Rumour has it that Bob Brown has climbed Drys Bluff once for each year of his life.
Having heard it described as the toughest single-day walk in Tasmania and taken four attempts to finally reach the summit, I felt I couldn’t write about the mountain without contacting the former Greens leader and asking if this was true.
“Not quite,” he said. “I’ve done it about 70 times and am just coming up on 77 so I’ll have to hurry up a bit.
“And it’s one of the hardest day walks in Australia, not just Tasmania.”
Talking Drys Bluff with Brown is almost as invigorating and rewarding as climbing it.
The 1340-metre peak towers over Oura Oura, the idyllic Liffey property Brown bought in 1973, donated to Bush Heritage in 2011 and still returns to when seeking inspiration for his many books.
The former senator and GP happily discussed the fauna, flora, geology, meteorology and nomenclature of a peak he can still recall seeing for the first time.
“I was astonished,” he said. “I first climbed it in January 1974 and nearly fell off while taking a photo. I gave myself quite a shock that day but relaxed when I got back down, sat on the bridge over the river and up popped a platypus.
“In 1938 there was a page in The Examiner magazine which called it ‘a noble peak on the Great Western Tiers’ and I think that sums it up nicely. It’s a wonderful escarpment overlooking a deep, forested valley. It’s a citadel of northern Tasmania and the fulcrum of the Great Western Tiers.
“It’s always changing. Because of its rapid elevation, different plants are flowering at different heights at different times of year and that’s just fascinating.”
Even for one so well acquainted with Tasmanian wilderness, Brown has become something of an expert on this particular corner - the legacy of having a backyard containing an Abel (the official name for Tasmania’s 158 designated peaks higher than 1100 metres as defined by author Bill Wilkinson).
Talk long enough and you can learn where to find the most north-easterly king billy pines in Tasmania; a peregrine falcon’s nest; the mountain’s longest cliff face, first climbed in 1976; a permanent water source and the thermometer which recorded -15.3 in 1983 (even though Tasmania’s lowest on record is -14.2 at Liawenee).
It may be the nearest part of Tasmania’s world heritage area to Launceston, but Drys Bluff is no walk in the park.
After two assaults were aborted by weather and illness, and a third attempt to cheat by coming in from the top of Poatina Hill fell short, we finally nailed both the trig point and the summit in an expedition totalling nine hours, 14km, 1262m elevation and two very sore knees.
Relentless gradient, five very necessary fixed ropes and a summit higher than Mount Wellington do not an easy stroll make.
As my hiking companion was heard to mutter as he did his best Indiana Jones impression halfway up a rope: "Blimey, you wouldn't bring your granny up here."
Wilkinson cannot be accused of sugar-coating this one.
“A strenuous day walk”, “increasingly solid climb”, “steep, slippery section”, “rapid increase in altitude” and “a solid wall of rock” are all detailed before the final bush-whack across the “densely-vegetated portion of the plateau”.
Then there’s the giveaway: “Grade: Hard”.
But for all the effort, there is just as much to enjoy.
First sight of the stunning, anvil-shaped sandstone outcrop halfway up the climb provides one of those jaw-dropping moments in which Tasmania excels.
A spot of exploration reveals a way of scaling the beast which in turn provides both magnificent views over the Liffey Valley and access to a small den beneath an overhang.
“I spent a night in that cave once,” Brown said. “But I shared it with a native rat, which I think was more off-putting for him than me.”
The unrelenting gradient, while never easy, kicks up to a designation of "beastly" for the final gully which leads to the ridgeline.
A large cairn, visitors’ book and even a convenient pool of fresh water are all located here, but the summit is not.
This is still another 2km away, and Wilkinson’s “densely-vegetated” description doesn’t do it justice.
For reasons not abundantly clear, the track completely disappears at this point and the route across the plateau towards the summit is pure bush-whacking.
There is one obvious track, but that leads to the trig point away to the east. The Drys Bluff summit, which is some 50m higher, is not only back across the plateau, but at the far end of a wall of dolerite clifftops and the other side of much delightful waist-high scoparia.
Again, Brown had a delightful knack of turning this into a positive.
“Suddenly when you go over that escarpment you are in true wilderness. That’s one of its charms.”
While the trig point offers views to the east towards Ben Lomond and south along the ridgeline to Parson and Clark and Millers Bluff, the summit looks out westwards towards numerous sibling Abels, most prominently Quamby Bluff, Mother Cummins and Mount Ironstone, plus neighbouring Bluffs, Liffey and Projection.
The peak was named after Richard Dry (senior) who, upon retiring from his position as chief assistant at the government store in 1819, was granted 500 acres by Governor Macquarie which became the Quamby estate, near Hagley.
The Aboriginal name for Drys Bluff is Taytitikit.heeker, meaning, in part, “high up in the clouds”. Harder to say maybe, but much more appropriate.
Asked his memories of personal and reported assaults on the mountain, Brown appeared to subconsciously channel his inner-George Mallory and the Englishman’s most-famous quote about Everest.
“There’s been a steady increase from when almost nobody climbed it and possibly people are following Wilkinson’s book now, but most people climb it just because it’s there.
“People come back down in various states of exhaustion but are usually extremely happy to have achieved it. We’ve often been sitting having an evening meal around the fire when people arrive back and they are usually very happy to share a beer with us and talk about their day.
“The track needs doing up. It needs to be easier because quite a lot of folk get to those ropes and turn back but they are very close to the top. It really needs a rope ladder there. I had some trouble getting my twin sister down from there once. It is a bit scary for people.
“I think there are plenty of warnings that it is a big walk. It is a huge task. I always tell people it is nearly three Empire State Buildings.”
Brown happily recounted tales of watching wedge-tailed eagles soar beneath his feet, foot-long icicles, wedding proposals and how the summit plateau’s wombats and wallabies are creamier in colour than those down in the valley to blend in with the alpine vegetation.
He concluded our chat with one of his favourite experiences and his hopes for the future.
“I once walked up in full moonlight,” he said. “I could not sleep so decided to go up there. It was a frosty night and very cold but just beautiful and you get such brilliant views of the Milky Way where it is free of light pollution. I came back just as the dawn chorus started, made a cuppa then had a good morning sleep.”
As for Oura Oura’s prominent sign which proclaims “Trespassers welcome”, Brown explained: “I have always wanted it to be open to the public so people can have a little of the enjoyment I’ve had from the last half a century.”
More in the ABELS series:
- Nescient Peak
- Black Bluff
- Mensa Moor
- Mount Ironstone
- Clumner Bluff
- Frenchmans Cap
- Mount Murchison, Mount Dundas
- 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.
