The (Namaste*) Needles

Date: 25 November 2022 - Summit: 1108m

Photo credits: Ben Wells, Tracey Orr, Lucas Chamberlain

*NOTE: This article refers to the series of jagged peaks - the highest of 1108m qualifying as an Abel - at the northern end of the Eastern Arthurs Range colloquially known by the Tasmanian bushwalking fraternity as ‘The Needles’. It is often confused with the officially-named, much more commonly-walked “The Needles”, a peak of approx. 1030m elevation to the west of Maydena. To differentiate the two peaks, Bill Wilkinson has suggested referring to the Eastern Arthurs’ Needles as “The Namaste Needles”. I will follow suit to hopefully lessen the confusion, but as of the time of writing, this naming form remains unofficial.

As I sit to write this trip report, I am at a loss as to where to begin, for this (mis)adventure was a fairly miserable affair. Sure, the company was great, the wildflowers beautiful and a rainbow chased us out on our final day. But the three days prior walked a very, very fine line between adventure and stupidity. I will let you decide which side of the line the trip landed, but in no way would I encourage anyone to replicate it. The Namaste Needles is strictly a fine weather-only mountain.

Before I start the trip report, a bit of background. I work for myself, looking after an amazing bunch of very loyal clients. Arranging time off is therefore difficult as I don’t like to inconvenience my clients with taking time off at short notice. Generally, I have to rule myself out of my appointment book months and months in advance.

Likewise, Bender has limited flexibility and needs to book in his leave from work well ahead of time. The six days we’d both set aside for this trip had been originally booked out almost a year ago, and we’d planned a big, serious trip for it -The Spires. Because time off is so hard come by, we don’t like to waste it.

Fast forward a year and naturally the weather gods didn’t care one bit about our long-crafted plans, slamming almost every part of the state with winds, rain and snow - just days after a fantastic three-week run of divine late spring weather. Of course!

We sensibly ditched our ‘Spires’ plans and settled instead on using the hard-fought time off to visit the Eastern Arthurs and the two remaining Abels we had in the area - The Namaste Needles and West Portal. Both peaks had been off-limits during our previous visits to the Arthurs (due to ongoing repatriation and repair work after the 2018/2019 bushfires) but were now finally open. The weather was looking marginally better further south, and importantly we’d have the benefit of being able to use the low-lying (av. 200m-300m ASL) McKays Track along the Arthurs Plains to access a suitable base camp below the worst of any potential bad weather.

As the day neared closer to pack up the Mazda and head south, we discussed the weather constantly. Should we go? Should we not? Some forecasts weren’t terrible and had been steadily improving, while others remained shocking. It would be fair to say that I wasn’t as optimistic about this trip as Bender. Our first mistake was convincing ourselves that the weather “wasn’t that bad”.

Day 1
Scotts Peak Dam to Strike Creek Camp.
33km.
817m elevation gain.
10 hours.

Our good friend Lucas Chamberlain would be joining us for the trip, and we met him early on Day 1 at Scotts Peak Dam. He’s off to Queensland soon to become a Park Ranger (lucky them) and so was keen to get in some final Tassie trips before disappearing off up north. All the forecast models considered, we had expected to be setting off in the rain, so it was a most welcome bonus that - for now at least - the rain was nowhere to be seen. Indeed, the skies looked very promising! Maybe - just maybe - the forecasts were wrong?

Either way, today was going to be long, hard slog - we all knew it before setting off. What we didn’t realise was just how utterly draining - both mentally and physically - the first day would actually turn out to be.

After the heavy rain and quite substantial snowfalls of the previous week, the track into Junction Creek and Port Davey/McKays Track junction was a mess. To be fair, it’s usually a muddy mess even in the middle of summer - as we’d learned back in 2021 - but barely out of spring it was definitely more than a little damp. When our feet weren’t slipping and squelching through deep muddy bogs, they were walking in deep, rutted channels that were more like streams than walkways. The narrowness of the deep and heavily eroded pads within the high sides of the track made walking with a normal gait almost impossible. Instead, we were all relying heavily on our less-used stabiliser muscles, side glutes and ITB muscles to keep ourselves steady and upright, all under the weight of heavy packs filled with several days of food and gear. It was tiring work from the onset - and we had 33km of it ahead.

Added to the mix were the substantial number of minor and major creek crossings - all of which were flooding beyond their usual levels - that were mentally and physically taxing to cross. For the deeper, faster flowing creeks we’d use our poles, facing upstream and side-stepping to brace against the force of the water. Knee-deep water on the (much taller) boys would be well up past the top of my thighs. The icy-cold water would pour over our gaiters and into our boots as well, completely saturating our already-wet clothing from pushing through damp scrub. The slippery rocks under our feet made progress across each creek painfully slow as we did our utmost to avoid slipping and falling into the drink.

Thankfully Junction Creek wasn’t as bad as it had been in 2021, the pile of collected timber branches and trunks spread across a few conveniently-placed trees offering just enough of a rickety bridge for us to cross without getting into the (very) deep water.

Seven Mile Creek, however, was the worst. Indeed, when we arrived at its swollen edges I just burst into tears! Being a non-swimmer it was genuinely terrifying to cross such a wide expanse of fast-flowing, tannin-stained water. I mentioned to Bender I was worried about them swelling further if the rain came as predicted, and was glad we had a few spare days food packed in case we needed to wait it out, hardly untypical even in summer. Even against these challenges, we pushed on. Perhaps our second mistake of the trip - the natural surroundings were screaming turn back but we didn’t.

We were all doing our best to keep spirits high as the long day wore on. We would joke about how one minute my shorts would be saturated from yet another flooded creek crossing, and then within an hour dry again thanks to the surprisingly warm (and very unexpected!) sun on our backs, only to become re-saturated a few kilometres on. We were all hoping the increasing sunlight and lifting cloud cover above the high peaks of Day 1 would continue over to the next few days.

To pass the time, we admired the beautiful flowers that sprung from everywhere. Their pink and purple hues turned the still recovering buttongrass of the Arthur Plains into something that resembled a painting of an English meadow. Some ominous mist still shrouded the highest peaks of the Arthurs as we pushed eastwards though, and we were glad we were not up high on the ridgeline today.

By the time we reached the Razorback - our most substantial climb of the day - we were feeling that our original plan to push on all the way to Pass Creek in a single day had been too ambitious, due more in fact to the condition of the track than the distance itself. Sure, 33km is a long way, but 33km along the Overland Track or a more curated path is vastly different to 33km along the boggy, essentially unmaintained McKays Track. Where was all the supposed track work that had been performed along the Eastern Arthurs? We kept waiting to be marvel at its presence!

Cresting the Razorback we saw a few new sections of elevated boardwalk. Surely that can’t be all?! Descending the other side of the ridgeline, we reached the junction to Cracroft Crossing Camp and the Huon (aka. Yo-Yo) Track and a path of newly-installed FRP-topped boardwalk leading north-east. We briefly considered pulling up short at Cracroft Crossing but we had come this far, and we still had a few hours of daylight left.

Clearly the raised boardwalk leading to Cracroft Camp had used the budget for track maintenance in this section (!) as the short but steep climb up out of the junction was in dire need of similar attention. Wet scrub covered the pad almost entirely. I wasn’t the only one counting down the kilometres as we finally approached Strike Creek - the last flooded waterway to cross before we could collapse at camp!

After Strike Creek rewetted our legs for the umpteenth time, we miraculously found our damp boots striding the comfort of raised FRP walkway. A whole yellow brick road of it! Oh, the relief! Even better, we spied two random tent platforms barely 100m along. Were these the replacements for the burnt out Strike Creek campsite? Or placed temporarily there for track workers and not yet removed? It didn’t matter: our original plan of pushing through to Pass Creek Camp was quickly ditched, as we were all too physically and mentally drained to bother with an extra 2.5km.

It had taken us 10 hours of nearly non-stop walking to reach our camp. We didn’t have another minute in us. It was now past 6pm. Even though the day had actually turned out quite warm, we were again wet from crossing Strike Creek, exhausted and still had to make camp. This spot had tent platforms, close access to water and would allow us a couple of hours of daylight to get the tents up, cook dinner and rest up. We had a big day the next day. Little did any of us realise exactly how big it was to be.

Day 2
Strike Creek Camp to the Namaste Needles, return.
17.5km
1413m elevation gain.
10 hours.

It was raining gently as we collapsed into bed the previous evening, and I had (again) mentioned to Bender I was worried about conditions up high. Yes, we had come a long way but it would be silly to put ourselves at risk (and, if worst came to worst, emergency service workers) if the weather got worse and we pushed on with our summit plans. We agreed with Lucas to reassess it in the morning.

We awoke to middling weather. It was misty, but not raining. A fresh weather update over the InReach had forecast light to moderate showers throughout the day, with low double digit temperatures and no snowfalls. It was far from the worst forecast we have ever walked in, definitely better than originally expected. So we optimistically booted up and set off, hoping the low cloud cover around the peaks would again lift as it had the day before. Just in case, we had microspikes, our emergency bivvy bags, first aid kits, food, wet weathers, spare gloves and warm layers in our packs. Bender had even dragged his ice axe all the way in, if only to trick Murphy’s Law and ensure it wouldn’t be needed! ;-)

The elevated boardwalk was even more extensive in this area than we had realised the evening before. It was present for a goodly amount of the distance between Strike Creek and Pass Creek Camp and helped get us started and close in on our peak. None of us were 100% refreshed from the previous days walk in, but we were all optimistic of a good day out.

Some of that optimism disappeared as we reached Pass Creek, which was narrow but flowing hard. The lovely FRP-topped boardwalk stopped abruptly on both sides with a distinct lack of bridge in between! An old piece of broken rope hanging limply on one side, evidence that once upon a time the crossing had been rope assisted at least, but clearly winter flooding had won out.

Lucas carefully waded over first, then discreetly busied himself as he could no doubt see I was visibly upset at the fully engorged water crossing.

With a promise from Bender that he would not let me get washed downstream if I slipped or the water pushed me over, I wiped the tears from my cheeks and lowered myself into the fast flowing water. Bender stayed close at my side within arm’s reach, least the water knock my feet out and he needed to grab me! Eventually making the other side, I sat and ate a sweet biscuit to let the shaking and faint feeling throughout my body subside. Then I hitched up my big girl pants, and continued on.

Pass Creek camp itself was rather disappointing, not at all like the sheltered campsite described in Chapman’s South West Tasmania. In hindsight, this would have been due to the original camp area being wiped out by the fires. In its place were five temporary tent platforms spread out too far to allow anyone to be sociable, along a narrow depression that offered no more shelter than the already bare-ish Strike Creek camp. Nor was the rumoured toilet to be found. (We found out later it was due to be flown out soon). We were all glad we hadn’t bothered walking the extra distance the evening before.

In fine weather it may well have one major redeeming factor - glorious views of Luckmans Lead winding up the narrow ridgeline towards the Eastern Arthurs Range. But we didn’t have fine weather. The mist wasn’t lifting, we now were coping light rain and the wind was starting to pick up as we gained elevation. Above us, darker clouds consumed the upper reaches of the ridgeline.

The new track work ended just beyond of Pass Creek camp and the climb up Luckmans Lead rose above us. And rise it does. The rocky track climbed up over multiple terraced high points, each one reaching to the sky more than the one before as it rose sharply upwards. This would test our already-tired legs from the day before!

The first two sections of path appeared to be in low vegetation mixed with plenty of loose rock. I could see it winding ever upwards. After that, we would hit a scrub belt, and after that… who knew!? It was hiding behind mist. Although steep, the first few hundred metres of climbing were easy. The washed out white quartzite pad crunching under our feet. Lucas’s long legs striding out in front, with me in the middle and Bender usually lagging behind some distance studiously capturing images, then hurriedly catching up.

When we crested the second terrace, it was unexpected to come across a weather station! At least that’s what we think it is! “Big Bird One” labelled on the front of it. It featured some sort of camera, weather station and fire assisting technology all rolled into one. For a giggle, I pulled a funny face into it just in case someone was watching the camera. One of the boys commented if someone was watching, they might ask what these idiots were doing out in weather like we had!

The rocky path changed as we continued on higher. The open ridgeline became a long tunnel cut through impossibly thick forest. The muddy ground and slime covered roots were terribly slippery underfoot. The wet scrub encroached tightly onto the track everywhere, due to being closed for two years and likely having seen little traffic since being reopened just months earlier. Even in our wet weathers we were soaked through, Lucas copping the brunt of it as he led through this section.

The wind was increasing in strength as we climbed higher. Luckmans Lead was giving off strong Moss Ridge vibes - hardly surprising as it is the Eastern Arthurs’ northern equivalent of that infamous ridge.

Grunting, climbing, slipping, pulling, tripping. Even with the serious energy we were using to haul ourselves up the slippery and steep terrain, Lucas and I were starting to chill in our wet clothing, and we still had a long way to go.

Occasionally, the scrub would drop below waist height or disappear entirely, and when it did, the icy winds would slam us. It was bone-jarringly cold - a cold that is hard to describe unless you have felt it. We stopped briefly in an emergency tent site to eat a quick snack, put on some extra layers and check the GPS to see how far away the summit was. We were relying heavily on our devices at this stage, as we had near-zero visibility above or indeed even below us. All we could ever see were dark shadows of mountains behind the mist, indicating yet another high point to be climbed or skirted around.

At various stages of the ascent, both Lucas and I indicated to Ben that we really needed to consider bailing on the summit and retreating back to camp. Ben wanted to push on further and it would have been very unwise to split our group but Lucas and I were both seemingly feeling the cold much more than Bender.

I was also genuinely concerned that if one of us was to slip or fall and not be able to walk, that the consequences could be dire. Rescue would be days away, as there was no way the helicopter would (or even should have to) be able to assist in these conditions. It would put all three of us at risk.

We agreed (Lucas and I somewhat more reluctantly than Bender) to push on a few hundred metres more to the formal campsite at Stuarts Saddle, assess and make a call there. Our third mistake of the trip - if you think you should be turning around, you probably should! Cold, fatigue and ‘summit fever’ can affect your decision making.

We rounded what we thought were the Boiler Plates. Well that’s what my GPS said anyway. Zero visibility meant we could only just make them out! The dense forest - wet but mostly protective of the wind - was now replaced by walls of solid rock with water pouring off them and down the gullies. Low visibility meant slowly and methodically searching for cairns instead instead of making quick and decisive progress. We carefully lowered ourselves down the extended sections of wet rock that passed as the ‘track’. Lucas and I joked that we should send a photo into Waterfalls of Tasmania and pretend we’d ‘discovered’ a new waterfall.

Even with gloves on, my hands and feet were freezing. Living with both Pernicious and Iron Deficiency Anaemia, I’m pretty used to feeling cold, but this was a whole other level. First my hands and feet were tingling, then they were burning and painful, and finally completely numb. I couldn’t feel the toes on my right foot, making it had to gauge if my boot was on a rock/solid surface or not. Even with multiple layers on, I was physically shivering and I couldn’t stop my teeth from chattering. I must have looked a sight!.

Lucas’s hands were fairing no better and he was trying in vain to keep his hands in his pockets where possible. It seemed like an eternity had passed before we reached Stuarts Saddle. The sheltered platforms on the mountain’s eastern side were still covered in snow from earlier that week, testament to the freezing temperatures at this elevation. The summit was barely 150m away above our heads, but due to the sheer cliffs we had to continue around to the south-western side for our final approach. Only one more kilometre. It didn’t sound like much. Fourth mistake time - the reality of the conditions we were in meant it’d take much, much longer to cover that distance than it would on an otherwise fine day.

The snow wasn’t particularly deep, but it hindered our progress, hiding the “track” around the eastern side of mountain. We were wasting valuable time hunting the way forward amongst the Pandani and horizontal, time that we simply didn’t have. Bender was doing his best picking the route forward, disguised further by a lack of use since the bushfires and without the usual telltales of scuffed moss and bent vegetation. We were trying to pick up the pace to generate body warmth, but the route was resisting. My legs felt so heavy. It was weird, like my brain simply could not get them to function for some reason. And they were clumsy - near useless, clumsy legs. I was shivering, cold and miserable. Lucas admitted he was miserable too. What a shit show.

Still, we pushed on. On reflection later that day, had we known just how long that last section would take us, all of us agreed we shouldn’t have nor would have gone further. That’s the thing with Tasmanian mountains - they always have more in store.

Mercifully we made it to the top of a snow-filled gully and out onto the exposed plateau of Goon Moor’s northern end, and could make the final approach to the summit. An approach that we’d understood to be relatively straightforward. Maybe in clear, calm conditions that would be true, but it definitely wasn’t the case for us.

The Namaste Needles had one last trick in store to test us - multiple high points. We picked up the pad and after dropping down an obvious gully then re-climbing, we reached the nearby 1080m high point. From here we could see the true summit (stated at 1108m ASL) behind it. But the connecting ridge between ended abruptly, so to reach it, we had to sidle the high point on its western side, dropping valuable elevation before climbing again. Bender (who had climbed to 1080m high point) was ahead and I watched him grapple with loose shale and gravel in the wet, steep slope, slipping downwards and grabbing anything to halt his slide. Shit.

Lucas and I stayed high ,using scrub handholds to try to avoid the shale. At one stage Lucas slipped and only just managed to arrest his slide into the misty abyss below by grabbing a tree root with one hand! Double shit. Hanging precariously one-handed on a lone tree root summed up the days trials.

As we moved over the small gully to the 1108m high point, Bender and I made a few cairns to retrace our steps (GPS would be uselessly inaccurate in steep terrain, doubly so in heavy cloud) and to avoid dropping too low. We were all being careful not to dislodge one of the many loose rocks onto each other. The rain was pouring down and the wind knocking us around like rag dolls as we finally, finally reached the slippery wall of rock that surrounds the base of the 1108m high point.

As Lucas and Ben yelled above the wind to each other about the safest way to tackle the final rocky walls, I just scaled straight up them. It was probably fatigue, stupidity, cold or a combination of all three, but if scaling that slippery wet wall bought me closer to the summit and then getting the hell out of there, then so be it.

Bender and Lucas soon joined me as we reached the highest summit rock and all touched it with mere sense of relief rather than any genuine excitement. The highest point was surrounded by seriously steep drops on all sides. I was glad of the mist and rain as it hid most of it - it’s harder to be bothered by things you can’t see.

Lucas and I wasted no time turning around, dropping lower to try to shield ourselves behind a rocky outcrop. Bender wanted to record some footage and a few images of the summit cairn, before hastily retreating back down to join us.

Sadly, there was little enjoyment in the moment, only regret. Sure, we had successfully climbed The Namaste Needles, but for what? There had been no views, though admittedly that’s far from a rare occurrence in Tasmania even in otherwise good weather. But there had been no real journey, no stopping and smelling the flowers, at least for the past five hours. There had only been self-inflicted discomfort. No hard-won celebratory snack at the summit, overlooking the majestic Eastern Arthurs. We still had at least another 4-5 hours of these conditions to endure too.

Such existential reflections were irrelevant at this point though. It was time to retreat, fast, and get ourselves to safety as quickly as possible whilst not going too fast and risking injury.

Down off the summit we went. Across the small gully to the 1080m high point and back onto the shelf. Down through the snow-filled vegetation to Stuarts Saddle - much faster now as we could follow our own footprints. Back up, across and down the slippery waterfalls that passed as track around the Boiler Plates.

Into the forest tunnel, with much relief I might add as we were now out of the wind. Down the tunnel and onto the open ridge line. Back to the weather station. Back to Pass Creek Camp. Over the flooded creek, along the elevated boardwalk and back to our safe haven - the tents.

Ten hours after we had set off, we had come full circle. The usual post-summit excitement and banter was subdued, all of us a little disbelieving that we had actually attempted the summit in the first place. Yes, we had all “ticked” off the Eastern Arthurs Abels now - a notable achievement of sorts - but at what cost? We felt bad that we had put our good friend Lucas in a risky situation. Bender and I had made some legit rookie errors, and we have no excuse as we aren’t rookies. We couldn’t blame inexperience or naivety here.

Perhaps this was the universe giving us a major reality check. We had some serious lessons to learn, and we would be arrogant at the least to not heed them. Sure, everything somehow turned out OK this time, but it could have turned out terribly different. We changed into dry camp clothes, fed ourselves and retired for the night. No celebrations - only self recrimination.

Day 3 & 4
Strike Creek Camp to Wullyara Camp, then Wullyara Camp to the car at Scotts Peak Dam.
33km.
992m elevation gain.
10 hours total.

The three of us decided to pack up and walk out the next day. We would not fight the weather gods, nor our already-exhausted bodies any more. Our plans to climb West Portal were cancelled. And we learned our first lesson quickly. The ‘one day walk’ back to Scotts Peak Dam was stretched into two, breaking for the night at the delightful Wullyara Creek.

To aid our journey, or rub salt in the wounds - maybe both - the weather of Day 3 was calm, warm and the peaks remained free of cloud for much of the day. Equal parts pleasant and just a little frustrating. It was scenic and comfortable walking however, up and over the Razorback, across a calmer Seven Mile Creek and down onto the Arthur Plains. We made good time covering the 15km to Wullyara Creek and enjoyed a long evening eating and trading our excess food. A refreshing reminder of the joys to be found in bushwalking.

That night yet another cold front came through, and the rain fell continuously until morning. I was worried that Junction Creek would be flooding again and we might not make it across. We set off early, walking at a fair pace in between intermittent showers and brief periods of sun. Thankfully Junction Creek was still noticeably lower than it had been on the way in and the remaining 9km of walking were reeled in quickly and quietly. All of us silently self reflecting on the previous few days.

Within 5hrs we were back at the trail head, with mixed emotions about the trip, each of us with more than the usual aches and pains and each of us swearing never to make the same mistakes again.

I was so relieved to see our cars, get warm and dry clothing on and hit Maydena for a feed and debrief. Character building stuff - if you heed the lessons.