Cuvier Valley, Byron Gap circuit.

[naturelover]

The guy in uniform at Lake St Clair was earnest. “You can’t go zere. Ze track is not maintained.”
“Thanks for the warning. Are there any particular dangers I need to know about?”
“Ze track is very slippery. Very muddy. You are needing many skills in orientation.”
I nodded my thanks, assuming this was one of many cries of “wolf” meant to deter walkers from leaving the coddling path-highways. Off we set, undeterred. It was, indeed, hard going and I had to focus fully on signs of where a human might have once been to keep us on the path of least resistance through the thick scrub.
“Orientation”. Funny word to use. Knowing where north was, or knowing to keep the river to the left and the mountain to the right (when either could be seen) was hardly going to help in this blockade of leaves and scratching twigs. On we pressed.

We’d got off to a very late start. No matter; days were long. Now, at this stage I had better add that my husband, whom we will call Ben, has an illness whereby his muscles only function properly if he takes the correct dosage of medicine. When this trip was undertaken, I was having great difficulty persuading him of the correlation between medication and performance. Thus, when after a mere hour of snail-paced progress he announced that he needed a muesli bar, I read it as a less than sanguine omen. The first bump of Olympus was directly above us, the wide valley stretched ahead. We had just reached the button-grass plains – huge, waist-high mounds of grass, each separated from its mate by a ditch of mud of a depth unknown until one fell in, after which one could gauge the magnitude with greater accuracy. Ben seemed in a mood for scientific testing of the varying plimsoll lines, discovering many waist-deep channels.
Kilometres of it extended before us. Jumping from clump to clump, or raising legs in a Hitler-frog- march was mildly strenuous, but doable. I set off, lost as usual in thought. After ten minutes I turned around, dismayed to find Ben a mote in the distance. I couldn’t wait for him where I was; there was too much mud. I flicked off the ravaging leeches that had gathered just while I turned around, and headed for a lone bush where I could wait on presumably firmer ground. At first it was “walk ten, wait ten”; it soon became “walk ten, wait fifteen”. The same bump on Olympus mocked me. Ben stumbled and fell, covered in mud. It just wasn’t working. When he fell, he was giving up - lying there and staring ahead. I had to haul him out. (He weighs more than one an a half times my weight).
Eventually he announced: “I have to stop here. I can’t go on.”
“Here in all this mud. There’s nowhere to decently pitch a tent, and even if I did pitch here, where would we sit to eat? And we’d be eaten by leeches” (I flicked off another to make my point). “Come on, I have to get you to some slightly higher ground. I’ll carry your pack.”
And so it was that we progressed in hundred-metre bits, with me ferrying both packs and covering each distance three times. After a while, I saw a boulder ahead. It must offer a slight sanctuary. I could get him that far, for sure. And I did, and was soon engaged in pitching the tent, flicking off the dozen or so leeches that jumped onto the fabric as it unfolded. Mosies swirled around our heads.
By the time dinner was ready, however, the insects seemed to have been chilled out of activity. The valley was suffused with a mantel of soothing silence. A light drizzle fell. Not even wombats stirred.

I went to bed with the fading light. Next thing I knew Ben had landed on the tent, fallen over yet again. His fall took out several pegs and collapsed the front. I’d taken on enough responsibility for one day, and pretended it hadn’t happened.
I woke at three needing the toilet. Damn. To my amazement, the flaps of the tent were ice sheets, and the clothing Ben’s fall had exposed was all covered in a thin layer of crystals, visible in the half moon that lit the valley as I stepped outside.

The morning that greeted us several hours later was truly magnificent and made everything worthwhile – a white, sparkling sheen mantled the ground. A low mist encinctured us with mountains rising out of the theatrical steam, sharp and clear as a Swiss knife. We had the whole capacious valley and all its mountains to ourselves, and it was superbly beautiful. We perched on our rock, chewing muesli and drinking in the splendour.
I had persuaded Ben, at last, to double-dose on tablets, and with the help of sleep, chemicals and breakfast, we made it to the distant forest in good time. We were at Lake Petrach (the hoped-for destination of the previous night) by lunchtime. I sat on the pure white sand, cooking soup and photographing while Ben had a refreshing swim in the clear, aurated water.
It was late afternoon when I whooped my victory cry. I’d crested Byron Pass after getting “mislaid” a few times on the broad ridge after the lake. I wasn’t lost in that I knew where I was; but I was not on the path of least resistance through the thick scrub, and that lost us time. Here we’d stop for the night. What a spot. Behind was Frenchman’s, shapely and majestic. To the sides, Byron and Olympus, reduced in glory - like all power - with close proximity.

In front, the Acropolis with a ridge of well-defined organ pipes further to its left. It was stupendous. Sunset, later, was roseate, then fiery scarlet.

We sat on a rock and enjoyed the show before turning in.
Sunrise was more subtle than sunset, but I like those gentler hues. Frenchman’s behind us was purple above a sea of pink foam. We sat together perched on a slight knoll above the pass, watching the pastel landscape gain in detail as the sun rose. Birds called their aubade. Morning had broken.

On the other side of Olympus, as I knew would be the case, we dropped into gnome and goblin rainforest: a paradise of moss and lichen: vivid green, spongy, open forest. We were in awe of the beauty. It never palls with over-familiarity.
Once we joined the Overland Trail at the bottom, I could drop my guard of intense concentration, and just walk, enjoying not only the forest, but the sparkles of brilliant blue water studded with diamonds visible through breaks in the trees. The weight of my pack hurt considerably. My shoulder, in fact, had become so tight it had torn a little, but the beauty compensated for all. We both recall the excursion with fondness. Considering Ben’s illness, I am delighted and amazed that the wonder of nature still speaks to him. He is colour blind, no longer sees things in the distance, has no sense of smell and is so busy concentrating on basic tasks that he notices next to nothing when moving. The wonder for me is that he still finds wonder.

I tried to post 4 photos but I don't know how. Copy and paste didn't work. Neither did an inserted image in the original transfer across. Sorry.

[Son of a Beach]

Excellent trip report - a great read! Thanks for writing it up for us. When was this trip? I camped at Byron Gap a couple of weeks ago.

There are two methods of adding photos to posts, and there is a sticky topic for each method at the top of the list in the 'Gallery' forum. They are:
How to Upload and Attach Images to Forum Posts
and
How to Embed Images from other Sites in Forum Posts

[naturelover]

Here is one photo, I hope ...

[naturelover]

photo number two (I haven't mastered the art of multiple attachments yet)

[naturelover]

photo 3 or 4

[naturelover]

last one ...

[kanangra]

Great photos. Glad to see i'm not the only technophobe on this site.

K

[naturelover]

Yes. I don't have a little photo under my 'nature lover' because I can't get anything to reduce to a mere 50 kb . Never mind. So glad you liked the photos.

[Son of a Beach]

:D Yes. I don't have a little photo under my 'nature lover' because I can't get anything to reduce to a mere 50 kb . Never mind. So glad you liked the photos.

For information on how to make and upload an avatar image see:
viewtopic.php?f=11&t=8184 (also referenced from: viewtopic.php?f=11&t=11471 )

If that doesn't help, you can put up a topic in the "Forum and Site" forum or the "Between Walks" forum asking for help. Somebody may even offer to do it for you. In fact, in this case feel free to send your image to me in a PM or email, and I'll be happy to make it fit if I can.

[Nick S]

Enjoyed the write up natureL. A mate and I had to cross multiple flooded creeks and wade alongside lake petrach on a winter trip but it's certainly worth doing one time

[clelander]

Yes I was there three days ago, the Cuvier Valley below Petrarch is awful, but approaching from Byron Gap isn't so bad. I'll be returning one day to some better weather hopefully, via the northern approach though, scrub bashing through the Cuvier is not on the cards a second time

[norts]

There is a track from Petrarch until the main stretch of button grass( if heading down the valley). Once on the button grass the track is very indistinct. I was up there last weekend. Wouldn't call it bush bashing.
Were you actually on the track?

Roger

[naturelover]

I was travelling in the opposite direction to you

[clelander]

I'd climbed Frenchman's four days prior, would have been great to get the view of the Cap from Byron Gap as in your third photo.
Next time I'll have more time to work around the weather

[naturelover]

Better still, have a look from Loddon Range - amazing. See attached

[north-north-west]

Eh? The Cuvier is more buttongrass and bog than scrub.
Actually, while it was as wet as I'd expected, it wasn't as muddy, scrubby or hard to navigate. And Petrarch is just beautiful.

In fact, the whole valley is beautiful. Kind of glad so few walkers go through there - it'd be stuffed pretty quickly with too many visitors.

[naturelover]

Don't quite get the gist of your first sentence. If you didn't understand mine, I was just comparing the two views of Frenchman's, and, for me, the view from Loddon range was even better than that from Byron gap (albeit with a lot more energy expenditure).
Just noticed the quotation that is part of your signature: "Mit der Dummheit kämpfen Götter selbst vergebens." Love it. Nice and reassuring when frustrated with the same (as I often am).

[north-north-west]

I was replying to some earlier comments, nl, not to your post.
While the Cuvier track is a little overgrown in spots, and is *&%$#! wet where it curves around Petrarch, it's nowhere near as bad as P&W make it sound.

[Graham51]

I first walked The Cuvier Valley in 1971 and the track was clear and easy to follow. Even 15 years ago in wet conditions the track was clear but 3 years ago we lost it and had to find our own way on the buttongrass section. It's a lovely alternative to The Overland Track and, as Naturelover has shown, can be a wonderful walk in its own right. But of course no money will ever be provided to upgrade it in any way. Having said that, would we (I) want it to be?

[Taurë-rana]

I don't remember the track being that wet round the lake, just remember the snakes that lay across the track a little way past the campsite that didn't think they should have to stir themselves. It was a bit hard to follow at times, but that was 25 years and more ago. It was a lovely walk then, and one that a friend and I chose to do as our first walk with just the two of us as I was familiar with it. Wasn't a wild success - the new choofer (spelling?) didn't work, and it snowed so it was a cold night.

[north-north-west]

I don't remember the track being that wet round the lake, ...

Towards the northern end, it was more wading than walking. Just a constant flow of water down the slope, with deep pools in the hollows spreading out over the flat bits. I'm not complaining, I expected wet, just not quite like that. But a beautiful walk.