To rise then to fall,
Every day has its night;
To be or not to be,
Every hero is in plight...
-A.S. 2014
Climbing a mountain is like baking a really good cake. It requires completing a certain number of steps, tackled with patience and perseverance. Sometimes, it appears to be almost too much effort to be worth the result. Yet somehow, the outcome always makes the undertaking worthwhile. A number of factors influence the difficulty of any ascent, including the terrain, weather conditions and the weight carried.
While I ascended hundreds of peaks during my trek, none were as difficult as the climb up to the summit of Mt Erica. This mountain, was not only my first peak, but also marked the beginning of the sub-alpine Baw Baw Plateau, where I would experience my first taste of winter on my journey.
Perhaps it was unfortunate that the single biggest climb of the AAWT happened to fall on my second day of walking, when my body was still unaccustomed to my monstrous pack, and weighed well in excess of half my body weight. As I hit the lower slopes of the mountain, I did my best to tackle the challenge at a steady pace, for I knew it would last many hours.
As with any long climb, I knew the secret lay in taking little steps. Just like a cyclist shifts back to the lowest gear on a steep slope, I changed my gait, from long strides to a slow shuffle that saw me covering less than a kilometre per hour. I was sweating hard, my breath sucked in with short inhalations. The weight of my pack was forcing me to stop for a rest every half an hour. Each time I started out, the pack got a little harder to swing back on. It was during this ascent that I began to realise the extent of the challenge I have taken on.
As I continued my ascent, I entered a land of giants. The forest around me became dominated by a eucalypt species that stands taller than any other flowering plant in the world. Mountain Ash, or Eucalyptus Regnans, is characterised by a smooth, white trunk, with ribbons of bark often hanging loosely around the base. They shoot straight to the sky, standing aloof from their smaller cousins. Historical records show that the oldest Mountain Ash reached heights in excess of 100m. These ancient giants would have started growing well before first Europeans have landed on the shores of Australia in the 18th century. Sadly, they soon became the victims to the saws of the early loggers, who would cut down the tallest trees to maximise yield for their labour.
The sun climbed past its zenith, and I continued my trudge up the hill. Slowly, a transformation around me began to take place. The temperature cooled as I gained elevation and I soon entered the sub- alpine zone, marked by the appearance of the hardy Snowgums (Eucalyptus Pauciflora). These trees are true survivors, existing where no other trees grow, above the winter snowline. At this elevation, they need to survive fearsome blizzards, sub zero temperatures and minimal sunlight, their trunks often twisted into fantastical shapes by the bitter winds.
It wasn’t long after the snowgums appeared that I spotted my first patches of snow, at around 1200m. The snow surprised me. I did not expect to encounter it till I was at a higher elevation. Having left the snowshoes out of my kit, I could only hope that the snow wouldn’t get too deep higher up. As I continued my ascent, the patches become larger and thicker, until the ground was evenly blanketed in white.
In the deepest drifts, I was sinking up to my knees with every step. Every now and then, I would be able to take a couple of steps on the slightly frozen and compacted surface of the snow before sinking in suddenly and without warning. My progress slowed to a crawl. Underneath the load on my back, I was breathing hard. My shoulders were sore and the muscles in my calves and my lower back were burning from exhaustion. I kept plodding through the snow, losing my balance in the deeper drifts occasionally. Every time I fell, I stayed on the ground for a few seconds to rest before attempting to get back up. I was getting close to the top, but I was spent.
Eventually, the slope started to ease and the wind picked up, indicating that the summit was close. The sound of the wind soon became overpowering. It swayed millions of branches in unison, creating a menacing choir, complimented by the ceaseless scratching of loose bark against tree trunks. A fine mist swirled around the twisted trunks of the snowgums, creating an inhospitable atmosphere. It felt as if I’ve stepped into a different world, a world of wind and ice, where survival was earnt, not a given.
After ten hours of climbing, I finally reached a rustic wooden sign that stated: Mt Erica, 1509m. The views were obscured by the fog and the thicket of snowgums that grew even on the very top. After a celebratory cup of hot tea from my thermos and a few squares of chocolate, I plodded on towards my campsite, feeling every bit like an overweight tortoise.
