The expected storm was building up outside Port Davey, but it was flat calm as we motored up Bathurst Channel. Even so, we were anticipating 35 knot winds even in these protected waters by lunchtime, so we went deep into the river system toward Bathurst Harbour to find a good anchorage.
On either side of us reared stark rocky hillsides, brushed with startling patches of the white quartzite schist which is a feature of these parts.
The water itself is dark brown from the acidic peat of the ubiquitous buttongrass, a dark freshwater layer above the salt, forming a shaded haven beneath for species that would normally be confined to the ocean depths. When we arrived, the dark surface had been recently stirred, and was punctuated by white chunks of flocculent bigger than my fist.
We anchored in King’s Cove, looking up at the steep slopes of Mount Beattie, which stands a little over 200m above sea level. On the other side of the channel rears Mount Rugby, well over 700m high.
The crew were tired after our night passage, and so after a leisurely breakfast, we relaxed until lunch. Pieter and Shien went for a swim, then Pieter and I pottered around fixing various hinges and catches that had come loose during the passage.
Mt Beattie
We had read in the anchorage guides that there were trails up both of the nearby mountains, so after lunch, a few of us took the dinghy to shore to tackle the smaller one as a ‘practice run’ for the larger.
The path was a bit notional in places, but sloped steadily upwards through the buttongrass, and stands of flowering honeymirtle and swampheath.
The weather started to bluster, so we scurried back to the boat, made some dinner and opened some wine. Rain set in. We had some more wine. The sky turned angry purple. Liv said she would only put ‘Purple Rain’ on the stereo if we all sang along…
Mount Rugby
We made a gentle start to the morning, eating breakfast and then putting together stuffed wraps for lunch. Up came the anchor, and we motored around to a small bay to the North of Bathurst Channel, which put us within dinghy-strike of the path up Mount Rugby.
The climb is hard and unrelenting, on wet buttongrass peat. The path appears to be kept open largely by wombats rather than people, so each step is a choice between putting one foot directly in front of the other in a narrow boggy crack, or of hopping from side-to-side hoping that you don’t slip. Some stretches can only be navigated bent over double through scraggy forest.
Thankfully the hillside was lined with small sturdy trees, so we hauled ourselves up hand-over-hand, slipping and sliding in the treacherous mud, until we reached a small outcrop of quartzite that was level with the summit of yesterday’s Mount Beattie.
With spectacular and unobstructed views of the whole 150-square-kilometre expanse of Port Davey / Bathurst Harbour, we knew that we were the only vessel in this incredible untouched wilderness. It was a surprise, then, to hear an unfamiliar voice and then to see an unfamiliar face. A young couple strode into view. “Where on earth did you come from?” I asked.
They explained that they were the pilots of a charter plane which had just dropped a handful of clients at the Melaleuca airstrip (a short band of crushed quartzite occasionally visible in the distance). They had a few hours to kill and had borrowed a spare boat from their company, and thought that if they made haste they could get up and down the mountain before their clients returned. I stepped off the path to let them through, and off they scampered, making me feel old and slow.
Back in the real world, the going got harder, every foot placement necessarily more intricate. Often the track was obscured by tufts of button grass, so you never knew if your questing foot would encounter solid rock, slippery mud, or a quartzite slurry akin to quicksand. At about a hundred vertical metres from the summit, we stopped for a breather and a bite to eat.
After that, the trail got really difficult. Every step was steeply upward, either on mud, tree root, or quartzite. Some of the route was bouldering, some genuine rock-climbing, particularly closer to the summit where we were climbing over or crawling under huge fallen boulders.
Attempting an interesting traverse, I encountered the pilots on their way back down. Spreadeagled against the quartzite and reaching for a toe-hold, I glanced up as the lady slid down on her bottom and the man slipped in mud and tumbled down the slope. “I’m getting too old for this shit,” I joked. The man looked ruefully at this mud-stained trousers. “Youth isn’t helping me at all!” he said, before sliding down the next section.
I’d been dawdling, playing on the rocks and taking photos of the plant life, but eventually caught up with the vanguard of our group, who had stopped to rest on a large flat rock. However, the summit was within sight, so I clambered up the final stretch, and found myself standing at the top of the world.
The views were truly astonishing. Most of our crew have travelled extensively, and we all agreed that the 360-degree vista from the top of Mount Rugby was equal to anything we’d seen, anywhere. Click here for a 360 degree movie.
It had taken us three hours to reach the summit, and it took us another three to get down again. Going down was, arguably, even harder than coming up. Visibility of the steep and occluded path was even worse from above, with the added complication that our feet had stirred up the mud on the way up.
We fell, and fell again. Sitting or lying on the undergrowth and contemplating the sky for the umpteenth time, it was sobering to reflect on how easy it would be to sprain or even to break something, but we made it almost to the bottom in relative safety.
Close to the bottom, just above the anchorage, is a small subsidiary peak. For reasons that remain obscure, John and Rob and I set off to climb it while the others continued on down to the boat.
There was not even the hint of a path, and the going was very hard through low-growing scrub and soft wet peat. We fell, and we bled, and we fell again, but once more the views were rewarding.
Back aboard Silver Fern, we motored back around the corner to Kings Cove. We were expecting a big wet storm and we already know that the holding was good and that Mount Beattie provided protection from the West. A hearty dinner, a few glasses of wine, and then we all drifted exhausted to bed.
Brilliant recount Reinhard đź‘Ť it was an incredible day.