"As the Vikings say..."
Canoeists (with a Bushwalker) conquer Cradle Mountain

By Anne Hartshorn, from "The Hosteller", Spring 1984

Much is written about the trek through Cradle Mountain-Lake St Clair National Park and its numerous visual highlights but to actually experience them is something else ... especially if one goes off the beaten track.

On Monday 2 February 1984 five people, two girls (Nola and Anne) and three guys (Jack, the leader, Colin and Laurie) stood on the shores of Lake St Clair after a nine day "experience" through the park. All except Colin were canoeists in the guise of bushies, having set aside paddle and boat for boots and pack, having to carry water instead of being carried by it. Intermingled with feelings of fatigue and self-satisfaction were memories of vastness (mount- tains and ranges to the horizon in every direction), the silence of this vastness under the stars, duckboards, mud (mud and MUD), march flies, scrub, endurance (and how!), the joys of freeze-dried meals, friendly strangers and strong companionship.

The first five days were relatively orthodox. We all set off cheerily from Melbourne on Saturday 28 January aboard the 9.25 am Fokker Friendship to Devonport. The weather was good and on the flight we were allowed to go in instalments to the cockpit and see Cradle Mountain from the air. At the airport we were met by Denis Maxwell and his coach and driven to Waldheim, where we secured a cabin which had been booked for us by Mr Maxwell

Although feeling tired after the early start (and late night with last minute packing), the various members of the Lewis expedition were not long in doubt of their leader's intentions for them. They were to start as they were to continue. (Nothings changed, ED, 2001) After lunch while Colin went for a long run, (Never seen him run in my life - ED) the remaining crew set off on a day (sorry afternoon) walk which took in the eastern side of Dove Lake via Emergency Hut under the Horn, returning via Kitchen Hut, Marion's Lookout, and Crater Lake. One member's comment" written that night, says it all, "Feel utterly buggered".

After an early start the next morning and a short walk through the forest (and down to the Ranger to pay $10), we ventured forth. Although initially over-cast the clouds cleared enough to enable us to clamber to the top of Cradle Mountain, after dropping our packs at Kitchen Hut. There were good views all round.

Along the track overlooking Fury Gorge came our first hint that this was not to be an average trip. Our intrepid marshal led a dwindled party (Nola and Colin) on a "short-cut" over the range between Benson's Peak and Cradle Mountain, having read that this was "possible" (Still nothings changed! - ED). Laurie and Anne were too tired (or too alert, having read the contours?) unadventurously travelled (to the jeers of some others) the beaten path down to Scott Kilvert Hut, arriving about an hour before dark. There was no sign of the others until some fifteen hours later when their tent was sighted high up the nearby slope. When they finally arrived there were tales of a one hour bush-bash through 100 metres of fagus scrub,(As you get older aren't you supposed to get wiser. Nothings changed! - ED) the pleasures of a thunderstorm which struck just before dark and an almost sleepless night in a tent speedily pitched over bushes and rocks on a thirty degree slope. Somebody wrote in the log book with respect to these three, "As the Vikings say, there must be a harder way". After the trio were revived by, a warm fire and some freshly made pancakes, the reunited group trudged on to Lake Windermere where we camped (much to the delight of the possums).

The next couple of days were normal and involved a "windy, cold, muddy, slippery, long, marshy" walk across Pine Forest Moor; a very cosy night at old but atmospheric Old Pelion Hut; a climb to the top of Mt Ossa (weather and views great); and a night at Kia-Ora Hut (what a tin can!)

This hut was to be our last sign of civilisation ? for quite a few days. We had read that a one day "short-cut" was possible by going directly up to the Labyrinth via Mt Massif and Big Gun Pass, thereby cutting out the extra day taken along the boggy track. However, no clear details were given as to the precise route one should take. About one kilometre down the track to Du Cane Hut we headed "bush". Three days later we arrived at Lake Helios. The intervening days involved the negotiation of a watertall, rock scrambling and climbing, and contouring around fagus and scoparia-covered mountain slopes (acting like monkeys).

On the first night we-had an emergency campsite on the top of the Massif ridge under a marvellous starry sky with a good campfire. The next night we made an emergency campsite on a rock scree slope (near Big Gun Pass) which required structural engineering skills to dig out and stabilise our tent and campfire sites. What an experience! The third ,night we spent (finally, thanks to our real bushie) at Lake Helios, one of the most beautiful spots around but experienced by very few people, crystal clear water, beautiful reflections, and a feeling of being on top of the world, a virtual paradise.

The next day We finally arrived at Lake Elysia after passing many tarn lakes along the way. The Labyrinth is rather spectacular. However, the only greeting we got upon our return from the land of the lost was that given by the insects in successive swarms; first the usual March flies, then little black ants, several hundred squadrons of gnats, followed by and thankfully finaled by killer mosquitoes. Our only escape was into the water.

The next morning (our tenth since setting out from Melbourne) saw us up and off early. We had to catch the 3.30 pm boat from Cynthia Bay and our pace was the fastest of the Whole trip. We made it with time to spare, so lounged around with the March flies, reliving the highlights of our "holiday".

As the Vikings (and others who travel on water) say, "There must be a harder way" - but thank goodness the weather was on our side.