I fully admit it: I’m a fair-weather walker.
The thought of heading out in bad weather and slogging it out for the hell of it doesn’t appeal at all. If the forecast looks even a little bit suspect, I’ll happily shift my plans or cancel the trip completely.
As March drew to a close, I was hoping the weather might hold. Sadly, it wasn’t shaping up to be great. My cousin, who had planned to join me, also had to pull out, leaving me with a dodgy forecast and no walking partner.
Then I spotted a small window of opportunity: a couple of days of decent weather. That was enough. I rejigged my plans, cut out the side trips to Clytemnestra and Sharlands, and grabbed the final spot in the booking system. Perfect.
Walking in to Vera
I knew I’d be staying at Lake Vera that night, so there was no rush to set off first thing. I signed the logbook at the trailhead and was surprised to see hardly any names in it for the day. Maybe I’d have the track to myself?
Not quite. Within the first hour I’d passed three separate groups, all making the most of the same weather window. Busy or not, it was good to see people out enjoying the track.
The walk into Vera always takes longer than you think. There are hills you forget about, little climbs that don’t look like much on the map but certainly add up on tired legs. Still, the track is beautiful, and I felt lucky just to be out there.
By mid-afternoon, around five hours after setting out, I arrived at Lake Vera. Plenty of platforms were still free, so it turned out not to be as crowded as I feared. Tent up, I looked up at the peaks I’d be tackling the next day. From the valley floor they looked rough and towering. Tomorrow would be a big day.
Climbing Agamemnon
An early start saw me backtracking a short way up the Frenchman’s Cap track before branching off toward Agamemnon.
In Greek mythology, Agamemnon was a king who led men into battle. Standing at the foot of the mountain with mist draped across its flanks, the name felt apt.
The track climbs quickly. Overnight rain still clung to the scrub, and within minutes I was soaked through from brushing past dripping branches. Thankfully it wasn’t cold, and moving uphill kept me warm enough.
The first section looks daunting but isn’t too bad thanks to a fairly clear pad through the scrub. Without it, this would be a slow and frustrating climb.
As I got higher, the mist closed in. Massive dolerite outcrops loomed above me, their tops hidden in cloud. The visibility was so limited it felt claustrophobic at times. I was glad to have a GPS with me because there’s no way I would have remembered the twists and turns well enough to navigate back unaided.
At about 1000m the scrub thickened, forcing me to push over bushes and haul myself upward. It was tiring work, but the effort was soon rewarded.
I suddenly broke through the top of the cloud. One moment I was walled in by mist, the next I was looking down on a sea of white. Peaks rose like islands through the cloud: Frenchman’s Cap, The White Needle, and far beyond, mountains I couldn’t even name.
It was absolutely spectacular.
Moments like these are why I bushwalk. Alone on a mountain, the still air of morning, clouds below me, jagged peaks all around. Pure bliss.
Along the Ridge to Philips Peak
From Agamemnon the route continues along a rocky ridge, with lovely lakes dotted below. The views shifted constantly as the cloud moved and lifted.
Then came the scrub. Thick, scratchy, push-your-way-through scrub.
At one point I had to crawl on hands and knees to make progress. Slow, but all part of the adventure.
Eventually I made it to Philips Peak. I spent some time exploring the summit, peering across toward The White Needle and wondering about routes that might lead from here toward Barron Pass. I know it’s been done, but I couldn’t see how without some serious work.
Heading Back
Eventually it was time to turn around. I retraced my steps through the scrub, back along the ridge, and finally down toward Vera.
Frenchman’s Cap was in view for much of the way back, a constant reminder of why this area is so special.
It was a long day, but I felt incredibly grateful. To be out in the Tasmanian wilderness, in a small pocket of good weather, able to experience views like this—that’s a privilege.
This really is an amazing part of the world.
Trip map1
