The idea to walk into Lake Rohna has sat idle in some deep under utilised crevasse of my brain for too long now so this summer it was moved to the top of the hit parade and given a number one priority. I like walking alone. I'm not anti-sociable. It's just less hassle. And there's definitely something cathartic about being alone in the bush. But this time was different and I felt I had some dues to pay. My dad has always been an outdoors man and I have him to thank directly for my love of bushwalking. Some of the happiest memories of my youth are of regular hunting and firewood gathering trips with the old man into the hills and valleys between Gretna and Broadmarsh always with the snow capped peaks around Mt Field as an enchanting backdrop. It seemed there was always so much for a young bloke to learn from the bush. Now the years have crept up on the old boy and in recent times he seemed to have developed a chronic case of "Velcro *&%$#!". I suspect the changing fortunes of the Australian Cricket Team had a lot to do with the onset of this debilitating condition ( how people sit around and watch hours of such a boring sport is beyond me ). Anyway ,I figured I owed him. From the moment I suggested he come up to Lake Rohna with me there was a glint of excitement in his eyes and a bit more spring in his step. In his 76th year and with very little match practise behind him there was no doubt I had set a reasonable challenge before him. He began wandering the hillside trails around Hobart with 2 bricks in his day pack and by night could be found quietly contemplating the contours of the Denison Ranges on his map while he calculated the distances involved. By the time of our departure he had shed 5kgs from a frame that had never been overweight in the first place and given his enthusiasm I had no reason to worry about his ability to complete the trip.
We left home at 7.00am on a beautiful calm and cloudless morning. I don't think I will ever get tired of the drive up the Derwent Valley and the feeling of " leaving it all behind ' that comes on soon after turning left onto the Gordon River Road. My father and I could both be described as dinosaurs when it comes to new fangled whizz bang digital gizmotry so with a lack of GPS co-ordinates ( wouldn't want it any other way ) we ended up taking quite a convoluted route up the forestry roads of the Florentine Valley to the start of the walk. We signed the walkers registration at about 10.00 am and strode purposefully off into the bush. With a gentle down hill grade through the forest to the banks of the Gordon we could't have asked for a much easier entry to our journey. The old man said his pack felt good and he appeared to be travelling comfortably. My first cause for concern came not long after as I watched my dad pull off a few un-characteristically funky dance steps on the log crossing of the river that came very close to earning him a chilly dip in the drink ! As he stepped down from the log onto the western bank of the river I wasn't sure if the tremble in his knees was a reaction to his close miss on the log or because he had more than 2 bricks in his pack for a change?
As we ventured out of the bush and started up the Vale of Rasselas he appeared to be stumbling about a bit. His equilibrium valve seemed to have blown a gasket. He assured me he was going O.K. and enjoying himself but the pace to Gordonvale was pretty slow and we both knew we were still on the easiest part of the walk. As we sat nibbling on some biccies and cheese at Gordonvale my dad confessed he was struggling a bit and had perhaps overestimated his ability to do the walk. I needed to hear this about as much as a fish needs a bicycle. I was keen to keep moving. But where a few hours before I could only see excitement and enthusiasm in my father now I was sensing doubt and disappointment. He suggested that I go on ahead and he would continue in the morning doing the best he could. This plan just felt wrong in every way so I suggested we have a lazy afternoon enjoying the ambience of Ernie Bond's old address and continue together in the morning. We hatched a plan to leave bright and early. I would carry a pack with all we needed for the day. I was disappointed we wouldn't get to spend a night by the lake but I figured without the weight of a pack dad should be able to get up to Rohna for a quick peek and back to Gordonvale the same evening without too much worry.
We were up at a currawongs fart and on the track by 7.00am. With the twin fangs of Reed's Peak and Bond's Crag in our sights we now had a visible target to aim for. The morning was beginning to heat up as we approached the wettest section of the track up the valley. It was going to be a hot one and already I began to sense dad's pace dropping off a bit. We got through the boggy section O.K. and then the track began to undulate a bit more. I was stopping frequently to allow the old man to catch up and was alarmed to see how haggard he was looking. More alarmingly though he had begun to stumble and trip again. With the final climb out of the Vale of Rasselas and up into the range in sight I asked how he was feeling. Now my fathers side of the family have a stubborn streak that apparently goes back generations so when he said he was going O.K. I knew not to question it! But the look on his face told me otherwise. I could see he was hurting and it had been a big effort for him to get this far. But he wasn't ready to throw in the towel. We continued on and soon enough reached the final creek crossing before turning westerly and upwards. By now the heat of the day was peaking and I had some serious doubts as to wether we should continue on. I once again asked how he felt and for the first time there was a measured delay before he answered. " Yep' I'll be O.K." he answered. But some 15 or 20 metres later he stood his ground. " I don't think I can do this " he said quietly. As I stood looking at my father I could see more than fatigue. I could see just how disappointed he was.
I told him he should be proud of the decision he had made and that turning around was the smartest move we could make under the circumstances. He suggested that he could wait in the shade by the creek while I continued up to see Lake Rohna. By this time it was after midday and I was concerned about how his pace would be on the return to Gordonvale. I told him to continue slowly back down the valley and I would go on up the range for a quick peek at the lake and catch up on the way back down the valley. He seemed satisfied with this plan. I knew he was feeling a lot of unnecessary guilt that I would be turning back because of him. And so I headed up as my father stumbled slowly back down the valley. I quickly reached the first little plateau up from the valley floor and it became immediately obvious that the lake must lay a lot further up than it first appeared. From my vantage point I could see my father plodding back down the track. And now it was me who was feeling guilty. He looked so vulnerable. He had one flimsy jumper that looked about as handy as a chocolate teapot and a 500ml water bottle with him. And I was going the other way. Distant alarm bells were starting to ring.
I looked up once more and the razor sharp features of Reed's Peak starkly outlined against the blue sky and it appeared close enough to reach out and touch. Surely the lake must be close by now. I hurried up one more rise feeling sure that Rohna must be just over the next crest but to my disappointment the track continued to snake it's way upwards. I looked back down the valley and could no longer make out my father or the track. I was so close !! I sat on a boulder and tried to evaluate the situation. I realised I had made a serious error of judgement when I had advised dad to head back down the valley. If I had intended to leave him I should have told him to stay put. As it was , every 20 minutes I continued up was another 20 minutes he had gone the other way. The distance between us was growing too fast. The course of action we had taken was breaking some of the most basic rules of the bush. Whilst only a small mistake at that point I could easily see how a number of small harmless mistakes could easily compound into one giant stuff up. What if the old man collapsed from exhaustion far from any shade? Or what if he was bitten by a snake? How could I tell mum that I had simply walked off in the other direction and left him. She would put my figs through the blender ! This was my dad after all. I did the only thing I could and sadly shouldered my pack and headed back down.
My disappointment at not reaching the lake was soon replaced by a very real concern for how dad was going. It took a lot longer to catch up to him than I expected and I began to fear that I had somehow passed him. Just as I was about to hit the panic button I spied him a short distance ahead. When I caught up with him I was distressed to see he had taken a spill and was bleeding steadily from his right arm. As he trudged along with his head hanging low in the oppressive afternoon heat he asked If I had made it up to the lake. He said " I'm sorry I've stuffed up your walk" when I told him I hadn't and I could feel the burden of guilt weighing even heavier on his shoulders. We arrived back at Gordonvale not a moment to soon and bother slept soundly after what had been a big day.
We packed early the next morning and made it back to the carpark at a fairly sedate pace without further incidence. What had begun as a plan to repay my father for all those wonderful boyhood adventures into the bush had ended unexpectedly. No celebratory slaps on the back or congratulations. I felt gutted. The enthusiasm he had exhibited at the beginning of the walk had been palpable but I had left him shattered.
I know in the grand scheme of things the walk to Lake Rohna is not such demanding venture but I had simply failed to take into account just how much the years had eroded dad's physical strength. I know of people in their 70's and even 80's who have taken on much harder walks but I regard those people as the exception rather than the rule.
I headed back up the Vale of Rasselas a week later and was rewarded to have Lake Rohna to myself for 2 of the most perfect days that Tassies weather could conjure up. My only regret as I sat gazing into the perfect mirror image of Reed's Peak on the surface of Lake Rohna was that My dad couldn't be there to share it with me. Getting old is a *&%$#! !! You can take what ever you like out of this little tale but two things stand out to me. Don't ever get complacent about the amazing walks and wild places in this state........get out there while you can. The cricket will still be there when your to old to walk!
And more importantly, If you ever feel you have a debt to repay or return a favour to somebody ( particularly family ) then tomorrow might be too late !
Happy Bushwalking.posting.php?f=42&mode=post&d=1454#
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