A First Ascent of Mt Rosea
Posted Sunday 7th November 2021
Contents
An early start was called for, but even at 06·00 the city roads were awash with cars and trucks. Bit by bit things got back to something more pleasant so that beyond Melton life was as passable as it is likely to get on a highway. A second morning coffee at an early opening bakery at Beaufort hid the fact that by 17·00 on our return the town would be completely shut.
The Way Up
We arrived at the Rosea car park in time to make a 09·30 start off into the bush. The track for the first two km was a relatively easy, albeit a slowly ascending amble through some delightful forest country, largely hiding what was to come.
Pleasant walking through the forest prior to the real stuff.
We had overlooked that this would be wildflower season, so got a pleasant surprise in that regard, enjoying a rather more colourful day than had been expected Somewhere along the way we passed the old track route that apparently followed a rather more difficult way toward the summit — maybe something to follow up another day.
As the forest thinned our objective became rather more apparent — a sharp range off left, tree clad on its lower reaches, liberally decorated with the bizarre sandstone formations that typify this area, finishing with a mostly rocky ridge line that looked very much like somewhere that humans shouldn’t go. So we did, and in fact so did a well-worn but rugged route that many had followed before us.
Ben on the way up the rocky road section.
The start of the ascent was up a lateral ridge line, in part paved initially with a huge slab of stone that allowed a degree of free-hand meandering before getting in the more broken territory through a jumble of huge boulders and small cliff lines.
Max on the upper rocky road with the view growing with every step.
Without much in the way of tree cover the views started to assert themselves, particularly off to Bundaleer and Tower Hill to the west.
Finding a way through the rocks.
The further we went the more demanding some of the scrambles became until we found ourselves right on the top lip of the ridge line looking down maybe 300 metres into the Silverband Valley vertically below.
Ben approaches the skyline and the need to turn right.
Along the Ridge Line
Since we could no longer continue in the direction we had been following, we turned right to follow the ridge line.
In a very typical Grampians way, the ridge line was up, down and all over the place with the track meandering over around and even under rocks to find a way forward.
Squeezing through a cleft is a task suited to narrow people.
Periodic track markers helped mark the way, but an intuitive sense as to where the rock had been a bit discoloured by the passage of many feet over the years was a more useful guide. At one point we met a person coming in the opposite direction who was a bit disoriented after missing an obscure turn. Our appearance somewhere above him got him back to rights.
If anything, the whole rocky jumble got more complex, with passage through a number of clefts through or between rocks being a bit on the marginal side. Eventually we arrived, with little warning, at the Gate of the East Wind, a bottomless cleft across the whole ridge that dropped to infinity but was mercifully provided with a stout steel bridge, the original alternative being a fairly hairy rock scramble that didn’t look to have much in the way of security.
Max on the bridge at Gate of the East Wind crevasse.
Once past the Gate the track swooped upwards into what was probably the hardest bit of the day — in one place a natural tunnel (double ended cave?) under a jumble of huge boulders provided a very convenient alternative to what would be a rather difficult scramble.
Max is through the natural tunnel and has around 700 metres to go to the summit.
As luck would have it the second person we saw in two hours of walking turned up at the far end of the tunnel just as we did. I think it was verbal crossing orders that saved the day, or was it just ‘bush’ courtesy?
After the tunnel the ridge widened out, although still liberally decorated with natural sandstone sculptures and monuments, so that the track was much more like the earlier part where the rock provided a natural pathway. A profusion of flowers decorated the area including a large display of miniature pink wetland Fairy Aprons.
Ben nearing the summit.
From this point onwards it was relatively easy to reach the summit — 1009 metres ASL and one of a few places in the Grampians that reach over the magic 1000 metres.
The final scramble to the summit — a fenced compound!
Ben went out onto one of the projecting rock ledges at the summit — something I did not enjoy. No one wants to watch their offspring’s first and only unplanned attempt to fly. In this case all went well and Ben continued as a walker.
Ben in space — out on a ledge next to the summit.
The Way Down
By this time the temperature was rather higher than when we started and notably the sun was beaming down from as near to vertical as it gets in this part of the world.
A huge panorama as we started back down from the summit.
Rather than lunch on the unshaded summit we retreated back to a rocky place that was shaded with a huge rock cantilevering out over the path.
Ben at our lunch stop, in among the big stuff.
By the time we left there, things had further warmed up to the point of being a bit uncomfortable, albeit leavened with intermittent flurries of breeze. In theory descending should be easy — let gravity take over — but when it involves stepping down a multitude of erratic rocks and boulders the knees turn to jelly. It is almost harder than climbing up.
Max wends his way through the natural sculpture garden…
…and so does Ben a bit lower down.
After the rocky excitement up on the ridge the last couple of km on relatively ordinary tracks was a bit of an anti-climax, albeit with a degree of shade from the forest.
We duly returned to the car just on six hours after leaving it, having covered something like 10·4 km, ascending 514 metres and of course descending the same amount.
This writer would classify the walk as hard, although Ben would probably put it in the medium category.
Our reviving iced coffee, or in fact anything reviving, at Beaufort was foiled by everything being shut even though it was just on 17·00 — not late for a place with a highway through it. Since there was nothing to stop for we just kept going which is why we walked in our respective front doors at around 19·00, rather than somewhat later time that we originally planned for.
