peter-robinson wrote:So.... Anybody want to share a story of their first time on the OLT? That could be interesting
Cynthia Bay to Waldheim. Leaving later than preferred, taking for-bloody-ever through that forest by the lake until finally racking into a deserted Echo Point. Getting the stove going and finding a balaclava left behind by some gracious previous inhabitant - it was very useful the next couple of days.
Into Pine Valley, climbing the Acropolis, being overtaken by stormclouds on the summit just as I was lining up my first photo, almost running back down to the hut and just beating the worst of the weather. Scrounging dry kindling on the way up because all the wood and coal down below was saturated so they couldn't get the heater going. Having the hut - with a good fire going in the stove now - all to myself that second night.
Hauling out to Windy Fridge the next day after a quick visit to the Labyrinth (just climbing the Parthenon), in drizzle that turned to sleet that turned into a miniature blizzard. So glad to reach the hut and find dry coal and kindling, even if the stove hadn't been cleaned out. Two youngsters from the north and then a wannabe with a massive pile of brand new gear up from Narcissus arriving to share my lovely fire.
The snow stopping during the night, the sky clearing, the views of a snowtopped Acropolis in moonlight from the old kitchen window . . .
Heading off north before sunrise the next morning, onto a freshly snowed over track, with the occasional line of pawprints - quolls, wombats, possums, an echidna - the only things marring its cleanness. Clear skies and tiny snowdrifts at DuCane Gap, snow on the top of the sign, one of those mornings that feel like the world's been freshly made, just for you.
Waterfalls pumping, two blokes arriving at Hartnett Falls from the Never Never, wading easily through what had looked to me like a raging torrent. Birds everywhere, singing (I could still hear them, then), feeding, darting about.
The sheer beauty of DuCane Hut's setting, with the mountains behind, the trees and shrubs and grasses there, the old dunny. An early finish at Kia Ora, wandering on up the track to pass the time as half a dozen walkers from the north slowly came down to join me there.
Another pre-sun start, out of the hut before anyone else is even stirring. The gardens around the side of Doris, the boulder scramble up to Ossa on a clear bright cold morning, ice on the rim of the pool when I arrived, what seemed the most glorious and expansive view possible anywhere, anywhen, and no-one else around. The boulder hop and scramble to the summit rock in a rising breeze.
Pelion East being too windy to climb right on to the summit, the deep mud on the lower part of the approach track (if you think it's bad now, you should have seen it 15 years ago), a slow easy, satisfied rambling on down to New Pelion, lounging on the veranda in the afternoon sun while the buttongrass glowed gold, wandering down to Douglas Creek for some photos, wishing for the energy to tackle the infamous mud and leeches on the Oakleigh climb . . .
What seemed like an endless slog on to Windermere, first over the slippery, iced cording put in by Dicky Dwyer in his early days around the side of Pelion Plains, or maybe someone before him. (It's all still there, too, and no doubt still as treacherous under frost or ice). Then across Frog Flats and up around the side of Pelion West, past the King Billies next to the track.
Falling in love with Windermere at first sight, the lake, the hut, the fagus, the Native Hens feeding there unconcerned by walkers, the tiny possum trapped in the hut when the last walkers left, the robin who flew in and nearly brained itself trying to get out again. Swimming out to the island, freezing cold water at that time of the year, but still welcome after a sunny day . . .
The sight of Barn Bluff the next day, lurking over Will in much the same way Kunanyi does over Hobart, the crowds at Waterfall Valley, the climb up BB with only the ravens and currawongs for company, the rising wind on the top making me clutch the rocks for fear of being blown off into the lake.
The long, long day after that, with another early start, with cloud starting to follow the wind, around via Scott Kilvert, the Face Track, up to Cradle, with 90% of the daytrippers piking somewhere on the boulder field, taking someone's photo for them while they posed on the summit marker, then down past Wilks, up the shortcut track to Marions, and back to Waterfall Valley in the evening chill.
Walking out the next morning through another storm - wind, almost horizontal rain and sleet with occasional snow flurries, stumbling down the Horse track, walking out through Waldheim wishing I had the money to stop there, walking all the way back along the road to Pencil Pine through the still worsening weather with no-one stopping to give this one poor cold sodden person a ride (*&%$#!).
The wondrous glory of a dry room, a hot shower, and food someone else cooked, after finally making it to the campground. The weather breaking early evening, a still, clear, freezing cold night, stars blazing bright before the moon rose.
Walking out the next morning, with ice crystals three or four inches long growing out of the frozen ground, no wind but still so cold hands were kept tight in pockets, breath frosting the air, another new-minted world.
Naaaah, it was a right *&%$#! of a walk. Not worth remembering at all.