Standing Guard - The Sentinel Range, Tasmania

Kalbarri National Park, Western Australia

We arrived during a wicked thunderstorm; driving headlong into clouds the colour of the bitumen road. Then, torrential rain and the wipers banging madly left to right. The unsettled weather lasted three days. The rainfall meant dirt roads to the Murchison River gorge walks were closed. So, we began our explorations of this national park along the coast. 

We had stumbled into Kalbarri National Park, following a tip-off from a friend who rated this park as their favourite in the entire state of Western Australia. A vast state, in our vast continent, with this astoundingly unsung pocket of country. The coast walks showed us shifts of colour, brilliantly combined. Then we finally got access to the Murchison River gorge and the dramatic, swirling cliffs and flooded Murchison River took this park to a whole new level of scenic. The impressive beauty was deeply surprising and the sense of discovery hugely satisfying. 

Mt Twynam, Mt Tate and the Rolling Grounds - Kosciuszko National Park

The sweeping, grassy hillsides are thick with daisies; their bright, white and yellow faces smiling away as I walk past. There’s an ancient snowgum halfway on the climb to the summit. Its canopy is a storm-swept tangle of twisted branches; its bark has those steely subtle hues of grey and green. As we walk, there are grand views across the range. Ravens are circling distant rocky peaks in huge flocks. Their loud conversation carries on the breeze. The weather is sublime, a sunny day; cool nights are forecast. 

This is how I remember this walk. Sweet memories. I could pour a swirling glass of nostalgia from this walk until I nearly drown in it. The long sunny days and isolated, scenic campsites. 

Seeing is believing - Mt King William I

There is meant to be a mountain above us. I keep looking up in hope. I see nothing but a ceiling of cloud - the sky, overcast and low. It seems, if I stood on tippy toes I could touch it. As we follow the track towards the base of this invisible peak, it is tempting to turn around. I am wondering, what fun could we possibly have on a mountain in grey, wet soup like this? We keep walking, despite. There is, after all, a mountain above us, whether we can see it or not. 

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). 

'The Monarch of Tasmania's west' - Frenchmans Cap

Picture this: a large rock midstream in a fast flowing river. The rock protrudes above the water. A swift current races around it and on the downstream side is a pocket of calm water. The current causes the sides of this calm to change and swirl with movement. But immediately behind the rock is complete stillness. 

Now imagine the protruding rock is Frenchman’s Cap. The river's current is the wind and the water is dense cloud. The mountain’s bare, white quartzite peak holds firm above it all. Picture two little bushwalkers, sitting in that calm spot on the downstream side, sheltered from the howling south-westerly wind. A tongue of clear, still air stretches away before them while either side, the dense clouds whip past, whirling on the edge of the eddy in a dance of mesmerising flurries. Then the sun rises above this streaming world. The light is crystalline but diffuse. Picture the two bushwalkers sitting in the morning sun completely entranced, watching this wild show of streaming clouds, backs leaning against the bulk of the mountain. Sudden pirouettes of cloud rise and fall on either side. They are alone, for more than 4 hours, bewitched. The day warms. The flood of streaming cloud slowly disperses, swept away across the world.

Mt Cabre Bald, Barrington Tops National Park, NSW

The Barrington Tops, in NSW, is renowned as the watershed of 14 different rivers including the once mighty Manning, the Karuah River and the Hunter. These rivers flow out of the Tops like arteries. And between each river valley, runs a long finger of forest-clad ridgeline, spreading from the subalpine heights of the wild plateau to the farm land far below. 

Along one of these ridges, sits a peak called Mt Cabre Bald — one of the most unique, ancient and rare landscapes I have ever visited. The view from the top of the mountain should be enough - it is a vast, 360 degree panorama. The Barrington Tops stands in the north like a Great Wall of forest. I can see east down the Hunter Valley to farmland and dams and the nearby peaks of Mt Royal and Mt Allyn loom either side. But it is not for the view that I am lugging an overnight pack and kilos of water up the steep final pinch to the top. At the grassy summit, Caz and I drop our gear to begin searching for the true treasure.