Mount K
Trip Start
Nov 28, 2004
1
48
57
Trip End
Jun 11, 2005
Cooma,
New South Wales,
Australia
Tuesday, February 8, 2005
In Jindabayne, I drop into a small alpine-themed shopping mall and collect some food supplies. And drive from there onwards, back over the dam to reach a place called Charlotte Pass. Another beautified National Park, and I am not really surprised to reach a toll gate where a ranger quotes me the entrance fee. I have no choice really but to pay it. Observing as I do that the price does include the overnight camping fee.
It's 8am and I've got a trek in mind. A seven hour, 18 kilometer hike up and down Mount Kozciuszko. Let's just call it ' Mt K ' like the Aussies do. It's the highest peak on the continent of mainland Australia, at a piffling 2,228m. The highest peak claimed as belonging to Australia is actually Mount Menzies - 3,355 m - in the Australian Antarctic Territory.
Car slotted neatly into a designated space, I dive inside and change into winter clothing. That which I have. In a moderate wind, I forge my way along a compacted path towards the source of the Snowy river. To my right is a long elongated valley of green with heavy brush-strokes of white snow. I can see the peak of Mt K far up ahead of me as I pass trees that have a unique camouflage bark pattern. The path swings right and crosses a stream of clear and refreshing melt water. I sit there on a smooth boulder and crack into one of my hand crafted ham and mustard sandwiches. This is the life.
The path now climbs steeply and passes the Seaman's hut - a solid looking stone built shelter for emergency overnight use. I can see helicopters up ahead and watch them air lifting material in and out of a construction site that sits in a large U shape bend in the climb. The well trampled path is now slippery with ice and either side of it is much deeper snow. The wind adds a further touch of instability on the final rise to the squat obelisk that marks the summit.
One of the other hikers takes my picture as I balance precariously with another whole ham and mustard sandwich clamped in my gob. Almost too breezy to stand upright. I huddle down and finish my lunch. So it's not the most demanding piece of mountaineering, it's a mere 2,228m - but it's some sort of achievement I suppose. Looking down on the hills below that are like the crusts in a toast rack. From this altitude, those crusts are tinged more blue than green. There is a continuous loop that feeds back into Charlotte Pass, where the car is parked. But I decide to go back the same way I came and enjoy a period of shelter in the Seaman's hut.
Once inside it, I read the story of how it came to be. Built as a memorial by the parents of a lad who perished up here in 1928. He was one of small group of skiers. Caught out by the violent weather. Inside are a neat pile of logs and a fireplace on which to burn them. A large axe stands in the scullery. A visitor's book by the door to the hallway. I unpack my Primus stove and boil water with which to make hot coffee. And take in my present surroundings with huge satisfaction. It's starting to blow a gale outside and the door suddenly flies open and two Canadian's come falling into the hut with a German. As I sit there peacefully sipping at my steaming mug of brew. I light the stove again and soon we are all drinking coffee together. They are very grateful as they exit and I stay a while longer, truly not wanting to leave at all. Back at the car, one of those Canadian's take my phone number, expressing an interest in buying the car from me. Mouse comes extra !
Next ; Camping with the aged
