances to them are also given. The logbook is an unexpected surprise because the walk here is rare, untracked, unlisted (in print or online) and hard, physical work.

“I wonder how I got to the top...how could I let myself be dragged into this adventure...[but] a very beautiful place, superb!” - Stephan Delabre, 4 July 1991 (written in French). 

A very beautiful place indeed. Cresting the rocky western edge of the mountain, on approach to the summit, there is another of those awildland ‘wow’ moments. Nestled below the peak is a small plateau covered in weird, weathered columns of rhyolite. They stand like a tribe turned to stone — some tall and lean, some short, some stout, all crowded together, side by side. They are beautiful and totally unique.  

The 'wow' moment is enhanced by the feeling of stumbling upon a lost world. The small plateau is so isolated and is a place visited by a privileged few, as the logbook is testament to. Placed here in 1994 (that is the first entry and there is mention from one walker of having been to the summit a few years earlier and the log book not being there) there are just 20 written entries in 25 years. In the late 90s there are one, two or three entries each year - mainly bushwalking clubs; Narrabri, Brisbane, University of Queensland, Gunnedah. There are several years with no entries at all. Only from 2004 onwards do people start mentioning the difficult scrub you need to walk through to get to the summit. There have been no entries since 2014. Now ours. 

Given this mountain’s name, and its anonymity in National Parks and general literature, we wanted to make sure there were no cultural sensitivities or restrictions to be aware of before walking. So, we called in to the local NPWS office.  They gave us just a general warning that when approaching any of the mountains in the area to be mindful of feelings of nausea, headache or unwellness. Whatever the history of this mountain, it produced nothing but the opposite - feelings of euphoria and lightheaded joy. The fun of exploring amongst the towers of rock, some of them 8-10m or more in height. Their sharp silhouettes against the brilliant blue sky. Feeling the rough texture of the mountain, weathered into weird patterns, covered in orange and yellow lichen. Sheltering amongst mallee trees to escape the cool winter wind. The distant call of lorikeets through the forest below.  

The only negative emotions were drawn from the shit fight of mallee, wattle, hop bush and ti-tree we had to walk through en-route to the mountain, which peaks at 1,130m above sea level. It made me think of an essay I read once by Haydn Washington called Untying the Wilderness Knot (available online at the Colong Foundation). Washington talks about the tangle of philosophy, politics and culture that surrounds definitions and understanding of ‘wilderness’. As I walked, I was thinking more literally - of the knotted, tangled bush and how it could be the metaphor he was thinking of.

Walking in this wilderness zone, to this summit, is hard work. Our lack of local knowledge adds to the challenge. If we had been living nearby and exploring these mountains regularly we would have a store of knowledge to draw upon - which creeks hold water, where and when it last rained, which springs are most reliable, which patches of forest have been burnt and when. As visitors, there is the disadvantage of not knowing the topography. After just a few weeks exploring here, we are learning by failures — by comparing the topographic map (a drawn landscape) with the reality of what we find one the ground. Turns out, some ridge routes look like they will go on the map; they don’t on the ground. You can’t force walks or force knowledge of a place. You can just explore.

If we had wanted more local knowledge, however, Stu would be the man to ask. Amongst the entries in the log book there is a lot of talk of Stu’s 'shortcut' from the saddle, north-east of the mountain. And Stu appears to visit often in the 90s and again on the eve of his 70th birthday. He writes that he was glad he could remember the way. 

9 years later we are here again. Came up south side using interesting “short cuts”. Not for the faint hearted. We call it the “waterfall variant”. Excellent day! - Hugo, Laurie.

Gunnedah Bushwalking Club, Stu said there was an easy shortcut from the saddle. Oh how he lied!!!

Given how special and yet unknown this location remains I have consciously omitted the mountain’s name or its location. Because, in that treasure of a logbook, I read this:  Our greetings to fellow bush-walkers, lets hope all those people who “just don’t get it” never all get it. Hate to see these places trampled. Cheers.

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