Mts Hartz and Snowy, 17 Nov 2012.
The view from Hartz Mountain
This was not my happiest trip ever: The others in the group were dawdling while I wanted a workout. I can run up Hartz, but knew I’d get into trouble for hurrying, so I walked along singing and dreaming and got into trouble for hurrying – ‘racing’ it was called.
The redeeming part of this venture was when four of us gained permission to be out of eyeshot and to climb Mt Snowy unaccompanied. We tallied up that we had well over a hundred years of capable bushwalking experience between us, and yet we needed permission to go down to the end of the town. Off we set before any minds changed.
View from Hartz
Snowy from Hartz
I had already chosen my route – all my routes need to be “Bruceable”, in deference to my husband’s reduced coordination due to his Parkinson’s disease.. He is nonetheless highly capable. We slid down the vegetation on the slopes of Hartz, having fun swinging like orangutangs from the branches, eventually arriving at the Hartz-Snowy saddle in good time. There was a pad up Snowy, and no one to rebuke me for being too fast. I was allowed to go at my pace – oh the freedom of it all. When allowed to climb at my own pace, I am in a kind of trance climbing a mountain. This semi-hypnotic state is wonderfully liberating. We all met up at the top, pleased with ourselves.
The way down was superb fun. Of course the bit to the saddle was easy, as was the part to the tarns below Hartz. But then we decided to get fancy, contouring around (we thought) but being a bit distracted in our aims by the thick bush. In the end, the easiest way through was on hands and knees in the mud. Now we were wombats. I loved being a wombat. We all did. Eventually we intersected with the track that descends from Hartz and made faster progress to the finish. That was grand.