Snowy Mountains field report: Frozen fingers, chaotic camps and pesky possums

Take me back to sleeping above the cloud line…

by April Bradford

Summit some of Australia's tallest mountains? Call that peak content.

In June, seven NSW alpine hopefuls swapped the colourful walls of our home gym, ClimbFit, for the much larger, colder and considerably less forgiving playground of Kosciuszko National Park.

The planned mission was an ambitious multi-day winter traverse covering an estimated 35.9km and 1,846 metres of elevation gain. We would travel on and off track, summit several peaks and camp on the snow for consecutive nights.

I had never done anything quite like it. Neither had most of our group.

I packed a tipple of Fireball, half a kilo of peanut butter and the jumper Wolf Bear Collective had kindly gifted me for the trip.

Field log 01: Pies, possums and poor trail-mix security

Thredbo Diggings started well…

Our drive from Sydney was suspiciously smooth. We didn't need snow chains, which was fantastic news for our budgets. We also didn't need snowshoes… apparently.

More on that later.

A compulsory Goulburn pie stop kept morale high, but finding microspikes proved more difficult. After being counselled on the lack of need for full-blown snowshoes or crampons, we had decided these were a good secondary option.

Four members of the group already had them on hand. One was willing to risk wearing only hiking boots. The remaining two, myself included, were optimistic we'd find something appropriate on the way.

After many phone calls and a search spanning Cooma and Jindabyne, we eventually acquired the final pairs our group needed.

Field note number one: Never assume alpine towns will have alpine gear left when you arrive.

We spent our first night at Thredbo Diggings, where we unpacked our equipment, decided on what we were willing to share to save weight, tested our setups and attempted to look like people who knew exactly what they were doing.

Then the possums arrived.

One of my carefully and nutritionally calculated trail-mix bags disappeared. RIP. Possums scaled the roof of Zac's poor van. Two launched a targeted attack on Seb's tent in the middle of the night and slashed his brand-new Rab sleeping mat, which is less than ideal when that mat is the only thing separating you from several upcoming nights on snow.

He patched it by the light of his headtorch and the wider group had a crack at repairs in the morning. After all, you have to learn to repair what you have, adapt and keep moving.

Possums: 2
Hikers: 0

Field log 02: Knee-deep from Dead Horse Gap

We started from Dead Horse Gap under clear skies, fully loaded with enormous packs, ice axes, except in the case of our ultralight expert Andrew, and enough equipment to make the nearby day hikers wonder whether they had severely misunderstood the conditions.

For a brief moment, we looked very prepared.

As we climbed, scattered patches of snow appeared. I admittedly took excited photos of them, unsure whether the conditions would improve.

Spoiler: They did.

Before long, the landscape had transformed into a full winter playground. We practised self-arrests, slid down a slope on a rolled-up mat/sled kindly supplied by expedition leader Scott and generally behaved like people seeing snow for the first time. Or at least for the first time that year.

Then we left the formed trail.

The snow was wet and unstable, hiding creeks, rocks and vegetation beneath the surface. Every few steps, one of us would sink without warning. I fell knee-deep often enough that it stopped being surprising and became my primary mode of transport.

Perhaps snowshoes wouldn't have been such a bad idea after all. This sentiment would be repeated with growing frequency over the coming days.

We moved far more slowly than planned. I found myself consistently towards the back, choosing each step carefully while watching the tiny figures ahead get even tinier.

Field note number two: The 19-year-old on the trip will be much faster than you. Accept your fate.

We reached Seamans Hut just before sunset and pitched tents nearby. For many in the group, it was their first night sleeping directly on the snow. Although the historic hut is reserved for emergencies, its presence was reassuring after such a long day.

There was also a remarkably clean toilet nearby, which qualified as alpine luxury. Just beware of the icy steps!

That night, we lost one water bottle to the local rats and discovered small bites taken out of more gear than we could count.

Rats in the snow. Who would have guessed?

Possums: 2
Rats: 2
Hikers: 0

Field log 03: Blue skies, whiteouts and Mt Townsend

One step at a time, boys.

Packing up a frozen tent is an excellent way to discover how attached you are to having feeling in your fingers.

From Seamans Hut, we headed off track to summit Mt Clarke and Mt Northcote. In clear conditions, the peaks looked almost deceptively close. In reality, each one required another descent, another climb and another negotiation with increasingly tired calves. I'm not ashamed to say I used sliding on my butt as a carefully considered descent choice more than once.

Had I spent enough time on the StairMaster?

Presumably not.

As we approached Mt Townsend, blue skies shifted towards near-whiteout conditions. The landscape appeared and disappeared around us, forcing the group to stop regularly, check bearings and confirm our route together.

With the weather turning and energy dropping, we chose to set up camp early rather than force the original itinerary.

Leaving our heavy packs behind, we made one final push for the summit of Mt Townsend. The route included a short rock scramble where our ice axes stopped being heavy accessories and became useful 'please don't let me slide down this mountain' devices.

Field note number three: A 45-degree slope feels considerably steeper when you're standing on it.

Back at camp, everyone disappeared into their tents early. There is only so much conversation available once fatigue sets in, the sun drops, and the temperature follows.

Field log 04: Australia's highest point

Yes, I am wearing every layer of clothing I packed.

The next morning delivered some of the most beautiful conditions of the trip: clear skies, sunlight and an incredible cloud inversion stretching below us.

Naturally, we admired it for as long as possible.

An honourable mention goes to Scott and Seb, whose tents were perfectly positioned to soak up the view. Worst location? Either mine or Saxon's, depending on whether you prefer heavy winds or sleeping on a bumpy hill.

Our leisurely wake-up and late start meant another adjustment to the plan. We followed the higher ridgeline in two groups towards Mt Kosciuszko, moving through technical terrain before regrouping for the final approach.

Standing at the top of Australia in winter felt surreal. The familiar metal summit marker emerged from a world of white, surrounded by open sky and mountain ranges disappearing into the distance.

We celebrated with hot chocolate made using electrolyte water, which wasn't nearly as bad as it sounds. We took the compulsory summit photos, felt deeply jealous of the French day hikers enjoying a beer at the top and left before the cold could settle too deeply into our bones.

Then came the day's most devastating news: the toilets at Rawson Pass were closed.

After considering our options, we changed course and returned towards the loos near Seamans Hut.

It wasn't our original plan, but the mountains had already made it clear that flexibility would be far more useful than stubbornness.

Field log 05: The long way out

Scott and I learned the importance of slow and steady.

We set off earlier for the Rams Head Range, where shifting visibility and subtle terrain meant stopping often to check our navigation.

By this point, we had already learned that the original plan was less important than responding to the conditions in front of us.

This was a tough day.

When communication within the group broke down while searching for a campsite, we decided to finish the expedition a day early. After all, we were so very close to our parked van.

It was the right decision, although the mountains weren't quite finished with us.

The final stretch involved dense vegetation, blind creek crossings and some of the most determined bushbashing I have ever done. The van was only a short distance away, but it remained stubbornly out of reach (much like the marked path on AllTrails) until it suddenly appeared through the trees like a glorious metal mirage.

I have never been so excited to see a road.

Rather than returning to Thredbo Diggings, our original final-night plan, and offering the possums a rematch and another go at Seb's gear, we drove to Canberra and found last-minute accommodation.

Hot showers. Proper beds. Burgers, pizza and beers at Grease Monkey.

After several half-asleep mispronunciations of the restaurant's name, our group officially became the Greasy Monkeys.

Every great expedition needs a legacy.

Post-mission debrief

Team Greasy Monkeys was officially born.

The trip didn't follow the exact route Scott had planned, but that never made it feel unsuccessful.

Our final tally was 42 kilometres and 1,731 metres of elevation gain. We summited some of Australia's highest peaks, navigated through whiteouts, camped on snow, changed course when conditions demanded it, and generally looked after one another when the mountains inevitably complicated things.

It was cold, tiring and occasionally chaotic. It was also one of the most spectacular places I've ever had the privilege of seeing.

The trip was largely possible for me due to a lot of borrowed gear. It was an incredible opportunity to 'try before I buy' when it came to outer shells, tents and even the trusty Grivel ice axe. The outdoor community can always be trusted to look after one another and pool resources.

The trip left its mark on almost everything we brought. Seb's sleeping mat returned home (mostly) patched, our tents carried evidence of several rough camps, I put my entire leg through a sleeping bag liner hole, and my Wolf Bear jumper survived heavy packs, snow, bushbashing and consecutive days of alpine grime.

None of it came home looking untouched, but perhaps that's the point. The gear worth keeping is the gear that weathers the journey with you, gathers stories and still has plenty of kilometres left in it.

My jumper now reminds me of cloud inversions, electrolyte hot chocolate and the moment that glorious van appeared through the trees. It feels properly mine.

I also returned with several highly practical lessons:

• Bring doggy poo bags to wear over your socks when your boots get wet.
• Frozen tent poles should not be handled with bare hands.
• Keep all food and inflatable equipment away from shifty possums.
• Never underestimate the motivational power of a clean toilet.

Mission status: Route amended. Group intact. Peaks summited.

Would I do it again?

Absolutely.

I'd just pack more Fireball.

Until next time, team Greasy Monkeys is over and out.