Innehållsförteckning för Issue 193, Spring 2024 från Wild

For some time, it’d been our objective to stand where Martine stands in this photo. We’d first spied the mountain a year ago from Mt Exmouth (Ed: Because of the square aspect ratio used for cover images, Exmouth is unfortunately just off the right of frame on the cover; you can, however, see it in the image above), and then we saw it again yesterday from a new—for us—viewpoint. The peak had occupied our vision for much of today, too; initially as an almost-touchable target, and then, as the regrowth scrub had thickened, as an unattainable, faraway goal. But we’d persisted—bashing, stumbling, battling our way ever onwards—until, demoralised, we’d slumped to the ground in a clearing below, peering up at its enticing cliffs. Undeterred, I’d found a way up with…

A truck speeds down the highway, creating a gust of wind that makes the sugarcane stalks quiver. These fields of sugarcane stretch as far as the eye can see, and a closer look reveals mounds of earth near the robust stalks that bask in the sunlight around the road. “They use the stalks as a ‘body’ to get direct heat from the sun,” says Greg Zipf. ‘They’ refers to an unwelcome guest that Greg’s sugarcane fields outside Brisbane have received, one that’s proving tough to get rid of: the red fire ant. A MENACE TO SOCIETY An insect native to South America, the red fire ant (Solenopsis invicta) has spread to many new areas, including Australia, over the past few decades, hence why it’s also called the red imported fire…

Tasmanian wilderness-conservation advocate and photographer Grant Dixon first visited the Spero-Wanderer region forty years ago. A resurgent interest in enhanced protection for the area among a new generation of Tasmanian environmental activists inspired Grant to expand his collection of imagery of the area to assist in any campaigns. The remoteness of this country necessitates extended trips, and over three long visits during late 2022 to early 2024, he spent more than fifty days, often solo, criss-crossing the region by foot and packraft. What follows are some of the amazing photographs he took on those trips of the area’s diverse landscapes and cultural values. TASMANIA’S Southwest Conservation Area—sometimes referred to as the Spero-Wanderer region after two of its main rivers—occupies over 138,000ha of wild country south of Macquarie Harbour. With its…

WE KNOW TOO MUCH. WE ALL KNOW TOO MUCH. In this day and age, where everything is written and blogged about, explained or analysed in hyper-detail, it seems there are few places you can go where you are truly engaging in discovery. And the outdoors is no exception. Usually, this is a good thing; knowing where you’re going and what to expect is, well, darn useful, and it’s why some of the earliest books ever made were travel guides, dating back to the Second Century AD when Pausanias wrote a guidebook offering insights into travelling through Greece. It’s also for this same reason that ever since Wild’s inception, track notes have been a key feature of the magazine. In fact, it was searching for somewhere to write up as track…

The snow collapsed like we were walking on a stiff trampoline, as if it was hollow underneath. A dense whomp of falling snow emanated directly under my feet; loud at first, then cascading with a fading echo into the unknown oblivion. Was it twenty metres? More? Perhaps thirty? It reminded me of the disconcerting sound of underground movement I’d once heard while abseiling into a deep cave system in Tasmania, when the low-frequency tumbling of rocks was felt not through my ears but through my feet. A cheery nylon rope tugged my thoughts back to reality, as Lewis, ahead, perhaps noticing my potential impending doom, took up the slack. If the snow bridge over the crevasse collapsed, I should be safe with him as my human anchor, a counterweight on…

[Letter of the Issue] OH, THE MEMORIES Hello James, Well, I went into town today, and guess what I saw on the rack in the newsagency … Wild Magazine #191. So I broke down and bought it to check it out. Moving here from Colorado thirteen years ago was a huge culture shock for me, especially as I used to ski back in Colorado twenty times a season. While I was going through the magazine, I came across your Ed’s Letter on page 18 with the title ‘Great Expectations’, and on it there was a very beautiful photo you took of a skier riding down a nice slope with the sun going down (Ed: It was of Shaun Mittwollen on the Sentinel, Kosciuszko NP). That photo brought back memories of…

Wayilwan Country “IT IS UNTHINK-ABLE THAT MINING CAN EVEN BE CONSIDERED IN THIS CRITICALLY IMPORTANT SITE.” Healthy rivers and wetlands are essential for native wildlife, Aboriginal cultural heritage, local communities, and a diverse range of industries—from floodplain grazing to tourism and recreational fishing. The rivers and wetlands of NSW are under extreme stress after decades of catchment degradation, water-course diversion, unsustainable water extraction, and climate change. Over the past century, the Murray-Darling Basin has experienced a dramatic decline in wetlands, waterbirds and native fish populations due to a massive increase in the volume of water extracted for irrigation. The iconic Macquarie Marshes—home to the Wayilwan People, who know the wetlands as Wammerawa—are one of the only semi-permanent inland wetlands in the Murray-Darling Basin, and are teeming with life. Unique, rare…

It’s not like, when we wander into wilderness, disaster is the objective. But it’s tempting to think that, sometimes, maybe it is. Particularly when you consider the ironic, wry, and weirdly twisted psyche we Made-in-Oz bushwalkers are afflicted with. What better story to tell, after all, than an utter fiasco encountered, then escaped from? The drama! The hilarity! Beer and skittles! But then there’s death. “People die out here all the time,” said the driver taking my group to a West MacDonnells eight-day off-track wander in Central Australia. Later, I did a Google search for death on the Larapinta. Sadly, sure enough. Unfortunately, the line between the catastrophe averted—the fiasco—and the catastrophe not good and not averted—Lucifer’s trilogy of death, disaster and destruction—like the line between love and hate, can…

- A complete and ignominious failure. - An embarrassing disaster.  - A ludicrous or humiliating situation. RUNNER UP A DISTASTEFUL MIX-UP Years ago, our family of four (Dad, Mum, and two teenage daughters) embarked on our ‘Very First Multi-Day Hike’ as we launched ourselves into hitherto unknown territory on the Thorsborne Trail, Hinchinbrook Island. Fledglings of the hiking world, we donned our tonne-weight backpacks, and with buckled knees, headed along the beach to start our new adventure. At this stage of our hiking career, we had brought 1.5L plastic water bottles, not only for water, but also for the methylated spirits we’d use to power our Trangia stove. With plenty of cooking in mind, we also carried potatoes, onions, carrots, oranges and apples. And a chopping board, for how else…

In our callout to the Wild community for fiasco stories, we used the tent picture adjacent. Many people wondered what had actually happened. “You can’t put that photo up and not tell the story,” said Marcus Foley, for example, on our FaceBook page. “Well, the truth is,” says Wild’s Editor, James McCormack, “I have absolutely no idea what happened. It came from a stock-photo image library, but it cracked me up when I saw it, and it seemed to sing ‘fiasco’.” So we went back to the Wild community, and asked them to put their imaginations to work, and to tell us what they think happened here. The North Face stepped in to offer an awesome prize of a Trail Lite 2-Person Tent as well. Out of the 100+ responses,…

As the tussocky slopes of Hibbs Pyramid loomed, it was as if we’d suddenly been transported to the subantarctic islands. But no, this was part of Tasmania’s southwest, a rugged stretch of coast pounded by the breakers of the Southern Ocean. It had been a two-hour trip in a wave-tossed boat to get here from Strahan, an expensive voyage that entailed negotiating the notorious Hells Gates and then 50km of choppy swells on the open sea. This coast and its hinterland are part of the Southwest Conservation Area—a tract of the Tasmanian wilderness that’s yet to receive the World Heritage status it deserves. Thanks to the Wilderness Society, seven of us arrived at Sanctuary Bay. Protected from the waves by Hibbs Pyramid and associated reefs, this is one of the…

“The ladder here was the only part of the trail you couldn’t bike,” says Anej, laughing. “Until Elliot Heap showed up. This crazy guy just rode down it.” We’re underground with Anej Stručl in northern Slovenia, and Anej has such energy he almost outshines his headlamp. Then he continues: “I’ll give you a rope that you’ll then tie around your seat post. I’ll climb down first, and you can lower the bikes down.” He turns around and disappears into the ground. We try to follow him with the light of our headlamps while we stand in the narrow mining shaft. The hole has a diameter of about two metres. A ladder leans to the right of it. An almost-vertical rock ramp lines the left. We can’t discern where exactly it…

A quick lowdown on QUEENSLAND’S SUNSHINE COAST STRETCHES FROM the coastal city of Caloundra through world-class beaches, bluffs and headlands to the rainbow-coloured sands of the Great Sandy National Park. But the Sunny Coast’s pristine coastline is just one aspect of this region. In the nearby Glasshouse Mountains, remnants of extinct volcanoes extrude out of the ground in towering pillars and cones of rhyolite and trachyte. Boisterous cockatoos and rock climbers alike are juxtaposed with the serene walking tracks that weave around the base of these imposing peaks. And further inland lie subtropical rainforests: Kondalilla, meaning rushing water, encapsulates this area perfectly—pools of frigid water offer idyllic swimming holes before feeding the tall and powerful waterfalls of the Blackall Range. From the spectacular coast to the rainforested and mountainous hinterland,…

AS TECHNOLOGY ADVANCES, for certain products, there seem to be headline figures that sum up the continued progression in a nutshell. It could be megapixels for cameras, CPU speeds for computers, or resolutions for TVs. The outdoors industry is no exception, be it the lowest weights for tents, most lumens for headlamps, and for sleeping mats, highest R-values. And, for that last example, the latest salvo has been fired by Nemo Equipment, whose new Tensor Extreme Conditions (EC) Ultralight Insulated Sleeping Mat has a highest-in-the-market-for-ultralight-mats R-value of 8.5. That’s right, an incredible 8.5! Yes, there are mats with higher R-values still, but they’re not ultralight, and are far too heavy and bulky for anything but car-based camping. Now, in case you’ve forgotten exactly what R-value means, it’s a measure of…

When I first began thinking about a fiasco theme for this issue, I decided my Ed’s Letter should chronicle some of my own outdoors fiascos. Man, I thought, this will be a rich vein for me to tap into. I sat at my desk, fingers hovering at the keyboard, ready to tap out a long list of bungled adventures that had gone preposterously south. But nothing came. Zip. Zilch. Zero. Give it time, I figured, something will come. But days turned into weeks, weeks into months, and still nothing came. Sure, I have an endless stream of outdoors injury stories: Broken arms, punctured lungs (yes, lungs), a triple-fractured pelvis, a torn ACL …. The number of broken ribs is up in the double digits. So, too, is the number of…

lutruwita Development in national parks is an ongoing issue around Australia, with private developers proposing projects on public lands that are ecologically damaging, that frequently restrict public access, and that reduce wild character. Nowhere is this more so than lutruwita/Tasmania. The island state’s World Heritage-value wilderness has long been eyed off by developers as the holy grail—free or cheap land that is incredibly spectacular. In 2014, the Tasmanian Government launched an “unlock the parks” policy, creating an expression of interest (EOI) process for developers to propose projects on reserved land. To counter the perception of land-banking by proponents, the process requires proponents to give regular updates on their proposals’ progress. Despite this, much information remains hidden. But a recent Right to Information (RTI) request revealed a plethora of errors from…

“I REMEMBER WAKING TO THE SMELL OF BURNING RUBBER DURING THE NIGHT. SOMEONE’S BOOTS HAD CAUGHT FIRE. THEY STILL HAD THEM ON THEIR FEET.” I set out to climb 1,286m Wylds Craig mountain with my local Tasmanian bushwalking club in winter 1968. There were eighteen of us, and after breakfast on a Saturday morning, we started out on a day walk, planning to get back to camp after lunch on top of the mountain. Even though it was winter, the weather was fairly warm. Some people wore shorts. It was a tough walk—we had to climb over lots of logs and bash our way through horizontal scrub—but most of us were young, energetic and fit. We walked through lots of pandani. The mountain climb was pretty steep. I remember at…

Dare to dream. Dare to try. Would it be so hard to try? One year and nine months after first tying into a rope, you’re at the intersection of flat ground and a vertical sea of granite at one of climbing’s hallowed spaces—California’s Yosemite Valley. Standing at the base of El Capitan, the towering wall—warping into the space above you—is overwhelming. Seemingly endless. You’re uncertain of your chance of success. It is not your technical ability; you can climb, haul, and set up a portaledge. It is the commitment to new experience and to reliance on yourself and your climbing partner. Perhaps your dream is too big? But what if your dream was half the size; would you do it then? The Nose of El Cap is often referred to…

“They are not coming.” My stomach dropped. I said it out loud not because Jenny hadn’t heard my conversation with Search and Rescue (SAR), but because I needed to expel those words, to let them break the silence and twirl between us like the snowflakes rapidly loading the slopes above. And just like the snowflakes, to lose their significance in the greater whiteness of the storm. “I think there’s a weakness under us,” Jenny had said a few hours earlier. I’d noticed at that time the cracks running along the sides of the deep steps she punched across the steep slope. She swung her axe one more time, testing the supportiveness of the snowpack. Suddenly, we both knew it. Oh shit! For a moment, everything was suspended, as if someone…

NSW’s Warrumbungle NP was, as a child, the source of many early memories. Like touching my first-ever volcanic rock (“Dad, this thing was part of a volcano?!”). And seeing rock climbers for the first time (“Mum, how do they get to the top?”). Not to mention strolling along a real-life, not-so-yellow-brick road that was an actual walking track (“Dad, why aren’t all walking tracks made from brick?”). Then there was that time near Dows Camp when, innocently doing a poo, I narrowly avoided being nipped on the bum by a scorpion (“Muuum!”). I didn’t even know Australia had scorpions … Growing up in nearby-ish Tamworth, the ‘Bungles were a no-brainer: They were mega accessible. Mum would—shh, don’t tell anyone—pick Dad up from work by lunchtime Friday, then me from primary…

IN JANUARY 1886, nature lover, algae expert, and mathematics and science teacher Arthur Lucas arrived at the Wilsons Promontory Lighthouse with a friend, JB Gregory, to be informed they were the first Europeans to reach it travelling overland. Lucas later wrote of the experience, “We had now moonlight (sic) nights, and the outlook was sublime … with the higher peaks in the background and with the beating of the surf and roar of the breakers a quarter of a mile on the other side … We may safely commend the promontory as full of interest to naturalists of all persuasions.” The lighthouse had been built by convicts in 1859, one of seven that came into service that year along the Victorian coast. It was arguably the most important, sitting atop…