While cooking breakfast on day two of our Pyke-Big Bay tramp, our rescuer Robin sauntered into camp with a deer on his back. He called out in his posh English accent, Want some venision? Robin was making me look bad. He had a miners tent set up with a flatpack stove inside. It turned out hed worked in the Hollyford Valley in the 1970s doing deer recovery and hed learned a few tricks. Robin warned us about the Black Swamp. It sounded like something out of Monty Python, so we didnt take him too seriously. We set off across the flats, finding the remnants of old fences from the days when hardy farmers would muster cattle through these valleys. Then we found the swamp. A nasty thick quagmire, the Black Swamp was just as evil as Robin had said. We sunk up to our waists in the muck, and my camera remained firmly tucked away. These candid shots are again from the trusty point and shoot. Beyond the swamp we crossed the Olivine River in a cage, and then the route we were following disappeared. Markers were few and far between, and often the three of us would head out in three directions to see if we could find anything that resembled a track. As nightfall approached we bush bashed our way through thick bush, and just when we were about to give up hope and camp in the soggy undergrowth we burst out onto the shores of Lake Wilmot. We were muddy and exhausted, but at sunrise the next morning I got my first good shot. The effort was worth it.
Posted on: Sat, 22 Nov 2014 09:22:17 +0000
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