I’ve been off-line lately whilst we’ve been on holiday. Not that I would call what we’ve done ‘relaxing’. Far from it. But we completed something that we’ve always wanted to do: the Cradle Mountain – Lake St Clair Overland Track in Tasmania.
Let’s show the kids a bit of Tassie they wouldn’t otherwise see, we thought. And do it before we’re too old. Sixty-five kilometres in six days, we can do that.
It’ll be cold, everyone said.
Yeah, we know, we said. We’re from Tassie. And, it is summer.
I admit this publicly here and now: in the fourteen years since we’d left Tasmania, I’d forgotten just how changeable the Tasmanian weather can be, even in summer. I’d also forgotten how cold it can get, even in summer. I’d forgotten how blustery the winds can be, even in summer, and how much mud there is, even in summer. Part of the reason I’m writing this post is so that I will never forget it again …
We bought most of the gear on the list – we won’t need a second set of thermals, I thought – and packed our bags and flew southeast. The weather was terrific on the morning the bus picked us up – blue sky, fluffy white clouds – and we climbed aboard in shorts and t-shirts, excited and chatty and looking forward to our adventure.
As we neared the mountains, the air cooled. By the time we disembarked at Dove Lake, I had already donned my fleece and waterproof jacket, beanie and mittens, and was telling myself, Surely, it won’t get any colder. It is summer, after all …
We set off as the wind gusted and a light drizzle started. Minutes later, the wind was a howling gale, and the rain was starting to soak our clothes. We scrambled up the mountain, hand-over-hand up the chain, and into the cloud. At Marion’s Lookout, we could only see mist and fog as the rain and wind stung our faces. Already, #2 child ahead of me was crying and loudly asking to return home, and #4 child directly behind me was sobbing quietly to himself.
‘It’s okay,’ I said, in my most encouraging and motivational voice. ‘Just keep moving. We’ll get there.’
But as I spoke, fingers numb and the cold whipping straight through my jacket and thermals, doubts about our decision crept in. Still, I held myself together as we trudged over the moors, and kept repeating my mantra to the crying children: ‘Come on. Nearly there …’
The rain became horizontal. And frozen. And pricked our cheeks.
Trudge. Trudge.
The kids ahead and behind continued crying.
By the time we reached our first stop – Kitchen Hut – only a couple of hours into the walk, I was wetter and colder than I ever remember feeling. We stepped inside, amongst the heat of about twenty other cold, wet bodies crammed against each other. My fingers were numb and swollen and unable to move — we were meant to eat lunch but I didn’t know how I was going to pick mine up.
The two kids were still crying and when a third looked at me with tears about to spill, I said, ‘Don’t,’ and shook my head. ‘I can’t cope if anyone else cries.’ She pulled herself straighter and I patted her arm.
I was wet and cold, and unable to get warm. All I wanted to do was to think about me — look after myself, get myself warm — but I had four hypothermic children that I’d brought with me. I did briefly wonder if the same rule applied here as on planes – that you put your own oxygen mask on before attending to your child’s – and if I’d be forgiven for neglecting my kids while I warmed myself up.
Someone wrapped my daughter in a thermal blanket and handed a dry thermal to my son.
‘I want to go home,’ cried Daughter #2.
‘So do I,’ I said.
I was beginning to worry that we were all about to perish. Truly. Just get to camp, I thought. And we’ll work out how to get out of here then. Luckily, I had no idea how much further we had to trek in that cold wind and horizontal rain.
‘I have water in my boots,’ I said to one of our guides.
‘Oh, a foot spa!’ she said.
I think my body language gave away what I thought of her foot spa.
We made it to camp and set up our tents, fingers frozen, feet numb, as it rained and howled around us. I crawled inside the tent – cold, wet, exhausted – and bawled. I didn’t care who heard. I just cried. I didn’t think I could keep going. Five more days of this … I tucked myself into my sleeping bag and, still unable to get warm, lay shivering while the rain drummed against the fly of the tent and the wind hurled through the trees. Normally, I found these sounds comforting, but not that night.
By next morning the rain had settled and a glimpse or two of blue sky shone between the grey clouds.
We packed up our tents, pulled on socks and boots that were stiff with wet and cold, and set off. By the time we reached our next campsite, the clouds were white, the sun was out, and we were dry. And warm! So warm that we’d shed a few thermal layers, and once we’d set up our tents, we slid into bathers and took a dip in Lake Windermere, which reaches a cool 5ºC maximum. About thirty metres off-shore is an island with a book in which you can sign your name. I ran into the water and dived under, did a few strokes, went numb, and climbed out. At least I can say I swam in Lake Windermere. The rest of the family swam to the island and recorded their names.
However, things were looking up and they stayed that way for the remainder of the trip. There was more cold and rain to come, as well as leeches and mud, and the distinctive aroma of the drop-loos, but nothing was as bad as that first day …
We decided this trek had to be viewed as a personal challenge – that was the only way to approach it. To get through it, to be able to say, ‘We did it!’, and look back on it as an achievement. Once we thought of it like that, we enjoyed it – the scenery, the colours, the fauna. Even the weather. For the tougher the trek, the tougher we must be. My husband and elder daughter even added to their challenge by climbing Mt Ossa, the highest peak in Tassie, and they encountered snow!
Despite the complaints and the countdown to the end of the trek, we all felt proud of ourselves at its completion. We proved we were stronger than we thought we were.
Things that were good:
1. The beauty of the landscape. From the majestic mountains that loomed overhead, to the warmth and colour of the trees and the flowers. Spectacular.
2. The variability of the terrain – from rainforest to flat windswept moors; from mud and slush up past your ankles to still dark lakes; from trickling streams to gushing waterfalls.
3. The people. Our guides, the other family who were in our group, and all the people we met on the way who were walking the track at the same time as us — we were all on the same journey, all finding it challenging, chatting briefly as we passed each other, swapping stories, encouraging each other with smiles and laughs — and yes, that horrifying first day often came up.
4. No one fought. No one even got angry. We all knew we needed to band together. How sturdy, stoic, and laid-back Tasmanians are, and how refreshing that down-to-earthedness is.
5. How, when hungry, everything tastes good.
6. Humour – how much it can lift your spirits.
7. How much fresh water there is in Tasmania – lakes and streams and rivers.
8. How close you get to everything when walking and how much more you experience.
9. How truly beautiful nature is, and how perfect is what she has made.
10. How nice it is to be warm!
11. The pride of achieving something, of doing something tough and gruelling, and actually making it.
We did the trek with Tasmanian Expeditions who provided our tents, sleeping bags, back packs, food, etc, and all we had to bring was our personal gear. It made it a lot easier than going it alone.
If anyone is contemplating doing this walk – I’d recommend:
1. Getting in peak fitness!
2. Go prepared — buy that extra set of thermals.
3. Get a pair of good walking boots – ones with thick soles, ankle support, and that are water-proof. Foot spas are highly over-rated.
Wow! I knew where you were going but I too had forgotten the weather, the changeability and the cold, cold, cold that seeps into your bones. I have never done that walk – the one time I went up there to camp, despite having told my companions to bring warm gear, when we arrived it turned out that they thought I was joking….so we drove across the island and camped at Freycinet instead!
Well done – all of you. What a wonderful experience that will stay with you forever as a family!
Yes, it is something that we will NEVER, EVER forget, but not because it was bad. It was hard, but that’s what made it good. Even Daughter #2, who was crying and saying how much she hated it, feels very proud of herself at completing it. I’m so glad we did it. I can say that now. Now that I’m warm …
Such a great experience! The family will never forget. There’s something really good about sticking with a challenge through to the end. Good advice, too, for when we go to Tassie – later this year, I hope. Thanks for sharing.
Thanks, Iris. It is good to stick with a challenge, and it’s true that the bigger the challenge, the greater the sense of achievement. And when you go to Tassie, pack for cold and rain — you can never be too prepared!
Louise what an amazing feat, congratulations to you and your family, I am still in awe about how fit you must have all been. You won’t ever forget this experience and I don’t think your family will let you anyway, I imagine much laughter over the dinner table about the time mum made us trek up this bloody hill called Cradle Mountain. xxxx
What a fantastic family adventure! I’ve visited Cradle Mountain. It’s absolutely beautiful. Your trek certainly provided fodder for a wonderful post. Congratulations.
Cradle Mountain is a truly special place, and you are right: the good thing about being a writer is that no matter how bad an experience is, there’s always an upside — it’s grist for the mill! Thanks for your comments!
What a fantastic thing to have done with your family, Louise. You all got each other through the hard times, but you all enjoyed the good times together! What a wonderful , wonderful experience. And thank you so much for sharing! xx
We did help each other through. I don’t know, Marlish, if you’ve ever experienced something so gruelling that it takes all your mental strength just to keep going and you don’t want to have to think of anyone else — that’s what I felt like on the first day. I was finding it so hard that I didn’t have any mental space left over for anyone else, including my kids. But I had to, at least until we got to camp, when I just let go and let it all hang out, so to speak …
From the position of dryness and warmth where I am now, I can say it was a wonderful experience and I’m so pleased we did it.
Louise I loved reading this – reminds me of so many walks Tassie has to offer – my Dad wants his ashes scattered from Marion Lookout … I have said he best “hurry up” then or I won’t be able to make it….we often have a laugh about “getting in to peak health” after he passes!!!
I love your story! I can understand why your father might want his ashes scattered from there — it’s a beautiful spot where you can feel on top of the whole world (not that we did!). But, he’s not being very considerate to those he leaves behind who have to take him there!
Louise, thank you for sharing so honestly, this incredible adventure. For me, this week long melting pot of experience is a perfect metaphor for life. The best metaphors grow out of personal story.
Beautifully written and presented. Interspersing your words with exquisite photographs of the experience spoke to me of resilience, hope and the strength and joy to be found in nature.
In case you haven’t noticed, I love this post. 🙂
Tricia xx
Thanks for your kind words, Tricia! I took over 400 photos — I didn’t take extra thermals to cut down on weight and bulk, but I had to lug the ‘good’ camera everywhere. It was permanently around my neck and tucked into my raincoat as I scrambled through mud and over rocks. Some condensation did get in, but it dried out okay. It was so worth the extra weight and inconvenience to have all these photographs. And going without the thermals!
Thanks, Rae. You’re right — we won’t ever forget Cradle Mountain. It was tough-going at times, but it’s funny how smooth and happy holidays don’t become a part of the family folklore. Three years’ ago, we were stuck overnight in the train station at Bologna while it was snowing outside — it’s a long story, but it is now told over and over amidst much laughter. I’m sure in years to come, the kids will be telling their kids about the time I forced them to walk the Overland Track …
I’m so impressed. What an amazing experience for your children. xoxo
Thanks, Kristen. It was amazing and I’m glad we pushed ourselves …
What a wonderful experience for you and your family. It sounds an incredibly hard trek, but also had corresponding rewards. Makes weekend attempts on the Bibbulmun Track seem very feeble indeed. Your children will remember this experience for the rest of their lives. Lucky family!
Yes, it did make the Bib Track seem tame! It was hard, but like anything hard, worth it once it’s done. I hope the kids will always remember it — how could they ever forget that cold?
hahaha, you mad woman! How fantastic, though. I remember Tassie in summer at Cradle Mountain, attempting to walk with the wind and the rain blasting at us, then on lower ground, still walking with our heads bent against the wind and I heard this shuffling and there beside me, was a large, wet wombat hurrying to get out of the rain!
Yes, we are quite bonkers sometimes! We certainly don’t choose the easy holiday options. And yes, Tassie summers are very variable. You can get anything from hot sun to snow, and everything in between. I’m glad you saw a wombat, too! They’re quite rare to catch sight of. I love them …