Sea stacks have become a theme on this blog…
27th March 2025
Preparation
This impressive 110m stack, dwarfing its famous neighbour the Totem Pole, is an obvious target for many ‘frothers’. The goal is set with messages exchanged a few days before, playing shift Tetris to finally line up an adventure with my workmate, Cass. She also provided an extra friend to complete the team.
The key was preparation, taking up most of the day prior. Before long, copious piles of gear were strewn about Cass’s backyard. Drawings were made, books, blogs and Youtube were consulted as we discussed how I (and as it turns out none of us) had never rigged a Tyrolean before.
Check out the informative ‘Pommish Invasion’ on youtube, it’s hilarious.
To access the stack, as the guidebooks suggested, and corroborated by the internet, a long abseil, a brash swim, and ‘Tyrolean traverse’ are required. Then to escape, a mega 40m return Tyrolean.
Carmen, being a rope technician ‘ropey’ was probably best place to give us some advice, but something about the diagrams didn’t quite add up.
A pair of 50m halves made the most sense for the climbing, but the return Tyrolean (apparently at least 40m) seemed up for question. A 70m rope was essential for the initial abseil opposite the ‘Tote’.
If you were looking to gain some information on how to set up a Tyrolean for the Candlestick, this blog is unlikely to help.
After a quick trip to collect a spare 70m rope, taking an absurd 5 ropes in the car boot, gear agreed, we set off driving towards the peninsula.
Fortescue bay was sunny. We felt obliged to bathe in the sea, and I swam a couple of 50m lengths, training myself up for the next day.
After a few suggestions at camp, we set up two simple sling anchors between trees. We practiced the jiggery-pokery of retrievable Tyroleans. We joked it was a false dress rehearsal as I wasn’t naked for having done the swim.
Having successfully got metaphorical the fox, grain and chicken across the Tyroleans, and our ropes back, we made dinner and went to tent early. Eagerly anticipating the day ahead.
Cass said to me during the day, ‘I’ve never seen you so psyched.’
The Approach
0500. Alarms go. We wake. Quick aeropress and breakfast. Trusty alpkit pole at the ready, and we started plodding. 0547 on my watch. On schedule.
The path out to Cape Hauy is a well maintained and beautiful tourist trek, making up one of ‘The Three Capes’.
A well-trodden path, who knows what the pioneers of the ’60s & ’70s or even gnarly free climbers of the ’90s had to contend with.
We pass a pleasant walk-through bush, and eventually emerging on the headland, greeted by a beautiful sunrise over the east facing shores of the peninsula.
Passing no one, and after several false summits, we finally arrive at the now barricaded lookout.
The abseil
Skirting past some bush and well past danger signs, we scramble far down the steep mainland side to just below level with the summit of the totem pole.
It is a further venture than I expected, descending far downhill left to find the typically Tasmanian rough bushy path leading to two ring bolts.
We drop bags, and Carmen starts setting up the ab. I taste adrenaline, and it tastes like anxiety as I peer over the ledge to see white water racing. It crashes through the channel meeting the base of the tote with eerie booms. Typical seacliff atmosphere…
Experience of the castle o’ Yesnaby comes to mind, and I keep some mental fortitude and after another look with Carmen, we see calm water between the sets.
I strip, chuck all my gear into a dry sack to give to the lasses and intrepidly abseil down to the seaward platform just opposite the totem pole. Carmen being a great rope handler gives me a lovely sling bundle that feeds out as I go.
On the way down I snatch a lost buff (apparently belonging to an Ultrarunner) and worryingly, about a metre of the end of someone’s 80m rope.
On the slippery platform, ‘OFF ROPE.’
Steadying myself and tidying the rope ends, I spot a shiny hanger above the target ledge, on the other side of the channel. Waiting for the others, I take to studying the wave sets as the others join me.
Looking to my right up at the Totem Pole, almost within touching distance, standing strong in the swell. Strange, I’ve been here before, in my mind’s eye.
The Swim
I take off my lightweight Patagonia stuff jacket and harness and wrap the tag line around my waist and left shoulder tying it off with a trusty overhand. I feed out a bunch of slack, ready for the jump.
Not messing around here.
I clamber down to the lowest ledge above the sea with the others brazed and braced for the swim. Carefully watching the waves, a lull appears but it doesn’t yet feel right. I look up to Cass who gives me a thumbs’ up. I look back to the waves, a roaring swell comes and crashes against all sides including my platform, washing my lower half.
‘Quite warm actually.’ I remark.
The calm spell comes. A quick glance up at the others and I leap, eliminating a good portion of the gap.
A brash crawl across and I arrive at the target ledge in a few seconds. A wave rolls through, driving me towards the tote, I can but tread against its power and try not to fight it as I am dragged away from my target. The water settles and it’s time for an assault.
I attack direct, clutching onto slippery but tough kelp, and desperately try to find hand holds or foot holds above to make progress.
I find neither holds nor progress and slip back down the kelp into the swell.
After a couple of goes, it’s clear this problem isn’t going so I drag myself along the kelp into the corner, now unknowing to me, out of view of the team.
Finally, I find some good purchase on the rock and using a mix of kelp, corner and feet, make progress up a short easy angled corner onto the ledge, only slightly impeded by the tag line dragging under the kelp.
I woop to the others, walk into view and free the tag line.
Using a sling I equalize the bolts perpendicular to the cliff, ready for the tyrolean.
I clip the tagline to an Italian hitch and start pulling and receive the lower end of the ab rope which I clove and try to unsuccessfully keep dry.
Shivering on the ledge, I receive my harness, the rest of the tag line and an end of a trusty half rope. I try to tidy the tag line which is strewn all over the anchors.
We haul across the dry bag and the rope coils in their entirety. Leaving a loose loop through the mainland anchors.
After I get the dry bag it’s time to don clothes and get some warmth back. The breeze through the channel feels cool and much more biting versus the relatively balmy ocean below. The others seem guilty for leaving me without clothing so long. I’m just happy to be safe on the ledge.
After donning my harness, then clothes, I set about organising the belay and in surprisingly quick time. With a little bit of awkwardness, I tighten the line using my Petzl grigri for a retrievable Tyrolean. Cass comes across as I faff tidying the place and with minimal guidance, she’s on.
Carmen soon joins us as I rack up and suggests we ‘get you climbing’. A quick check of the guidebook description, I’m on belay and traversing across the wet ledge…
The climb
The first is the crux pitch (18) and I find myself in a steep corner crack leading up to a roof.
There’s a chalked up and huge loose block which gives me the heebie jeebies as I try to keep it in the cliff and not let it dislodge and sever my ropes below.
It’s pumpy and I find myself below the roof. Some of the looseness makes it a slightly nervous affair however using experience I find myself in some decent rests.
Jamming below the roof, it gets to point where I have to commit and kick out right to traverse around it. The holds are good, the gear is good but pumpy. I commit to using face holds and sticking left hand and foot in a 0.75 sized thin hands crack. Eventually I reach a stable stance.
I drive on and surmount a slabby ledge arriving at the first belay. I am hot, sweaty and pumped!
Building a beautiful 3 nut belay I employ the ‘OFF BELAY’ call as is popular with the team.
Psyched, but feeling fatigued and pumped already, I’m a little nervous about the next pitch as I’m feeling tired resting in a semi-hanging stance as I watch the others.
Cass seconds and finds some of the climbing tough, and tells me brilliant plan of hauling the now quite heavy day pack.
Using her end of the rope I expertly drop it to Carmen and she secures the pack.
Having used all of my ATC, grigri, prusik, ascender (we agreed to each always have an ATC, 2x prusiks, ascender and grigri on the harness at all times, you never know) already, I employ my micro-traction to great effect and Cass and I haul the bag up. Too easy.
A Pennycott cruise boat spies us and waves as we look across Fortescue bay through the gap. Kayakers also saunter through.
Pitch two (17)
The next pitch looks more pure crack style. The crack gloves were employed and earnt their scratches as I battled up a short steep section followed by a much longer, steady groove pointed by cracks.
Like the first pitch, I use the gear well trying to space it but putting a comfortable amount of placements in.
I’d already almost placed the full double (up to size 2) in the previous pitch and this one was no different. Even using the friend 4. Felt like a steady HVS.
I scope out the loose vegetated belay ledge which gives me the first real taste of sun for the day.
After carefully rigging the belay off a sling and a bomber nut, I perch myself able to watch the others and avoid dislodging a rather large boulder.
They follow. We haul the bag like routine. Shades on, cameras out. I’m already feeling a great wave of relief climbing wise, knowing we are past the hardest climbing and Cass has joined me.
She feeds me water and snacks after we haul the bag as I belay Carmen up.
Pitch three
After a little debate about a chimney squeeze described in the guidebook I set off p3, the OG route. Ascending a corner, I dive over loose blocks, take my helmet off and am swallowed by the chimney. Hilarious and just the type of dolerite trad bumbling I’d practiced.
There’s some more climbing to be done and I head up a wall and corner before building a belay on ‘thank Christ Ledge’ so named after a flying fox landing on it back in the 70s.
After some lateral thinking, the bag is hauled around the cave, and we all settle on the platform.
I set off on the final pitch after we all excitingly agreed we have time to visit the summit.
The start is steep but eases into VS face and crack climbing, leading to the tat we’ll use to ab off.
Cass joins. Carmen joins. Cass drags us from our rope chores and we all summit. Enjoying the sunny views and getting a couple team shots, we leave the summit as I spot a skink running around the hot rocks.
I postulate surely we can make the ab with a single half given the pitch described is only 20m.
I find myself almost at the belay, ‘SHORT!’ only by about 1.5m but the others don’t hear. So as any decent climber would, I abseil off the end of the ropes. I found a way to safely lower myself onto the deck.
A quick phonecall is made to warn the others. I give Cass a spot as she abs off the rope ends, but Carmen cleverly doesn’t need spotting as her extended abseil sling sees her to the floor.
Tyrolean #2
We set ourselves again at the bolts and Carmen makes the final adjustments and tightens the tyrolean.
I take one for the team and go first, clipped onto the taught 40m of the original 70m Ab rope, lowering myself out on the line using one of the 50m halves.
Bloody hell. The scariest bit of the day, dangling in space c80m above the gap, within touching distance of the tote. Wild.
I’m cautious and lower slowly pushing myself further into the bow of the line and stop a couple of times. I don’t require much hauling up to the chains as the rope is so taut and eventually I free myself to the original ledge with the ringbolts. Phew.
Cass follows, but finds herself suspended above the ledge. We get carmen to de-tension the line and Cass is free.
We then set about the reversal of the tyrolean and retrieval set up, retensioning using a tied on half rope.
Carmen lowers herself out using the third rope, at least until 25m where she then abs off the end of it, suspended halfway across attached to the other ropes. In highliner style she pulls herself across and we are all back safely.
My ropes kiss the side of the tote and require a wee pull off it as we retrieve them. What an honour for the ropes.
The 70m comes surprisingly. We joyfully pack up and set about our march back to camp. It’s about 1800.
Around 14 hours round trip, camp to camp. Things went to plan.
We drink water, tea and inhale pizza at Cass’s, watching old youtube clips from an old ‘doco’ on the Candlestick; and buzz out excitement each time someone enters and asks about our day.
I drag myself away, head home for a beer and a shower, before the next full working day. A pilgramage back for the Tote, will be a must.
Leave a Reply