An Epic Tasmanian Adventure: Running the Western Arthurs
HARD MODE: ACTIVATED
Words: Joseph Nunn
Images: Joseph Nunn, Justin Dyer
The Western Arthurs are one of Tasmania’s iconic, epic and challenging multi-day hikes. Over the New Year period, trail enthusiasts and runners Joseph Nunn and mate Justin Dyer ran the full K-A traverse from the carpark in one single hard push. Little did they know that what started as an ambitious day trip would morph into the most gruelling test of physical and mental limits; a brutal battle for survival against their own body’s rebellions. This is the unfiltered story of that journey across the jagged quartzite peaks that become the hardest thing they’ve ever done.
With a few weeks off work for Christmas 2023 and some residual fitness from a 100 miler, I craved an epic adventure, and the Western Arthurs beckoned.
I enlisted mate Justin Dyer for a New Year’s Eve mission to round out a big year of running, so we put it on our calendars and convinced our partners to come along for a camping trip.
Three days earlier, I went to a music festival and had a monstrous drinking session. After more than 300 days of abstinence, I finally let the hedonistic urge to binge get the better of me and so I was still suffering from the deleterious effects of alcohol while frantically preparing for the run. I had a busy day of packing then picking up my partner Lauren and her sister Jemma from the airport (Jemma was coming camping too). I drove out to Scotts Peak Dam all the while feeling horrendous and hoping for improvement.
We settled into camp for the night, cooking dinner and discussing the following days plans with Justin and his partner Sam. The girls decide to walk Mt Anne while Justin and I were out running. Hopes of a good night’s sleep were dashed by a blocked nose and headache. My physical state was making me anxious, further impeding my ability to sleep.
Morning of Trepidation
I forced myself out of bed to begin preparing, fighting the urge to lay down and go back to sleep. Eventually I tell myself that I can always turn around and head back to camp if I’m not up for it.
Across The Plains
We look for friends in the sign-in book and see that local running legend John Cannell has signed in that morning, running to Oberon return. Wondering if we may catch him, Justin and I officially signed in and headed off onto trails that were suspiciously nice and runnable.
The track soon degraded to classic South-West Tassie knee-deep mud. We ran and tried to move efficiently but the mud holes were either a few centimetres deep or knee deep – there was no way of knowing. Establishing a rhythm would be hard with holes that could swallow your legs and try to steal your shoes.
I was feeling much better but deep down, not feeling as great as I should have been. Nonetheless, the early kilometres passed by quickly and we got to Junction Creek campsite in good time, where we took a non-traditional left hand turn at the junction and ran along the plains, a track that is crushed quartzite (conducive with a good running pace). Snot rockets were flying at a rate far higher than usual, and I was also less inclined for conversation.
Ascending The Clouds
At Seven Mile Creek we crossed, then turned right and headed towards the mountains, covered in clouds. This was the point I told myself I could turn around, but as I still felt good enough, I didn’t give it much thought and continued on.
We arrived at the base of Moraine K and began our ascent into the clouds. Climbing was a nice change from the plains and we both fell into silence hiking up the steep slope. Behind us was a stunning view out over the plains which soon disappeared as we moved above the clouds. But here, the temperature dropped, the wind increased and there was a misty mizzle in the air. Saturated and cold, I felt anxious about the conditions for the rest of the day – the Western Arthurs are notorious for wild and unpredictable weather.
The climb was long and arduous. We couldn’t see far ahead so had no idea how much further we had to go but eventually we encountered more quartzite features, and we finally arrived. The traverse could begin.
And So It Begins
The novelty of the terrain raised our spirits and we scampered across the rocks with joy. Nestled in the clouds I lost all sense of direction and with low visibility, my lack of situational awareness made me disoriented. Justin knew the way but I still occasionally looked at a map for a sanity check.
After spotting Lake Sirona, the track turned into a low grade rock climb and our pace was slow despite the scrambling and scampering being super fun. The distance from Haven Lake to High Moor campsite was only 4km from here, and once we got to the lake we took a slight toilet detour. It was very nice to tick off the first section along the range, but I knew there was still plenty to come.
We began towards Beggary Bumps, known for being relentless. Part of the reason for running the route in reverse was to take on the Beggary Bumps with less fatigue. As I gave this all some thought, I tried to regain function of my fingers but everything I touched was wet and I risked soaking my gloves, making me avoid using my hands – quite the dangerous tactic in such terrain.
Thankfully my hands warmed quickly so ditched the gloves and put my hands to use. A lot of the time was spent walking on all fours clambering up and down the rooty rocky terrain, but I put all of my faith in small roots, using them as hand and foot holds.
The Beggary Bumps lived up to their reputation. The ups and downs went on forever and it was tough, and it was rocky with a topping of scrub. Up until this point we hadn’t seen a single walker since Junction Creek hours earlier, and we both wondered why. But finally at High Moor campsite, we spotted walkers setting up camp and were impressed when they found out we were on our way ‘to the carpark’.
Getting Lost, Then Found
I was starting to feel depleted and mildly nauseous, and wondered if I’d messed up with nutrition and hydration. Justin and I started using what little resources we had to motivate ourselves, and promised each other two of Justin’s cinnamon Oreos each when we arrived at Lake Oberon. It was then I decided to sit down and employ some self-care, namely paracetamol, a gel, food, electrolytes, sunscreen and sunglasses.
Miraculously I began to improve and the weather followed suit with clear views of the mountains revealed. It was truly an epic trail. Throughout the day I would look ahead at the mountains and struggle to conceptualise a route forwards, yet the trail always seemed to find a way.
Passing over a rise we thought we saw Lake Oberon only to realise it was Lake Uranus, and at the top of the climb, I looked back to where we had been. I was in awe of the mountains; different to any other Tasmanian mountains I had ever been on.
With Oberon tantalisingly close we followed the rock cairns to what seemed like a dead end, and we backtracked to no avail. Back and forth we searched for an escape, and we both started to worry. Our options were to remain stranded or climb down a dodgy descent. Justin made one last ditch attempt at following the rock cairns towards the dead end, where he found a tight hole in the rocks and manoeuvred his body down. I followed his lead and with some guidance on foot holds I made it through to the track below. The euphoric feeling of relief at finding our way made the whole ordeal seem worthwhile.
I rode the emotional waves of euphoria all the way down to the small lake near Oberon, and it was here we rewarded ourselves with Oreos and a refill of water. I was finally feeling good, physically – it only took 12 hours to warm up.
But from this point onwards things started going downhill slowly, then rapidly.
My Demise
Forging forward, the track condition was much improved and we ran strong past Square Lake and beyond. Our pace increased and so too did the levels of exertion. I was still riding high but I could feel my life force gradually depleting.
Each climb got harder, almost as though there was a compounding effect, so I sipped water and ate continuously hoping to fend off a further bonk. Consistent movement was my focus to keep the nausea at bay, but my demise was gradual and each hill chipped away at my condition.
At long last Lake Cygnus appeared ahead, and I should’ve felt elated but I felt deflated instead. Reduced to a snail’s pace I started the climb from Cygnus, tentatively taking each step and riding the associated intense waves of nausea.
In my state of extreme decrepitude I struggled to grapple with the prospect of nearly 20km further to go to the end. Justin patiently waited, allowing me to face my demons.
My next milestone was the top of Moraine A, but my sense of achievement upon reaching this milestone was dashed by the expansive view ahead showing great lengths we still had to travel.
Temporary Resurrection
Downhills were my friend and I used this newfound potential energy to fling myself down the hill. In a lull of nausea, I was able to get a decent way down before it emerged to gradually consume me. My thoughts ventured into extremely dark places, and I wondered if I’d ever enjoy trail running again.
More paracetamol, more water, more food.
When we reached the bottom of Moraine A I was talkative and happy – the medicine began to take effect. Justin and I were both incredibly impressed with my resurgence from the depths of hell.
We reached Junction Creek at sunset, and knew we were on the home stretch. Things went well and we made progress. When the trail conditions improved and we get onto duck board I know we are so close to the end, but less than 2km from the end I was reduced to a slow walk again due to nausea – again.
The mission was rounded out with a short death march to the end. Finishing was such a relief.
The Aftermath
When I emerged from the toilets, Lauren came to walk me back to camp. I found Dan Rhodes (Jemma’s partner), good mate Joel Kovacs and the rest of the girls sitting around a campfire. We arrived at 11pm – just in time to see in the new year.
Sitting around the campfire, I shivered and shook violently; Dan perplexed at my state of ruin. After two bites of a burger, I couldn’t handle any more thus taking myself to the tent to flop down fully clothed and muddy.
That’s where I stayed for the next nine hours, whimpering and feverish.
I’d hoped a good night’s sleep would have restored me, but I woke early the next morning actually feeling worse. According to my watch, my heart rate and stress levels were through the roof, my body basically freaking out.
When I eventually made it home I found a RAT to check if Covid was to blame for my infirmity. Indeed, it was. I finally had an explanation for all of my struggles.
Recovery & Beyond
The following week was dedicated to recovery. In the final stretches of the run I’d pledged not to return to the Western Arthurs for a long time, but as the days drew on, I felt the urge to go back and re-write some memories. I mentioned this to Justin and he said ‘Just say a date and I’ll be there.’
I’ve seemingly recovered to full health. Today, I’m frustrated that I put myself through such an ordeal, but I also feel somewhat accomplished to have been able to conquer the Western Arthurs with Covid. This one will be deeply ingrained in my memory. I am certain that it is the hardest thing I have ever done.
The Western Arthurs shattered me, however now that I have pieced myself back together, I have pledged to return. Not to conquer but to reconcile. Even after my destruction, a love for trail running has re-emerged from dust to motivate me for future endeavours.