snow | Natureloverswalks

April 17, 2021May 14, 2021

Lady Lake in snow 2021 Apr

To overnight it at Lady Lake had not exactly been our number one choice, but with further west promising rain if we were down low, and blizzards if up high, Lady Lake looked as if it were a more benign alternative, so we settled on it as our destination. Camping had been on our agenda for this weekend for months. It was the first weekend of the school holidays for the end of Term 1.

Off we set up Higgs track, through beautiful lush forest

As we donned our packs, the drizzle was only light. I knew the forest would protect us, and it did. Two of us were wearing shorts. It was not cold down there. Nobody bothered with anoraks. Up we climbed. It was not far at all but it was very, very steep, so that once you factored that into the equation, it was a very demanding slope for young Abby (5). I thought it could take her two hours, and it nearly did.

At some stage in there, Abby needed a lolly break – she was doing all the walking herself, and enjoys lolly treats as motivation. The pace had been pretty slow, and Keith had mercy on Kirsten, Gus and me and said we could go on a bit faster and he would stay with Abby. We were thankful. On we pushed at a more comfortable speed.

Gus (9) moves at a pace that is very reasonable, especially if I am carrying a full pack, which, of course, I was doing right now. He carries some gear, but his noble parents take the lion’s share of the weight. Their packs are ginormous, as both parents are keen to cater for every emergency a child might experience, and then a bit more. They also fear the children might need to eat twice their normal amount with all that exercise, and cater accordingly.
The forest had been magic right from the start – it is exceptionally lush forest – but when light drizzle morphed into gently falling snowflakes, it became totally entrancing. All three of us were very, very excited, and shared our joy as we climbed ever higher.

To have a quick break and to motivate Gus, I got out the map to show him how far he’d come, and how much was left. We were all pleased with our progress up the slope. I told him the forest type would be changing very soon, and indeed it did. The beautiful green moss with myrtles gradually ceded to drier traditional bush. It became much lighter as the darkness of the dense forest lingered behind us. We would soon be above the tree line. Gus and Kirsten were still in shorts. Even by now, the elements did not invite stopping to change: it was much better to go at a fast pace to some shelter than to linger in what was now a storm and peel off clothes to put on warmer ones.

Bash. We hit the open plains. Whoah. Blizzard it was! The wind-driven arrows of ice pierced our faces. Heads retreated into our chests. Every time I tried to look up to see where we were going, I got mightily stung, sometimes in the eye. I could hear poor darling Gus whimpering. We offered words of encouragement, and Kirsten took his hand, partly for security and comfort, partly for guidance. She led with one hand held behind her, to reach him. I came in third, glad I didn’t have to guide us. Even staying on the boards that were on top was difficult. We were on a mission to get Gussy across this open wind tunnel and into the protection of the trees beyond.

Once there, things were better, and soon we came to the small hut that is up there. It is unheated, but being out of the wind would be a huge benefit. Later, a tent would be pitched for extra warmth, but having the hut to get changed in, and eat in, would be a massive bonus. We also used it to do repeated “7-minute workouts” during the afternoon to keep warm, with a final one just before going to bed to make sure we were nice and warm getting into our bags.

Kirsten quickly popped on her over-trousers, and some extra warm gear for Abby, and ran backwards to help Keith. I was there to help young Gus get out of his wet shorts and into his thermals and puffer jacket. He was incapable of even getting his shoes off, he was so cold. His hands lacked strength. I undid his laces and tugged with all my might, and eventually we got them off. I popped him into his ski gloves and beanie while I removed more wet clothes and replaced them with dry. That achieved, I got out food and sat him at the table to eat. Now he was smiling again. By the time he had finished his cheese and bacon roll, Abby and her parents appeared. Although she was surely cold, she seemed in exceptionally good spirits. Soon enough, they were all devouring hot noodles which raised the body temperature.

The children had had enough snow by then, but Kirsten and I wanted more exercise, so off we set into the blizzard once the children were happily playing games with their dad. We had no special destination, but after exploring Lady Lake, we decided to go in the direction of Lake Lucy Long. The more the snow fell, the prettier our scenery became.

By the time we got back, the bit of light that existed was starting to get close-of-day hues. Unfortunately at this point, I needed the toilet. The toilet at this hut is very well hidden, but I found it. Kirsten offered to go to the hut to get paper and bring it to me, for there wouldn’t be paper provided. Ever sat on a toilet in a blizzard waiting for paper? Oh it’s such fun!!! The outhouse has only three sides, and those sides are more screens for privacy than walls of protection. The snow lashed me while I waited, bare skin exposed.

I forgot my discomfort quickly, however, as the evening was growing more beautiful every second, and I wandered about the open plains with my tripod and camera, enjoying the light and photographing it.

That evening, we could tell Abby needed the toilet, but she refused to admit to her need. She did NOT want to go out there into the howling wind and beating snow. Somehow her parents convinced her that if she had an accident in her sleeping bag she would be very cold and uncomfortable. She heeded the advice. We made her a hot water bottle, and she went into the tent with her mum. We didn’t hear another peep out of her. Everybody slept very soundly. I hugged my water bottle, my body heat enhanced by our final 7-minute workout.

Dawn was magic, as my photographs testify. I was so thrilled that Gussy came out to enjoy it too. His Poppa would have been proud of him. Bruce enjoyed sunrise and sunset with me without fail, often waking me up if he feared I might be about to miss it. After breakfast, we had snow fights and more photography before girding our loins and setting off into the area of greatest exposure. Luckily for our speed and her safety, Abby agreed to being carried until the forest section began.

After I got home, I had maybe the longest hottest shower I have ever had. I hadn’t felt particularly cold out there, but I guess the blizzardy, exposed section took more out of me than I realised. Back near the cars, I heard two people going up the slope talking about “what a cute, amazing little trooper”. It made me assess what tiny Abby had done from their eyes: it was a pretty amazing effort. I hope she remembers it with glee.
For summer views, see http://www.natureloverswalks.com/higgs-track-lady-lake/

September 5, 2020June 27, 2022

Wellington winter 2020

I had always wanted to climb Mt Wellington / kunanyi in the dark in winter with snow and photograph the dawn from on top, but never quite got around to it. I just needed a gentle shove.

This seemed to come in the form of my daughter giving me the encouragement I needed to set my alarm and just do it. I decided this was indeed the perfect opportunity: the snow was perfect; it was going to be a nice day. If I found an excuse this time, I would never do it.

It really helped that I’d climbed up the day before and had a glorious time on high. I knew the conditions of the track – I would definitely need my boot chains to prevent slipping on the ice. I knew the general layout, so felt confident. Once you’ve done it even one time, the rest is easy.

So, there I was an hour and a half before sunrise, headtorch in place, taking my first steps on the white, icy track. I felt exhilarated. Who knows what the temperature was – obviously below zero, but I neither knew nor cared how far below. The climb would keep me warm, and then the dawn would excite me, so I wouldn’t feel cold. I had three pairs of gloves on board just in case my fingers started dropping off while shooting.

My headtorch lit the tiny icicles, so that it was as if I were climbing into the stars: stars below and above and white-coated branches all around; just me and nature and serenity. I had no company, so could just go at my happy pace, which was a brisk and purposeful one.

One hour after setting out I took my first shots of the city twinkling below me, white snow in front, the sky still dark but with a very bright orange glow on the horizon. I was at this stage only about five minutes from the summit, so took a quick shot or few before moving on. I was in plenty of time for the first beautiful light (seen above), and with masses of time to spare before actual sunrise (which interests me less than the pre-appearance colours. Given that I had plenty of time at this stage, I also took a shot or two of the full moon in the west, setting as the sun rose out the other side, before choosing my location for the main photos.

I had climbed alone, but there was another guy there who must have left earlier than I did. He was taking selfies off to my left, and apart from that, I had the world to myself.
And do you want to know something funny? I sent my two daughters a phone pic after I had done all the real shooting. It said: “My view, now”. I received back from my firstborn daughter a message that said “My view, now” – easily recognisable as the beautiful dolerite columns of South Wellington. We used our phones to meet each other and walk down the slope together.
That morning when she was running in the dark with friends, they said they’d drop her off if she wanted to run up the mountain and see if she could find me, so she took up their offer. This day is both a very happy and a poignantly sad day for me: it is young Gus’s birthday, but it is also Bruce and my wedding anniversary. Life and the memories of a beautiful marriage entwined in the same day. If Bruce were alive, he would be delighted that the morning was spent in this way, although he would not have tolerated being left out! He would have loved to climb up in the dark with me. We have climbed so many mountains together to watch the dawn from on top, but now I have to climb alone.

August 25, 2017July 27, 2018

Legges Tor 2017 Aug

Legges Tor 20 August 2017.

Does going to a place at roughly the same time two years in a row turn it into an annual event? I hope so, ’cause I’d really like to think of our winter summit of Ben Lomond (Legges Tor, as the particular high point on that massif is known) as a yearly occurrence.

It feels so high up there. You are on Tasmania’s second highest point, and you can somehow feel it – which is good, as each time we do it, we can see nothing much beyond the nearest boulder. You sense your height, your exposure to the elements, the fact that there is nothing of your height anywhere to the perceptible east or west. If you drew a line due west, the first point as high as you would be in Argentina. If you drew it east, it would be Chile. Directly south, there is nothing, and directly north, … well, I am still chasing that one.

Kosciusko is one degree further east, so you would bypass it, and proceed north, I can only assume until you hit New Guinea. You may have to get to Russia before you get something as high, and even then, I am not sure of exactly what. I am still trying to find out. Work in progress. If I get some knowledgeable information, I’ll update this post. I’d love to have this exact, as it greatly interests me. Google isn’t being very helpful. The point is not that Legges Tor is a whopper in terms of height, but that it is exposed to the elements up there, and the prevailing winds coming in from the west are unhindered in their path from America to us.

And the real point is that summitting it in winter is jolly good fun!

August 20, 2017July 29, 2018

Walls of Jerusalem 2017 Aug Snow

Walls of Jerusalem in Snow. 19 August 2017

We have been to the Walls a few times in winter, in glorious snow, but never have we seen it as tantalisingly lovely as it was this time. We encountered snow well below Trappers Hut (which is normally our snowline), and were in a fairy-wonderland long before we reached that cute little rest point.

If you think that pack of his looks huge and I am a mean wife making him carry so much, please be reassured: my pack was much heavier than his, and I had the shared-type items for the two of us. I have taken huge measures to make myself stronger as he becomes weaker so we can both keep going.
My husband had indicated after last week’s successful foray into white wonder that he felt he was up to a weekend walk to the Walls, so we acted accordingly. However, Parkinson’s is a fickle disease: this week you can be fine (relatively speaking), yet next week, you’ve gone distressingly downhill. This week was not a good week, and he struggled badly. The further we penetrated into the white wilderness, the less coordinated he became. His pace slowed to a virtual halt.

I got very embarrassed, as we were holding the others up dreadfully, so, at lunchtime, I regrettably pulled the pin and took us out, waving wanly as the others headed off to Herods Gates and where I wanted to be.

We began our path downhill, the weather making my decision easier to bear, as the clouds were amassing. My husband’s spirits picked up considerably as we descended, and we had a happy afternoon, figuring we’d managed to be in the beautiful snow for the best part of the day anyway. However, as we walked before lunch, I knew I was looking at my husband climbing in snow with a proper pack on his back for the last time. We have had many sad “last times” since his illness has taken control of him, but this is one of the worst, even though it is not unexpected. At least he can still do daywalks in the snow. For now.

August 22, 2016August 20, 2018

Cradle Mountain 2016 Aug Snow camping

Cradle Mountain, camping in the snow.

If you have been following this blog, you will know that I have been trying to get out snow camping almost every weekend since I returned from Europe, but that something has always come up to prevent it. At last this weekend I got my wish. Angela had time free and wanted an adventure; snow was predicted: we were off. Initially we were (we thought) going to climb Blue Peaks and be on the Western Tiers, but road access problems meant that we had to choose the Cradle area in order to get both an open road and snow. I wasn’t sad. I love this place, and don’t always need to be somewhere new.

We were both feeling a bit out of practice at Tassie-style snow work, so I also enjoyed being in an area that offered us plenty of dramatic snow and yet was only a couple of hours from the lodge, so somehow that felt less remote if anything went wrong. It was good to have a chance to refine our methodology and test some of our new gear here before committing ourselves to the really deep wild wilderness. Mind you, during the night, with the wind howling and the tent making explosive whiplash noises, I didn’t feel so terribly secure, and kept wondering if I’d survive if the tent broke in one of these furious gusts. Plenty of people have died within five kilometres of Cradle, so it didn’t feel particularly wussy during the night.

I am “naturelover”, so it goes without saying that I love nature: this does not mean some National Parks attenuated idea of nature, some metre-wide levelled out highway through what is dubbed wilderness for the sake of city tourists, but which is tamed with infrastructure to defang it for timid human toleration. I am not against the existence of such tracks – everyone begins somewhere, and my love of extended bushwalking began with the Overland Track, and it serves a need either as a beginning point, or even an ultimate achievement for many people. However, I think if we really want to meet nature in its supreme form, we need to expose ourselves to some of its less “pretty” and comfortable aspects. A snow storm in winter is one such.

Robert Macfarlane in The Wild Places, a book searching for wild locations in Britain, spends a night in midwinter on a Lake District mountain exposing himself to the fury of a storm in order to experience and appreciate nature’s unleashed force. When I read his book (which I loved) I felt so sorry for the people of the British Isles, that there were so few places where they could experience the might of undiminished nature. We are somewhat spoiled in Tasmania to have reasonably easy access to abundant places that satisfy this longing – but we need to be wary. People who only see nature as the means for making money and who wish to thus subject nature to their concept of what tourists want and who are willing to sacrifice what they neither know nor understand to the great god of dollar are encroaching on the wildness and wilderness we have left and are chomping bits out of it at an alarming rate.

Many, many Tasmanians mourn the loss of the access to wilderness that we used to enjoy in our own national parks as our old freedoms are removed with each new development, for the most part brought in to allow better management of visiting tourists rather than any motive of caring for the land. Our love of this land is being ignored. Our attachment to the land, our sense of spirituality that comes from being in infinite space and beauty, and our culture of camping and walking in it are treated as nugatory. Of course the tourist industry has myriad excellent features, but that does not mean we allow it to run out of control so that the only wild thing left in our state is that government department. Like alcohol, tourism should be used in moderation. I would love to live in a land where values other than money ruled our ethos and regulations. I fear this worship of money above all other values will ultimately bring about the collapse of western civilisation as we know it, for it is fast running out of control in a destructive solipsistic spiral. The object so valued because it can bring so much can also be the object of demise when not controlled.

I thought of Robert Macfarlane during the night of not-all-that-much sleep, and pondered such issues. We cannot respect nature if we don’t know what it is, and if we fail to respect it, we will harm this beautiful earth beyond repair.

For those who have not tried snow camping, but who are already thinking they want to take this step, I will tell you what we wore to bed. One size does not fit all. We are both small, lean females who feel the cold. Our needs will probably not be felt by those with more padding, and will not suffice those with less. This is what I had on to survive the night, and Angela’s story is similar. On my head I had a silk balaclava, an icebreaker buff and the hood of my Arcteryx jacket (as well as the hood of my bag). On my upper body, I had an icebreaker singlet, a long-sleeved thermal top, an icebreaker T-shirt and a cosy Arcteryx jacket, as well as the warmth from my sea-to-summit SpIII goosedown bag (850 loft, 400g fill). My hands were warmed by possum gloves. On my legs, I had thermal longs (over woollen knickers), orienteering pants, another pair of icebreaker wooden long tights and the bag. On my feet I had woolly socks (two pairs would have been nice). Over all of that, I had an SOL bivvy bag (which adds five degrees to what you can tolerate), and over that, my trusty tent. The temperature difference between the other side of that flimsy wall and the protected inside was easy to note. I also had my Goretex jacket spread over my feet area. In my pillow bag, I had another jacket should I need it, and another thermal, but I felt fine. We both used four-season mats. I also had a carpet underlay.

My knees were sometimes a little cold during the night, but as long as the temperature didn’t drop any further, I was fine as I was, and didn’t pull out my reserve gear. I was absolutely definite that I was NOT getting out of that bag to go to the toilet, which I unfortunately needed to do from about 9 p.m. until 7 a.m., but there are some bodily needs that just have to be taught their place. Angela likewise refused her body this request.

Dismantling the tents was probably the least enjoyable part of our excursion, but once we were underway walking again, the pain in our hands soon eased, and I was left wondering exactly how slippery the steep part of the Face Track descent would be. We chose that route as it is the least exposed in our opinion, but still could be challenging in icy conditions where the steel chain is frozen over and the land drops dramatically away over rock that has few vertical holds. We were both carrying minispikes just in case, but, on this occasion, the powdery snow had not melted to make slippery ice, so all was well. And meanwhile, the sight of gums drooping with icy mantels, of filigree branchlets capped in a delicate white covering, of wombats caught unawares whilst burrowing in snow all thrilled me as I scanned the landscape for signs of where a track might be when not masquerading incognito as bland white wilderness. The powdery snow made a delicate sort of squeaking sound as our feet compressed its mass. I wish I could have taken more photos, but I was far too cold, and was having trouble with my camera lens clouding over in these conditions.