AAWT- read here!


Because no-one has ever written about their adventures on the AAWT before, I present...

My Adventures on the AAWT. 

In this tale, two young girls/women/warriors will make their way along the Australian Alps Walking Trail (AAWT), from the edge of town all the way to Valhalla, if it pleases the Gods. I understand the correct spelling for our final destination is Walhalla, but surely it must be pronounced Valhalla, for the purposes of this saga at least.

And so, the adventure begins with a series of powerful day-trips, daringly executed and meticulously planned around the one sacred consideration of all extreme sportsparents- organising someone to look after the kids.



Day 1.  Tharwa  - Bushfold Flats                         16JUN18

Mt Tennent is big, strong and old. It has a rockslide scar scored down its great cheek that can be seen for miles.  For me, it is truly the symbolic start of the AAWT.  Mt Tennent was named for bushranger John Tennent, who, when not robbing and terrorising local settlers in the 1820s, hid out on the wild slopes plotting his next business ventures. Before Tennent, Tharwa was the original name, meaning Thunder Mountain. Tharwa is now the name of the small town at the foot of the mountain and home to the Namadgi Visitors Centre and the official start of the southbound route of the AAWT.

At the Namadgi Visitors Centre, we first meander around the various installations celebrating Canberra’s Aboriginal and European heritage. Scarred trees from both cultures are featured. The installation of a Ngunnawal canoe tree is currently under construction, but the great tree can be seen, plucked as it was from the garden bed of a nearby property, hanging in a giant sling, awaiting its final resting place.  Further along is the Moat tree, its trunk carved with the arrow and code representing white man’s invisible line around the ACT.  Stand in a certain spot, and see the Moat tree and the Canoe tree and the mighty Tennent all at once in a layered visual history of time and country. If the Namadgi Visitors Centre is as far as you are ever able to get on the AAWT, go! It is remarkable.

We enter the AAWT by ascending the lower slopes of Tennent through a forest that sounds as pretty as it looks. Peppermint and Bundy are the trees, Hairy Geebung and walls of Pomaderris stand close, Drooping She-oaks, Black Cypress-pines and Kurrajong are scattered about. The bush flowers are all asleep but the tiny winter-flowering heaths are there for those who look. The great slabs of granite are smooth like an ocean wave flowing down the hillside, or rising to the sky in great chunky tors.

After moving higher and around to the north, there is an abrupt change.  Silver Banksias, fat round pods of Tea Tree and snow white gums with ribbons of peeling bark announce our arrival at a new neighbourhood.  But just as we reach this new place, we turn again, and head down, down, and leave the cover of the forest to enter into the open sunny flats, a narrow open valley of snow grass and lazing kangaroos. We take our break on a granite slab in the bright winter sun. A Hobby dashes unsuccessfully at the small bush birds, diving, missing, giving up, returning- close enough for us to see his little black executioners’ hood and teardrop mask. Magpies scream their indignation and small birds scatter. We are being chased also now. Snow clouds peep over the hill and slowly creep and spread towards us.

Further along the flats, the AAWT turns and heads down a great narrow corridor guarded on either side by high close peaks, heavy with trees and granite. On the right are the triple peaks of Booroomba Rocks, and on the left is Deadmans Hill. This sacred passage is the way to Valhalla, but we are not going to Victoria today, and so we pass by and keep going in a wide loop around and up the other side of Tennent. As we climb we are caught by the clouds and it begins to snow.  At first in fat flakes that fall gently, and then more sharply sideways, landing softly on eyelashes, noses, woolly hats and kangaroos. Canberra folk often experience very cold winters, but it rarely ever snows in town, so this was ridiculously exciting and fun, a grand welcome to the to the trail and  sign of great adventures to come.

We do not attempt the summit. The early winter darkness and the snow have beaten us this time, and we must return home to be mothers for our children.  Flying down the mountain in a race against the setting sun, we slow only to drink in the lyrebird’s song. Gunshots punch the twilight air, echoing about the slopes. Sounds from the darkening bush betray that someone is nearby. There is a voice, male, agitated, misplaced, its owner concealed within the black curtain folds of the bush, unknown and unseen, like Tennent himself, hiding out on Thunder Mountain.




Day 2. Bushfold Flats – Booroomba Rocks           15SEP18

My hiking buddy found herself preoccupied with exciting non-stop career opportunities, so while I waited for her to hit the trail with me again, I walked to the top of Mt Tennent one day by myself. It was well worth it, as I could see our destination mapped out in the form of various peaks, more or less in a direct line, for the entire ACT section of the trail.  From where I was standing on Mt Tennent, I could see across to Deadmans Hill, then the Spinnaker, and in the distance, topped with gleaming snow, mighty Mt Bimberi on the border of the ACT. Four peaks in a row.

It was the peak directly in front of me that was speaking to me on this day. Deadmans Hill- the high point of the proposed side-track/off-track route of our much anticipated next AAWT wander. It was steep, darker somehow than the others. Really, the name should be a warning in itself.  I looked at the steep slopes and felt a shade of something unpleasant stirring within. Something foreboding. It looked hard.

But hey.  Whatever. Next weekend, we arrived at the Hill with crazy, busy weeks behind us, desperate to just “get out there” and who cares if we forgot the map, I wasn’t actually awake yet, but yeah, I kind of knew what we were doing. It was a beautiful morning. The south slopes of Deadmans were a high forest of spidery red grevillea blooms and silver shoots of shaggy peas, sprinkled with falling snow so light it couldn’t be felt at all, and it was all so pretty, and we felt so good, so off we went.

Let it be told that a hard day indeed was had on the slopes of Deadmans Hill.  It was not so much bushwalking as bush-bashing, and we were the ones getting bashed.  Especially by the Bursaria which is very spiky. Also, let it be told that there is no spidery red grevillea and shaggy peas in a pretty light snow or greener grass of any kind on the other side of this hill. There is only Bursaria. So we didn’t technically accomplish any of the AAWT trail that particular day, however we were introduced to the contrary beauty of Deadmans Hill and got bashed up a bit, fell down a few times and got scratched up good and poked in the eyes a lot with those whippy, skinny sticks and branches that were impossible to see until they were actually inside the eyes, which was just mean. My legs were so spotted with bruises from poking sticks that I looked like a Dalmatian for a week.

It was with a renewed sense of humbled purpose and proper grown-up map-based planning that we arrived for the second time to attempt day 2 of our AAWT adventure. We walked along the trail for the most part, which was just so sensible and easy, with just a little bit off track here and there, mostly at the open flats, which is easy walking and Bursaria in neat avoidable clumps rather than in the all-surround fight-cage formation.

We wandered about the dry open flats, exploring huts, a pig trap, a pig (dead) and old bits and pieces of farm days gone by. Silver Wattle made bright yellow sprays here and there, but generally not much in flower at all, as it has been a dry year.  The AAWT then leads away from the dry yellow of the Flats, in-between Deadmans Hill and Booroomba Rocks, up into a changed world of wet green forest, with all the feel of the higher parts of Tidbinbilla- Hazel Pomaderris, tall daisy bushes, Coprosma, mossy boulders, tiny ferns peeking out from under black burnt trunks and a damp, cool feeling hanging low in the air.

And all along this rite of passage, Deadmans Hill was watching us. Glimpses of sunlit rocks would peek at us through a frame of rusty pomaderris and ribboned bark, looking innocent yet knowing, her graceful granite slopes flowing down like a river of stone. The Mountains here are indeed a sentient presence, individual characters and sentinels along the path. They send their silent messages across to one another still, just as they did in the old days of moths and smoke.



Day 3. Booroomba Rocks – Honeysuckle Creek 29SEP18

The walk to Booroomba rocks is close to Canberra, not too long but hard enough to be excellent exercise, and has dramatic cliff-top views back towards the city. Some come to Booroomba to enjoy the spectacle of nature, some come to find new species of peacock-spiders, some to take photos of themselves, and some come to leave lots of toilet paper along the track.

A previous trip to Booroomba with my trusty hiking partner saw us making the trek behind a group of perfectly beautiful young ladies, who talked in detail about their bodies, and when reaching the dramatic, breathtaking view afforded atop the rock cliffs, began at once to do a twerking bum dance and show off their various body parts. Fun!

Not long after these ladies left in the same nebula of deodorant as they had arrived, another young lady arrived to take a 360 degree panorama of the splendid views, featuring, of course, herself, complete with a just-so pout and smouldering gaze. Dutiful boyfriend hovered nearby, keeping out the way of the shot. He correctly understood this activity had nothing to do with him. When this task was complete, the young lady found a suitably precarious rock ledge upon which to sit and pose and install herself as part of the view. Wow!

Now this all sounds kind of nasty, but I admit freely here that I remember being in love with my own appearance and believing it was key to my connection with the greater world. Note to all- It’s a scam! All arses head south if you are lucky enough to live that long, and certainly I intend to take mine as far south as the AAWT will take me.

Now there is a lot more of course to Booroomba than being a stunning background to the Self, as many people know. The emergency stretcher and climbing equipment tucked quietly away in the bush attests to the dangerous nature of the rocks. People do go rock-climbing here, and there are some sacred spots to look for. On this particular day of being at Booroomba, we could hear the crunch crunch of Gang-Gang cockatoos as they nibbled on the gumnuts in the trees above and then let the spent cases drop to the forest floor. We saw the smooth marvel of a Pardalotes tunnel in the forest soil, while mum and dad Pardalote loitered nearby, their bodies tiny living dot paintings in black, red, white and ochre. We heard the Lyrebird calling, though much less now that winter has passed. As for our views at the top, we could see more of the places we were going to go on the way to Mt Bimberi- the long straight line of Orroral Ridge with its towering rocks, the Spinnaker and maybe Coronet Peak. We could look behind and see the friends already visited– Mt Tennent and Deadmans Hill, and know in our hearts and see in our minds all the forest and the flats we had seen along the way. The magical number three, the number of consolidation. We are on our way.


The forest track from Booroomba to Honeysuckle was bravely heralding the spring. Wedge-leaf and Dagger Wattles now joined the Silver Wattle to paint the forest yellow. Woolly Grevillea provided some red and a few shy Hoveas gave a little purple. Occasionally the forest would open out into swampy flat areas of bunched grassy tufts, the headwaters and various feeders of Honeysuckle creek, which are not so much a creek as a swampy fen. Boardwalks ran over the sensitive areas, but there was no water or mud under our feet today. All is dry. 



Day 4-5. Honeysuckle Creek – Orroral River                                                                                        13-14OCT2018

Our first camp out on the AAWT! For this first overnighter, we depart from Honeysuckle Creek, head up to the Orroral Ridge, explore all along the “Ridge of Stone” as it is also known, then down to the next valley and return.

It was a pretty start. The Honeysuckle Creek forest was glistening with spring rain, the first Creamy Candles were bursting open in the undergrowth, and fat buds of Riceflowers were ready to pop. The forest is so beautiful in the wet.

Heavy packs on, we took off along the wide dirt road straight up to the Orroral Ridge. Many boulders, spires, stacks and other rock-climbing wonders crown the ridgeline, with exciting names like “Trojan Walls” and “Legoland”, and we wanted to see them all. We wandered to an immense outcrop called the Belfry, and I was at once taken back in my mind to the mighty Belougery Spire and the Breadknife of the Warrumbungles.  It was a granite wonderland, a network of shelters, platforms, tunnels.  So many house-like creations of massive grey stone, with stone verandahs, stone chairs and stone beds and stone ceilings, and windows shaped like squares and triangles and crooked diamonds. The sun came out for us and views of the Orroral Valley far below were ours. We could see ahead to all the new places we must go- Orroral Hill, Cotter Rocks, and, as always, Bimberi.

We had intended to explore the whole ridge at once but very quickly we determined that this place is a destination of its own, and cannot be rushed in a few hours or even half a day. So the rest of the high boulders at the top of the ridge were bypassed for now and we descended the ridge on another thickly forested fire trail, heading down to the Valley far below.  As we descended, a striking hilltop revealed itself through the trees, a jumble of boulders on top of a sharply pointed peak which was sticking off the side of an even higher peak that had no rocks at all.  This unexpected peak, unnamed on my map, was later determined to be Orroral Tor, also known as Cathedral Rocks. It would have to be visited, but not this time. It went onto “the List”. (See our beyond-exciting adventure in the next entry to the Tor).

Descending further, glimpses of the Orroral Valley would peek through the trees. Open and welcoming, it is a mature valley of many greens, with a wide strip of creamy reeds marking the river’s swampy course. And across this valley, mirroring the long ridge we had just come down from, was another wide ridge, although this one had a strange rock that glinted white on the slopes about halfway down. We later worked out this was a collimation tower, a relic of the Orroral Space Tracking Station days. Above this tower, and summiting this new ridgeline was a rocky jumble named Orroral Hill, and it held within it the feeling of those particular mountains which are the Sentinels, watching over those who cross these valleys, dotted along the path at a sufficient distance to guide the walker in. Just like the brave sentry of the White Cockatoos, waiting alone to call in all the other cockys for their cocky bedtime.

We camped by the Orroral River. The stars were out, and Mars glowed high and red above, while the new crescent moon shone brightly. Kangaroos and wallabies thumped about, with their new spring babies peeking from bulging pouches. Frogsong was the entertainment for the evening, which included the always entertaining “bonk” of the Pobblebonk. As night set in, we slept with the tent fly doors open so we could see the stars above and hear the wild dogs howl. Of course, this leaving open of the tent doors pre-empted that rain must fall. Hiking Buddy smartly zipped her tent up at 1am when drops began, but I was far to challenged (lazy) to do this. It was thus discovered that one can be entirely warm, dry and snug under a wet down bag in a wet tent. For one night at least. But that was all I needed.

The return journey back up the track was wet.  My map described a little section of this uphill stretch as a “steep pinch just here”, but this was a lie because it was a steep pinch all the way up. We were passed by some mountain bikers, working at a whole new level of hard to get up the hill.  Hiking Buddy was incredulous. “They are fucking crazy!” she declares. Standing in the rain with a big heavy pack at the bottom of a big muddy hill as if what we were doing was completely normal.
More boulders were visited that again were surely used as homes of the first people here. One particular house had a long corridor of darkly shaded rock, and seemed to be a shelter from sun as much as wind or rain, whereas other places felt more right for cooking, or working, or playgrounds for children, or just for watching. We felt lucky indeed to see such places and grateful that these places were here.

We crossed over the ridgetop once more, and bypassed again the granite treasures along the top, as they would be slippery from rain now, and it was too foggy for views. Bypassed also was another sentinel, the Spinnaker (on the List), as wet forest and heavy packs deterred us from fighting our way up to her. Occasionally on the return down to Honeysuckle, a glimpse of Booroomba Rocks could be seen, a tiny point barely visible, revealing nothing of its true self.

Day 6. Orroral River - Orroral River Track  DEC2018 


It is now summer.  Plans for a two day hike were reduced due to a heatwave and other life circumstances sapping the life from us. We left town late one day and camped nearby in the valley for the night, then tackled some of the AAWT on the morning of the promised cooler next day.
The planned days walk served the  purpose of linking up the Orroral River to the Cotter Dam Track, which we did, and in so doing, we covered a  mighty  500 metre section of AAWT trail (yes that is probably rounded up). But don’t think we didn’t achieve anything else on this hotter than hot day during the hottest summer ever than just linking up two little bits of track.  After an enjoyable stroll along tracks by the river, we headed off into the criss-crossy animal tracks of the mountainside to summit the proud Orroral Tor that had so impressed us on our recent visits to this area.
We had picked a day that wasn’t as hot as it had been, but it was still very hot. Cherry Ballart fruit was ripe and delicious, Rosy Hyacinth Orchids were showy and many other little flowers were out for the big summer display. About halfway up the mountain, I called for a stop, as I had a cracked water bottle and precious water was pouring down my back. I then discovered  it wasn’t water pouring down my back, it was sweat. Never before had I experienced such a thing as this waterfall of sweat. I have seen this phenomenon among builders, painters and the like, working hard doing big heavy building stuff, or occasionally guys at the gym on the stationery bike being like a human sprinkler, making sure they get half the gym to themselves. But not me.
Anyway, shortly after this disturbing sweat episode, Hiking Buddy, who doesn’t feel the heat like I do, calls out that she has lost her phone out of her pocket! We had to back track at once to maximise our chances of remembering our steps. There are no tracks, tapes or cairns here so we used our detective “find-it” powers to backtrack through the braids of interwoven animal pads we had been criss-crossing all the way. A professional tracking session sounds something like this:
Do you remember this tree?
Yes, this is where we ate the Cherry Ballart
No hang on, it was this one
Do you remember this rock?
No, yes, no.
We were higher up here.
The scrub isn’t thick enough just here.
Do you remember this piece of bark?
No, I don’t remember shit like that.
And so on, back down the hill, and then re-climbing from our original start point to try again. The phone was found close to the base of a log where it had slipped out of its pocket when the log was being climbed over. As the least energetic of the pair, I determined that I was not going to go back up that hill today, and we went along in the heat to sit by the river awhile.
So there you have it. A full 500m of AAWT racked up, one iphone lost and found, no mountain bagged but who cares, lets go home now.



Day 7-8. Orroral River Track – Cotter Dam Track           3-4FEB2019

For this next little section of the AAWT the brave warrior women took their brave warrior daughters on their first overnight hike.
Our first Guest Hikers on the AAWT, Misses 7 and 10,  were all packed up and made ready to walk away from the cars, the powerlines, the toilet blocks and the picnic tables of the known world and off into the bush for an adventure.  Miss 10 carried a pack all the way in and back, while Miss 7 walked about 45 minutes in with a small pack, which was then wholly rejected, and had to be carried for her by the brave warrior women. Not a bad effort for one so young, I have to say. She did hike all the way back out the next day with the pack on, even though it was rather empty. So we all walked in and back and had a great time, with no incidents, and it was a great success.

Walking in was hard work for kids not used to packs on their backs, and it was muggy and hot, storms were around and it was all rather new. They did not know what to expect at the “campground” as I kept calling it, which it was not, and perhaps should have been instead saying “campsite”, so as not to confuse it with anything that might have a jumping pillow and a kiosk.
Along the Ridge could be seen the Belfry, Legoland and other monuments to Great Walks Past. We could pick out our previous trip with the girls to the Trojan Wall- see up there? That’s where we were sitting when we walked along up there, and we were looking down at the valley, and now we are in that valley- and the oh YEAH! as little brains lit up in understanding, realisation, expansion and joy.

Joy was also found in grasshoppers- jumping, mating, flying, hatching. Wherever the children ran, bursts of sunshine yellow wings exploded up from the ground, like butterflies or yellow flowers, with the click click click sound of the grasshoppers taking flight. 

By day, dips were taken in the river and fat spotted Cunninghams Skinks basked on hot granite. By night, screeches and screams and puppet shows by torchlight filled the little tents with more joy. The sky crashed and banged with light and rain all night. But the warrior girls were brave!

And so, another tiny section of the AAWT was chipped away at, and once again the Orroral Valley kept on giving and revealing itself in ways that can only be understood by being there again and again and again, learning and loving and finding. The girls did not want to leave.


Annual Review                                             16JUN2019

And so the time has come to review the first year of my AAWT wanderings.
In this first year, I have covered, across various day trips and camp-outs, in rain, snow and shine…a total of 26 km of the AAWT. The AAWT itself, is, in total, 660km.

This means that by current statistical indications, I will be 70 years old by the time I complete the AAWT.

This wasn’t exactly the pace I had in mind. Perhaps I could win a place in Guiness for the longest ever complete traverse of the AAWT. It could be like one of those bicycle races where the wobbliest, zig-zaggiest person that gets across the line last, wins. Of course, if you fall off the bike (or in my case, just die) then you are disqualified.
Speaking in terms of achievement other than kilometres, I have seen a great deal of beautiful country and climbed a lot of cool mountains, got close to the roots of all things meaningful and spent time doing what means most to me.

However, I wouldn’t mind at all if I could ramp it up a bit. Let’s see what 2019/2020 brings.