The bridge over the Munyang River is gone, pulled due to “dangerous conditions,” which, in Australia, could mean anything from toppled into the river to “might cause you to get a splinter in your arse if you sit down for a rest.” Strangely enough, and my conspiracy theorist tendencies may be coming out here, the Aquaduct Track, a well built vehicle road which climbs up to 1650 metres on Disappointment Ridge is not shown on any of the new topographic maps. This is, of course, what Tasmap does, leaves old trails off the new maps, an effective way to close areas to the public (usually under the guise of “environmental” or “cultural” protection) without officially closing those areas. Tyranny by stealth, you might say, if you were a conspiracy theorist like myself.
With skis on our packs, and heavy ski boots on, Doug and I stand looking down at the river for some time. Descending to cross the creek is nasty – the banks are steep and loose – and we’ll have to wade the river; there is no way we’ll be able to balance across those slippery rocks in hard soled alpine touring boots (AT). On the far side of the river, there is a dearth of snow so we’ll be walking for a couple of kilometres at least. Although I’ve done a lot of it, walking in AT boots isn’t a helluva lot of fun. And right now, I’m not sure what I was thinking: It’s our first ski day since 2019 and a return trip to Mount Porcupine is over 30 kilometres and probably 1,000 metres of elevation gain. It’s almost 10 am, and Mount Porcupine like all the Snowy Mountains is merely another rounded bump in a predominantly gentle range. The only reason I had picked Mount Porcupine as a day trip was because we had skied up all the other peaks in the area.
Sensibly we decide to turn west instead of east and ski up onto the broad and gentle ridges that run north to the Rolling Ground. We still have to walk the road up several switchbacks until patchy snow becomes continuous snow and we can skin easily up a broad and gentle ridge to the alpine terrain. This is the route we skied back in 2018 on our first ever Australian ski trip. I am paranoid about my feet. In 2018, I got terrible shin bang and had to take a half day’s rest in the middle of a four day trip and I haven’t had my ski boots on since 2019, the year we spent five months back in Canada. On a rocky knoll, I check my feet, lots of hot spots including on my shins but things seem OK, so we ski on further, touring along the flat ridge lines. The snow cover is excellent, the surface conditions are not. Firm would be a generous definition! We have lunch looking across the Guthega River to Mount Tate, which we had skied up on a different trip in 2018.
After lunch we decide to see if we can find any corn snow to ski. The first kilometre is hard pack and flat, mostly we are poling along trying to keep the skis moving but without a hot wax job (we had none left at home) and over heavily refrozen snow, the skis are sluggish. On a north east facing slope we get perhaps 100 or 150 (vertical) metres of corn snow turns, but already the light melt is starting to refreeze and skiing is a chattering experience. Second lunch and tea is taken sitting on the limb of a big gum tree, and then we skin back up to the ridge we ascended and ski back down to the road, eking out the strips of snow to ski as low as we can. I’ve got shin bang, of course, and walking down the road is painful so I’m limping along slowly behind Doug trying to weight my poles to take the weight off my feet.
The next day we drive up to Guthega Pondage. This is almost 300 metres higher than Guthega Power Station and the snow is continuous right away. Continuous but frozen solid. From the ski hill parking, we walk down the road to the Illawong trail. The snow is so hard our boots make barely an indent. Where the trail climbs out of the creek, we put our skis on and side-hill across the icy slope glad to have metal edges on the skis!
Along the river bank, the snow cover is good. Last time we did this we had to walk long sections. Across Illawong Bridge we start climbing the gentle slopes up to the height of land. We skied up all these peaks in 2018 which is a relief to me now or I would feel compelled to get to the top of some of them despite how much my feet hurt. My shins, however, feel like someone is hitting them with a hammer. I am trying to appreciate the weather – it’s sunny and not even very windy – and the environment, but as I ski along behind Doug, all I can think about is NOT thinking about how much each step hurts. It’s not possible though, the brain worries away at pain like a cow with cud.
Below Mount Anton, I sit on an exposed rock and examine my feet. Two blisters on each foot, and tender bumps on my shins. I tape everything up and we keep skiing up towards Mount Anderson and along a broad ridge. The snow is gun-metal hard and we do a couple of short descents without bothering to take the skins off. Skiing down to a saddle from Mount Anderson, with skins off, we catch a few turns of corn snow and smile at each other. But contouring below Mann Bluff and skinning up to Gills Knobs the snow is icy hard again. It’s a very strange feeling: white stuff, officially called snow, under your feet/skis, but the snow so hard that the skis seem to float above the surface. As we have lunch, we watch a snow boarder walking while his mate skis. The walker is easily as fast as the skier.
In 2018, we had a good corn snow descent from Tate East Ridge to the Guthega River. Not in 2025. The snow is ice hard and when I tighten my boots, the shin bang makes my eyes water. The 200 metre descent is easily one of the most painful, unrewarding and slow ski descents I’ve ever done. Doug patiently waits as I press my feet back every 100 metres or so to try and take the pressure off. Near the bottom, I click out of my skis and walk the last 20 metres down, stomping my boots on the ice to get a step in. We arrive exactly at the rickety metal bridge across the Guthega River. Skins and skis back on and the shuffle along the road to the car park.
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