Frenchmans Cap, Tasmania

Frenchmans Cap. The name itself has an aura; its presence in the landscape is dazzling. When the light is on it, the famed white quartzite peak is visible to ships out at sea. Then there’s the walk that bears its name. Regarded by some as one of Tasmania’s most challenging multi-day walks, the return journey to the domed summit of Frenchmans Cap is 46 kilometres. A little daunted by its reputation but with several days’ grace and the forecast of fine weather, we decide to spread our COVID-clipped wings and fly south to walk this wild trail.

Day 1: Trailhead to Vera Hut (15 km)

The West Coast Connector bus from Hobart drops walkers at the trailhead en route to Queenstown. After Derwent Bridge, there are only three other passengers; two climbers and Bernie, a man in his early nineties who lives in Queenstown. He helped build the first hut at Frenchmans Cap in 1946, using King Billy pine palings split onsite. With pride in his voice, he tells us that as a 17-year-old he worked out how to seal the hut’s roof, using long strips of bark.  He also tells us that Tasmanian Tigers once roamed these parts. The last known of their kind died in 1936 but Bernie says we should keep an eye out for them even so. 

We step out of the bus to a cloudless blue sky. The sun is warm as we cross the suspension bridge over the Franklin River. It’s one of Australia’s last wild rivers and still flowing free, 40 years after the Tasmanian government did its utmost to dam the river and drown its beautiful valley. 

Walking into the forest, a heady scent of camphor and mint envelops us. We climb gradually out of the green river valley until we reach the slopes of Mt Mullens and our first view of the imposing summit of Frenchmans Cap. It’s shimmering in the afternoon light, as bright as if it were ice-encrusted. 

We spend the next couple of hours walking in and out of forests and across button grass plains ringed by distant mountains. Pink trigger flowers and purple fairy aprons fringe the track. Higher up, there are banksias and tea trees in flower. We cross the Loddon River on another suspension bridge and sidle gently around Pickaxe Ridge. The call of black currawongs rings out across the valley. Wombats have been this way and wallabies too. We can make out their tracks in the oozing black mud pooling below the boardwalk. 

Just when we think we have the day’s walking in hand, we find ourselves navigating a tangled labyrinth of rainforest trees; myrtle, leatherwood, pines, sassafras and beech. The way is steep and slow. High up above us, golden light breaks through the canopy and beckons us onwards. As we clear the forest, the track swings to the northwest and reveals a world of mountains and the prospect of exceptional walking tomorrow. 

Twelve walkers are staying at Lake Vera tonight. Two use the comfortable hut and the rest of us cook outside and sleep in our tents; a comment on the benign weather and the socially distant times we find ourselves living in.

Just before sunset, a harmony of small birds swells up around us. The moonless night promises a glittering array of stars and for those that dare to dream, the swirling lights of the southern aurora. Without the distraction of digital devices, people sit quietly watching the sky and listening to night coming down. 

Day 2: Vera Hut to Tahune and return to Frenchmans Cap Summit (10 km)

We wake to a cloudy though not sombre sky. The first part of today’s walk takes us through the ancient rainforest that shrouds the northern shore of Lake Vera. There’s a play of clouds and mist rising from the lake. When it clears, we glimpse mountains reflected in Vera’s tranquil pool.

At the start of the ascent, the lull of water falling over rocks soothes our passage. Water drips from hidden springs and ferns tumble from a great height. Velvet green moss spreads across a slab of white rock and lichens beard the south-facing side of trees. 

Soon though, all we are conscious of is the effort of climbing. Relentlessly upward on a rough broken track that is a tangle of tree roots, ladders and steps cut out of tree trunks. Each step requires consideration and physical effort. At its steepest, it takes us an hour to walk a kilometre. But it’s so consuming of our attention that we have no thought of being elsewhere. Eventually, we emerge out of the rainforest to the rugged beauty of Barron Pass, 950 metres above sea level. Towering over the pass is the imposing Nicoles Needle, named after a young French woman who made an impression on the early European explorers of this area. There’s a string of sparkling lakes, including the heart-shaped Lake Cecily, and a panorama of rocky spires. In the distance is the dramatic, ice-sheared southeastern face of Frenchmans Cap.

We expect an easier time of it once we cross Barron Pass but after a short descent, the track climbs again. Sidling around Sharlands Peak, traversing small hills and taking us through the garden oasis of Artichoke Valley, green and bright with pineapple grass and pink-tinged with snowberries. Skeletons of pencil pines stand stark white on the slopes near Pine Knob, killed by the bushfire that swept through here in 1966.  After a last steep set of stairs and a section of alpine heathland, we arrive at Lake Tahune worn down but not yet spent. A rock climber carrying 25 kilograms of gear describes today’s walk as ‘brutal’. 

We set up camp and enjoy a late lunch. Rested, we head off for the summit of Frenchmans Cap while the sky favours us. It’s a steep, rocky scramble up to the North Col then a zig-zag route to the summit, a vast field of white stones that falls away precipitously. It’s extraordinary. We look out onto 360-degree views of folded green mountains, sheer white quartzite rock faces, alpine lakes, glaciated valleys, Mt Ossa and the other peaks of the Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park, the glittering Macquarie Harbour and the sea beyond it. Somewhere far below, the Franklin River makes its sinuous journey westwards. On the way down from the summit, we disturb skinks basking on the still-warm rocks. As the dark waters of Lake Tahune come into view so too does the end of our adventurous ten-hour day. 

The hut that Bernie built is no more. In its place is a sustainably designed, energy-efficient hut that sits quietly in the landscape. We only use the external deck but can imagine the hut being an idyllic refuge when snow is falling or a blizzard raging.

Day 3: Lake Tahune to Vera Hut (6 km)

The world is deep and still. We wander between the helipad, for the views, and the lake, for reflections. There’s mist on the distant mountains, pink in the early morning light. Clouds lie low in the valley. Frenchmans Cap is lit by the sun and backed by a blue sky. Floating on the lake, the summit is more impressionist painting than ice-hewn monumental sculpture. 

We breakfast on the deck as olive whistlers and scrub wrens forage around us. A small bird flies into one of the hut’s windows and stuns itself. Sometime later, a spotted quoll leaps up, catches the still groggy bird and demolishes it. The gathered throng of walkers looks on in astonishment. 

Three hours after we first stir, we put on our packs and head off back across the heath. Pandani, so distinctive in the landscape and the world’s tallest heath plant, rustles as we brush past. We’re soon climbing. The ranger did caution that the return journey is as arduous as the walk-in. There’s effort in every step and hauling of bodies up tree roots and over rock ledges. Up close to the grain, the rock is fissured and seamed with fine black lines. Sometimes there’s gold showing through.

We pause to look back at Frenchmans Cap. Ahead of us is Barrens Pass. From here we’ll look out upon the stunning peaks, lakes and forests of this wilderness world heritage area one more time. Our path is scattered with fallen leatherwood petals and the crinkled golden leaves of Nothofagus gunnii, a deciduous beech that is on the turn, even though it’s not yet autumn.

Dropping off the other side of Barrens Pass, we scramble down ladders and rough-hewn staircases until we come to Vera Creek. Dragonflies hover over water that is falling, then pooling and falling again. Fluorescent red fungi grow lurid on the tree trunks. We retrace our steps around the shore of Lake Vera, this time walking in dappled afternoon light. 

At the end of each day, it’s difficult to remember its dawn, consumed as we become by the arresting presence of the mountains and the focus required on each step. A snake slithers off the boardwalk and into the pale golden grass near our tent. We leave it to find a way to safety and wander over to Vera Hut to browse the logbooks. The entries from the early 1980s include drawings of ‘No Dams’ triangles, the symbol of the campaign to save the Franklin River. Someone has repeatedly erased the ‘No’ from the slogan, a reminder of how the issue divided Tasmanians, pitting family members against each other and making foes of friends. 

A pale crescent moon. The sunset chatter of walkers. After dusk, the call of a night bird. 

Day 4: Vera Hut to Trailhead (15 km)

Mist rising from the valley. Mountains glowing burnt orange in first light. An early exodus from Vera. Eight walkers heading up to the summit, the rest of us walking out, including oft-seen Ruby and her father from Hobart and a group of young adventurers from Melbourne who sign themselves ‘the five boys’. 

There’s a chill in the air as we dip into the valley floor. Mist hazing the button grass plains. The last view of Frenchmans Cap. The honey-sweet scent of Leatherwood flowers. The cool aroma of peppermint gums. We have lunch by the Loddon River, seeking shade where earlier in the day we sought the warmth of the sun.

Arriving at the Franklin River we take a dip in its clear, cold water. Afterwards, we sit on its warm rocks and contemplate the river and its place in our lives. Four decades after our involvement in the campaign that saved it, we feel a quiet joy and deep sense of peace in being here. Two parrots silhouetted against the late afternoon sky perform a mid-air, balletic dance. We camp by the river and sleep serenely as water flows over rocks and the river sings its ancient hymns. 

The next morning, the low, deep call of a bronzewing pigeon accompanies us until forest gives way to bitumen and we wait in the gathering heat for the bus back to Hobart. We could wait all day if we had to, such is our contentment after four mesmerising days on the wild and beautiful Frenchmans Cap Track.

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If you enjoyed walking to Frenchmans Cap, then you might like to explore the Tour du Mont Blanc, Three Capes Track or Iceland: A Land of Ice and Fire.