Federation Peak

One of the few remaining unclimbed summits in Australia, Federation Peak in southwest Tasmania, became the focus of postwar attention in the south. As early as 1946, Tasmanian Bill Jackson had attempted to reach the top and on a second attempt in January 1947 with Leo Luckman, got to within 60 metres of the summit. Carrying no rope, they were forced to turn back in bad weather. It was left to a team from Geelong College in Victoria—Bill Elliot, Fred Elliot, and Allan Rogers, led by John Bechervaise—to reach the summit on 27 January 1949 by what is now called the Bechervaise Gully. The team completed their ascent during a spell of perfect weather, climbing a chimney on the southeastern face. Bechervaise described the climb:

For the first one hundred and twenty feet there was a long lead with an awkward step out of a “sentry- box” across a sloping slab, but safety of the party was assured by a “running belay” through a chock-stone wedged deep in a crack. Above this there is the first good stance, after which a slight overhang must be negotiated within sixty feet or so. This is fairly strenuous. After this, the climb becomes much less difficult and a very steep gulch, amply provided with holds, leads, in about four hundred feet, to the summit.

The first woman to climb the peak was Shirley Ward, who led a team to the top the following year. Bechervaise went on to become a distinguished Antarctic explorer, as well as a consultant to the Australian outdoors magazine, Walkabout.

Picture: Len Brazall on a gendarme near the summit of Federation Peak in 1953. Jon Stephenson collection.

Geoff Goadby on the steep, loose east face of Mt Warning in 1949. This was his second ascent of the face with Raoul Mellish and Reg Ballard. Drawing on his yachting experiences, Goadby was instrumental in introducing the use of ropes for climbing in post-war Queensland.

Picture: Raoul Mellish collection.

The Waring ledge

Brisbane-based Bob Waring had climbed Mt Barney several times by 1949 and his friend Jon Stephenson mentioned a possible route to the summit of Leaning Peak along a steeply-sloping ledge which ran out across the top of the 500 metre north face. Waring recalls: ‘I decided to check this out without delay, and was soon there by myself inching along the ledge, initially quite wide, but decreasing to a foot or so directly above the sheer wall down to the distantly whispering creek above the Portals. I was then confronted by a short vertical pitch, with a 15 foot high pile of thick slabs on its right side, appearing solid enough to chimney up against to the summit. I pushed against them with my right hand to confirm this, and had to immediately flatten against the wall as the whole lot collapsed and engulfed me in a large cloud of acrid rock dust as they jack-knifed out into space and spent the next 10 minutes thundering down into the gorge. I then climbed the wall and was on the summit of Leaning Peak, exactly 14 minutes since stepping on to the ledge. Rapelling down about 80 feet to the small saddle, I joined my bushwalking (only) companion waiting there, and we returned to camp.’ Although Raoul Mellish accompanied Waring on the trip to Mt Barney, he believed it would have been ‘madness’ to follow him along the ledge. Following this achievement, Waring gained a reputation for being a bold climber and later repeated the route—known as the Waring Ledge—with John Comino.

Picture: Pat Conaghan collection.

The end of an era

World War II (1939-1945) virtually stopped climbing around the world, apart from specialised mountaineering training given to troops in Europe and the United States. Bert Salmon had dropped out of the climbing scene just before the war with his stubborn rejection of roped climbing, placing limits on what was possible. As he approached 40, Salmon described ‘mountain climbing’—as he called it—as safer than dodging motor cars, crossing the street. Ironically, 40 years later, he was struck by a motor car near his retirement home at The Grange in Brisbane and suffered an injury preventing him from visiting his beloved mountains. He had introduced hundreds of young men and women to climbing in Queensland and was active until the 1960s—the ‘spiritual father’ of Queensland climbing made his last trip up Mt Lindesay on 2 May 1964, his 27th ascent of the mountain! Described by some as arrogant and stubborn, even obnoxious, he was nevertheless a significant figure in the development of the first mass climbing movement in Australia. In 1980, Bert Salmon, aged 80, was still enthusiastic about climbing and the mountains of southeast Queensland, and explained that although he had never used a rope, his teams often carried one to help ‘inadequate’ climbers past difficult points. In his twilight years, he had a change of heart about the use of rope in climbing. ‘I’m older and I see the error of my ways,’ he confessed. ‘Not everyone has the ego that carried me through.’ He died on the 5 May 1982, aged 82.

Picture: Bert Salmon below Crookneck's east face. A. A. Salmon collection.

Between wars

Virtually all of the early mass climbing activity in Australia before World War II was in southeast Queensland and northern New South Wales with Bert Salmon and his coterie the instigators. Eric Dark inspired a smaller group of climbers to make first ascents in the Blue Mountains and Warrumbungles and in the late 1920s, two key figures emerged in Tasmania—Fred Smithies and Gustav Weindorfer. Smithies climbed around 80 peaks in the state, adopting the same unroped style as the Queensland cohort. He made the first recorded winter ascent of Cradle Mountain in 1924 and reached the summit of Frenchman’s Cap in 1931. Like his Queensland climber-photographer counterpart, Bert Salmon, Smithies captured many of his exploits on film. Apart from a handful of isolated ascents, climbing was virtually unknown in the rest of the country until after World War II. Anticipating the end of hostilities, the Melbourne University Mountaineering Club formed in 1944—the year that climbing in Victoria formally began. Compared with the standards of climbing in Europe and the United States at the time, activity here was very limited. But it was a period in which Australia was experimenting with its own version of climbing. Eric Dark and his Blue Mountaineers adopted European traditions that accepted the logic of belaying and the safety factor implicit in the use of ropes. Salmon and many of the Queenslanders followed a purist climbing ethic, akin to pioneers like American John Muir in Yosemite and some of the early Lake District climbers in England. It led to different directions in the development of climbing in Queensland and New South Wales. Although mass climbing in Victoria started almost two decades years after activity in Queensland and New South Wales, from the beginning it adopted a ‘modern’ approach in terms of use of ropes and protective equipment like pitons and quickly emerged from its slumber.

Picture: Queensland climbers in the Blue Mountains 1934 serenaded by George Fraser on bagpipes. Ken Rogers collection.

The 1st ascent of the Arethusa Falls

In 1931, the Blue Mountaineers set out on their biggest challenge—the first ascent of Arethusa Falls in the Grose Valley. The first attempt by Osmar White, Lowe and Jim Starkey in August 1930 ended in failure as darkness caught them before they had reached the crux—the cliffs above the falls. The following year, Dark, White, Lowe and Starkey set off again, and although delayed by heavy rain, climbed to the top of the falls and camped there for the night. Next morning, they surveyed the 100 metre cliff above them. Eric Lowe was optimistic:

The climb to the first ledge looked possible if we could get to the top of a massive rock about 30ft high. After many attempts we managed to throw a rope across a projecting point of the rock, and with a man on each end of the rope pulling it into the side of the cliff, I went up hand over hand. The top of the rock was a reasonably wide and flat platform with a grass tree growing on it. To this I attached the rope and Dr Dark came up to me. But what had looked possible from below proved utterly impossible when tried from the top of the rock.

From the top of the rock, they could see a solution. Jim Starkey had to swim 50 metres in a strong current across the pool at the base of a waterfall and then edge up the cliff where he was able to lower a rope to their ledge. Dark and Lowe pulled up on the rope and they were within striking range of the top. But the battle was not over yet. Eric Dark took the lead, as Lowe related:

It was a very fine climb. He started along a narrow crack that just gave toe space, with a similar crack 6ft above for his hands. These two cracks ran parallel across the sheer face of the cliff, gradually rising to a projecting tongue of rock. He worked along slowly and carefully; the projecting tongue was extremely difficult and the least error in judgment meant disaster. The climber’s body was forced out by the jutting rock, and balance was tested to the utmost…From this point he zigzagged up a narrow track that sloped so steeply as to make the last 30ft of climbing the most dangerous of all. We were very relieved and elated when he reached the top of the ledge. We came up ourselves with a safety rope around our waists.

At the top of their climb, they traversed to make a final pitch out of the gorge. At the base of the last cliff, they found a long, dead sapling with steps cut into it. Clearly someone else had visited this area before. They leaned the sapling up against the cliff and used it to scramble to the top. Creative use of rope techniques and a passion for a first ascent had come together to reward them.

The Warrumbungles

Throughout the 1930s, Eric Dark pioneered climbing in the Warrumbungles, a group of spectacular volcanic spires in western New South Wales. In 1933, he returned the area with a group from the Sydney Bush Walkers, including Marie Byles and Dot English (later Dot Butler). English’s habit of walking and climbing barefoot gave the name to her autobiography published some years later—The Barefoot Bushwalker. She recalled the experience: ‘This was my first introduction to technical climbing. Accustomed to rushing up and over rock faces barefoot and unroped, jumping for likely-looking holds, swinging about on scant bits of vegetation growing out of the cliffs, it was a new (and somewhat painful) experience to be tied on to a restraining rope, hooked over impeding belays, obliged to ‘stop and make sure two holds are secure before relinquishing the third’. Eric Dark was impressed with her climbing ability and they set out to climb Crater Bluff (pictured above). With them was a Polish climber, ‘Mr Paszek’, nicknamed ‘Pan’, who had climbed in the Dolomites in his youth and in the Swiss Alps as a member of the Tatra Mountaineering Club. They walked around to the Green Glacier, on the southern side of the Bluff, carrying a 60 metre rope. The first 200 metres was easy and then they roped up. It was here that 'Pan' turned back. The lithe Dot English took the lead and climbed up a steep crack in the face. Dark led through and reached the top. Perhaps influenced by news of the practice in Queensland, they lit a small fire on the summit to alert local people of their success but the inevitable happened—it spread and they were cut off from their descent route. Dark had to piggyback English across the embers as she had no footwear. On the same trip, Dark and Eric Lowe climbed all but the last 60 metres of what is known today as Diagonal Route on the north face of Crater Bluff.

Picture: Michael Meadows collection.

The Katoomba Suicide Club

Sometime in 1929, 40 year old New South Wales doctor Eric Payten Dark began scrambling on the multicoloured sandstone cliffs at Narrow Neck in the Blue Mountains. He first climbed on the cliffs and waterfalls of the Shoalhaven River almost 20 years earlier while still a medical student at Sydney University. Dark saw a photograph of Mt Lindesay on the Queensland-New South Wales border in an atlas in 1911 and, like Lyle Vidler 15 years later, became fascinated with the idea of climbing it. He eventually reached the summit in 1913, making what was probably the first solo ascent. At the same time he climbed Mt Barney. Dark fought in World War I and returned from his experience, affected by Mustard gas and ‘deeply disturbed by the brutality and stupidity of trench warfare’. This experience no doubt had a profound affect on his developing socialist ideas. In 1922, he married his second wife Eleanor, destined to become one of Australia’s great historical novelists. The couple moved to the Blue Mountains in 1923. It is unclear what attracted Dark back to climbing but living amongst some of the most spectacular clifflines in Australia must have had an influence. By 1929, he had found climbing companions in writer Eric Lowe and a youthful Osmar White, as he recalled:

Lowe and I were 40, Eleanor more than a decade younger, and Osmar in his early 20s. We began with easy climbs on the Second and Third Sisters and the Orphan Rock. The more we climbed the more we liked it; so one evening, around a fire in our sitting room, we decided to form a club which we called the Blue Mountaineers. We adopted as our theme tune a fascinating little phrase from Petrushka, which was whistled as we walked to a climb.

This was the first rockclimbing club in New South Wales—the Sydney Bush Walkers had formed two years earlier in 1927—and included some local police. At that time, Eric Dark was unaware of climbing activities north of the New South Wales border nor of the association of climbers that had formed around Bert Salmon from 1926. The Blue Mountaineers included his two regular climbing partners as well as his wife, Eleanor, editor of the Blue Mountains Echo, Frank Walford, and Paddy and ‘Shrimp’ Carson. From the beginning, the Blue Mountaineers used rope and rudimentary belaying techniques—32 mm yacht manila or heavy sash-cord for their belays. They also used what they called their ‘unethical instrument’ to place belays in the galleries of Castle Point and on one pitch of the 1st Sister. It was ‘a two metre long ice axe with a deeply curved pick and a notch to hold the rope where the shaft entered the head’. They also experimented with some heavy locally-made pitons but abandoned them early on as impracticable. Eric Dark opposed the use of ironmongery and followed the doctrine of former English rockclimber Albert Mummery—that a rope should never be used as an aid for climbing but solely as a precautionary measure.

A record crowd of 15 people climb Crookneck, 3 September 1933

Queensland’s climbing women became big news in the 1930s. The 1934 efforts of Queensland climbers Muriel Patten and Jean Easton in snatching the first female ascents of the First Sister in the Blue Mountains from under the noses of their southern sisters was taken up by Brisbane newspapers with gusto. The Truth proclaimed: ‘This exploit astonished the less adventurous Southerners, who have not taken mountaineering so seriously, and did not realise that the Queensland girls have left the rest of Australia far behind in this exacting and exciting sport.’ There were many articles and photographs published in the local press about their exploits on the crags in southeast Queensland and northern New South Wales. One full-page story in the Brisbane Truth in 1934 featured glamorous studio photographs of these ‘modern maids of the mountain’. The story explained they were all members of a climbing club, started by Bert Salmon in 1926:

There are 15 girls attached to the club, among whom are several very capable and daring climbers…Jean Easton (Windsor) and Muriel Patten (Wooloowin) are the leaders of the women’s section. These two agile maids caused a stir recently when, during a holiday in the Blue Mountains, they accomplished some very dangerous and difficult climbing among the rocky pinnacles of those ranges…Miss Easton probably has done more mountaineering than any girl in Brisbane. She and a girl companion were the first two girls to reach the summit of Mount Lindesay (4300 feet) and holds a similar honour in connection with the treacherous eastern face of Tibrogargan (Glass House group)…Recently a party of 18 members of the club climbed the formidable east face of Tibrogargan and the precipitous heights of Crookneck in company with a Fox Film cameraman…The girls in the party were Jean Easton, Muriel Patten, Lexie Fraser, Hazel Rigby, Ena, Lydia and Kathleen Robinson, Shirley Miller, Ellinor Byth, Valerie North, Mary Hansen, and Sonia Dimes (of Beerburrum). The girls’ climbing attire consists of shorts, blouse or jumper, sandshoes and no stockings.

Picture: Cliff and Lexie Wilson collection.

The challenge of the Fly Wall

New South Wales identity Dr Eric Dark (pictured at the top of the cliff) headed a small group of local climbers called the Blue Mountaineers. As the name suggests, the Blue Mountains west of Sydney were their playground. The group, also known as the Katoomba Suicide Club, had devised a test climb that all new members had to complete before being allowed to join. It was up a steep, eight metre sandstone wall—the Fly Wall—and the Queensland contingent visiting the area in 1934 was champing at the bit to have a go. But there was a problem—Eric Dark insisted they use a rope tied around their chests as a belay. ‘I put the rope on,’ Salmon recalled, ‘and then I took it off!’ Eric Dark, the president of the Blue Mountaineers, retorted: ‘You won’t!’ Ignoring him, Salmon replied: ‘I am going to try, anyway,’ and he started up the climb unroped, to the horror of the Blue Mountaineers looking on. ‘I tried my level best for Queensland and for my own reputation,’ Salmon said, ‘and I succeeded in climbing to the top of the wall without the rope. That was the first time it had ever been done! Dr Dark was amazed.’ Now it was Salmon’s climbing partner George Fraser’s turn. He dutifully tied the rope around his chest and started up the wall but after a few metres, the feisty Scot (pictured above) shouted, ‘Blimey, ‘I’m going to climb it without the rope, too!’ In true ethical style, he downclimbed to the base of the wall, flung off the rope, and climbed it ‘as surefooted as one of those mountain chamois that roam the Alps in Switzerland’. The Fly Wall was noted for its ‘rudimentary’ finger and foot holds and at one point, climbers had to jump for the next hold. A miss would have seen the Queenslanders injured or worse. Salmon and Fraser had shown-up the locals, perhaps the catalyst for the interstate climbing rivalry that persists today.

Picture: A. A. Salmon collection.

Brisbane climber Muriel Patten on the final few metres of the first female (and unroped) ascent of the 1st Sister in the Blue Mountains in 1934. She was one of a large group of Queensland women climbing at this time as part of the first mass climbing movement in Australia.

Picture: A. A. Salmon collection.

Women's place on the heights

Women found themselves at the centre of Australian climbing culture throughout the 1930s with Queensland hosting the first and most extensive mass climbing movement in the country. The Blue Mountains was the only other place in Australia where some climbing activity was underway but the unique and extraordinary movement in Queensland saw large numbers of men and women, in roughly equal proportions, regularly scaling the heights in southeast Queensland and northern New South Wales. Bert Salmon and his cohort of climbers had formed an informal club in 1926—the first known climbing group in Australia. Women’s prowess on the rock was obvious and acknowledged in newspaper and magazine articles of the day. With women regularly making the most difficult ascents in southeast Queensland, they began to seek new horizons and in January 1934, 16 Queenslanders travelled to Katoomba in the Blue Mountains on a ‘rock-climbing holiday’. They met with the doyen of New South Wales climbing, Eric Dark, and he showed them his favourite climbing locations, including the Three Sisters, the Boar’s Head at Narrow Neck, and Orphan Rock. Early one Sunday morning, with 300 people watching from a nearby lookout, Salmon and 21 year old Muriel Patten climbed the first of the Three Sisters. The Katoomba Daily was impressed:

Miss Muriel Patten, a petite and daring Brisbane girl, claims a record: that she is the only woman to scale the first of the Three Sisters. One section of this climb is extremely difficult and hazardous: particularly for a lady…The Dr [Dark] informs us that, to his knowledge, no lady has previously scaled the first of the Three Sisters although there are several instances of ladies attaining the summit of the second and third members of the group…To make the job complete, Messrs Salmon, Fraser and Rogers, (accompanied by Sid Marsh, Katoomba) scaled each of the Sisters and, to lend a touch of novelty, Mr Fraser
played Scottish airs on the bagpipes. A big crowd was present at Echo Point and watched intently the progress of the daring climbers—Miss Patten in particular.

The success of Muriel Patten on the Three Sisters and the publicity it received in Brisbane and Sydney probably spurred her good friend, Jean Easton, into action. Shortly after dawn on the 11 March that year, she made the second female ascent of the 1st Sister, climbing with two of the Blue Mountaineers but this time, using a rope. Brisbane’s Courier-Mail praised her accomplishment this time:

Another Brisbane girl has made mountaineering history. Miss Jean Easton, of the Department of Agriculture and Stock, is the second woman to scale the perilous Katoomba crag known as the first of the Three Sisters. Less than two months ago Miss Muriel Patten while on a holiday visit to Katoomba achieved the honour of being the first woman to perform the feat. Miss Easton who is a fellow employee of Miss Patten at the Department of Agriculture, is also an enthusiastic mountain climber, and has been a member of parties that have scaled most of the difficult peaks in Southern Queensland. She has the reputation of being one of the best lady mountaineers in the State.

And Jean Easton’s reason for climbing? She replied succintly: ‘There is a thrill in seeing a view with which few other people have had the opportunity of becoming acquainted.’

Picture: A typical climbing group on Tibrogargan in 1935, Nancy Hodge collection.

The first Queensland climbing fatality

Newspapers in Brisbane and beyond reported the first climbing fatality in Queensland on New Year’s Eve, 1928—that of 22-year-old Lyle Vidler. He was transfixed by the possibility of climbing a new route on Mt Lindesay up what was called ‘the Great Chimney’, a huge crevice (pictured left) that split the cliff on the mountain’s eastern side. Vidler had left Brisbane alone by train on Christmas Eve, cycling to the mountain, and when no word had been heard from him three days later, a search began. As the party climbed the steep grass slopes towards the cliffline, an eerie mist hung in the air. Bert Salmon, who was among the searchers, climbed to the summit alone and finding no evidence that Vidler had reached it, knew where to look next:

Reaching the crevice at its base, I climbed about 50 ft, and then saw the body of my friend suspended in the crevice far above me. When I reached the place, I found that the body had been caught between the base of a large stinging tree and one of the walls of the rock chimney. It was held from under the armpits by vines and a number of dead branches. The haversack, torn from the body lay a few feet away. From the moment I reached him I was convinced that Mr Vidler had been killed instantly.

Just after midnight on New Year’s Day, 1929, the rescue party received permission to bury him at the base of the crevice, where he lies today.

Picture: A. A. Salmon collection.

Climbing 'the living rock'

In early November 1927, Bert Salmon (pictured), now 28, and Lyle Vidler, 21, set out to climb one of the last virgin summits in Queensland—Egg Rock. They caught the train to Nerang and walked 35 kilometres into the Upper Numinbah valley. An inspired Lyle Vidler recalled the evening: ‘Darkness fell long before we spied the light of the inn at Advance Town but a glorious full moon illuminated the dusty road and the dim aisles of the bush, whilst the purling rapids of the Upper Nerang sang in our ears as we plodded along to the incessant chirrup of crickets, and other small bush sounds…After a short walk, we were rewarded with a first glimpse, through the tree tops, of the goal which had drawn us so far on foot. A few hundred yards brought us to a clearing from which we had an uninterrupted view of this tremendous rocky column. Bathed in the flood of moonlight with the star-studded velvety sky above and the high mountain walls beyond, the Egg Rock suggested a huge antediluvian monster of unheard-of dimensions rearing his colossal head in an endeavour to overlook the confines of his primeval domain.’ They were up at dawn next morning and began their climb, unroped, as Vidler recounts: ‘Slowly we advanced up the sheer wall, aided here and there by the presence of stunted and hardy plants which projected invitingly from small cracks in the living rock.’ After around 100 metres of climbing, they reached the summit at five past six in the morning. The two friends built a cairn around the trunk of ‘a small oak’, a flag pole for what had become Salmon’s traditional calling card—a small Union Jack.

Picture: A. A. Salmon collection.

The 'spiritual father' of Queensland climbing

Albert Armitage 'Bert' Salmon was born in Queensland on the numerically-auspicious date of 9.9.1899 and started climbing while in his early 20s. He has often been referred to as ‘the spiritual father of Queensland climbing’ but his influence was much broader. He started the first climbing club in Australia around 1926 and made several visits to the Blue Mountains, west of Sydney, in the early 1930s on climbing trips. He and New South Wales counterpart, Dr Eric Dark, are the pre-eminent figures in influencing the development of climbing in Australia between the wars (World War I and World War II). Salmon and his cohort most probably were influenced by the ethics of early British gritstone climbers like Dean Frankland and Fergus Graham, renowned for their preference for soloing climbs in the Lake District around this time. In the early 1920s, the modern system of using a rope to safeguard a leader on a climb was virtually unknown in Australia. Like many climbers at that time, Salmon believed that using a rope on a climb was dangerous, and he had a point—without a reliable belay, a falling climber attached by a rope to others would more than likely pull everyone off the cliff. Although many felt Salmon took this attitude too far, the dogged Queenslander made a point of emphasizing the lack of reliance on a rope in the numerous accounts of his exploits from the late 1920s until World War II. Australia’s first mountaineer, Sydney climber Freda du Faur, wore an ankle-length skirt when she made the first female ascent of Mt Cook in New Zealand in 1912 and this fashion persisted in Australia until the late 1920s. But within a few years, a remarkable change would free women, in particular, of the long garments that had plagued them from their very first steps into the mountains. Throughout the 1930s, women were climbing in shorts and sandshoes in Australia and setting the trend that continues, albeit with some modifications, to this day.

Picture: A. A. Salmon collection.

The Clark sisters and companions on the summit of Crookneck, 1912:

the first female ascent. The picture is from Thomas Welsby's book,

The Discoverers of the Brisbane River, published in Brisbane in 1913

The first women on Crookneck

On Empire Day, 1912, the first women stood on the summit of Coonowrin or Crookneck (see photo above). Three sisters—Jenny, Sara, and Etty Clark—cycled from Brisbane with ‘male companions’ and began their attempt at dawn. They were joined by Willie Fraser, 22, an engineering student, Jack Sairs, a local, and George Rowley, a photographer. Wearing ‘voluminous gym clothes’, the three women began their climb up a new route on the mountain’s southwest corner, today known as Clark’s Gully. It is one of the earliest recorded uses in Australia of the now accepted technique of using a rope to belay climbers. They scrambled through small shrubs until an impasse required the use of the rope, where one of the women had ‘a rather exciting experience’: ‘The rope was let down through a crack in the rock at the side of which she was standing. As she stepped off onto another little corner the rock gave way and left her swinging for a moment in mid-air, some 100 ft above the ground. Fortunately, the rope was good, and in strong hands, and she soon gained a fresh foothold and she soon clambered into safety.’ The descent was uneventful and following a hearty lunch, the women insisted on cycling back to Brisbane—a 70 kilometre trip—arriving at 10 o’clock that night.

'The birth of

modern climbing'

Henry ‘Harry’ Mikalsen (pictured left) was born within sight of Coonowrin or Crookneck in the Glasshouses and as a boy, had searched the north face, working out a possible route to the summit. On 11 March 1910, climbing alone, he carefully picked his way up through the huge loose boulders and occasional overhangs and he was on top. The ‘unclimbable’ spire had fallen to a 23 year old local lad, attracting barely a mention in the local press: ‘The feat was not accomplished without difficulty and danger; but although he was urged by his friends and family not to make the attempt, he was fully determined to get to the top. Once there he was satisfied. He stayed for an hour on the summit, and made the descent without mishap. The trip took about three hours from start to finish, and as his home is at the foot of the mountain, he was watched with anxious eyes and could be seen the whole time.’ Mikalsen’s achievement was recognised in Thomas Welsby's writings—the first major historical work to include climbing activity in Queensland, possibly Australia—and Mikalsen's success on Crookneck is identified by some as the beginning of climbing ‘as a pastime’ in Australia.

Picture: The Discoverers of the Brisbane River, Thomas Welsby.

Archibald Meston in North Queensland

Towards the end of the 19th century, quirky Queensland adventurer Archibald Meston led several expeditions to explore the north Queensland rainforests, claiming the first ascent of numerous mountains in the region, despite sometimes conflicting information. He was a prolific writer, producing possibly the first extensive collection of writing about mountains and wilderness in Australia. As he stood on the summit of the second highest mountain in Queensland, Mt Bellenden Ker—claiming the first ascent in 1889—he was inspired, and responded in his characteristic style:

For some time not one of us could find a voice. All was distinctly visible, in the perfectly clear atmosphere, in a radius of, at least, 100 miles in all directions. We were silent in the awful presence of that that tremendous picture that had laid there unaltered since Chaos and the Earthquake painted it in smoke and flame and terror in the dark morning of the world! It was a hall of the Genii of the Universe, the Odeon of the eternal gods with its immortal floor paved with the green mosaic of land and ocean, and overhead the arched blue roof flashing in diamonds and prismatic radiance to the far skyline on the edge of
the dim horizon. Eastward rolled the calm Pacific, visible from the Palm Islands in the south to Cooktown in the north. The white surf breaking on the Barrier Reef was a long white line on the slumbering azure of the slumbering ocean.

The West Peak of Mt Barney

Harry Winifred Johns was a teacher at Milford School, a few kilometres north of Mt Barney. He was a very active man, passionate about mountains and used his bicycle to travel the countryside in search of adventure. He cycled to Sydney three times, once with his second wife. In 1904, aged 30, Johns and three companions scrambled to the summit of Mt Barney’s West Peak—the first recorded Europeans to stand there. Johns felt compelled to draw on his knowledge of the classics to describe the moment:

At length the eye, unable at first to accommodate itself to the unwanted range of vision, expands to receive picture after picture, grand in its immensity, glorious in its beauty, and—ah! the sea, the blue sea, plainly showing and looking like a wall far up above what appeared to be the horizon. At length a feeling of insecurity steals o’er one, and compels the gaze below. Oh, ‘how fearful and dizzy ‘tis to cast one’s eyes so low.’ Below us is an almost unfathomable abyss, a sheer 2000 ft, the trees below diminished to shrubs, ‘almost too small for sight.’ The brain swims at the contemplation of the immeasurable depths, Tartaurus itself. ‘Bis patet in pracceps tantum tenditque sub umbrus. Quantus ad aetherium caeli suspectus Olympum.’

The translation of the quote in Latin, provided by emeritus Professor David Saunders of Griffith University, is: ‘The abyss opens twice as steeply and stretches into the shadows as looking to Olympus in high heaven.’ Clearly impressed by the huge cliffs on the south face of West Peak, Johns and his colleagues felt themselves being drawn close to the edge:

An invisible, awful spirit seems to beckon us on over the edge of the precipice, a frenzied impulse seizes us to leap far out over the abysm, out into the vacancy, down, down to glide smoothly and swiftly to Avernus, the reeling brain at rest for ever. ‘Facile descensus’ beats our ear, but with a start we recoil, and shudderingly draw back from the fearful sight, and hurriedly retreat from the dangerous proximity.

Resisting the urge to leap into oblivion, they built a cairn and left a shirt worn by a member of the party as a flag. Perhaps affected by the nature of the climb and their experience on top, they estimated the West Peak summit to be 180 feet (about 60 metres) higher than the East Peak!

Picture: From the summit of Leaning Peak, Michael Meadows collection.

A fiery ascent in the Glasshouses

Brisbane adventurer and writer Thomas Welsby wrote the first detailed description of climbing the southwestern face of Tibrogargan (far left), one of the curious Glass House Mountains north of Brisbane, in 1886—although it probably was not the first ascent of the mountain. Welsby later published a book of his collected writings, The Discoverers of the Brisbane River, in 1913—the first to feature climbing as an activity. On his Tibrogargan attempt, Welsby was with two companions—‘one a muscular friend, the other a gentleman well acquainted with bush life’. Soon, Welsby found himself climbing alone and after casting off spare clothing and footwear, reached the summit. Keen to celebrate his success, he collected wood and started a fire, sending ‘great volumes of smoke curling upwards’ as a signal to the residents of a nearby accommodation house, west of the mountain. The fire spread across the entire mountain and that evening, Welsby and his companions watched the spectacle from the verandah of his lodging house. He wrote: ‘The moon did not rise until 8 o’clock. By that time, the place was all aglow, and as the moon rose from out of the eastern sky and threw its flooding rays over the hilltops, the blending of the two lights mellowed the scene with a ‘dim religious’ colouring of beauty none of us can ever forget.’

Picture: Michael Meadows collection.

Epics on Mt Lindesay

Perhaps the most interesting aspect of these early ascents of peaks in the southeast is that there had been a philosophical shift from exploration as the impetus for climbing to something else. But it was almost 20 years until the third ascent of Mt Lindesay—and the most dramatic. On a cold July morning in 1890, 26 year old immigrant Norwegian naturalist Carstens Egeberg Borchgrevink sweated up the approach ridge with climbing partner Edwin Villiers-Brown, from nearby Beaudesert, and a third man, had agreed to join him on what they believed would be the first ascent. They carried with them ‘a manilla clothes-line about 25ft long, a tomahawk, and our sandshoes’. Borchgrevink and Villiers-Brown climbed to the base of a short steep rock pitch with a 70 metre drop below them where Villiers-Brown, ‘being the lighter of the two’, took the lead. He was instantly in trouble when a huge loose block of rhyolite pulled away, as Borchgrevink recounted: ‘Only his great presence of mind saved him. Quicker than thought, while sliding down he caught his fingers in a narrow crack, and so supported himself till he got a new hold. Eventually he got over and let down a string.’They struggled onto the scrub-clothed summit in the late afternoon light, shook hands, and realised there were no views. With the light fading, they began their descent. With one end of the rope tied around his chest, Borchgrevink began lowering himself over an overhang when he felt ‘a strange weakness’ in his arms: ‘My fingers gave way, and I held on to the rope with my teeth; but with them I could not carry my weight, and I felt that I must drop,’ he recalled. ‘My hands would not move to my assistance. What could I do? I dropped straight down, thinking “this will be my goodbye to the world.” The line, however, tightened under my arms, a creeper caught one of my legs, and for the moment I was safe.’ Their exploits were captured by artist Bihan in local publication, the Queenslander (above). The plucky Norwegian survived his Mt Lindesay ordeal and in January 1895, became the first person to set foot on the Antarctic continent.

Illustration: The Queenslander.

Assault on Mt Lindesay

The Badjalung people had many stories about Mt Lindesay (they called it Jalgumbun) designed primarily to discourage Indigenous people from climbing the mountain, but it seems almost certain that some either ignored this or had permission to make the ascent. Stories of Aboriginal people climbing the mountain were common in the district. Evidence suggests that Mt Lindesay was first climbed by Europeans sometime between 1846 and 1848, well before the claimed first ascent reported in local Queensland and New South Wales’ newspapers in 1876. It seems highly likely that it was the Queensland Collector of Customs, William Thornton, one of the Kinchela brothers—either John or James—and a third unnamed man, who reputedly used large vines hanging down the cliffs to gain the summit. A huge bushfire swept through the district shortly after the first claimed European ascent. On the second ascent of the mountain on 9 May 1872, local pastoralist Thomas de Montmorency Murray-Prior and Peter Walter Pears, a tutor, climbed what is now the tourist route on the mountain’s southeast corner.

Illustration: The Sydney News, 1886.

This dramatic 1876 impression of Mt Warning (1156 metres) reveals the influence of European romanticism on colonial artists.

Illustration: Town and Country Journal, 1876.

‘Embosomed in mountains of indescribable splendour’:

the 1st ascent of Mt Warning

Known by the Bandjalang people as Wollombin, Mt Warning’s first recorded European ascent was in 1871 by four local men—including botanist, author and landscape gardener William R Guilfoyle. He described their three and a half day climb, including the ‘almost perpendicular’ final 100-200 metres to the summit, where the climbers were spellbound: ‘We were so enchanted with the scenery that we forgot we had to descend until it was too late, and although we had left our provisions at the camp below, there was no other alternative than to stay for the night. This, however, was scarcely regretted, for we afterwards enjoyed the finest sight of which it is possible to form an idea. When the sun was declining massive clouds rose above the horizon and passed to the south-east at about 300 feet below us. As he sank they gradually diffused themselves and became tinted with every imaginable hue, representing a vast lake studded with islands of molten gold, and embosomed in mountains of indescribable splendour. At length those clouds again slowly rose and that glorious scene like a beautiful dream passed away, absorbing, as for a time, in a grey mist, which night overshadowed with its dusky grandeur.’

Mt Barney in southeast Queensland with (from left) East Peak (1351 metres), North Peak and West Peak (1359 metres).

Picture: Michael Meadows collection.

1st ascent of the 'highest mountain in Australia'

The 1820s heralded the beginning of the era of mountaineering in Europe that would see virtually all major Alpine summits climbed within 50 years. At this time in the colony of New South Wales, a penal settlement had been established at Moreton Bay. The first extracts from Moreton Bay penal settlement commandant Patrick Logan’s journals were published in Australia’s first newspaper, the Sydney Gazette and New South Wales Advertiser, in 1827. It was the same year that Logan stood at the top of a cliffline (Frog Buttress) on Mt French in southern Queensland, looking across the plains of the Fassifern Valley. Just after midday on 3 August the following year, Logan clambered barefoot onto the summit of what was then the highest peak in the colony, Mt Barney, 100 kilometres southwest of the new colonial outpost of Brisbane Town. As the 36 year old explorer gazed through the clear air, his two climbing companions, botanists Allan Cunningham and Charles Fraser, languished far below on a ridge that now bears his name. The traditional owners of the country here, the Yugumbir, called the massif Baga Baga. It was one of many places in Yugumbir country where people were either discouraged or forbidden to go. But expedition guide Logan knew little of this local law—his primary interest was in looking for new pastures for settlement—but was that the only reason he climbed to the highest-known summit in Australia that day? As Logan and the two botanists, accompanied by two unnamed convicts, reached the first rocky outcrops on the ridge, they gazed across the huge east wall of the mountain in awe of its ‘really terrific appearance, being a perpendicular mass of rock, unvaried by even the smallest trace of vegetation, except a few straggling lichens’. At the top of a pinnacle on the ridge, they were in for another shock—the summit of Mount Warning some 50 kilometres to the southeast protruding above the McPherson Range. All of them except Cunningham had believed it was Mt Warning they were climbing! Despite this discovery, Logan insisted on continuing, as Fraser later recounted in his journal: 'On a careful scrutiny of the fearful precipices which overhung us, Capt Logan detected a path by which it appeared possible, and barely possible, to ascend, so, putting off our shoes and stockings, and leaving the rest of the party behind, he and I began scrambling on hands and knees to the first peak, a height of about 300 feet, with great difficulty, but having once attained a certain elevation, we had no alternative but to proceed, any attempt at returning in this direction appearing totally impracticable.' At a point further up the ridge, Fraser turned back, leaving Logan to continue onto the summit alone. While the two botanists’ journal entries of the day’s events ran into many pages, Logan’s summary of his climb was just 200 words. At first, Logan named Mt Barney, ‘Mt Lindesay’, and today’s Mt Lindesay, ‘Mt Hooker’. Both names were changed to their present day titles in the 1830s, causing confusion well into the 20th century. Ironically, standing on the summit of Mt Barney that day, Logan would have looked into the Brisbane River Valley, hardly realizing that he would meet his death there two years later, speared most probably by local Aboriginal people. Two years after Logan’s death, a report by Cunningham, read to the Royal Geographical Society of London, relegated the details of the first European ascent of the highest known peak in the colony to a footnote, with Logan’s name omitted. Two years later in 1834, a scientist collecting geological and botanical specimens in the Australian Alps, Dr J. Lhotsky, most probably stumbled across the highest point in the colony although it was not named Mt Koscuisko (2228 metres) until several years later.

Hooked on climbing

This is the story of adventure climbing in Australia—a philosophical approach to exploring the landscape that barely survives in the new millennium. But it is equally the story of special groups of people who developed a special relationship with their local environment.
Like many others you will hear from in my story, I moved into climbing through bushwalking. With my brothers Chris and Tony, I climbed Mt Barney for the first time in the winter of 1966, beginning a lasting association with that peak which has seen us climb it by various routes close to 100 times. And like many young climbers, we read anything to do with climbing we could lay our hands on. One of our great inspirations was the University of Queensland Bushwalking Club magazine, Heybob, which, over the years, has documented the exploits of some of the early pioneers of climbing in Queensland. We began retracing their steps and in February 1968, we climbed the first ascent of the north face of Leaning Peak on Mt Barney—a 410 metre climb over two days on steep slabs of granophyre which entailed a bivouac on a ledge 60 metres from the summit. We were hooked!

Sharing the country

Indigenous people explored many of the high places in Australia for millennia before the white settler invasion. Creation stories inscribe every aspect of the landscape into Indigenous cosmology and some describe ascents of various peaks, often with dire consequences for those who ventured beyond the lowlands. Sharing the country with the original custodians demands a particular kind of respect for such places and consideration of the impact of activities like climbing. The climbers and their stories you will read about over the next few months often were the first Europeans to explore other well-known crags in eastern Australia. The definition of what has become one of the world's most popular extreme sports has constantly changed since human beings took the first faltering steps towards the heights. However, the impact of globalisation has made differences within a country like Australia perhaps less obvious over the past two decades.

The map is from J. G. Steele (1984) Aboriginal Pathways in Southeast Queensland and the Richmond River, Brisbane, University of Queensland Press.

Researcher-climber Robert Thomson who has spent years trawling through archival materials to gather much of the information presented in this blog.

Picture: Michael Meadows collection.

'The living rock'

The nature of climbing in Australia varies significantly from state to state. Queensland has a climate generally more favourable than most for year-round activity with the exception of a few steamy, sub-tropical summer months. A defining feature of many of the crags that became so attractive to climbers in Queensland was the presence of significant vegetation—from the smallest algae and lichen to large trees, splitting the rock. This ‘living rock’ is a particular of Queensland climbing, particularly on the low-angled cliffs where Queensland climbing culture was created (see ejournalism for a more detailed discussion of this). But regardless of differences in the terrain, there is no doubt that Australian climbing is a product of many different influences, both global and local. A distinctly Australian form of climbing that has developed on crags across the country over the past 175 years has drawn heavily from its European and North American origins. But each climbing community around Australia and beyond has its own stories, its own histories. This story is an attempt to tell the story of one relatively small community in a particular place, tracing the origins of climbing through the eyes of those who ‘invented’ it. I will rely on photographs and observations from almost 100 different climbers—some have passed on, others still feel the lure of the heights, and a handful are still out there climbing.

Introduction

On almost any evening in the centre of the Queensland capital, Brisbane, rockclimbers gather at Kangaroo Point cliffs to scale a floodlit 25 metre high cliff overlooking the Brisbane River. This level of activity is a relatively recent phenomenon in the long history of climbing in Queensland. It is only in the past decade or so that rockclimbing has become attractive and accessible to almost anyone across the country. The number of female climbers in Australia has been growing steadily and only now is approaching the proportions who regularly climbed on the crags of southeast Queensland and northern New South Wales throughout the 1930s. The arrival of the European phenomena of first, sport, then gym climbing have been catalysts for the spectacular increase in the numbers of climbers—particularly women—now tackling the hardest of an estimated 35,000 recorded climbing routes in Australia.

The author/blogger

...enjoying life on Scarab, Bundaleer, in 2000.

Picture: By Ian Thomas, Michael Meadows collection