There can be no doubt that this Western District of Tasmania, whether we regard the bold outlines of its mountain ranges, its noble lakes and rivers, or the magnificence of its forests, is superior to anything else in the island, and perhaps in all Australia. ~ Charles Whitham, A Naturalist in Tasmania (1917)
Looking south from the summit of Mount Murchison is like gazing at an Abels to-do list.
Aside from already being atop number 72 in the series of Tasmania's highest mountains, beautifully lined up like a compass bearing towards Antarctica are another eight.
Full credit for this impressive organisational masterpiece must go to the great creator, or Bill Wilkinson as he is known to Abellists. Wilkinson's designation of the state's 1,100-metre-plus peaks – each requiring a minimum drop of 150 metres on all sides – has established this region near the West Coast as a veritable Abels theme park, with those nine peaks separated by no more than 50km and the eight viewable from Murchison's 1,275m summit all within just 68 metres of each other in height.
Mounts Read (1,123m) and Dundas (1,143m) join Murchison on the western side of the B28 road, before the remaining six form an organised queue behind them, stretching towards Macquarie Harbour. Like pupils lined up in height order in the middle row of a school year photograph, Mounts Tyndall (1.179m), Geikie (1,191m), Sedgwick (1,148m), Owen (1,146m), Jukes (1,169m) and Sorell (1,144m) are all placed between 108th and 128th among the state's 158 designated Abels.
Wilkinson reached the same conclusion in his book, The Abels, writing, "The nine Abels which are dotted along the range are sufficiently isolated to allow for majestic views from each summit, despite the fact that only Mt Murchison makes the list of the highest 100 Abels. With the network of roads and tracks today, only Mt Sedgwick and Mt Sorell can be considered difficult propositions."
Charles Whitham put it even better, in his 1917 publication, A Naturalist in Tasmania, when he wrote, "There can be no doubt that this Western District of Tasmania, whether we regard the bold outlines of its mountain ranges, its noble lakes and rivers, or the magnificence of its forests, is superior to anything else in the island, and perhaps in all Australia."
All of which makes this rugged, remote area of our lovely state prime territory for an Abels getaway.
Queenstown is ideally placed as a base and the concept of climbing a mountain a day with a light pack and the knowledge of fresh, hot meals and warm, comfortable beds each night does certainly have an edge over the week-long, full-pack, muddy slogs required for some of the less attainable Abels.
All nine of these peaks can be reached within an hour's drive of Queenstown, which is a delightful, welcoming place, providing you don't have gluten-free dietary requirements and high expectations.
Tasmanian mountains are much like Forrest Gump's momma's box of chocolates: yaw never know what yaw gonna git. Whatever information or preconceptions you may carry upon starting out, there is always the prospect that a hazelnut whirl could turn out to be just another Turkish delight.
Such was the case when climbing near neighbours Murchison and Dundas on consecutive days.
The former lived up to every expectation. Murchison's summit marks the highest and northernmost point in the West Coast Range, which runs virtually parallel to the coastline. Several people had told me it was their favourite peak and, in 2020, the website trackslesstravelled.com carried an article headlined "Why Mount Murchison is the best day hike in Tasmania". It presented a compelling case in favour of "a difficult, yet satisfying scramble through a stunning amphitheatre of rock, glacial lakes and tarns".
It is hard to question their findings. Other peaks compare, but either take considerably longer (such as Cradle Mountain), have worse tracks (Clumner Bluff), inferior scenery (Mount Rufus) or all three (Mount Dundas – more on that in a minute).
Magnificent terrain and an achievable timeframe form an awesome combo. Ascending 700m in 3km, the hike is listed as taking three to five hours. Four is a reasonable estimation. We took the full five, due to a mixture of wanting to savour the summit, experiment photographically and get away from some annoying people who threatened to diminish our enjoyment.
Expertly created by glaciation, the scenery is captivating, not least the mountain's central core, which gives the effect of a volcanic crater with a hole in it.
Rain forest, alpine scrub, hanging tarns, precipitous drops and fearsome rock formations are complemented by a cairned route featuring one long fixed rope and several precarious diversions. It is pretty much the only route to the summit for which you don’t need climbing equipment.
Eventually, hikers reach a narrow, rocky ledge, the like of which would be seen crumbling away in vampire movies in the not-dissimilar mountains of Transylvania. The summit cairn appears on the horizon and, after dropping down the southern side of the ridge for 15m and following cairns along yet another narrow rocky ledge, is reached with a fair degree of bravado.
Wilkinson puts it more tactfully, "The final section involves some easy rock scrambling with some exposure and might not be suitable for those with a fear of heights."
The views are as spectacular as the mountain itself. The West Coast Range peaks line up in an orderly southbound queue, beginning with all the paraphernalia related to the weather station which makes nearby Mount Read a staple location in Tasmanian forecasts.
Lakes Mackintosh, Murchison and Rosebery fill in the gaps while Cradle Mountain, Barn Bluff and Mount Ossa dominate the horizon.
Ultimately, Wilkinson agreed with those at trackslesstravelled.com, stating, "This well-known peak is the jewel of the range and has become the most popular climb in the area." He ended his account, "Mount Murchison is a truly magnificent Abel and well worth the effort required."
Just two pages further on in Volume 2 of Wilkinson’s mountainous writing project, and 7km away as the wedge-tailed eagle flies but worlds apart in terms of enjoyment, is Dundas.
Replacing the previous day's candidate for best walk in Tasmania, photogenic scenery and comfortable timeframe were squelching mud, dodgy information and a four-hour trudge to an unrewarding pinnacle.
After wading across Farrell Rivulet, most of a height gain of 900m in 4.5km is achieved on a lengthy, monotonous, overgrown bulldozer track. The hike's redeeming feature is a delightful tangled rain forest of moss-covered fallen trees, vines and ferns after which came the section where we rather fell out with Bill Wilkinson. His description of the hike stated that, when an open plateau covered in low alpine vegetation is reached, "the summit is now only a short way ahead". The summit was indeed within view at this point, but dense alpine scrub above head height ensured it was no easy walk to reach.
Upon finally scaling the highest point (which, bizarrely, is not the trig station), we ate, drank, re-fastened overworked gaiters and vowed never to return. The uninspiring view's saving grace, just beyond neighbouring Mount Read, was our old friend Mount Murchison looming as a poignant reminder of happier adventures.
More in the ABELS series:
- Nescient Peak
- Black Bluff
- Mensa Moor
- Mount Ironstone
- Clumner Bluff
- Frenchmans Cap
- Drys Bluff
- Mersey Crag, Turrana Bluff
After 13 years as a journalist in his native England, Rob Shaw moved to Tasmania with his young family in 2002. He has since continued to write about sport, covering two Olympics, three Commonwealth Games and many other major events, while also exploring the Tasmanian wilderness. His book, Shaw Things, is a compilation of some of his best newspaper columns. It was published by Forty South Publishing.
