Frenchman Peak

Perhaps I shouldn’t have listened that closely to the Lucky Bay camp host, or maybe I didn’t listen closely enough. Either way, I found myself in the car park at the base of Frenchman Peak around 2pm, squinting up at what looked liked ants silhouetted against a cloudless sky. It’s only 262 meters to the summit. How hard could this be? THEY’VE made it.

It was so deceptive at first, actually downhill for the first coupla’ hundred metres and then an easy uphill for the next 200 (that’s 400, why aren’t we there yet?) Then I passed the prayer urns and started to get a little nervous. The parks people had thoughtfully installed marker arrows to guide and the first two were easy to find. I couldn’t find the third, looking both left and right. I looked up in exasperation, and there it was, directly above my head, followed by another and another, clinging apparently for dear life on the steep rocky slope. Mmmm, the view does look quite nice from here…..

Unfortunately, my now reckless promise to Tamika about sending photos from the peak came back to haunt me like Banquo’s ghost. So, not a question of if, but more of question of how long? Climbing, panting, stopping, rueful but determined. I passed those ‘ants’, youthful backpackers, bounding across the crevasses like mountain goats. “Not far now”, they shouted encouragingly. They were such liars. Finally the path flattened out, but the peak had one last cruel trick to play. Just when you allowed exhaustion to catch up with you, another short, steep clamber to the summit.

Luckily, as they say, the harder the climb, the better the view. With only vertigo for company, I was truly “king of the world”. Not even the Panorama option on my phone, could do the 360 degree view justice.

I knew there was a cave somewhere near the peak. You could see the sunlight streaming through it from the road, but I couldn’t find the entrance and the sun was starting to dip. I wandered off the path slightly and literally tumbled into the entrance. It was much bigger than I had imagined, about the size of a small concert hall, cool and half lit by the afternoon sun. Another intrepid fool appeared out of the gloom. He had found it on the way to the summit. We chatted for about five minutes and then he moved on.

With the sun sliding towards the horizon, I made my way somewhat gingerly back down the mountain, definitely easier, but just as slow. Even down hill felt like up hill by this time. So, slumped back in the car, yet fully satisfied, I drove back to the van. Tamika was waiting, anxious to try some fishing along the beach. I told her ever so politely where she could put her rod, poured a large scotch and lay quietly on the bed. Maybe tomorrow babe…….