I’ve good story to tell about exploring the source of the snowy river. Many years ago, when I had youth on my side, I joined a small band of friends and we set out to hike Kosciuszko’s summit and then trek some of the surrounding peaks over the course of a few days. It sounded reasonable enough, but in those days, and on student budgets, the old style A-frame tents were what we had. They tended to leak and fall down in a decent breeze, leaving the occupants wrapped in wet canvas and struggling to find the exit.
The first day started out well, we tagged the summit and set up camp for the night, but pretty soon the light wind turned into a gale and after a while that turned into a full blizzard with zero visibility and “crawl-only” wind factors upon the ridges. We fought our way down into the valleys looking for shelter, eventually ending up at the snowy river. One team member was sick, so we wanted out of the park, but even with four strong lads linking arms we could not ford the stream pictured here.
We spent a bitter couple of days tent bound and frozen going stir crazy. (I had no Gore-Tex, thermals, mobile phone, or GPS in those days). Finally the weather broke and the river subsided. We trudged across and up to Charlotte Pass village, a distance of only a few meters, feeling soaked and sorry for ourselves that we’d been so close to help the whole time but for that troublesome river. As a final irony, some kind of Olympic training team came running up the track all bright eyed in their white shorts and white T-shirts, smiling from ear to ear at our woe begotten band of misadventurers.
The ranger drove us back to our car at Thredbo and we managed to contact family and explain our absence, so all ended well. Ah the snowy, fond memories, despite the drama.This image is capable of being enlarged to enormous proportions while retaining fine details.