Lighthouse walk

One of my work colleagues, Ann, does a lot of walking into the wilds of wherever, but since she likes to travel light she is partial to places where a tent is not required. She regularly visits the lighthouse at Wilson’s Promontory because, although it is a 20km walk each way, you can arrange to stay in the old lighthouse keepers’ cottages. She’d asked around at work to see if anyone would like to join her for an overnight visit. I had visited the lighthouse grounds on a couple of walks in the past, but the idea of staying there was very appealing, and the Prom is wonderful anyway.

There were four of us in the party, and the others had managed to pack light. I had managed to pack kind of light: I’d left behind the tent, my sleepmat and most of my hike stove, but I was still carrying a sleeping bag, a tarp (I couldn’t cope with the idea of being without some sort of emergency shelter!), a tripod (well, I nearly always carry this, even when I am carrying the tent as well), and the frypan part of the stove (since it had a very important role to play in the expedition) … and so the size of my backpack was a commented-upon contrast to everyone else’s. My well-loved pack was a 21st birthday present (and so is 21 years younger than me and therefore quite old for a piece of bushwalking gear!) and, while I have never given it an affectionate name like some folk do for cars and other favoured items, I have sometimes referred to it (along with my suitcase) as “Justin” — as in “Justin Case” — due to my propensity for carrying far too much on the off-chance that such items might be needed for some imagined contingency.

I hadn’t been to the southern end of the Prom since December 2004, which was before the devastating bushfire of 2005. Although there has been remarkable regrowth there are still many reminders of the fire’s passing, not least of which are the skeletal remains of the trees, including a whole forest of them jutting out of the newly-grown scrub down on the central broad isthmus.

There were, of course, the obligatory undulations … less euphemistically known as “hills”. On the way down to the lighthouse there is Martin’s Hill, which is a 15 pebble hill. I put a collection of small pebbles in my pocket and start counting my double paces (i.e., only counting each time my left foot falls) and when I get to 100 I throw out a pebble. Martin’s Hill needs 15 pebbles. There were another couple of short sharp pinches coming out of Roaring Meg campsite that also added to the undulatingness.

We arrived at the lighthouse shortly after 5pm and I immediately set to preparing dessert so that it would be ready for later. This involved a recipe which I often make on bushwalks using the frypan lid of my Trangia stove, but it’s never been possible to obey the instructions that say “beat with an electric mixer on high for 2 minutes” (I have to replace this with “mix as fast as you can with a wooden spoon until your arm drops off and then swap arms and mix some more”) and “place in a refrigerator to cool” (for which the substitute is “place in the shade of the nearest bush and hope (a) you made the mixture thicker enough that it will at least pretend to set, (b) it really is cool enough that (a) can’t be denied, (c) not too many insects land on top and get stuck, and (d) no one treads on it by accident”). Well, this time I still didn’t have an electric beater but I did have a whisk, a hand beater and — joy of joys — a ‘frige.

We had time to do some exploring around the lighthouse before dinner (the lovely house in the photo above is where we stayed), and then after dinner (a yummy stir-fry followed by blueberry-and-chocolate-topped cheesecake) Ann joined me on a trip to find a nearby cache, and we located a wombat doing his dusk foraging around the grounds.

Next day we were off again shortly after 8am for the return trip along the east coast to Waterloo Bay and then back to civilisation. The views back to the lighthouse were spectacular, with Tasmania visible in the distance (well, the conical Rodondo Island is part of Tasmania; the rest of Tassie is far, far, far too distant to be seen). The track on this side of the Prom is … ummm … undulating, but at nearly 10km it’s far too long for pebbles. Besides, it does its climbing more gently on a well-built track … until you get to the end, where the drop down into Waterloo Bay is a shocker (my left knee was sooking rather more than usual, which was inconsiderate of it).

Waterloo Bay is absolutely gorgeous with its white sand and blue-green water, and we had the beach to ourselves. We then plodded inland to the central north-south track, stopping for lunch along the way. The plodding then continued back up to Telegraph Saddle, with a 16 pebble hill at the end (the pebble approach motivates me and I find I stop less frequently because I maintain a steady pace and have a goal to work towards). As we waited for the shuttle bus to take us back to the car I had to keep moving to stop my muscles seizing up, but, even so, when we stopped in Leongatha for pizza it was very hard to get moving!

And the next day it was sheer will-power that made me get on my bike to ride to work!

More photos are here.