We trudged up the steep track, using our walking poles to balance ourselves as we planted each foot in the deepening snow.  As we reached the ridge line the howling wind hit us full force and we bent over to shield our face from the stinging snow and counter the force of the wind trying to sweep us away.  Step by step through the snow, some drifts more than two feet high, we slowly headed towards our goal – the green emergency igloo-shaped hut vaguely visible through the blizzard.   How did we get ourselves into this dire situation in summer in Australia?  It seems almost impossible to imagine but that’s what you get on the Overland Track in central Tasmania.

The Overland Track is famous – or infamous – for quickly changing weather conditions that can even include heavy snowfalls in the middle of summer.  For a continent that prides itself on hot sun, long beaches and endless inland deserts the idea of snow in summer is somewhat difficult to accept.  We saw the five-day weather forecast for the track before we left and yes, it was forecasting a bit of snow but we were strong, young, keen and experienced.  So bring it on!

Our youngest son Zach has made a modest name for himself as an accomplished solo long distance ultra-light hiker.  What this means is that he carries the absolute minimum amount of equipment and food (including eating only cold food, no cooking) as he walks long distances by himself.  As an example, Zach solo-walked the 1,000 kilometre Bibbulmun Track in Western Australia in only 28 days.  That’s about 36 km, or 23 miles, every day.  His brother Will has also taken up ultra-light hiking and the two of them have some of the finest ultra-light gear money can buy. 

Our son-in-law Carl and I aren’t into the ultra-light scene but we did adopt some of its key features, in particularly a cold food diet with no cooking gear.   The four of us would survive the wilds of Tasmania on cold food, lightweight trail running shoes and the bare minimum of equipment. 

Of course for me the added benefit was to spend such a once-in-a-lifetime adventure with my three boys – an extraordinary opportunity to do the things we love together as a tight-knit team.  Zach was our organiser, team leader and inspiration but together we would smash the Overland Track.  Or at least we hoped so.

On Day Zero we flew into the northern Tasmanian town of Launceston and that night explored the local pubs as we got in some final training for our big hike.  The next morning we were picked up by a transfer bus and driven over two hours to the Visitor Centre at the start of the walk.  During that drive the weather changed from warm blue skies to cold driving rain and after the ranger gave us a number of warnings about the weather we donned our full rain gear, posed for a group photo and headed off on the Overland Track. Putting more than a year’s planning, anticipation and excitement behind us, it was time to hit the trail!

Our original plan was to put up our tents every night and avoid the simple huts where all the soft inexperienced hikers would congregate each night.  These huts and camping spots are spaced conveniently along the trail itself, sometimes separated by small ‘emergency huts’ which can be used for shelter in, well, an emergency.  Hah!

After a steady climb on the first morning we came to our first emergency hut, called Kitchen Hut, where we stood in the rain and had our lunch of nutty energy bars.  Our plan from there was to take the side-track and climb the iconic Cradle Mountain, namesake of the park and must-do mountain of the Overland Track.  At 1,545 metres, about 5,070 feet, it was not the highest mountain on the trail but it was our first major challenge.

As we headed up the mountain’s steep slopes the rain turned to snow and the cold breeze turned into a freezing gale.  Still, onward we climbed, dropping our packs to help us negotiate the huge rock boulders that we had to scramble over.  But as we climbed the weather got worse, the snow and wind biting us hard and the huge rocks became steep and dangerously slippery.  After some discussion we reluctantly we turned around and carefully made our way back to the main trail, rejected by the weather.  If only we’d seen the omen.

The start up Cradle Mountain did not begin well, following the snow poles, no trail, scrambling over slippery rocks, weather closing in

We followed the ridge for sometime, staying below the snowline and enjoying brief glimpses of the panoramic views when the passing clouds granted us our wish.  By late afternoon we dropped off the ridge and down a steep and muddy side-track until we finally reached the Scott Kilvert Hut on the shores of Lake Rodway.  The weather was cold and miserable and we were soaked to the bone, our feet soggy and sore, so we wisely opted to stay in the hut with about seven other hearty hikers. 

Hut life is not for everyone.  While each hut is different they all share a few similar features.  This is communal living at its extreme, a small cold wooden powerless structure, huddling around a meagre coal or gas fire hoping to dry out your socks, eating together on long benches and sleeping shoulder to shoulder on hard wood floors.  Home comforts, privacy, flush toilets and home entertainment are a world away.  We ate our dinner, cold pizza we bought the night before, and were in our sleeping bags with the snorers before 8pm. 

The next morning we woke to a thin blanket of snow covering our hut while thicker snow could be seen on the mountains above us.  Two couples in our hut decided to quit the track and take a lower elevation trail back to civilisation.  Wimps.  We put on our wet socks and shoes, donned our packs and started the steep climb back up to the ridge where we would rejoin the Overland Track.  And as we climbed the snow got deeper and deeper, our feet wetter and colder, and we all came to realise that the real adventure – the part we were hoping to avoid – was about to begin. 

Which brings me back to my first paragraph.  We reached the exposed ridge and were blasted by the stinging cold snow and wind, ducking our head and battling forward through the gale until we finally made the little emergency hut.  This modest little dome-shaped hut provided welcome respite from the elements and gave us a chance to gather our thoughts.  Could we really continue along this track with the trail all but erased by the snow, huge drifts forming across our paths and a biting dangerous wind?

Yes, we hesitantly decided we would cautiously push on to the next emergency hut but hadn’t ruled out turning back if the situation got worse.  We wiggled our toes to check for circulation and were about to leave the hut when the door opened and two sodden but hearty girls joined us. 

Sheena and Anna also wanted to push on but were worried about their safety (weren’t we all!) so we agreed to tackle this next section, which included a long stretch on this exposed ridge, together.  And so we stepped outside and began our trudge across the spine of this mountain range, wind doing everything it could to blow us off the edge. 

Called the Cradle Cirque, this section runs for about 1.5 km (a mile) at about 1,200 metres (3,950 feet) before dropping down into Waterfall Valley.  We stayed together, battled the elements, helped each other, adrenalin racing faster than fear, probably passing our safety limits, until we dropped over the lip of the ridge and bashed through deep snow until we made the Waterfall Valley historic hut.  Phew!

Inside this small hut, first built over 100 years ago, we took off our wet weather gear, had lunch and generally buzzed about our amazing survival skills.  We were now a team of six and after a short break headed back outside, our target Windermere Hut where we hoped to spend the night.

The next few hours we doggedly followed the track when we could find it, or the intermittent snow poles when we could not, sometimes dipping below the snow line, which only meant deeper black oozy mud, occasionally gaining glimpses of this spectacular mountain scenery when the clouds briefly raised their lids. 

We had hoped to take the side-track to Lake Will but that was impossible as the exposed open high plains made us easy target for the driving snow and wind, numbing us to the core.  Eventually we passed the shores of Lake Windermere and shook off the snow before entering Windermere Hut.  We were silently jubilant but utterly exhausted, no high fives or man hugs, just a few words of relief and satisfaction as we got the oil heater going and stripped off our wet clothes.  It had been a heck of a day.

 

Later that afternoon we were joined by another couple from Sydney and an intrepid solo hiker, a core group that would travel together on and off for the next few days, bonded by our common experience.  But what would tomorrow bring?  We couldn’t wait to find out.