Bowens Creek Canyoning

Day 2 of the 2014 Blue Mountains Extravaganza brought with it further predictions for rain, thunderstorms and possibly the apocalypse itself. The forecast had lost some credibility with us after the previous day's adventure had been relocated for fear of a storm that never came, but the terrible consequences of a flash flood while canyoning meant we still couldn't take the risk. Fortunately, we were intending to make our way down a canyon more forgiving than Claustral, and our plans could go ahead.

There are several canyoning sections in Bowens Creek (some of them with overlapping names) but it was on Upper Bowens Creek South that we set our sights. It was a new canyon for all of us, but its trip description had caught the eye of our intrepid leader. Starting with a car shuffle (to save us a 3km walk along the non-existent verge of a highway at day's end), we packed and set out along a ridgetop pad toward the start of the canyon. I've had difficulty looking for entry points to some canyons (most notably when spending half a day bush-bashing while trying to find Heart Attack canyon) but the pad took us most of the way without drama, and a steep scramble soon took us the rest. These muddy stretches of rock proved the most treacherous footing of the trip, quickly clogging the tread on our volleys* as we grasped at tenuous handholds.

A short jaunt alongside the creek brought us to the start of the wet sections, and a convenient campsite carefully cut into the hillside where we could don wetsuits. Most of the abseils on the section could be scrambled around, but they were more than spectacular enough to be worthwhile. The first abseil was also the least impressive, a two-tiered waterfall before we reached the canyon proper. Jess used our second line to set up herself and her camera up between the two tiers, although the drops constantly spattering the filter over her lens soon drove her away.

From there, we worked our way down to the first constricted section, accessed from an abseil that plunged into a deep pool alongside a waterfall. The banded sandstone walls of the narrow canyon arched in graceful curves up to the distant slit of sky. It was a short section before we emerged onto an open sunlit platform that marked the start of the next abseil. This one dropping through a waterfall into an even grander chamber of vaulted sandstone, its soft greens and bands of vivid orange revealed by lances of sunlight that slipped between the trees and rocks above.

We left our packs and wandered a short distance up the less grand but equally beautiful Corkscrew canyon. It was relatively easy to go back up the canyon, and we would have explored further had time allowed it. Another time perhaps.

Beyond the junction, the canyon opened wide once more to reveal forest bordered by sheer sandstone cliffs. A snack break in the dappled shade of a stand of Coachwoods, and we ventured onwards once more. Another canyon joined ours unnoticed in the forest, until we realised the water was suddenly flowing the wrong way. A quick backtrack found the right path again, and brought us to the next abseil. We avoided this one, not because we didn't want to do the abseil, but because our leader spotted what looked like a cave opening that might offer an alternative route. Some scrambling with handlines followed as we edged through his mysterious path and did indeed emerge near the base of the abseil.

A log slide descended into the next pool, an intruding sandstone buttress halfway down navigated with mixed success. While hanging sideways off the log, most ended up dropping into the pool below. Wading onwards, we soon found Hobnail canyon cutting into our path. We dropped packs again and went for an explore. It was similarly promising, but our time still didn't allow us to complete an entire extra canyon in reverse. Working back down to our packs, I managed to trip myself up. An outstretched hand saved me from the indignity of falling into the water, but the sudden shooting suggested what might have been a worse outcome. A few cautious prods and pulls at my right thumb produced some quite unfortunately familiar sensations. I'd partially torn my UCL a few years previously while skiing in New Zealand, and did not relish the prospect of going through the same recovery process again. Still, there was nothing to be done for it then but to keep my right hand out of the way and use my left for the steep scramble and climb out of the canyon. Fortunately, I've long been in the habit of practicing doing activities one handed so it wasn't too major a hindrance, which was kind of the point of all that practice. I'm not sure that I'm glad that it paid off, but at least it stopped my thumb putting a dampener on the end of what had been a superb, storm-free day of canyoning.

* I wrote at some minor length last year about my disgust with the new line of volleys, and have since been searching for my ideal replacement canyoning and watersports footwear. Although the matter remains unresolved for now, the deadline was recently extended when I managed to find a new pair of genuine Dunlop Volleys. They were tested on Malaita Walls and Bowens Canyon, proving their mettle by surviving with tread unscathed.

Related posts:
Prelude: Blue Mountains Extravaganza 2014
Day 1: Claustral Canyon

Check out Jessica Rose's blog for more amazing photos.

Claustral Canyon: A mission thwarted

Claustral Canyon, coveted and revered for its reputation as both a challenging and spectacular canyon. It’s a long day, particularly since a change to the access route added a few hours on to the walk-in. It’s also been the site of numerous rescues and the tragic loss of a group of canyoners. Why? After two abseils down waterfalls, the third abseil starts by plunging through a small opening in the rocks, known as the keyhole. In the slot canyon, any rainfall can raise the water level to block the keyhole, trapping canyoners with waterfalls behind as the water rises.

Claustral canyon is dangerous with even the prospect of rain, and we had to know just what odds we faced before attempting it. Rising long before dawn on Saturday morning, we gathered around smartphones that struggled for reception in the depths of Megalong Valley. When a brief signal broke through, it illuminated the stark reality of our situation. Possible thunderstorms were predicted throughout the mountains.

Thunderstorms are the great enemy of canyoning, causing flash floods to roar unexpectedly through the narrow slots cut into the sandstone mountains. Even short canyons can be deadly if a storm crosses through their catchment. A long day in a slot canyon with no escape routes and a compulsory abseil that could be easily flooded was out of the question. There were a few bad weather alternatives available. We chose one that I had used before when storms swept across the mountains.

Malaita Walls is a popular abseiling destination near Katoomba. A multi-pitch abseil down the cliffs rather than a canyon, it has zero chance of flash-flooding, some spectacular views, and is utterly exposed in both senses of the word.

We donned harnesses, piled ropes into our packs and set off down the short access track. It brought us to the mass of chains that make up the first anchor, some leading to bolts, others wrapped around rock formations. It’s one of the most substantial anchors I’ve used, reassuring when swinging over the edge of a 70m cliff, with unobstructed views of the valley below. Leaning out and looking down, you can see a rock outcrop 45m below you, the end of the first pitch. At least, you can usually see an outcrop.

Although the skies were clear overhead, fog filled the valley below us. Stepping off the edge to start the abseil, my destination was hidden by the swirling vapours below. Although I knew it was there, and that four people had reached it safely ahead of me, I was struck by a sudden spike of fear when confronting that wall of white. 

My old fear of heights has largely been scared away since I started abseiling. It could only withstand so many instances of me stepping off cliffs and throwing myself past overhangs to dangle in the open air. Occasionally though, its remnants rear their head. Descending, knowing I had to swing to the side but unable to see my destination, I had the mixed sensations of serenely descending through the tranquillity of a beautiful setting and the internal screaming from part of me that was convinced I was going to fall into that unknown at any moment. That juxtaposition is quite possibly what I love most about abseiling.

It was an uneventful descent, the mists punctured by the constant calls of an army group on the neighbouring route of Malaita Point. Their shouted communications echoing down the valley gave an impression of a well organised and professional group... although this impression was somewhat dampened by a call of "You're on pitch four, numbnuts!" and the distinctly audible argument that followed.

Our own abseils went smoothly, including the usual dry-canyoning balancing act of not moving too painfully slowly, but also not going so fast that out ATCs would heat up and melt the dry rope.

Photo courtesy of
Jessica Rose.

Emerging onto the tourist trail at the end of the route, we started making our way back up the seemingly endless staircase that snakes its tortuous way up cliffs that are far easier to abseil down. A lookout at the base of a waterfall provided a break for lunch, and led us to contemplate abseiling the falls.

Photo courtesy of Jessica Rose.

Distractions and temptation to go straight back down the cliff aside, we did reach the clifftop tourist centre eventually and made for another tourist destination. A quick check of a Norwegian weather forecast showed we were in the clear for a brief dabble in a wet canyon, and we were soon donning wetsuits for a trip down Empress Canyon. The canyon is packed with tourists during the late morning and early afternoon, but was quiet by the time we entered the water. Starting higher on this trip than on my last trip, we got in an extra couple of jumps before reaching the main trail head.

Empress Canyon has a nice mix of jumping, scrambling and sliding, all within its beautifully sculpted, narrow confines. My white water instincts kicked in partway down, screaming that it was not appropriate to scramble through a boulder sieve just because the water made it look easy, but it was otherwise uneventful. The canyon ends with an abseil down a waterfall, dropping straight into a waterhole that's a popular destination on a hot summer's day. I had missed the abseil on my previous trip, and did so again on this one. Worried about being caught behind a traffic jam at the top of the abseil, we'd left harnesses and rope in the cars. By the time we reached the anchors, there was no chance of having to queue up; the area was deserted. But, without any gear, we had to turn around and scramble back up the canyon to the access track. It was no great chore, since canyons are as much fun to go up as down, but the abseil will continue to taunt me until the next storm is forecast on a canyoning weekend.

Related Posts:

Prelude: Blue Mountains Extravaganza 2014

Day 2: Bowens Creek

For another take on the days events, not to mention some excellent photos, check out the trip report on Words and Wilds.

2013 - A year in video review

So, it's been quite some time since my last post. First there was Christmas (whose adventures now need to be belatedly recorded here) and then I spent a few weeks trying to remember how to use the video editing software that had been gathering dust on my computer. My partner and I had gathered all our raw video footage from the year and set each other the challenge of compiling something from it.

Compiling, it turned out, was easier said than done, but nothing against the challenge of getting my old CS4 version of Adobe Premiere to output a usable file. I had forgotten the suffering that entailed. But it is done at last, and I've uploaded it to the interwebs for the judgement of the world.

2013 - A Year's Adventures from Nick Ward on Vimeo.

Canyons and Bushbashing on a Blue Mountains Adventure

There isn't much canyoning down in Tasmania, and I'd only done it twice (both times entirely accidentally) on my home isle before moving to Canberra. The first time, I wound up on top of a cliff wishing I had a rope I could use to get to the bottom and ended up shimmying down a tree. The second was a 1:1 gradient quartzite stream that I descended while wearing walking boots and a 25kg pack. With such promising beginnings in the sport, it's small wonder I wanted to try canyoning with people who know what they're doing.

On the March long weekend this year, I ventured up into the Blue Mountains with a group of ANUMC bushwalkers, mountain-bikers, rockclimbers and canyoneers. While I spent most of the weekend bushwalking, I did take a day off to don my wetsuit, five-fingers and helmet then proceed to jump and slide my way down Twister and Rocky Creek canyons. I discovered, in that one activity, something that tested several of my phobias: claustrophobia, acrophobia and nyctophobia. Now if you don't handle fear the way I do, I can understand why you'd think this meant I didn't enjoy myself. Actually, I loved it. Pitching myself against things that terrify me has thus far proved an effective way of becoming less terrified of them afterwards and enjoying myself while I'm at it.

So I signed up to the next canyoning trip I could join, which promised a nice 60m abseil to put my acrophobia to the test. I donned wetsuit, volleys, helmet and harness and prepped myself for the terror. It was annoyingly easy, thanks to some wide ledges breaking up the descent, but I knew I'd find more canyons to terrify me later.Fast forward to October, and a three day canyoning trip up to the Blue Mountains. Five of us set off for the mountains (five came back as well, in case you were wondering) on Friday evening, bound for a campsite at the promisingly named Barcoo Swamp, which we hoped would be quiet over the long weekend. It turned out to be a pleasant, well-drained campsite and made for a good night's sleep before our first canyon.

The plan was to do Heart Attack*, a "dry" canyon boasting 35 and 40m abseils, and a lot of wading up to waist deep. It also boasts a 16km round trip of walking between the car and canyon. The track to the canyon was pretty distinct for the most part, being an old 4WD trail given over to bushwalkers. "For the most part" omits the off-track section at the end. We descended toward the canyon edge, searching for the promised scrub-bash that would skirt around the 40m cliffs we'd otherwise have to abseil. Alas, said cliffs failed to provide their promised easier way around. We searched back and forward along the clifftops, finding numerous gullies that terminated in cliffs and trees solid enough to be used as abseil anchors, provided we knew that they would land us in the right area.

Eventually, we worked our way along the canyon rim to where we knew we could abseil down. Even with GPS coordinates to guide us, it took us some time to find the official anchor—in part because the coordinates we had skipped four out of the ten digits, or around ±70m accuracy, but mostly because we'd been looking for a more substantial anchor. With a 40m abseil ahead, we were checking every sizeable tree along the clifftop for old slings that would give it away as the abseiling anchor. When we found it, it turned out to be a burnt out hollow stump. Already into the afternoon after our explorations, and faced with a dubious anchor, we made our way back to the car rather than risk being stuck in the bottom of a canyon when night fell.

After a warm day pushing our way through dry scrub without finding our destination, everyone was pretty keen for an easily accessed wet canyon on day two. Our canyon of choice was Death Trap. It was only a few km from camp, and a quick scout the night before showed pretty easy walking through open bush. None of us had done it before, and followed a GPS to the promised start-point. The stream wasn't wide enough to wade, but was pretty easily followed down to where it was.

It turned into a canyon eventually, but even the stream was pretty.

A series of pools made up the upper extents of the canyon, entered by short slides or jumps. One pool, draining via a tunnel in to its neighbour, would have been extremely difficult to climb out of at low water levels and was a possible explanation for a pretty canyon receiving such an ominous name. It isn't a long canyon, and we soon reached the abseil down a waterfall into the last pool.

Not steep enough for comfort.

Something I've had to come to terms with in canyoning is that steeper is easier. Abseiling down a slope is more difficult by far than down a vertical rockface, itself more difficult than an overhang. While acrophobia makes those nice sloping rock faces look more appealing than a cliff, it's actually much easier not to slip and fall if your feet aren't touching anything. This waterfall was unfortunately sloped, requiring the odd stretch of bum-sliding mid abseil, but  the pool at the bottom was glorious and worth the awkward access route.

From the pool, we walked along a broad canyon bordered by sheer cliff faces. There was no way to climb out yet and we pressed down further. Part of the cliff had collapsed, not providing a way up but almost completely blocking the canyon. The "almost" was a slot not much than shoulder width between the fallen rock and the opposite wall. It descended under the rocks, from where a short tunnel brought us back into sunlight. We wandered further, taking in the glorious canyon while looking for a break in the cliffs.

The only way to escape Death Trap is down.

 Soon we found ourselves walking on a path that zig-zagged its way up through the cliffline. The path vanished into obscurity as soon as we hit the top, but there was no mistaking it when we stumbled onto it after a few hundred metres of bushbashing. Wide, well-walked and running straight along the ridgeline, it led to within 300m of our car before veering abruptly. We waved it goodbye, clambered into the car and made for the second canyon of the day, as compensation to ourselves for failing Heart Attack on day 1.

Twister was as fun and even easier than I remembered it, with plenty of jumps, slides and swims along its short but convoluted length. The most dramatic part of the canyon is the final drop, a waterfall with a catch. The pool at the bottom of the canyon is little over ankle deep and no saviour at all for a jump. Instead we jumped into a deep pool halfway down the cliff, and used a handline to descend from there. Scouting for anything recently washed into the pool was the only difficulty, and our leader abseiled the short drop to check for submerged branches. Many groups don't bother checking jumps if they've done a canyon before but—coming from a whitewater background where rapids change with every flood—I was glad we took more precautions. We never encountered surprise submerged branches, but it would have only taken one...

We had considered doing Rocky Creek as well, bringing our day's total to three canyons, but the consensus at the exit track was to head back to camp rather than doing another canyon in the encroaching dark. Although the day had been warm earlier, it wasn't any more and no one was inclined to change out of wetsuits for the steep track out of the canyon.

Our last day of the trip took us to another new canyon for the group, Tigersnake. It was a dry canyon and we swapped wetsuits for quick-dry pants before setting off. The access track was an easily followed fire-trail for most of the way, then a well-walked trail for the rest. Unfortunately we had some old notes for the canyon that included instructions of where to turn off the track and descend toward the first abseil. These instructions proved somewhat outdated and the branch at the promised location led us through what turned out to be an entirely unnecessary bushbash and climb before simply rejoining the track we'd been on. No harm—beyond a few scratches and losing half an hour—done and we would know for next time. There certainly will be a next time.

Down into the canyon.

Tigersnake canyon starts with an abseil down through the narrow roof of the canyon. Its a short descent made tricky by the close confines, and some choose to climb down instead. From there, beautiful grottos and a short descent lead to one of the dodgiest anchors you could ever hope not to trust with your weight. A pile of what amounts to old kindling had been wedged across the canyon and roped together. Closer examination revealed that most of it didn't touch either side, let alone both, and was likely the broken remnants of earlier anchors simply left in place. We put in a backup anchor and abseiled in descending order of weight, the last removing the backup before her abseil.

Not a reassuring anchor...

The anchor held, but flexed and creaked alarmingly. From here our nice dry canyon included a wade through a shallow pool before a short abseil to the top of the main drop, a 17m cliff, 10m of which is an overhang. Now I reiterate that cliffs are easier to abseil than slopes, but I was still awash with a nice gentle buzz of terror as I roped up. I failed to fall, failed to die and the worst part of the descent was that my canyoning harness was a whole lot less comfortable than the nice padded climbing harness I had chosen to leave at home. Durability be damned, next time I'm choosing padding.

A short walk through forest brought us to a choice between another long abseil, or a short and tricky abseil down into a second stretch of glorious twisting canyon. We chose the latter.

One of the only photos that didn't blur
in Tigersnake's gloom.

The abseil starts from on top of a chockstone, which was disturbingly prone to shifting slightly underfoot. There were a few joking references to Aron Ralston, but a second (far more secure) chockstone beneath it meant it couldn't actually fall, just threaten. The abseil dropped straight into thigh-deep water (dry canyons, it seems, aren't dry at all) that smells like it doesn't get much flow to flush it clean. We moved on quickly, and into a series of level-floored cathedral-like chambers linked by twisting passages carved into the rock. The divide between caving and canyoning can be slight at times, and there were a few places where the sky vanished from overhead to cast the spectacular rocks into gloom.

Emerging from the end into open canyon once more, we quickly found the exit track and started making our way back to the car and from there back to camp. There our weekend hit a sour note, with the discovery of the piles of garbage—cans, beer bottles, vegetable scraps, even meat and cheese—that the residents of the neighbouring campsite had left in their wake. Our car already laden with five people, we had enough of a challenge loading our own gear and garbage and couldn't fit a bag or ten of theirs in as well. It made for an unfortunate end to the weekend, a reminder of the attitudes some Australians have toward the bush that stayed with us on the long drive home.

If you're interested in another viewpoint on the weekends adventuring, not to mention some spectacular photos, check out the post on Jessica Hancock's blog.

* Named, not for any property of the canyon, but because the party that explored it was woken up by someone trying to get help for someone having a heart attack.