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Three Tramps
in Quest of
Mountains: Bimberi, Jounima, Tindery
Australia is an ancient land and a stable
land. It has, therefore, no earthquakes and few mountains, and what
mountains it has have been mainly worn down to rounded hills and
plateaux. Nevertheless it was in quest of mountains that I took three
expeditions in 1933.
Mount Bimberi is the highest summit (6,274
feet) in the range that forms the western boundary of the Federal
Territory. To reach it we went by car 40 miles from Canberra to
Tidbin-billa, whence we walked first through grassy sheep land, then
through bushland to the pass at the head of Tidbinbilla Creek. Here we
descended to work up the valley of the Cottar River, a sparkling,
dashing, mountain-stream. There was no track the first part of the way,
and as the valley was V-shaped, the going was fairly slow. Further, as
it was the depth of winter, the fording of the river at every bend was
distinctly cold.
Next day we picked up the bridle track,
and the valley opened out into intermittent meadowlands, culminating in
the deserted Cottar Homestead, where we found two government officials
dutifully protecting the purity of the Canberra water supply. For the
first time we realised we were liable to be shot at dawn for trespassing
on the sacred catchment area. However, nothing happened, and we climbed
the gentle wooded slopes of Mount Bimberi, through tall timber changing
to straggly snow-gum and snow-grass as we went upwards. On the rounded
summit there was about a foot of snow, and we stood in a freezing blast
as we picked out the features of the most interesting landscape-view I
had seen in Australia. The Tindery Range stood out on the one hand, the
crystal snows of Jagungal and the Kosciusko Plateau on another, and most
interesting of all, the really pointed Jounima Range, which threw its
challenge across the intervening miles of blue hills and valleys.
A few weeks later we had answered that
challenge, and were speeding up the lovely Tumut Vale, green as the
English countryside from the recent rains, to Jounima State Forest, just short of Yarrangobilly. Here we parked the
car at the cottage of the forester in charge, and set off by the blazed
trail to the Jounima Branch Creek, after which the trail and blazes
faded out. On the second day we struck the usual unpleasant tangle of
dead and living snow-gum mixed up with scrub and boulders, making
progress very slow, so that we were glad to reach the pile of granite
rocks that forms the final route to the top (5,628 ft.). From this we
looked down on a natural grassy upland, and beyond it to the other
summits of the Jounima Range.
We dumped our camping gear on the next col,
and set off to climb as many peaks as we could that afternoon. Big Plain
Bogong and the Pillared Rocks fell to our efforts, the latter providing
the best rock climbing we had seen in Australia, as well as several
properly giddy looking photographs which would do credit to any British
rock climbing journal.
Next morning we wakened to a howling gale,
and when we put our heads out of the tent found we were in a wilderness
of driving mist. We set back by compass, and no one, unless lie also has
followed the compass through trackless wilds, can realise just what this
means. Once, for instance, we stood on some slippery snow-covered
boulders and looked with horror through a parting in the mists below,
where a series of unknown ridges and valleys lay directly in the line
of the compass. Was the compass wrong? Were our reasons wandering? I
have never felt so utterly forlorn and lost. Indeed, had not the mists
parted further to reveal a landmark on the mountain opposite, I do not
know if we should ever have ventured down or ever have discovered that those hills
and dales were phantom conjured up by the mist, and having no
existence in reality. As it was we did go down, and after ploughing our
way against a hail storm, eventually arrived back with chattering teeth,
feeling that the compass was the most wonderful thing man had ever
invented, next to fire, at any rate the fire in that hospitable forester's
cottage.
The Tindery Mountains near Michalago had
called to me, not only from Bimberi, but ever since I saw their granite
slabs glistening in the morning sunlight as we drove back from
Kosciusko. Bad weather had again been predicted, and my companion
shocked me rather badly by meeting me at Sydney Station with an
umbrella! It rained as we crossed the grassy sheep country, but we could
occasionally pick out the highest summits between the drifting mist. It
was our last view of them for two days. Unlike Bimberi and Jounima, you
can see the very tops of this range from, the valley farms at its foot.
The lower slopes were wooded, but almost
devoid of undergrowth, while the upper ones were covered with rampant
scrub, rocks slippery with wet lichen, and dead snow-gum fallen across
the living in a general criss-cross of inconvenience. We struggled up to
the first summit, and as we stood there the mists swept aside, revealing
a little rocky knob considerably higher. I vowed that, come what might,
I would bag that anyhow. And I did, and found an incomprehensible trig
sign on top. Then, as we started down, a wonderful thing happened. The
mists swung right away for a few minutes, and the valley beneath lay
like an emerald set in sapphire hills and bathed in golden sunlight,
and, more wonderful still, I found we were higher than anything else. I
realised joyfully that it was the Tindery itself (5,307 feet), that I
had climbed without knowing and had safely in my rucksack.
The thing that struck me most about these
three mountain ranges, all of whose rocks are granite, was the paucity
of undergrowth on the lower slopes, and the almost complete absence of
the wild flowers that grow in such luxuriance in the apparently more
barren sandstone country around Sydney and the Blue Mountains. All
occasional splodge of golden wattle or purple hardenbergia were all I
could see. Another interesting thing noticed, especially at Jounima, was
the openness of the upper northern slopes and the denseness of the scrub
and snow-gum on the southern ones, doubtless due to the snow lying there
longer.
MARIE B. BYLES.
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Working Bee for Maitland Bay
Possibly by Marie b Miles
Shortly after the Federation came into
existence in 1932 it took up the task of procuring the dedication of the
Maitland Bay District as a reserve for public recreation, and files show
insistent newspaper propaganda, including an article in 1934 which
assumed that the park was all but dedicated when few outside the
Federation had even heard of it.
In 1935 the District Surveyor was taken
over the area by representatives of the Federation, and in consequence
of his report the land north and south of Maitland Bay was dedicated as
a reserve for public recreation in 1936. The Federation was asked to
nominate three of the Trustees, the other three being representatives of
the Erina Shire Council, but it was not until the control of the
Administrator in that Shire came to an end in 1938 that all the
Trustees met. It is good to record that the happiest of relations have
always existed between the Shire representatives and the bushwalking
members of the Trust. The first Bushwalking Trustees were Miss Marie Byles, Hudson Smith and C. D'A. Roberts. The last two were later
succeeded by W. A. Holesgrove and O. Wyndham.
The original dedication was an area of 650
acres, which has since been increased to 930 acres by the addition of
235 acres in 1939 and 45 acres this year. The Trustees have hopes that
other adjoining lands may become available in the future.
The most recent milestone was the working
bee this year organised by the Trustees and the Federation, in which
over sixty bushwalkers took part. As a result of their voluntary labour,
tracks were made through the Park and a shelter shed erected at the Bay
with a tank to provide fresh water for drinking.
During the last few years Bouddi Natural
Park has become increasingly popular in the bushwalking movement. Though
it is only a small area compared with reserves like National Park and
Kuringai Chase, it holds great attractions for nature lovers. The
Trustees have done a great deal to improve the Park without jeopardizing
its attractions, and intend to make it bigger and better, at the same
time preserving its natural beauties as they were in the days of the
wreck of the "Maitland."
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