Mt Feathertop via Diamantina Spur, Alpine National Park

Do you remember the ‘large post warning’ in my last entry? Well, what’s to come is the reason why, as I’m setting out to put the beast into a big beast of an entry. Unfortunately there’s no other way around it, as I’d like to cover everything that went on in this day. This of course, consisted of a climb to Mt Feathertop via Diamantina Spur, which on paper looked like a slog. Have a guess if it was or wasn’t?

Anyway, I could of course just skip on detail and tap out a few measly paragraphs, but I won’t (you didn’t see that coming did you?). When it comes to blogging, there’s no democracy and all I can suggest is you have a few quick lines of cocaine, which will hopefully keep you attentive enough to get through this tale of woe.

The night spent at Dibbin Hut wasn’t too bad and even the pyjama party next to us quietened down eventually. I did note though one of the jim-jam clan left a loaf of bread on the table overnight and I thought for sure it would be snaffled during the night by some sort of animal (not me). Nope, dawn arrived and it was still sitting there. Is that possible? All I know is, if you attempt something as daft as that in Tasmania you’ll definitely find it missing in the morning. In fact I saw a currawong get into a car at Lake St Clair in order to take food that some bloke had sitting on the centre console. Mind you, what made it even more bizarre is there were people in the car when the bird hopped in.

It was a cold morning and I was quite keen to get moving, but somehow I was the last to pack up. How did that happen? I guess I was sidetracked by the photo opportunities of Cobungra River which runs next to the hut.

Oh yeah, I forgot to mention one thing about the Dibbin Hut area. It does have a dedicated comfort station and the best thing of all is you can find it easily in the middle of the night. Reason? Well, that’s easy, because it smells as if the devil dumps there.

In the morning I ventured in its direction, whilst rueing the fact I didn’t have a 375 ml bottle of Holy Water to ward off the dunny demons. After conducting an extremely brief technical examination, I’d worked out the reason for the nostril flaming stench and that’s instead of being a ‘long drop’, it’s more like a ‘shell shocking short drop’. Cheeks to touchdown seemed like a matter of inches and to make it even more frightening there’s blazing sunlight beaming in. I’m not the smartest bloke around, but I’m pretty confident there’s very little ‘containing’ the contents. The end result is I think I went close to the world ‘hold ya’ breath’ record.

After that excitement, it was certainly nice to get walking and leave the Dibbin Hut area behind. It was a big day ahead, so we didn’t want to be too casual about it.

Across a small bridge at Cobungra River and we were on our way towards the West Kiewa Logging Road.

The walking initially was very comfortable as the track sits within a valley. There were a few more huts ahead which I was interested in taking a peek at, but first of all, we had to pass something marked on the map as the ‘Red Robin Battery’. What’s that? There were a few fun and games before we got to there though.

In our travels we came across a good sized tree, blown down onto the path. What made this particular tree interesting was its width and angle on the ground. Smuffin and Anon went first and it seemed to take them decades to get over it. I was wondering what all the fuss was about until it was my turn. Being tall I thought I could comfortably go for the ‘leg straddle’ approach.

So, off I went until I realised the problem. With my legs spread to groin snapping width, I found both my feet were suspended in the air and neither could remotely touch the ground. What’s worse was the trees insane angle, as not planting my feet, meant I found myself sliding down the trunk. I wasn’t impressed with the sensation of having slivers of timber being hammered into my testicles. Smuffin did though, he thought it was funny. In my haze of pain I imagined the following scene.

There’s a slight difference though, in that unlike Major Kong in Dr Strangelove, I wasn’t exactly whooping for joy at my impending testicle apocalypse. Desperate times call for desperate measures and I was forced to rely on a guffawing Smuffin to pull me across, leaving me walking like a cowboy for the rest of the day.

It also took a while for my voice to return to its traditional Lee Marvin/Laurence Olivier mash-up style, but whilst recovering I managed to crank up the polarizer.

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There were also a few other little details along the way, including fences and posts that have long been disused.

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Remember that bit earlier about the ‘Red Robin Battery’? Well, things were about to slide into wacky world. We reached a fork in the track in which a stop was in order for some map consultation. One part of the track had a dozen signs telling us it was private property complete with a few buildings tucked away in the bush.

That was the ‘Red Robin Battery’ and at a distance there was some bloke hovering around, keeping an eye on us and before I could say, “Hey, this looks like a great set to make the ‘West Kiewa Logging Road Chainsaw Massacre” (yeah okay, the title needs some work) the bloke was right in front of us.

We had a nice friendly chat with him and we picked up some basic information. He’s lived there for 34 years, cattle are good for alpine areas and he thinks hanging chains from his car is funny, as it will scare passers-by into thinking he’s actually a serial killer. By the way, I’m not even joking.

So, we continued on and I kid you not, but this was the first of six occasions I’d speak to this bloke over the next hour or so. Firstly, for a hermit he did have an interesting antenna in his backyard. I was cursing the fact I’d forgotten my alfoil helmet, as I’m sure he’s actually a CIA operative. Come to think of it, there’s no doubt a hundred blokes are inside his beaten up caravan, operating Predator Drone strikes in Afghanistan.

Leaving the hermit behind, we began to head towards Blair Hut which sits just off the road. I was interested in having a peek, as apparently it’s over a hundred years old and has survived the odd bushfire. Well, I think so, as I just did an online search and didn’t find the answer.

The interesting thing though is if you’re using the ‘Spatial Vision Bogong Alpine Area 1:50 000’ map like I was, it appears the hut is accessible from the West Kiewa Logging Road. Well, it’s sort of, as long as you want to drop down a blackberry infested vertical embankment and cross the West Kiewa River to get to the hut. Instead there’s a marked turn off about a kilometre before when walking north and I suggest you take that to get there!

Being blind as a bat when it comes to reading these days, I perused the map whilst wearing a $200 pair of prescription reading glasses at this initial turn off. Not knowing about the embankment fiasco, we elected to continue on and go to the hut from the road. I put my glasses away and of course found out the hut wasn’t really accessible, but it was clearly visible from the road, so I made do with a few pictures from there.

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Now, I mentioned the glasses in the previous paragraph for a reason and I’ll get back to them in a minute. Between cups of coffee to keep yourself awake, I know you were thinking I was bragging about having $200 to spend on specs, but that’s not the case at all.

We came across the first walkers of the day in this section who were headed in the opposite direction. They also wondered if there was any access to Blair Hut to which we directed them to the turn off another kilometre away. They’re also mentioned for a reason, but firstly let’s have a look at some of the trees alongside the road.

There’s some stunning Mountain Ash trees, which are so tall they almost cause vertigo when bending backwards to look up to the tops of them. They’re massive and I just consulted my professor who’s informed me they’re one of the tallest tree species in the world. They do look magnificent with strips of bark hanging off them, which flutter in the breeze.

It was only a short distance away from the turn off to head up the Diamantina Spur when we came across a demolished ‘road closed’ gate. Being the sharing sort of bloke, I’ll even show you what I mean.

One part had been concreted in, but that didn’t protect it from being destroyed by some sort of 4WD rage. In fact a perfectly locked padlock had been torn off and was left lying on the track. Now, this is where all the mentions of the hermit, glasses and two hikers heading in the other direction all comes together in a masterful piece of storytelling. Storytelling? Is that one word or two?

At the destroyed gate I suddenly realised I was missing my reading glasses. Mm… How much does it take to return for some lost gear? I’m telling you now, for $200 I was dropping the pack and sprinting back up the path.

I figured I’d lost them a couple of kilometres earlier from the Blair Hut turn-off, so I assumed they’d be easy to find as they’d be in the middle of the track. So, I left Smuffin and Anon behind relaxing and set off with my eyes glued to the track. It wasn’t ideal that I had to walk back up a hill to do so, but at least I was sans pack.

Okay, let’s get this completely bonkers turn of events in sequence. I was walking happily when I heard a 4WD coming towards me and it was of course the hermit flying down the track. There hadn’t been a car all day and now the one time I was looking for my glasses, some nut is driving over the area I was about to look. In true ‘fiasco tradition’ I was sure they’d now been pulverized, but for now, how about you enjoy a photo which will break up this lengthy story.

1. Hermit stops and we have a quick conversation about what I’m doing. He replies; “That’s no good, I hope I didn’t run over them!” It’s not his fault, so he drives on out of sight and I keep walking, now looking for shiny pieces of shattered glass.

2. About 0.5 of a second later the hermit reappears reversing at high speed, until he pulls alongside me and asks if I want to get in his car to look for them. If by some miracle they’ve survived, then I’d rather find them on foot, so he drives off again.

3. I walk all the way back to the Blair Hut turn off and of course I hadn’t found them. The road isn’t wide, so I thought it was a little weird, as I thought they’d be quite obvious. Mm… The other two hikers. Maybe they found them and picked them up? They were headed to Blair Hut, so I thought being close enough, I’d zip there and ask them.

4. There’s a bloody hill to get to Blair Hut. Anyway, I get there and there’s no hikers. Where did they go? No idea, but I did get to see the hut up close, as a bit of a bonus.

I left the hut and spotted a .22 bullet casing lying nearby and something like that is always worth a photo.

So, it was back to ‘glasses watch’ and I figured on my return to Smuffin and Anon I’d have another chance to find them. I trotted off to the West Kiewa Logging Road and began the ‘head down’ walking method again. Mind you, at the time I started I ran head on into the ‘six man pyjama clan’ from the previous evening and just to rub salt into the whole scenario they indicated they were headed to Federation Hut for the night. Oh no, another night with those lot?!

Anyway, where was I up to? Oh yeah…

5. On my way back the hermit comes flying up again and stops for a chat. He asks, “Did you find them?” to which I reply, “Nope, no idea. A bit disappointing, but I might see them on the way back”. He replies, “Hope I didn’t run over them again!”

At this stage I was thinking this bloke was doing a crap job as a hermit. I don’t think I’ve spoken to a bloke who seeks out to avoid people by living in the middle of nowhere so often. (At this stage, little did I know, that he’d gone down to see Smuffin and Anon to tell his life story. All they wanted to do was have lunch, but this bloke spilled his guts about everything to the point Smuffin donned his pack and ran off when hermit man wasn’t looking.)

I walked all the way back, until I got to within a 100 metres of the other two and guess what? Yes, the zany hermit was back roaring down the track. Is this the last time? Here goes…

6. Hermit pulls alongside of me holding my glasses. What? I’m thinking, “You legend! Thanks mate!” I ask him, “Where did you find them?” to which he replies, “Where I thought they’d be”.

Now, I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean, so I ask him again and he says. “I found them way up past the Blair Hut turn off sign where you’d come from”. This was an interesting comment, as I knew I had my glasses before the Blair Hut sign. In fact I’d used them after the sign which meant he was talking, um… crap? I now had them back, but I was looking at him thinking, “You shifty hermit. You had them all along from the first time you drove down to meet me!”

I was grateful to get them back, but his whole ‘finding them’ story was straight out of ‘wack job world’. It was my fault I’d lost them, but I didn’t need the extra three and a half kilometres I’d just walked in order to play bizarro ‘annoy the hiker’ games. Topping off this sidetrack fiasco I was aware of a blister on the outside of my heel, which is a place I’ve never blistered in my entire life. Huh? Anyway, back to walking.

Yes, it’s time for the main aim of the day. Diamantina Spur. It’s only later did I realise it’s called ‘Dementia Spur’ for a reason. Looking at it head on, it sets off steep and after a short distance decides to get a little steeper.

The only advantage I can think of an ugly, steep climb is height is gained quickly. Yeah, not the greatest bonus I guess, but it’s all I can come up with right now.

I’d been told the track is initially steep for the first 400 metres and after that it’s not too bad. The trouble is, this piece of wisdom came via the hermit, in between talking about where he shops for groceries. The one advantage I had is I was the official photographer for the trip. This forced me to stop frequently to take photos and had nothing to do with the fact my lungs were dangling from my mouth.

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We were gaining height quickly and there were some fantastic views looking back.

Now, I must make a confession about how I really don’t think things through too clearly. How’s this then? When we started out it was cold and with the forecast top temperature being 13 °C, I didn’t think I’d need a ton of water. So, I set out with 2 litres of water, instead of 3 litres, which I could have put in my hydration bladder.

This was fine during the early walking, but now with the hill kicking upwards I was sweating like a beast. Making matters worse is there wasn’t a breath of wind where we were climbing. You just know I’m going to run out of water at some point don’t you?

A couple of times I did find myself bent over with my hands on my knees, but this was all part of my photography plan. The following caught my eye as the small fern frond on the rock was actually attached and almost looked like a fossil.

The colourful trunks of some of the eucalyptus trees were also nice to look at.

After passing the initial steep section I was a little perturbed to look ahead and see a massive hill that was actually blocking the sun. In the back of my mind I was thinking, “Well, that’s ugly. I hope the track goes around it”. Guess what? It doesn’t and in fact decides to go for the manly ‘head on’ approach straight up it. Photos were getting a bit thin on the ground from this point, as I’d officially reached the stage were I felt like my head was boiling like a kettle.

You know what else made it exciting? The track reached a section of rock, which would be absolutely hideous in the wet. I’m not afraid of heights, so the steep slope dropping off hundreds of metres below didn’t bother me too much. The trouble is both Smuffin and Anon are a little shaky on this sort of stuff.

It didn’t hold them back though, as Smuffin adopted his crawling approach, which proved successful on our Mt Buller traverse a month ago. In fact, his limpet method was faster than my walking, as I was now moving at ‘potential cardiac arrest’ speed. Oh yeah, although steep, it decided to get a little steeper. Check out the fun in the photos below.

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Smuffin led the way over that brutal sun-blocking lump to reach the first section of flattish ground since we’d started. As he dragged his dying body up he was suddenly greeted with a chirpy voice saying, “G’day mate!” He was so shocked by this sudden human confrontation he almost rolled down the hill like a bowling ball.

The words were from a couple of blokes who were the first people we’d met on the spur and I observed a couple things that were pertinent. One is they looked supremely fit and the other, is they were going downhill. Actually, that seems to be a bit of a theme on the Diamantina Spur. Be fit and go downhill rather than my dubious system of complete opposites.

Note to self: Lean and mean is the way to go, rather than my method of fat and friendly in which gravity is my constant enemy. Damn you gravity! The chirpy pair continued heading down at a snappy pace.

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I had this mental vision of the climb being more or less done once we cleared that big hump in the spur. In fact, there’s one reason I’d never climb the Diamantina Spur again and that’s because I know what’s to come for the rest of the way. Ahead of us lay a series of steep undulations with our target being the Razorback Spur clearly in front, but disappointingly still a long way off.

It was around this point I had that deflating feeling of sucking on the hydration hose and just inhaling air. I’d run out of water which wasn’t ideal, but Anon was willing to go ‘buddy system’ with their hydration pack because, well, Anon doesn’t really drink much. Do you know how much I drink? I need water so badly that after drinking a zillion litres over three days I had exactly one pee. I’m not sure what happened, but I’m surprised I didn’t drown from the amount of liquid I was guzzling.

There was the slightest of breezes now for some relief as the ridge opened and Mt Feathertop loomed clearly into view.

Now it was time for undulation time and I was really aware that my blistering heel was hurting. The shoes I was wearing had been worn a million times before with no problems. Now though, they decided to crap themselves. I was thinking fondly of my Frankenstein style, full leather boot which I never blister in. Pity they weigh as much as a couple of bricks, but I’d trade weight for blisters any day.

I can’t really explain how this final section of spur felt, as I’ve tried to eliminate it from my memory bank. Even now I feel a little queasy trying to recall it, as it well and truly sucked.

It consists of the following; up and up to a corner, turn corner, look up, see up and up and another corner, reach corner and see up and up. In fact it’s rinse and repeat a million times, which is not ideal when you’re feeling knackered. That’s me of course, as it doesn’t apply to another couple of blokes we met coming down the other way.

Okay, as per the previous two, the standard scenario presented itself. They were lean, fit, chiselled and going downhill. Actually, who walks up this bloody thing? In fact they were so surprised to see a group of suckers (us) climbing it, they came out with the classic comment, “Wow! Congratulations! Well done on climbing that, it’s hard!”

They were nice blokes, but their comment was delivered with so much surprise, that Smuffin and I interpreted it as, “Wow! We didn’t expect to see you two fat bastards coming up here! Well done!” Even in my brain-addled state, I could still chuckle at a backhanded compliment.

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I’m not sure how or when, but suddenly the track levelled slightly and the Razorback Spur was in sight (Actually, the map I was using calls it plain old ‘The Razorback’ without the spur in the title, but that sounds a little bit too dramatic for me).

On a coolish summer day, the Razorback Spur can turn into a mini highway with day walkers heading off to Mt Feathertop and back in a day. The odd group also stays the night at Federation Hut, which sits about a kilometre from the summit. That was our destination and I have to admit the 1.5 km walk which we had for the rest of the day was as endless as any I’ve done. Do I have any photos left?

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No, I don’t think so. I reached Federation Hut area and found a nice quiet spot on the grass and collapsed. Any thought of heading up to Mt Feathertop were scotched by general ‘stuffedness’ and the whopping big blister on my foot.

The statistics for the walk were interesting. I’d covered 18.26 km for the day with 1008 metres in elevation climbed. There were of course the additional kms due to ‘lost spectacle fiasco’. I really need to get a little fitter for this sort of alpine area caper.

The day didn’t end there though, as on cue late in the evening the ‘six man jim-jam clan’ arrived. The Federation Hut area has a vast expanse of grass and great spots to pitch a tent yet somehow they again decided to set up within 20 feet of us. Plus, the LOUD TALKING commenced again. It was all too much for Smuffin who this time got up and delivered a more toe to toe method of ‘quieten down’ to them. The one advantage I had is I was using a bivy bag, so I just picked it up and walked about 100 metres away into the trees so I could snore in peace.

Any more pictures to finish off? I had a tripod, but I can’t say I had the mojo to set it up properly to catch the moon through the ghostly remains of snow gums near the camp area, but this was the best I could do.

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