Mt Kelly

This is the story of a dogged rematch.

Earlier this year, my good friend Charles and I attempted a walk to Mt Kelly (1826m), situated in the remote far south of the Namadgi National Park on the NSW border. Kelly is the fourth highest peak in the ACT.

There are no marked tracks on this 15 km walk, it is a tough uphill grind in difficult scrubby terrain - a navigational and physical challenge. One blog described this trip as 'mind-numbing bushbashing suitable only for masochists'.

We don't think of ourselves as masochists but this peak had us intrigued. On our first attempt we were foiled by bad weather and dense scrub (thick regrowth since the 2003 Canberra bushfires). We got within a kilometre of the base but had no time or energy to keep going.

As any walker or climber will tell you, these peaks have a way of grabbing hold of you, and Kelly did that for us. Walking back on that first trip we thought we discerned some lines for an easier passage and so we determined to return - a second attempt - K2!

We set off from Yankee Hat Car Park, an hour's drive south of Canberra. The first 5 kms across open grassland are delightful and guaranteed to lull you into a false sense of security. How hard could this be??

But, once you cross Middle Creek at the end of these flats it's uphill the rest of the way - rugged, steep, dusty and densely vegetated. We scrambled and climbed for the next 8 hours.

As it turned out, the options we thought we'd discerned for an easier route we're not as clear as we'd hoped! We bashed on, determined this time to get there.

During one break we heard scrambling in the bush - something noisy was heading our way. It turned out to be a feral sow and her piglets. These pests have done great damage to the Australian fauna and flora. I've seen the evidence but never come across the living thing before.

Eventually, we breached Scabby Ridge and Mt Kelly came into view. That's her, looking pretty benign from this distance but don't be fooled, it was grinding all the way - the bush in the foreground gives some sense of how thick it is.

We reached the base of the final climb by late afternoon - weary and slightly frayed!!

Leaving our packs in a tree (out of reach of pigs), we girded our loins for the final climb - more thick bush, more scratches, more frustration - ugh! Eventually we reached an outcrop 100 metres from the summit - good enough. Besides, with the sun setting we needed to set up camp. We scrambled back down, heading for water and a camp spot in that clearing (below) about 1 km to the south.

With the day's walk finally at an end, tent pitched and a cuppa brewing our spirits lifted considerably - assisted later by Charles's fine tuna green-curry and red wine I'd lugged up for just this moment.

It was a cold night for me in my lightweight sleeping back - too light as it turned out!

Next morning we rose to a glorious new day - time to begin the long trip home.

Before long we were climbing again, scrambling over the rocky ridge that lay between us and the valley home.

We called these rock faces 'highways' -  they were a brief smooth respite from the almost impenetrable scrub (that's last night's camping spot back behind me).

That grassy patch in the distance is where it all began. My car is parked at the far end somewhere.

There's Mt Gudgenby on the left (below) - a peak we've climbed in the past.

And here's one of Charles on the top of the world taking it all in - a true mountain man!

At his feet was this strange hollow. What is it and why is it here on this isolated rocky peak? We wondered if it may have been a pool used by the indigenous Ngunnawal people for some sacred rite - perhaps some kind of washing or naming ceremony.

From this high rocky outcrop, we plunged back into the bush, struggling back through the steep valleys and eventually returning to the car - exhausted, relieved, grateful for the experience.

So, once again, we almost made it but not quite. In the end, Mt Kelly and its protective scrubland remain unconquered, and maybe that's as it needs to be. Surely, part of what we love about this wonderful, wild country is the fact that it can never finally be tamed. I finish with words from Rilke's poem, 'The Man Watching'.

'... Winning does not tempt that man.
This is how he grows: by being defeated, decisively,
by constantly greater beings.'