29 January 2006

The early start. Alarm goes off 4.40am. Disbelief. Remember: 6am breakfast before early start for Kosciuszko summit. The heavy downpour the night before means wet boots, but other clothing OK after a night in the drying room. Over porridge hear about Sheila and Bill Walker finding their bed and bedding soaked after leaving their sliding window open yesterday. (Silly building without eaves on the weather side.) Lovely washed day after the rain, with birds rejoicing. Kangaroo grass in the neighbouring paddock glowing apricot in the early morning sun.

Thredbo Village and the chair lift. At Thredbo soon after 8am. Bus will be there all day for anyone wanting to come back early. Patient David the bus driver, always ready to help the halt, the lame and the blind. Walk to the chairlift - scooped up alongside Walter and Maida Stern, float gently up the hillside in the quietness. Feels like the dawning of the world.

back down at the bottom by 3.30 this afternoon”, Dick says. Most head away up the track to the summit. I’m not going planning to get anywhere much, and certainly not fast. It’s a mosaic landscape. A textured pattern of granite outcrops, speckled creek beds, complex plant communities, and sphagnum bogs. Greys and greens, with spots of colour from the flowers and bright moss. The metal grid walkway which starts above the chairlift area has put an end to the earlier ditch erosion. Today the wildflowers and small shrubs not only grow thickly alongside the walkway, they push up through the grid, clipped back by the steady foot traffic.

The crowd. And the traffic is certainly steady. I potter with my hand lens and camera, often bent low, and numerous walkers stride past up the hill. Lots of puffing. It’s getting hot. European accents, Australian accents, and a couple of Asian accents. I’m silently bemused by all the bare skin, lack of cold weather clothing, apparent lack of water bottles. (Stupid.) No doubt they’re bemused by this silly old bat with a backpack and a badge, wearing a straw hat and a flynet, long pants and long sleeves.

The plants. The plants are a constant delight, even when they’re not flowering. Really exciting to see the first silver leaves of Kosciuszko Pineapple Grass gleaming through the Spreading Rope Rush. Then the special Mountain Gentians right alongside the metal walkway, perfectly backlit for the camera shot. Several damp bogs, one with frogs croaking, displaying the bright green sphagnum moss. Higher up, near the first lookout, some bogs and watercourses are drying up, displaying cracked mud surfaces.

Lunch. Lunch at the lookout, surrounded by granite boulders, snow daisies and tough ground-hugging alpine shrubs. It’s taken me over three hours to get this far, but concentrating on the micro scene has been endlessly fascinating. Nowhere near as many insects as the Mt Buffalo grassy areas (except for the voracious March flies). Now it’s time to enjoy the macro scene, eating my sandwiches. Unbelievably clear air, with walkers heading for the summit strung out across the high valley ahead like tiny coloured ants. Big fluffy cumulus clouds starting to build up behind the granite outcrops to the right. (God’s gift to the landscape photographer.)

Down. The 3km walk back down from the lookout takes an hour. Always more to stop for. Walkers still coming up, still without much clothing, and those clouds now look threatening rather than photogenic. At the top of the chairlift, after a welcome visit to the loo, I stagger into the cafe desperate for a coffee. Firmly deterred by Helen Langley, who points to the approaching clouds and warns that the chairlift STOPS at the first flash of lightning. Do I really want to walk all the way down? After all, there is a coffee shop at the bottom.....

Back at Thredbo. Back in the Thredbo shopping mall, a number of familiar faces already at the coffee shop tables, with huge sinful iced coffees all the go. I succumb. Bliss. Do I care that I didn’t get to the summit? Not one jot. I’ve had a marvellous day. Thanks to Dick, John, Helen, Rob and the rest of the ANN organisers, slow folk like me who can’t go far get as much from each outing as the fit people. Being here is what matters.

A final treat.. One final treat on our way home. An adult emu plus a young one feed unperturbed at the side of the road, while bus slows to a stop. There’s a pair of sculptured bronze emus back at the Thredbo shops. The wild ones are better.

Rosalind Smallwood.

L: Snow Daisy. 1980.
R: Mountain Celery. 1994.