This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
by Margaret Craigie I circumvented the correct protocol of asking the Chief Guide’s permission, and just went ahead and organised a short day walk up Mt Beerwah, approximately 45mins drive from Redcliffe, Brisbane, my current place of residence.
My big sister (Caroline) was nominated unanimously by the punters as Trip Leader. She informed me that the time of awakening had to be 4.45am on the Sunday morning. It is not that the locals here have insomnia, it is simply that Queensland is relatively sunny compared to NZ and it gets a tad warm during the summer months. As such, anything that requires physical exertion is done, wherever possible, either very early in the morning or at night.
Arising at the allotted time, I proceeded to the previously arranged meeting place of the breakfast table. Noting the absence of the Trip Leader, I was not, at this stage, too concerned about lost (or deliberately hidden!) trampers and opened the fridge and partook of some tasty victuals.
Dressed in my motorcycle leathers and ready for action, it was now time to leave. Caroline was still asleep, and I realised on inspection that to get to her, I would have to engage with the brother-in-law. It was still only 5.30am. Calculating that I wanted to live a little longer than 5.31am, I left them slumbering and departed.
I don’t really know the area that well, but I was sporting my latest safety feature, and so was quite confident that even if ! should become seriously geographically embarrassed, I wouldn’t be missing for too long. (Caroline dyed my hair the day before - it was meant to be a deep reddish (plum) colour. It came out bright orange.)
In the event, it took me slightly longer than the estimated 45mins to get to Mt Beerwah, but the Australians at the petrol station of Beerwah township were incredibly helpful and quite happy to tell a Kiwi where to go.
By 7.15am, I was changed into more appropriate attire for the already 26°C heat and walked to the start of the track.
Mt Beerwah is an ancient volcanic plug with vertical sides and a flattish top. Apparently the Surrounding volcano has eroded over the eons leaving the solid plug behind. It is not that tall (height 556m) but it provides its own challenge in that much of it is a bit of a rock-climb. The main track approaches from the eastern face and is made from quite smooth rock at an angle of around 75. Clambering upwards for around 5 minutes, I gained a reasonable foothold and turned to survey the view. Impressive. Having tried skydiving and bungy-jumping in my past, I wouldn't describe myself as scared of heights, but even so, I was nervously glad that my Will was up to date. Indeed, only 3 weeks after this climb, a local radio station reported that someone had an unplanned overnight stay at the top because they let their fear master their thoughts. The same week, a neighbouring hill claimed the life of an unlucky tramper who slipped to his death. I quickly faced inwards to the rock and continued on. A gentleman well into his 50s who had the physique of someone who might do it every day, passed me, looking extremely chuffed with himself. I had nothing to prove. The steepness of the ascent and lack of ropes brought me to the conclusion fairly rapidly that egos on a mountain can be a suicidal frame of mind. I took comfort from knowing that it was so easy to bring pleasure toa man. Mind you, he’d earned his moment of glory. He was obviously as fit as a buck-rat, I continued to the top of the rock where a couple was having a break. The bloke seemed to be wearing an oxygen mask (as you do on a mountain...). He said he was training as part of the police rescue squad, but on questioning further, he admitted to having rescued no police to date. Hmm. Feeling refreshed, and now walking normally, I passed through a small amount of bush along the bottom of some chalk-like vertical striations and tramped to the top approximately 1% hours after setting out. Most days would provide a panoramic 360° view and today was no exception. I could see all the way to the curve of the horizon and it had only taken a couple of hours’ effort. Absolutely spectacular. Most of the life on the “mountain” consisted of insects: zillions of midges that are annoying simply by their huge numbers; a spider that looks for all the world like a brightly spotted shield beetle, and spikes to boot. However, it was just an illusion which disappeared as soon as it moved. Beautiful. Ona previous visit a couple of years prior, Caroline and I came across a butterfly that made a noise as it flew. My memory was that it sounded like a squeaky wheel, whereas Caroline thinks it was like a purring cat. Incredible. This time, there were no butterflies talking to me (or voices in my head for that matter), so headed back down.
The descent was a great deal faster than going up, but required a lot of concentration. The rock was too hot to the touch for more than % second at a time (still well before 10am), and there was a fair bit of bum-sliding occurring. (I'm told it's a traditional tramping skill passed down the generations.) Only one member of the party got a rash due to too much skin contact with the rock, so I think that as a whole, we did quite well. A great time was had by all, and I headed home to visit the sandman. PS: Do not tell any Ozzie that you are into tramping. They will think you are a prostitute. Trip Leader: Caroline de Silva Photo courtesy of Google