writer and photographer PETER GRANT
In 1678, when John Bunyan was looking for the kind of landscape in which the hero of The Pilgrim’s Progress might experience despair, he looked no further than a bog.
They drew nigh to a very miry slough that was in the midst of the plain, and they, being heedless, did both fall suddenly into the bog. The name of the slough was Despond.
Since Bunyan’s time much has changed in the world. But whether you call it slough, bog, fen, mire, marsh, mud, swamp or sludge, there are still few people who would name such a place their favourite.
Our bushwalking mate Jim is among them, which is probably why Tim and I haven’t worded him up on the dirty little secret concerning our next walk together. The truth is we’re determined to visit some bogs in the high alpine zone of Tasmania’s Mt Field National Park.
To ease us into our walk, the three of us have spent our first night in a hut near Lake Dobson, inside the park. A hut situated close to your car has its advantages, including the ability to cart in luxury items. A night of fine food, fine wine and plenty of chocolate, has left us needing some compensatory exercise.
Our morning weather is clear, though rain is forecast later. That rules out the very long day trip to Mt Field West, but also precludes a day sloughing about in the hut. After a bit of pretend debate, we choose what Tim and I already have in mind: the Tarn Shelf/Newdegate Pass/Rodway Range circuit. And the highlight of the walk, for us at least, will be the globally significant string bogs around Newdegate Pass.
We start by traversing the familiar – and favourite – territory of Tarn Shelf. Pilgrims of a different kind come here every autumn, as the tarn-dotted plateau has one of the best accessible displays of deciduous fagus in Tasmania. We’ve been among those pilgrims many times, but have also visited the shelf in every other season. Jim and I chat about previous visits, some shared, some not. We eventually near Lake Newdegate Hut, now in poor condition, and joke that both the hut and our knees have seen better days.
But we’re soon talking up our “mature-age” fitness, so Tim and I con Jim into heading further up rather than turning around here. We plod up the scrubby slope; totter over the boulder field; amble to the top of the slope, and there we are: among the string bogs that dot the area around the pass.
So what are string bogs? Essentially, they are interconnected micro lakes formed when peat and bolster heath plants (such as cushion plants) impede the flow of water in an already saturated landscape. When Mt Field National Park was finally added to the Tasmanian Wilderness World Heritage Area in 2013, it was a “Cinderella finally goes to the ball” moment. And these string bogs were one of the reasons for Mt Field’s late inclusion. They are quite uncommon not only in Tasmania, but anywhere in the world.
Bogs they may be, but today despond and despair are keeping their distance. We marvel at these tiny, jewel-like highland lakes, each a different shape and size. Reflecting a silvery sky, and surrounded by olive-green vegetation and lichen-dotted slabs of dolerite, they’re a Tarn Shelf in miniature.
We not only stay dry-footed thanks to the excellent track work here, but even when we venture off-track for photos and a good look, we find the ground far from “sloughy”. At an altitude of close to 1,300m, and in a place that was under snow only weeks earlier, that’s worth celebrating. So too is the fact that the promised rain appears to be some way off.
When such factors coincide, it’s worth dawdling. And given our high-level skills in that department, we find seven ways to go not-very-far-at-all, starting with long photographic stops. Next we pause for a lengthy lunch among some adjacent boulders, accompanied by the kind of jokey conversation we like to imagine we’ve perfected by now. As we’re packing up lunch, I get a bit nerdy about the tiny lakes we’re among, mentioning that they are technically known as flark ponds. One of the others sniggers like a teenage boy, and soon we’re all helpless with laughter. The hilarity carries us loudly and happily towards our next waypoint: K Col.
However, by the time we’ve passed the col, and are scrambling up and around the Rodway Range, our mirth has departed. It's hard work, and while none of us is exactly despondent, Jim does start talking about it being wine o’clock. We know that, in his case at least, whine o’clock won’t be far behind.
Still, there’s nothing for it but to keep walking. Some comical videoing, a little mobile reception to call home, and a visit from a pair of wedge-tailed eagles all do their bit to egg us onward. We know there will be some tangible, edible rewards back at the hut. The intangible rewards of our hours among these heavenly bogs may take longer to work into our memories. But I suspect they'll be the longer lasting.■
Peter Grant lives with his wife in the foothills of kunanyi. He worked with the Tasmania Parks and Wildlife Service for 24 years as manager of interpretation and education. His passion for the natural world led him to write Habitat Garden (ABC Books) and found the Wildcare Tasmania Nature Writing Prize. More of his writing can be seen at naturescribe.com.
