UNSW Bushwalking & Mountaineering Club

Newsletter - June 2000

Introduction

It has been an interesting past month scince the last newsletter, with some fantastic events happening within the club, and some very sad events happening outside. This is also probably the last newsletter for those club members who have been over here on exchange for 6 months, we hope you've enjoyed being part of the club, and I would encourage you to remain on the club e-mail list, and to keep in contact with us. In particular, it would be great to be able to spice up this newsletter with some tales of adventures beyond the shores of Australia.

Tragedy

For those of you who haven't already heard, two members of the Newcastle University Mountaineering Club, one of who was the club president, died in the Kanangra-Boyd National Park on the June long weekend. Whilst I am not aware of the full details of the incident, it appears that one of the members got stuck halfway down an abseil beside a waterfall in the evening. The other member then ascended the rope from below to assist, and in the process both of them ended up dying of hypothermia.

What makes this incident quite different from other incidents that have occured in the past year is that both the people involved in this incident appear to actually be fairly experienced. To my mind this really pushes home the point that activities in the bush, and particularily those on steep rock, involve a high degree of "active safety". It is up to us as individuals involved in these activities to continuously be aware of the possible dangers, and to minimize our exposure to these dangers. Of particular importance in this case is the fact that different conditions made an activity that both people were familiar and competent at much more dangerous.

We send our condolences to the members of the Newcastle University Mountaineering Club and the relatives of the two members who died, and we hope that we can all learn from the incident and try to prevent it from happening again.

AGM

Once again it is coming up to the time for our AGM, in this case it will be held on Tuesday 25 July 2000. The main business of the AGM is the election of a new executive and committee. We always encourage new people to get involved with the running of the club, and to that end, here is a brief list of the positions that are available in the club, and what each position involves:

If you'd like to be nominated for any of these positions, please let one of the current executive know and we will happily give you more detailed information on what's involved.

Pantoney's Crown Trip Report 28/5/2000

by Brian Hawkins

Trip Leader: Daniel Marlay

Participants: Daniel Marlay, Richard Hocking, Delphine Lepetit, Solene Liebault, Brian Hawkins, James Southwell, Tom Sobey, Srihari.

What a trip! What an epic! What an action-packed adventure! Nobody who went will ever forget this mother of all daywalks. (Day-and-a-half walks, to be correct.)

We rose early on Sunday morning and set off full of expectation. It had snowed a little in Katoomba on Saturday and we hoped to find the mountains white. Alas, it was not so. But when we hopped out of the car in Mount Vic a fine snow was falling. We sat by the hotel fire and drank foul coffee while Richard pointed out to Delphine and Solene - both French - the deficiencies of the French nation. Then Sri and Tom turned up and the party was complete. Ready for anything, we embarked on the final leg of the drive.

Hilarity prevailed. We drove through Lithgow with our arms out the windows, flapping. Near Wolgan Gap we turned onto a dirt road. As we gained altitude snow began to appear, piled like icing sugar on fallen trees and logs. Each sighting of snow was greeted with a cheer. 'Ozzie ozzie ozzie!' we cried, 'oi! oi! oi!'. Solene started a mexican wave - in French, 'l'ola' - and we booed an imaginary members' stand.

Our progress was eventually halted by a very steep, very slippery descent about two kilometres before the Baal Bone picnic area. We abandoned the cars and, after a short but violent game of soccer, set off on foot for Baal Bone. The road dropped into a cliff-walled gulley crowded with ferns and big trees. We stepped aside to let a four-wheel drive go by. 'There's eleven of us,' said the driver - and so there were. A convoy of eleven four-wheel drives came crawling up the hill. One had a sticker saying: 'the only wilderness is between a greenie's ears.'

From Baal Bone picnic area we could see a flat-topped sandstone mountain rimmed by high cliffs. It was Pantoney's Crown. To get there we would have to walk down into the valley, along Crown Creek, and up the forested flanks of the Crown itself; then we would tackle the cliffs. It was already almost midday. As we gazed at the mountain, we kissed all hope of a daylight return goodbye. Not that it bothered us - a night walk adds spice to any journey.

We wound down the firetrail towards Crown Creek, startling swamp wallabies on the way. A rare 'sumpie' was also seen. Unable to control themselves, the hardened gourmands Solene and Delphine began salivating - on Monday night they were due to eat a roo at the Little Snail Restaurant. By the time you read this the roo will have been well and truly gourmandised. Vive la France!

After a stroll along the creek (where Richard kept me entertained by pelting me with large stones ) we left the firetrail and headed up a ridge. The red walls of Pantoney's Crown loomed above us. In one place a beautiful casuarina forest was growing; as I trod over those soft, sun-splashed needles it never occurred to me to regret the absence of snow. Halted on a rocky knoll, we found two earth-coloured baby geckos beneath a sandstone slab.

By the time we reached the base of the cliffs it was three o'clock and it had gotten colder. Tom spotted a ramshackle nest on a ledge and climbed up to take a look. Suddenly a grey shape exploded out of the twigs, wings hissing in the wind. Was it an owl? A hawk? Neither - we had discovered a lyrebird's nest! Meanwhile Richard expressed himself by sending enormous boulders crashing down the hillside.

We lunched under a sandstone overhang and it started snowing. It was exhilarating. Big flakes came spiraling downwards through the nearly windless air; and in the valley we could hear the wind surging like surf in the treetops. What a day we had picked! New South Wales was experiencing its coldest May weather since the 1950s.

A cairn marked the start of the pass to the summit. Richard assisted the less able climbers to scramble upwards. The route was not too difficult until the final four-metre wall. Here Delphine, Solene and I stayed behind while Daniel led the others on a lightning raid upon the Crown.

We three francophones made tea and waited for the summit-party to reappear at the edge of the cliffs above us. The light was fading. We sat in the snow and gazed out at Genowlan Mountain and the Capertee Valley. A high conical peak - Mount Coricudgy? - rose through the haze a long way to the North. In the end clouds swept over the valley and the view vanished. Just as the tea boiled we looked up to find that the summit-party was ready to descend.

Climbing up the four-metre wall had been hard, and climbing down it promised to be harder still; but James accomplished the feat without too much trouble and the others followed. We gulped our tea then slipped and slithered to the foot of the cliffs.

It was twilight and the snow was getting heavier. Flakes the size of ten cent pieces quickly covered the earth in white. It was amazing and we sang as we scrambled down through the snow-covered rocks. In all the world there can have been no better place to be.

The trees showed dark against the white snow. Our feet left a dark muddy trail through the whiteness. We started down a ridge in the gloom and before long the snow was left behind and there was only water.

For two hours we wandered around on the ridges. We zig-zagged, losing altitude gradually, navigating by torchlight. We were never certain of where we were but we kept heading in the right direction. Eventually a steep gulley deposited us in Crown Creek and we rejoined the firetrail. Here Delphine and Solene made a lot of friends by opening a packet of chocolate wheatens; and it was here also that I ate the greatest vegemite sandwich of my entire life - and that's saying something. Vive la vegemite!

The three-hour walk back to the cars was oddly enjoyable. There had been a high mortality rate among our torches - two out of five were cactus - but there was no great need for illumination along the firetrail. I went ahead with a darkened torch and I hardly fell over at all. The bush was very still. Nothing stirred apart from the odd half-frozen wallaby.

I rejoined the party at the beginning of the ascent to Baal Bone picnic area. Delphine and Solene lifted our spirits by singing dirty songs in French (we think they were dirty; they sounded kinda dirty) while Daniel made a mysterious side-trip into the forest. Mindful of the Anzac spirit of self-sacrifice and devotion, we abandoned him in the bush and ran up the hill as fast as we could. But the fleet-footed bastard put an end to our plan of stealing his car and selling it in Lithgow in order to finance the most stupendous poker machine binge of all time when he caught up with us about a fifth of the way to the top. Ach! We were so close!

At Baal Bone a fire winked forlornly. It was snowing and, now that the climb was done, our exertions were insufficient to keep us warm. We trotted along the trail, curious as to what state the cars would be in. We had to walk around several newly-fallen trees; we wondered if the exit roads might be blocked. The gulley where we had encountered the four-wheel-drive convoy was deep in snow. Ferns and branches sagged with the weight of it, and while we were walking we heard a tree snap and fall somewhere in the darkness.

The final ascent was all ice and mud. My volleys slipped and I laughed like crazy. My socks were sopping wet from walking through puddles; so were Solene's and so were everyone else's, probably. It was not possible that there should be so much snow! I looked up to where the southern cross shone brightly. The milky way was like a great silver scarf thrown across the heavens.

The cars, when I reached them, resembled igloos. Everyone was hopping up and down in the cold and saying rude things about me. They had been waiting for me to turn up and take a group portrait. It was worth the wait; my flash wouldn't go off. When at last it did, the camera was pointing the wrong way - through no fault of mine.

After the shoot we burrowed into the cars like so many beachworms and, thanks to some consummate driving by Daniel and James, made our way to Katoomba without mishap. But at Leura the highway was iced over and the police would not let us continue. It was one thirty in the morning. We parked outside the station and considered our options. I called a friend in Leura but the nameless crapaud was so lazy he couldn't even be bothered answering the phone. Thank heavens for people like the Ernsts, friends of Daniel's who let us stay the night in their holiday house. I commend them for their generosity - but if I had a house, there's no way I'd let anyone like us near it.

Since the roads were too dangerous to drive on, we faced the delicious prospect of squeezing into our wet socks and shoes and walking a kilometre to the Ernst's house. Most of us opted to do without socks. Outside it was still snowing. A man was strolling up and down the street saying, 'I come from Malaysia, I've never seen snow before, I drove all the way up here just to see the snow.' His friend asked, 'Does everyone want to go swimming? Is everyone keen to�' But he was interrupted by the loud crash of a thousand hearts breaking as one. A tremendous sigh went up from the female population of Leura; Sri had taken his shirt off in the middle of the street. (I think I heard Tom sigh too but I wouldn't swear to it.)

We limped and slithered down the hill to the Ernst's holiday house. The walk was over; now it was time to savour the good things in life. There can be few experiences more satisfying than to drink hot chocolate in front of a fire knowing that in the unheated room next door Richard Hocking is slaving away washing eight pairs of stinking socks. Vive le snow! Vive le U.N.S.W.B.M.C.!

Trips List

�