22 At Lake Tahune

We knew we were safe and were going to stay put, even if it meant starving to death. We believed help was on the way …

Snow lay thickly between North Col and the summit of Frenchmans Cap in August, 1970. A party of Victorian walkers was preparing for a winter ascent of Frenchmans Cap. Conditions were not ideal when they left their camp. However, it was mid-winter and the party was experienced in snow and ice. Although the upper slopes of the mountain were windswept and icy, the party reached the summit without incident around midday.

After resting about an hour, the descent was begun. The party did everything right. They were careful not to take any risks, particularly as they traversed the icy upper flanks of the mountain. But on North Col, one of the party fell.

‘We were cutting across the North Col of Frenchmans Cap when my feet slipped from under me on the slippery powdery snow,’ Kenneth McInnes told an Examiner reporter. He then described the succession of falls that followed. ‘The first fall was the worst. I slipped and suddenly thought I was going to crash over an overhang. I grabbed my ice axe and held on but my shoulder pulled out. I hung onto the ice axe and waited for the rest of the group to help me. I could move OK, but my arm was in considerable pain.’218 The party rigged up a makeshift toboggan, employing the unusual but effective combination of a sleeping bag and rope to ease him down the slopes to their camp beside Lake Tahune.

All agreed that expert medical assistance was needed to set the shoulder. One of the party, a trainee nurse, offered to stay with the patient. Meanwhile, the rest of the party set off for the Lyell Highway to summon help. Late the next day, the party arrived in Queenstown and raised the alarm. That afternoon, a helicopter was put on schedule to fly into Lake Tahune the following morning with a doctor on board. As a contingency plan, a party of bushwalkers was put on standby, should rough weather prevent the air rescue from going ahead.

Signs were hardly promising. Rain and strong winds had lashed the west coast for several weeks. The morning, however, dawned clear and without a hint of a breeze. Around midday, the helicopter touched down on the frozen surface of Lake Tahune. The doctor helped the patient to a flat area above the lake where the helicopter could put down safely. Luckily, all went according to plan: the weather held, the medical evacuation was successful, and that evening Kenneth McInnes was resting comfortably in Launceston General Hospital.

A new hut for Lake Tahune

After the 1966 fire, the official decision to build another hut at Lake Tahune was made quite quickly. But the wheels of bureaucracy turn slowly. The time that elapsed between application, approval and final construction stretched out to five years.

Finally, plans were approved for the new hut — a curious, prefabricated affair. Brian Collin, an engineer with the HEC, was given the task of erecting the hut. When Brian first saw the hut in storage at Burnie it was nothing more than a confusing series of steel panels. The hut project was beginning to look like a nightmare.

In June 1971, Brian walked in to Lake Tahune to inspect the site for himself. In particular, he wanted to assure himself that there was sufficient flat ground, not only to land a helicopter, but to accommodate a helipad in due course. These requirements satisfied, the project went ahead as planned. The airlifting of hut panels from Mount McCall to Lake Tahune was completed in a full day.

After waiting two days for a break in the weather, the work party, consisting of Brian Collin, a carpenter and two labourers, flew in to Lake Tahune near dusk and set up camp. Typically, it rained both heavily and frequently from that point on, but work progressed steadily. A number of Huon pine posts were flown in from Queenstown and set in place to serve as the hut’s foundations. There was even enough Huon pine left over for a convenient porch to be added.219

Despite frequent interruptions caused by bad weather, the hut was completed over seven days. Over time the hut proved particularly resilient, weatherproof and structurally sound in a region subject to heavy weather. Modifications and improvements over the years made it more comfortable, until its replacement in the future by a new hut and tent platforms.

Freezing work. Ranger Bryan Naylor carries out repairs on the roof of Tahune hut, above a frozen Lake Tahune. November 1994. (Terry Reid)

Snowbound at Tahune Hut

In July 1978, two Tasmanian walkers, Stephen Standage and Lee Fischer, walked into the high country to photograph the stark, silent beauty of a winter at Frenchmans Cap. Both men were experienced bushwalkers and left well-equipped. They arrived at Lake Tahune in good weather. Tahune Hut stands at an elevation of nearly 1,000 m. Perched on the very shoulder of Frenchmans Cap, it is one of the highest huts in Tasmania.

The morning after their arrival, it started snowing. Heavy snow is perfectly normal for any mid-winter visit, but this was to be no passing snowfall. It continued snowing heavily. The men were kept hut-bound all day. They gazed out through ice-rimed windows, watching as heavy snow fell softly and silently, layering everything in a thick white blanket and drooping down the branches of trees.

Forty-eight hours later, the snow had built up around the hut to a depth of 2.5 m. Concerned, the men now made an attempt to leave Tahune Hut. As they stumped their way out, the drifts around them piled higher and deeper. The men could see they were at real risk of being buried under collapsing snow banks. After covering less than a kilometre, they returned to the safety of the hut.

Search parties were confronted with blizzard conditions and the heaviest sustained snowfalls at Frenchmans Cap for 25 years. After four days of struggling through waist-deep snow, rescue parties were still two hours away from Vera Hut. Exhausted, they returned to base camp at Lake St Clair to regroup and await a break in the weather.

By now it was clear that any immediate rescue would have to be made by air. Several days later, a rare break in the weather offered an opportunity. A helicopter hovered briefly above Tahune Hut and observed the welcome sight of smoke belching from the hut chimney.

The landing required steady nerves on the part of Pilot Nigel Osborn. He was able to touch the skis just on the surface, without allowing the heavy helicopter to sink down into the soft snow. The two men scrambled aboard, ending an eight-day enforced occupancy of Tahune Hut unparalleled in recent times. ‘We knew we were safe and were going to stay put, even if it meant starving to death. We believed help was on the way …’220 The rescue of the two men was timely, for the weather soon closed in again for another four days.

The advent of the National Parks and Wildlife Service

The National Parks and Wildlife Service (NPWS) was formed in 1971, replacing the Scenery Preservation Board. Its first director was Peter Murrell. ‘People interstate are keen to come to Tasmania to see national parks,’ Peter told a Mercury reporter on 3 June 1971, soon after his appointment. ‘They don’t want to see hydro-electric schemes or industrial growth … our job is to begin with a new, small organisation and work at growing our teeth. I think we will grow them, too.’

Under Peter Murrell the NPWS was forged into a dynamic body, which worked hard to ensure the best interests of Tasmanian’s national parks were served. Peter was a man with a colourful personality and at times a fiery temperament. He had personally selected the new badge for the NPWS, which survives to the present day — a snarling Tasmanian Devil — which some unkind staff members said bore a strange resemblance to him, both in personality and appearance when he was in confrontation mode.

Mike Duncombe, a NPWS member at the time, recalled an incident:

A very memorable occasion occurred when Peter received an exclusive news phone call from the Advocate newspaper asking if it was intended to rebuild Waldheim Chalet at Cradle Valley, now that it had been demolished. Peter did not know that it had been demolished. He politely told the young reporter he would call her back, following which an extremely loud roaring noise was heard throughout Magnet Court and its immediate environs. He did not need the phone at all on this occasion, as I am convinced that the Ranger at Cradle Mountain heard him direct.221

The finest hour of the NPWS came during the Franklin Dam dispute when it supported the proposal to create the new Wild Rivers National Park. The NPWS suggested the HEC had failed to carry out an adequate evaluation on the impact the proposed dams would have on the environment. The HEC was outraged, and on paper it appeared to be a David and Goliath contest, but the NPWS had the support of the government. The net result was that the Wild Rivers National Park was not only approved, but also nominated for World Heritage listing. This would prove a crucial factor in the events that would unfold over the next 12 months.