Tennant's treasure

Val's only tip for my quest to uncover long lost bushranging booty on the steep slopes of Mt Tennant is ''to stay away from the landslide which earlier this month left a significant scar on its north face''.

A couple of kilometres down the road, I meet my fellow treasure hunters Dave, Steve and Chris, and with all the enthusiasm of Huckleberry Finn and with the investigative ingenuity of the Hardy Boys, we stride off on the Australian Alps walking track which leads towards the hulking Tennant.

It's not long before talk turns to how we are going to split the treasure. We conjure up all sorts of complicated theories based on who lugs the metal detector for the longest but in the end we agree to split it four ways.

An hour or so huffing and puffing and we reach Cypress Pine Lookout and are perched on the lower slopes of Tennant. We survey the view below which doesn't extend much further than Tuggeranong's southern suburbs and all agree that you'd want to be higher on the mountain to gain a better view of the surrounding countryside.

Near the track, Chris spots an arrow on a rock. It's obviously an old track marker, but Steve and I give it more than a cursory glance, just in case the words ''dig here'' are etched nearby.

Upwards we trudge and soon we pass some walkers on the way down. Not surprisingly they greet us with looks of incredulity. However, on hearing our motives they join in the spirit of our adventure. One of the more mature walkers lets us swipe his backpack and body with our detector to ensure that he ''hasn't beaten us to the bounty''. When checking over his upper leg the metal detector sounds off. ''Aha - it does work,'' he says with a laugh, adding, ''I've got a hip replacement,'' before continuing his descent.

We're not the first to seriously search for Tennant's hidden bounty. For example, founder of The Queanbeyan Age and celebrated storyteller, John Gale recounts in his book Canberra: Its History and Legends about the perilous adventure he undertook in pursuit of Tennant's hideout. While searching for the treasure, Gale fell into a secret cave only to find ''that past decrepid and worn-out wallabies had made this their sepulchre''. The adventurous newspaperman only found his way out of the secret cave via a death-defying crawl along a precipice. No treasure was found (not that he revealed anyway … )

In preparing for this expedition, I've read as much as I can about Tennant, including the comprehensive account of his life by local historian G. A. Mawar, titled, John Tennant - Terror of Argyle (Canberra Historical Journal (New Series #13) March 1984) which reveals that Tennant wasn't your classic bushranger of the gold rush era, rather an escaped convict of who resorted to a life of subsistence crime in the 1820s.

Mawar explains how it is thought that from his hideout on the mountain Tennant kept the road south to the Monaro under observation and often descended on travellers looking for goods to keep him going.

One of Tennant's biggest heists was on November 21, 1827, when he teamed up with some other small-time crims and cleaned out overseer James Ainslie's cottage at Duntroon of all manner of basic provisions. A full description of the stolen goods makes for fascinating reading and includes items such as ''one plain hankerchief, three red shirts, 150lbs of flour, trousers, 1 pair of half boots,'' and most pertinent to our expedition - ''four holey dollars, three spanish dollars and two rupees''.

While fossicking around at the National Library, I also stumbled upon a copy of Tennant's Gold - a children's book penned a couple of decades ago by local writer Richard Begbie. In the book, a group of Tharwa kids (surprisingly none called Val!), while on the trail of Tennant's treasure, inadvertently stumble upon a cattle rustling operation lead by a man they nicknamed ''ratface''. It's a rollicking yarn and although written for a younger audience is a must read for anyone embarking on a walk up Tennant.

Just as we pass the six-kilometre mark and while I'm still mid-way conveying to my fellow fortune seekers the exploits of Begbie's fictional cattle rustlers, as if on cue, we spot a solitary man acting suspiciously ahead. Thankfully, he doesn't have a ''rat face'', but he does seem out-of-place or lost.

He turns out to be Steve (Sarge) Angus from Ballineen, a property wedged up against the back of Tennant, and located just outside the park's boundary. Sarge reveals that he's trying to track down five cattle that went missing after some fences came down during the recent floods. More importantly, he reckons ''one of the old roads to the Monaro went on the north western side of Tennant'' and that it's there we should be focusing our attention. Not sure whether he's leading us on a wild goose chase or trying to give us the slip, we tell him we'll keep an eye out for his cattle and we continue upwards.

We're also left wondering that if an experienced cocky can't find five beefy bovines, what chance have we got uncovering a couple of tiny coins hidden almost two centuries ago?

The final ascent is a tough one. While exploring a small granite outcrop, Steve suddenly shouts with glee - it's his first glimpse of a gang-gang cockatoo. ''I've been in Canberra for almost two years and never before seen one,'' he reveals. Perhaps it's a good luck omen that we're getting closer to the bounty?

We eventually reach the summit which is marked by a fire tower. It's a commanding view in all directions. South are the rugged realms of Namadgi while off to the north-east we can just make out the wind towers perched on the hills around Lake George. ''If Tennant really did have his hideout up here, sure he'd get a good view of the road to the Monaro, but heck, he'd be exhausted scrambling up all the time,'' puffs Steve.

''Little wonder that in the goods he fleeced from Duntroon was a pair of boots,'' says Chris, who recalls reading that Tennant travelled predominantly on foot, rather than by horse.

With afternoon shadows increasing, it's soon time for the long climb back down. Not far below the summit, suddenly the metal detector lets rip with a high pitched ''beep!''

It can't be. Can it?

Clutching the detector tightly, Chris does another sweep of the relatively innocuous ground, and sure enough, there's another beep.

Feverishly we dig.

''You beauty,'' yelps Chris as in his mud encrusted fingers he triumphantly holds a 5c piece. It's dated 2007.

Not wanting to come away empty handed we pocket it anyway.

Having all but given up on finding Tennant's treasure (today at least), the trek down is a quieter affair. Escorted part of the way by a pair of yellow-tailed black cockatoos and with the setting sun splashing the track in golden slivers, if a bushranger, I could think of worse places to hang out. But I guess mid-winter with the wind howling and blizzards prowling on the peaks it might be a different story.

Back at the cars, we're faced with a dilemma. How do you split 5c, four ways? Not able to reach a solution, we decide to leave the coin behind for the next bunch of fortune seekers foolish enough to haul a metal detector up Mt Tennant.

I've chosen to use the more traditional spelling of Mt Tennant rather than its incorrectly gazetted spelling as Mt Tennent. Perhaps Tharwa's 150th celebrations this year could be used as the impetus to officially correct this misspelling?

Mt Tennant: a 15-kilometre return walk (including 800-metre altitude gain) from the Namadgi National Park Visitors Centre (Naas Road, Tharwa). Depending on fitness levels the walk can take anywhere from 4-8 hours, or longer if you are trying to find lost treasure! Ph: the visitor centre on 6207 2900 for more info and a map.

CONTACT TIM

Got a comment on today's stories or an unusual photo? Email: timtheyowieman@bigpond.com or Twitter: @TimYowie or write to me c/o The Canberra Times, 9 Pirie Street, Fyshwick.