Peter Andrew Shera 

15 October 1952 - 4 October 2025 

When Pete Shera died in a fall on Mount Barney in 2025 — 11 days before his 73rd birthday — there is arguably nowhere else in the universe he would have chosen for his final resting place. He knew Mt Barney pretty well — he was on his 81st descent of Logan’s Ridge that day and it was the 197th time he’d stood on the summit of his favourite mountain. He was a superbly fit, enigmatic character who found his way into the lives of many of us through his often eccentric approach to life and his enduring passion for the great southeast Queensland wilderness. There were few places around the Scenic Rim that Pete had not explored — many on multiple occasions — and although he had something of a reputation for being parsimonious, he was extraordinarily generous in sharing his knowledge and time in introducing others to the magnificent natural world he was so passionate about. A long-standing member of the Brisbane Bush Walkers, he introduced literally hundreds of people to the wonders of our stunning mountain landscapes during the many years he was a member.

On Leaning Ridge

Although family was important to Pete, he wasn’t a big fan of socialising and hated small talk, a trait that seemed to become more apparent in the past few years. A week before his death, a group of us, including his brother Mark, met up with Pete — by arrangement — on Tibrogargan after a group of us had completed a climb on the east face. He didn’t like climbing in large groups — too much socialising! We had barely started speaking when he announced suddenly that he was going because he didn’t like conversation. Mark was less than impressed and told him so. He just laughed. That was Pete. I often shared a car with him on the long trips to and from various mountain destinations in the border ranges over the years and he always talked enthusiastically about his nieces and nephews and their interests and activities. He loved the thought of introducing them to his beloved wilderness and had over the years organised several trips to Mount Barney, along with various mountain bike experiences at Mount Coot-tha. 

Pete in his early 20s

My first meeting with a rather sullen 14-year-old Pete was in the late 1960s. My brother Chris and I had met Pete’s oldest brother John at uni through the UQBWC (University of Qld Bushwalking Club). We soon bonded with John and another brother, Michael, over the need to do more challenging hikes than those offered. Inevitably, we struck out on our own and were soon drawn into the vortex of the rambling Shera family house at 8 Roderick St, Ipswich. It had been modified to cater for the seven Shera siblings and seemed to have corridors and small rooms everywhere. We planned our epics in the family dining room. As we canvassed options, sitting around the huge dining room table, I recall Pete often lurking in the background in his school uniform — shorts and long white socks — he was too young to join us at that stage, at least that’s what his brothers told him. Pete once told me he revisited the family house some years ago for a check-up as it had transformed into a medical surgery. He said he felt weird consulting a doctor about his personal health issues in what used to be his parents’ bedroom. 

The first on Mt Lindesay after the 2019 fires

So who was Peter Andrew Shera? He adopted the alter ego Anthony William Blake — a novelist and artist — and self-published Arcadian Daze, a claimed fictional novel in which, I think, all of his siblings have been able to identity themselves as the thinly-veiled characters. It’s a challenging read with a significant appendix listing numerous sources and influences, although strangely, no mention of family!

Anty W Blake was his second alias — a bushwalking supremo whose astonishing  accomplishments in the past decade bely someone of his age. All of his incarnations were very private people, although the copious and often lengthy posts on Facebook and Strava by Anty, perhaps challenge that idea. Anty would regularly post his twice or three-times weekly training circuit on Mount Coot-tha on Strava with 57 photographs of gum trees…and the occasional cockatoo. The posts of his enterprising walks took on a similar tone but with 87 images of trees and the occasional shot of his companions! He loved trees and as Harry Joy in the novel, Bliss, once remarked: ‘You can’t muck around with trees without them affecting you.’ And that was certainly the case with Anty W Blake. Apart from his walking and climbing exploits, the only other content he posted on Facebook were articles from the Guardian Australia which invariably documented the evils of capitalism. Pete was multi-skilled, exploring an array of tertiary studies including geology, business and fine arts. He held the position as director of a small gallery in Sydney at one point and leaves behind a collection of artworks that yet another brother, Geoffrey, is curating. Amongst all that, he taught English in Japan and Korea for some years, worked as a roadie in his then girlfriend’s band, and was a carer for his father in the last four years of his life. 

Pete (right) with his brother Mark on Mt Lindesay, August 2023

Pete was the fourth of seven siblings — a sister and five brothers. He lived alone and frugally in a one-room annex of his falling-down Queenslander at Red Hill with several of the rooms rented. He refused to spend money unnecessarily, doing his own house repairs and although always smartly dressed, curiously spent as little as possible on his walking shoes. It was like a badge of honour with Pete and he’d laugh hysterically when we pointed out the technical failings of his latest supermarket purchase — on special of course. Despite years of badgering, he refused to invest in more expensive (and longer lasting) versions, even though his budget footwear sometimes barely lasted one outing on the Mt Barney granophyre before being torn to shreds. He used a lot of gaffer tape!

Late afternoon descent on Mt Lindesay, 2022

Pete loved measuring things, possibly stemming from his accountancy training, and kept every receipt he had ever been issued. And he was obsessed with logging altitude, distance and time taken on his outings although more often than not, his phone — bought on special, of course — somehow seemed to muddle up the stats. He was both a joy and frustration to walk with, always ready for a laugh — often at himself — but he’d walk at his own pace … which was fast … but then stop for 15 minutes for a long chat before suddenly disappearing up a ridge or off into the undergrowth, wondering why we were taking so long. His achievements around the Scenic Rim are extraordinary, given that he only seriously started exploring the Scenic Rim in earnest a little over a decade ago:

Maroon: Best time 48:49 in 2015

Barney: 197 times

Logan’s Ridge: up 91, down 80; 24 times under 2 hours. Best time 1:42 best in 2015

Leaning Peak: 38 times/22 solo

Lindesay: 37 times/10 solo — best time 1:50

The list goes on…

On Leaning Peak

Pete’s brother Mark spent a lot more time with him in recent years, particularly following Pete's obsession with a climb called Trojan on the upper cliffline of Tibrogargan. Pete wanted to climb it and decided that abseiling down it multiple time might result in an epiphany.  On one Saturday, Mark asked me to go with them but I was unable. Mark sent me a photograph looking out towards the coast, obviously high on the mountain. I observed that it looked like he was having a great time. He replied that he was just about to push Pete over the edge! 

The east face of Tibrogargan

The sibling rivalry didn’t end there. There was the time that Pete took Mark to task, halfway up a climb and while in a precarious position, over a brief exchange Mark and I had months before about Pete’s tardiness when we were climbing Mt Lindesay. I had recorded it on video and included the particular exchange in the edited version on YouTube. Then Pete saw it. We eventually laughed it off and he moved on but the hierarchical tension between Pete and Mark was always amusing to observe, particularly for Mark I think. A couple of years ago we were looking for a new way up the top cliffline on Mt Lindesay when Pete stopped, looked up and turned to us and said abruptly: ‘OK Mark, up you go!’ And he did, climbing a difficult pitch and a new route leading to the summit veranda.

Leaning Peak, 2020

Despite invoking some frustration in his climbing companions and relatives, Pete rarely showed any anger himself. He was once unfriended on Facebook after he suggested — perhaps a little too directly — that his nephew Nicholas (a Film and TV production graduate), should rethink the way he was editing his growing collection of drone mountain footage.  It took a few months for their friendship to be restored. Although there was that long dispute with a neighbour over a pair of barking sausage dogs. Despite his best negotiating skills, the neighbour refused to take any measures to quieten them so Pete set up a contraption that triggered loud horse-racing commentary through a speaker each time the dogs started up! In itself, it’s a work of art although it caused just as much disruption as the dogs! Then there was an exchange with another neighbour whose trees were blocking the light on Pete’s solar panels. After a civilised discussion, the neighbour agreed to let Pete trim them while the neighbour went away for the weekend. When he returned, to his horror he discovered that Pete had ‘trimmed’ the trees almost to ground level! Words were exchanged and the next day, Pete handed over a peace offering — a couple of grevillea tube seedlings. By then the neighbour had calmed down and announced he was buying half a dozen mature palms to plant along the fence line — at $200 each! It was Pete’s turn to be horrified.

Mt Lindesay, 2023

The other more recent altercation involved critical comments about Pete published in a memoir by Alan Frost — a 90 year-old pioneer of walking and climbing in southeast Queensland. I gave Pete a copy of the book and he was loving it — until he read Alan’s brutally honest description of climbing with Pete almost a decade before. Alan was shocked by Pete’s reaction and apologised, agreeing to remove his name from the book. Pete reluctantly agreed to the resolution following a series of to-and-fro exchanges and a meeting with Alan, who was in awe of his accomplishments — and told him so. A week before he died, Pete dropped over to see me for a cuppa and to return a rack of climbing gear he’d borrowed. He was in fine form and great spirits that day and I was so relieved to hear that he’d finally decided to move on. He could be very stubborn as those who knew him learned on many occasions.

Pete and Mark engaged in another debate

Despite his long list of infuriating traits, Pete endeared himself to all of us when we shared time on the mountains of southeast Queensland. It was there that he was in his element. When we finished a climb, he would inevitably pull out of his pack a crushed packet of the sweetest (and cheapest) sugary confectionery he could find as a reward! He always had multiple spoons of sugar in his tea, but perhaps that was a family tradition! In recent years, Pete seemed to become more fixated on specific projects. This included climbing practice at Frog Buttress and Kangaroo Point with his younger longtime (and very patient) bushwalking and climbing friend, Ruby, trying to improve his climbing skills. And then there was his battle with the climb, Trojan, on Tibrogargan. Despite his frenetic campaign, he confessed to me just a week before his death that he probably wouldn’t be able to climb it. As part of his training, he built a climbing wall on the side of his house with a belaying system. He told me that he tried climbing it when it was raining because it was more challenging.

Mt Lindesay after the 2019 fires

Strangely, for someone who traversed the heights so often and so easily, Pete had a fear of exposure. John recalls dragging his fearful young brother up local mountains excursions in SEQ in the 1960s but whenever Pete climbed on steep rock, I could see the fear in his eyes. When he visited his sister Jean and her husband, Jean-Noel in France a decade or more ago they reported Pete once refusing to cross an exposed razorback ridge on a mountain in the Pyrenees because of the exposure. There was one exposed section on Leaning Ridge that he always seemed to baulk but it was extraordinary how he managed to overcome this obvious fear through stubborn persistence. Perhaps this stemmed from his early success in overcoming a significant speech impediment in his younger days. Another of Pete’s obsessions for several years was mountain biking. Introduced to it by his BBW bushwalking friends, Matt and Henny — and myself — he took to it the same way as everything else he did: flat out! But again his parsimony quickly became obvious with his embrace of a bottom of the range supermarket bicycle with supermarket-grade inner tubes — on special for $5.00 — that seemed to explode with incredible regularity. I remember one ride we did where the solitude of the Bayview Conservation Area near Mt Cotton was shattered by the crack of yet another of Pete's bicycle tyres exploding — the third on that ride! I explained to him that a tube costing $12.00 had remained intact on my bike for two years…but he just could not resist a ‘bargain’. 

Mt Lindesay, May 2019

He once stopped me on a ride at Mt Cootha to thank me for introducing him to mountain biking — quite a surprise — before riding off at speed, followed by the telltale crack of another flat tyre  echoing through the forest. Over the years, he was found unconscious twice lying beside the MTB trails at Mt Coot-tha with no memory of what had happened. A blackout? A TIA — he’d had a mild stroke a decade or so ago but seemed to recover from that fairly well although his speech was slightly affected. ‘Maybe you should slow down?’ I once suggested naively. He looked at me as if I was mad. ‘I can’t!’ he said, laughing hysterically. He told me he had had numerous skiing accidents in Japan for the same reason. That was Pete.

His love of speed extended to his driving prowess. His arrival at the start of a walk or climb was inevitably heralded by the roar and rattle of his Lipstick Pink Suzuki Alto arriving at speed and sliding to a stop in a cloud of dust. His adoption of this style of dirt road driving may have been influenced by other members of the family, notably his eldest brother, John, who was a talented rally driver. Whenever he’d arrive at the start of a walk or climb, Pete would invite us to inspect the novel way he had effected his own repairs to the bodywork as he slowly destroyed the vehicle — cable ties and wire seemed to predominate. The last time we climbed together in September 2025, we had just returned to the Tibrogargan carpark when Pete sheepishly approached us to announce he thought he had lost his car keys — again. Minutes later he discovered he’d left them in the door lock all day. He said he was surprised no one had stolen the car so I suggested that next time he might try leaving the keys in the ignition! By then, he had destroyed his first vehicle and was onto his second Suzuki Alto — the smallest and cheapest commercial passenger vehicle available, apparently — this one was Uptown Red, he announced, dissolving into hysterical laughter, as he so often did. I’ll miss that. During our many visits to the mountains, Pete talked a lot about the family and serious stuff but mostly we laughed. About silly things, mostly, but I always loved the way he could dissolve into uncontrolled laughter over a comment or observation.

Rockclimbing on Tibrogargan, September 2024

Pete's first time on Mt Lindesay in 2015

I first climbed Mt Lindesay with Pete — with his friend Viv — 11 years ago. I had been first been up there in 1967 with Pete’s brother John. For the past six o seven years, Mark, Pete and I had made annual ascents of the mountain, often with one or two other friends in tow. By 2024, Pete was showing increasing signs of confusion on the climb. On our last ascent together in July 2025, he struggled to climb a short steep section of the route which he had previously soloed 10 times before. His death leaves a huge gap in the southeast Queensland bushwalking scene and in our much smaller circle of climbing friends. It was so easy to message him with a suggestion for a day out on Tibro, Mt Lindesay, Mt Barney, or somewhere else I hadn’t been before and, of course, Pete had. He was always up for it. I’ll miss that too. 

Abseiling off Leaning Peak

Whenever one of us raised an issue with Pete related to mountain biking, climbing or walking, invariably a YouTube video link or two would arrive from him by email. I learned a lot from that. He began to collect an increasing array of self-belaying climbing gadgets towards the end, always attracted by technology and innovation. That was about the only thing he was prepared to spend money on but he was always generous with his time. And that was priceless. He always had time for another adventure with anyone game enough to get into the car with him — although many had chosen not to.

Mt Maroon, 2020

Peter Shera was a selfless guide with an outstanding knowledge of southeast Queensland’s wild places — and a friend. I think he did leave the world a better place, introducing hundreds of young people (and a handful of oldies) to this wonderful wilderness at our back door. Places he knew so well. Always willing to share his knowledge and passion either in discussion or by offering his time and the inevitable follow-up YouTube link if there was one. In those long drives to and from the mountains with him, we often discussed the future and where we’d like to end up and I know Pete was horrified at the thought of going into care, although that wasn’t suggested directly. We agreed that if we had our way, we’d like to go quickly — on the heights. And in that respect, he got his wish. He often discussed his current health issues: knee, shoulder, hernia ops (2), ankle, stroke, TIA…given his level of activity it’s amazing he could still walk. 

The name that appears most in summit log books in southeast Queensland over the past decade — Anty W Blake — will hopefully be linked to this kind, eccentric, gentle and slightly mad person who most of us knew as Peter Shera. And each time we climb — or perhaps even look up at Logan’s Ridge — we can say g’day and celebrate a life well-lived.

Michael Meadows

October 2026

A legendary kayaker and former SEQ climber tells his amazing stories...

Paul with a copy of his latest book

Kayak Dundee returns

Paul Caffyn and I joined forces briefly as climbers in Brisbane back in the late 1960s when we were both geology students at the University of Queensland. He once convinced me to paddle a Canadian canoe down the Brisbane River in flood. We capsized shortly after we started but survived to laugh about it later. He was a remarkable climber -- with several notable first ascents to his name -- but it was a few years later when he eased into the cockpit of a kayak that he really excelled with the first circumnavigation of New Zealand (where he had moved) in 1977. Then came first-time circumnavigations of Stewart Island, Australia, Great Britain, Japan and a solo journey along the coastline of Alaska, completing a two-decade assault making international paddling history.    

Four volumes of his adventurous voyages are available through his website and he has asked me to pass on the details to those of you with a paddling bent, or who love to read about audacious adventurers -- Paul Caffyn certainly falls into that category. 

Details for ordering each of the four volumes are below:

Dark side of the wave (Stewart Island) and The audacious adventures of Kayak Dundee (Alaska)

The Dreamtime voyage (Australia) and Obscured by waves (NZ South Island)

Peter Barnes, 86, at the launch of The Living Rock in 2015

Growing old disgracefully... 

Peter Barnes 13.7.1929 — 4.8.2025

We didn’t regard ourselves as being the first to do anything but we were aware that people from earlier stages had done some adventurous stuff and we saw no reason why we shouldn’t do the same thing.

— Peter Barnes

PETER BYRON BARNES was a pioneer of climbing and climbing photography in Australia. Following his early exploration of Mount Barney as a teenager, over the next 70 years he became part of an influential and inspirational cohort of adventurers who made numerous memorable and first ascents in southeast Queensland and beyond. He leaves behind a legacy that few can match.

Peter was born in Southport but grew up in Applethorpe on the Granite Belt. His earliest outdoor experiences involved riding a horse to school and scrambling over the granite domes near his home, the area now known as Girraween. His initiation into more challenging objectives came when the 18-year-old was a student at the Slade School in Warwick. One of his fellow students, 17-year-old Jon Stephenson, told him how 12 months earlier — in 1947 — he had visited a place called Mount Barney. He had climbed to the summit in cloud and scrambled down to the saddle between North and Leaning Peaks which he described as a ‘frightening place’. When he suggested returning to the mountain during the Christmas holidays in 1948, Peter Barnes and one of their teachers at the school, Bevan Meredith (later Archbishop of Papua New Guinea), were willing participants. As Peter recalled:

It really started with Jon Stephenson. He’s to blame for everything… So when I was invited to go for a short walk from Wilson’s Peak to Mt Barney to have a look at this hunk of dirt, I thought: ‘That sounds like a darn good idea!’ It was a bit rugged — I’d fallen into a creek the first day. I only had very cheap wool socks, they had holes in them and I got blisters. Things were fairly bad. I didn’t have a rucksack — they weren’t invented in those days — we just had army haversacks slung one over each shoulder which were, of course, terribly, terribly uncomfortable. Jon Stephenson had a rucksack but we didn’t, so we really looked like a right trio of twits. That’s when it started, and since then, I went back to Barney two or three or four times a year and when I started at university in 1950, then the Glasshouses called, so I scrambled over those.

 

Peter Barnes (left) with Jon Stephenson in the late 1940s (Peter Barnes collection)

By 1952, Peter was studying dentistry at the University of Queensland while his school friend, Jon, was pursuing a career in geology. Peter was conveniently based in King’s College at Kangaroo Point and he and Jon soon established the first regular climbing routes on the main cliffs a short distance away. Through Jon, Peter was introduced to Geoff Goadby — who later introduced roped climbing techniques into the local climbing scene — and Raoul Mellish, later the director of the Queensland Art Gallery. Peter and Raoul made numerous climbing trips to the Glasshouses, starting a tradition of setting off fireworks from the top of Crookneck on Guy Fawkes Night (5 November). Peter reminisced: ‘Most of us were university students and being university students, if you could get out of doing what you should have been doing, it was quite good fun.’ Their passion for the heights at this time is exemplified in this entry from Peter’s diary in 1952:

Being a most glorious night and a full moon, Peter Marendy and I decided to ‘do’ Crooky. Just before we left at 8.00 pm, Tom Waters (who had never before climbed a mountain) decided to come too. Set off on T’s 100 [Triumph Tiger motorcycle] and made Glasshouse at 9.15 pm. Pulled up past Murphy’s and arrived at summit at 10.10 pm. Tom crossed the ledge [Salmon’s Leap] without any trouble or hesitation at all, both on the way up and down. Scene was as lovely as ever…Saw two paddy melons in the track before Murphy’s. Arrived back 12.45 am.

 

Peter Barnes and his Triumph Tiger 100 heading for Mount Barney circa 1952 (Peter Barnes collection)

Peter Barnes in the Glass House Mountains circa 1950 (Raoul Mellish collection)

Using rope back then was optional. They climbed in Hong Kong-made gym boots — a canvas boot with a couple of rubberised patches over each ankle with very spongy soles. When they felt it was necessary — with inexperienced climbers — they used a 20 metre hemp rope (‘a piece of string’ as Peter always referred to it), tying it around their waists for safety. One of the group would lead the climb with the old-fashioned adage, ‘the leader never falls’, ringing in their ears. Once at a stance, the leader would then bring the rest up the pitch. Peter recalled: ‘If it was just our group then we wouldn’t bother but if we were talking somebody who wanted to have a go, then we’d take a piece of string along just in case.’ He remembered introducing a number of dental and vet students to the delights of the east face of Tibrogargan, south Crookneck, and west Beerwah.

Following the second ascent of Beerwah's south face in 1953, (from left) 
Geoff Goadby, Peter Barnes, Alan Frost and Jon Stephenson (Peter Barnes collection)

In June 1953, Peter met up with Alan Frost who had arrived from Melbourne to undertake a course in Veterinary Science at UQ. The two were in adjoining rooms at the college and hit it off immediately with Alan — six years his junior — impressed by Peter’s climbing knowledge and his possession of a motor bike — a Triumph Tiger 100. It meant that access to the mountains was guaranteed. Thus began a long friendship that saw them climb to virtually every summit in southeast Queensland over the next few years multiple times, often by new or the most difficult routes. Peter recalled that their proximity to the Kangaroo Point Cliffs was a perfect training ground for the two young climbers:

We started top-roping, not in the way people top-rope nowadays. Top-roping for us was some twit up at the top, standing on a rock with the rope over his shoulder and some twit he couldn’t see with the rope tied around his waist with a bowline — a 1 1/2 inch (3.8 cm) hawser-laid manila rope — and if he fell, you had him. We started scrambling up and down the nursery cliffs and we did what we called the Big Buttress, what’s now called Cox’s Corner — I think it was probably about as early as 53–54 or so we used to just solo that, tear up and down. I remember on one occasion I got up to the top — there’s a little traverse just below the top — and I was inching along the traverse and a swarm of wasps hit my hand, the one I was hanging on with. And this was soloing it so it was a bit awkward.

 

Peter Barnes in action on the Kangaroo Point cliffs circa 1953 (Peter Barnes collection)

Summit of Mount Barney 1954 (front roe from left ) John Comino, Geoff Goadby, Alan Frost 
(back row) Felice Benuzzi and Peter Barnes (Peter Barnes collection)

Peter and Alan were fit and climbed very quickly, setting fast times for various routes around southeast Queensland. Their first new route was an ascent of the Pinnacle — the West Peak of Glennies Pulpit — in 1953. In November that year, they joined Jon Stephenson and Geoff Goadby for the second ascent of the South Face of Beerwah, a challenging multi-pitch route that has rarely been repeated. In May 1954, Peter with Jon, Alan, Geoff Goadby and Geoff Broadbent, climbed all of the Nimbin Peaks, including a first ascent of the Monk’s Cowl. With Jon leaving for London in July that year to complete his PhD on the geology of Mount Barney, the group of friends decided that a fitting farewell for him would be reaching the last unclimbed summit in southeast Queensland — Glennies Pulpit — which they did, with the four summiteers (Jon, Peter, Alan and Geoff) building a cairn on top using a huge quartz crystal they had discovered en route. 

In 1954, Peter met up with the new Italian vice-consul to Queensland, Felice Benuzzi — also a climber. Benuzzi had published a book, No Picnic on Mount Kenya, two years earlier, describing his internment in a POW camp in east Africa and his audacious escape with two companions to climb to the lower peak of Mount Kenya, Point Lenana. The trio then returned to their prison camp to the astonishment of their British captors. The group of Queensland climbers — Peter Barnes, John Comino, Alan Frost and Geoff Goadby — guided Benuzzi to the summit of Mount Barney via the spectacular Leaning Peak. Peter and Felice remained in contact for many years after the vice-consul returned to Italy in 1954. 

Throughout his years of exploring the heights in southeast Queensland, Peter insisted that he and his companions regarded themselves as climbers rather than bushwalkers. The Brisbane Bush Walkers (BBW) had formed in 1948 and catered for different interests. There were some climbers in the BBW (such as Neill Lamb) but most members were not comfortable on the heights. Peter recalled running into groups from the BBW when he and Alan were out on their own:

We often ran into them camped on the Logan River — that’s when we made an early start and went by — a huge group of them, all with tents (we just slept in sleeping bags on the ground) and they had their Kellogg’s Cornflake packets and things like that. We didn’t take the Brissy Bushies too seriously. Probably more than anything else, we regarded ourselves as tyro rockclimbers, very tyro rockclimbers, and more as miniature mountaineers. We didn’t use the word bushwalking. It was more like ‘Let’s go off and knock off a hill’!

In 1955, the BBW invited former Lakeland climbing guide, Bill Peascod, to Queensland to impart his knowledge of climbing techniques to a large and enthusiastic audience gathered at the Kangaroo Point cliffs one Saturday morning. Peter was impressed by the ‘strange-looking equipment’ Peascod showed them:

So then we bought some carabiners and we made our own piton hammers out of bricklayers’ hammers. And then, because Geoff Goadby could splice a rope together so well, we made ourselves a sling out of climbing rope…It started off that the only pitons we had were the ones that Geoff Goadby made — he’d cut them out of mild steel. We sort of went on from there. We knew there were better things available but we didn’t have much at our disposal. But the basic principle was: the leader doesn’t fall; the second is protected — and we didn’t climb anything above about Grade 10.

 

Peter Barnes leads out on the second nascent of the west Beerwah chimney in 1956 (Peter Barnes collection)

The following year, Alan and Peter claimed the 1st ascent of Pages Pinnacle near Springbrook. While crossing a creek, Peter dropped his trusty Leica camera into the water. Unperturbed, he dismantled it on the spot, leaving it on a rock to dry out while they finished their climb. In the same year, with Geoff Goadby, they made the second ascent of the West Beerwah chimney — Alan had made the first ascent of the route a few weeks earlier with an inexperienced dental student, as Peter recalled:

Alan Frost said it was the most frightening experience of his life so he reckoned it should be done properly and that the boys better go and give it another nudge. He and I and Geoff Goadby screamed up there one day and had a great time — [consults diary] 20 October 56…

In that same month, Peter and Alan set off on an audacious attempt to traverse all of the main peaks on Mount Barney, a feat that remains as big a challenge today as it was back in 1956. Peter recalled they actually planned to do the traverse as a two-day trip so were carrying heavy packs:

The big problem was that we’d bitten off too much to chew. We were unfit but it wasn’t because of after exams. The greatest problem of all was that there was a temperature inversion on and it was hot, it was humid and there wasn’t a breath of wind. We nearly died. So we got up over the top of the Isolated Peak—we went up the Eagles Ridge—and by the time we got there we looked over at the Leaning Peak because in those days we used to go up to what was called the Great Gash, the cleft. We started to go down towards it and we said, well this is just not good enough so we just turned right down the creek. We ran out of water and by the time we got to Barney Creek which was our first water, our tongues were swollen, we were thirsty and in a bad state so we got out our mugs, a mug of water, two teaspoons of salt; two or three of those—the most beautiful drink you’ve ever had in your life.

It wasn’t until 1964 that Alan Frost teamed up with Tim Cassidy and Barry Smith to complete the All Peaks’ circuit — in a single day! Since then, Alan has repeated it 11 times — three solo.

Early in 1958, Peter left Queensland for Papua New Guinea where he worked as a dentist until his return in 1975. During his time in PNG, he explored caves, climbed Mount Wilhelm (4509m) three times, Mount Giluwe (4537m) several times, and Mount Lalibu (3148m). He also climbed Mount Lamington (1680m) — an active volcano — three times before returning to Brisbane. Back in Queensland he took on senior roles with the South Brisbane Dental Hospital, lectured in oral surgery at his old alma mater, the University of Queensland, and was involved as a dental surgeon in the Head and Neck Cancer Clinic, based at the QE II Hospital until his retirement. But the mountains continued to call…

I didn’t touch rock or rope since I left Brisbane at the beginning of ’58 until my son was 8 or 9 and started taking him up places like Tibrogargan, Beerwah or Crooky at night, of course. Then I ran into some like-minded people who were geriatrics like me but who’d just done a rope climbing course at the South Brisbane TAFE. We were walking together at that stage and they’d just done this rope course and they started climbing with Rob Bray at Kangaroo Point Cliffs so I started getting back to that. So I started climbing almost every Saturday morning. I took them around to places in the Glasshouses they hadn’t been before and then Col Smithies said to me one day: ‘You’ve been up the chimney in the west of Beerwah, haven’t you?’ And I said: ‘Yes’. He said: ‘Would you like to take me up?’ He was in the process of writing his guide to the Glasshouses at that stage [mid-1980s] and I said ‘O yeah.’ So we went up the chimney on the west of Beerwah.

 

Jon Stephenson (left) and Peter Barnes in Townsville in 2010 (Peter Barnes collection)

Peter Barnes climbing at Frog Buttress in 2010 (Peter Barnes collection)

Throughout his life, he maintained his undying passion for the natural world and our place in it and once reflected:

I think if we separate ourselves from that environment, I think we are the loser… I get fairly touchy if I can’t get out into the hills. I don’t spend any time on the beach, I like to get out into the hills, into the rainforest, the waterfalls, the creeks. I like lying back and looking at the stars at night, looking at flowers and birds and animals—if possible, photographing them. I think that’s where I belong. I’m a country lad at heart and being forced into this urbanised suburban environment doesn’t suit me all that well. I can survive but I’m not all that happy. In order to be happy I have to get out into the bush.

He had a comparable passion for photography and always had a trusty Leica camera or equivalent with him on his climbing trips from the late 1940s. His collection of climbing photographs is a definitive documentary of climbing activity in 1950’s Queensland. Until the end, he persisted with film cameras and has amassed a remarkable photo library of high quality mountain imagery from his many excursions to remote regions around the world. This, coupled with his meticulous diary records, offers a unique insight into an era that shaped postwar climbing in Australia. He once observed: ‘… the aim of the exercise really was to wander over the top of something — go and sit on a high place and contemplate nature. Look at the clouds, listen to the wind, look at the wildlife and the flowers, and I always carried a camera.’

Despite Peter’s penchant for self-deprecating humour and understatement, his considerable achievements on the heights and his professional contributions to society speak for themselves. Frustrated by increasing ill health in recent years, he nevertheless managed to maintain a connection with the natural world with selfless support from his long time partner, Vivienne Taylor. As the ability to climb to the top of the highest point on the horizon became increasingly unattainable, just being able to observe the beauty of the wilderness that captured him for most of his life was some compensation. Peter’s climbing partner and friend, Alan Frost, recalls the lasting impact that Peter’s values had on him:

I certainly got from Peter Barnes a great joy and gained the insight of not just rushing up and climbing but looking around and looking at plants or objects or rock formations or whatever it was and to appreciate what the real world was. And I guess when you start doing that, it never leaves you really, does it?

 

The tyros: (from left) Peter Barnes, Geoff Goadby and Alan Frost in 2012 (Peter Barnes collection)

Like most of his peers, Peter Barnes always downplayed his role in the history of climbing but his achievements tell a different story. He was a very private person but helped to build pathways for those of us who were inspired by reading about his exploits — often in company with his good friend Alan Frost. Peter influenced a generation of new climbers — myself included — to explore the heights and to go where few others had gone before. We will forever be following in his footsteps and forever in his debt.

We were just interested in hills and in the Australian context we called them mountains and we used to just like getting out into the open air for a bit of physical activity, social intercourse and misbehaving ourselves. Growing old disgracefully…

— Peter Barnes