On the day before we began The Overland Trail in Tasmania, a sudden snow-storm caught a couple of day-hikers out. The morning had started bright and sunny, and they’d not been kitted out for the unpredictable weather. Members of a well-prepared overland group spotted the delirious day-hikers wandering around in the blizzard and made them shelter in an old hut. They fed the men and warmed them up in sleeping bags. One was not even aware he’d lost a shoe and had been staggering around bare-footed. His foot and lower leg were frost-bitten.
Our first day out was one of those rare blue-sky days. A white carpet covered the high plains. On our approach toward the jagged peaks of Cradle Mountain, we breathed in the fresh mountain air and walked past pools sheeted over with crinkled ice. The mountain landscape was remote and surreal. It was one of those days that justifies the frequent trudges through rain and sleet that often go with hiking.
My tent became an igloo that first night. But I’d saved myself from a noisy night in the hiking hut. The rustlings and footsteps – as fellow hikers make nocturnal toilet visits – wake us lighter sleepers up. Further disturbance comes from the regular crinkle of certain brands of sleeping mats whenever their owners roll in their sleep. I was toasty warm in my down expedition sleeping bag purchased years ago from a second-hand shop in Katmandu. My first inkling of the snowfall was when I put my hand out the tent flap to find my jetboil stove to make coffee. The ground surface felt soft. In my early morning stupor, I thought – that’s strange, didn’t I set up camp on a wood platform? Then I registered the cold and realised the platform was inches deep in fresh powder.
I shook most of the snow off my tent and only then remembered to take a photo. The snow continued to fall during my pack-up, definitely preferable to rain but my fingers froze. In the shelter of the forest, it came down soft and light. Later, it blew hard sideways as we hiked across the open plains. We followed the track through the deep snow blazed by yesterday’s hikers. Warm inside our protective clothing, we laughed and joked whenever we were forced to stop to re-find the trail. Everyone fell over, mostly into soft snowdrifts, but nobody was seriously injured. The knowledge of a hut to shelter in up ahead was enough to keep us motivated.
Any time of year, conditions on the Overland Trail can turn severe. We took the risk of a week of bleak weather when we chose to hike in September before the official season opened. This time, luck was with us. The snow blizzard only lasted a day, enough to give us a taste of how severe conditions can be. After that, the sky cleared and a dry, sunny day awaited us every morning. On the last day as we hiked along the edge of Lake St Clair, a massive storm developed in the valley behind us, the thunderclaps reverberating along the lake shores. By the time it broke, we’d arrived at park headquarters and were seated at the bar with our beers already poured.