No-one told me Australia gets cold. They leave that out of the brochures. It’s all sun, sand and blond kangaroos. No freezing Antarctic winds or horizontal sleet inducing wind chills of -10 while riding a motorcycle. It was June and brisk in Sydney. The crisp air reminded me of the Himalayas and I pined for mountains. Someone told me there was a place called "Snowy Mountains" in Australia where it actually snows. I called bullshit but went to look for them on my dog eared map anyway. It was true, there really was a place called Snowy Mountains past Canberra! I read up on them and they didn’t seem particularly high or awesome but beggars can’t be choosers and I decided to head down there for a mountain fix.
My mate told me it was nuts to go to the Snowy Mountains on a bike in winter. It’ll be snowing there. Now, I didn’t believe it actually snowed anywhere in Australia. Maybe they had a freak storm 20 years ago and claimed it as a regular event. I come from the Himalayas, whose literal meaning is the “abode of snow”. “Him” means snow in Sanskrit and “alaya” means home. Australia’s not going to scare me with its threat of snow. I packed my trusty rucksack, which had held together despite getting dragged along the deserts, beaches, cliffs and forests of Australia nearly every weekend for the past 6 months. I didn’t have any cold weather gear to speak of so just packed as many t-shirts as I could stuff into the pack that was already busrting with camping and cooking gear. I’d acquired an OzTrail 2 man hiking tent since my desert adventure and this wonderful invention literally saved my life on this trip.
My mate told me it was nuts to go to the Snowy Mountains on a bike in winter. It’ll be snowing there. Now, I didn’t believe it actually snowed anywhere in Australia. Maybe they had a freak storm 20 years ago and claimed it as a regular event. I come from the Himalayas, whose literal meaning is the “abode of snow”. “Him” means snow in Sanskrit and “alaya” means home. Australia’s not going to scare me with its threat of snow. I packed my trusty rucksack, which had held together despite getting dragged along the deserts, beaches, cliffs and forests of Australia nearly every weekend for the past 6 months. I didn’t have any cold weather gear to speak of so just packed as many t-shirts as I could stuff into the pack that was already busrting with camping and cooking gear. I’d acquired an OzTrail 2 man hiking tent since my desert adventure and this wonderful invention literally saved my life on this trip.
It was a sunny Sydney day as I headed down the Hume, full of excitement and the exuberance of youth. A couple of hours later, I pulled in at Goulburn, defeated and almost frozen to death, unable to pry my fingers off the handlebars. Now you’ll probably call bullshit at what I’m about to say but its 100% true. I wore no gloves while riding, ever. I tried them once, couldn’t feel a damn thing and never tried them again. So I rode everywhere regardless of temperature or speed, without gloves. Not just gloves, I didn’t have any motorcycle gear. I just wore all the t-shirts I owned and squeezed on a thin wind cheater that my cousin had bought for me from the USA years ago. I wore 2 cotton pants, one over the other and my hiking boots. Rain, hail or shine, this was my expedition outfit. And I’d been riding around in Australia for 6 months like this and it had been fine but fuck, I was woefully under prepared for a trip to the snowy mountains in peak winter.
So I walked into the service centre toilet at Goulburn and shoved my hands, which were paler than Nicole Kidman’s, under the hand dryer for 5 minutes. I stifled screams as the blood, and my native complexion, returned to my hands like a river of needles. I wondered if that’s how white people felt all the time. Stinging needles under their white skins, all the time. A truly great people, to be sure.
I was a bit shook up at how cold it was and I hadn’t even reached the mountains. Now, there are 2 types of people in this world. There is also, of course, the 3rd type who give up and go home but this is not a story about them. The first type, when faced with adversity, innovate and find creative solutions to overcome difficulty. The other types go about it with brute force. They will keep hacking at the mountain with stone tools making tiny dents every day, till they have made a cave big enough to house their family. We all have a bit of both in us and today I called on my dogged reserves of determination rather than the ones of sub continental cunning. I didn’t want to hide behind gloves and parkas and insulated pants. This passage of cold had become a challenge to my masculinity and I roared back at it, baring my chest and challenging it to do its worst. I headed out again to the battlefield, gloveless still but a lot more determined and prepared for the battle, now that I knew my enemy. And riding a motorcycle can sometimes feel like a battle when the elements turn against you or if you take it lightly.
So I walked into the service centre toilet at Goulburn and shoved my hands, which were paler than Nicole Kidman’s, under the hand dryer for 5 minutes. I stifled screams as the blood, and my native complexion, returned to my hands like a river of needles. I wondered if that’s how white people felt all the time. Stinging needles under their white skins, all the time. A truly great people, to be sure.
I was a bit shook up at how cold it was and I hadn’t even reached the mountains. Now, there are 2 types of people in this world. There is also, of course, the 3rd type who give up and go home but this is not a story about them. The first type, when faced with adversity, innovate and find creative solutions to overcome difficulty. The other types go about it with brute force. They will keep hacking at the mountain with stone tools making tiny dents every day, till they have made a cave big enough to house their family. We all have a bit of both in us and today I called on my dogged reserves of determination rather than the ones of sub continental cunning. I didn’t want to hide behind gloves and parkas and insulated pants. This passage of cold had become a challenge to my masculinity and I roared back at it, baring my chest and challenging it to do its worst. I headed out again to the battlefield, gloveless still but a lot more determined and prepared for the battle, now that I knew my enemy. And riding a motorcycle can sometimes feel like a battle when the elements turn against you or if you take it lightly.
I bypassed Canberra because I still had no interest in cities but I remember being quite impressed with Lake George. That vast, dry, flat land in the middle of rolling hills. Eerie. As I approached Jindabyne, I had imagined mountains rising up from the ground but was somewhat disappointed that there were no real “mountains”, still just rolling hills. Pretty but not the spectacular views I have always associated with mountains, growing up in the shadow of the Himalayas. I reached the entry gate to the Kosciouszko National Park on the Alpine Way and there were signs about putting on snow chains. I freaked out thinking they may not let me go ahead so when the ranger lady asked me where I was going I lied and said Thredbo. I actually had no bloody idea where I was going but certainly wanted to go a lot further than Thredbo. She was nice and said there’s no snow on the road to Thredbo so I should be right. Though she did look at me funny when I asked where I could camp in the park, just in case, like.
The ride up to Thredbo was scenic and there were finally some big hills to be seen. I stopped in at Thredbo and got a bite and a coffee. But it was so bloody busy and crammed with cars in the tight streets, it put me off civilization. I headed further up the Alpine Way till I came to Dead Horse Gap. There was not a human in sight and patches of snow dotted the ground. This was more like the mountain views and solitude I was looking for. I lingered and watched dark storm clouds pull in from the south. It was getting dark as well and still didn’t know where I was going to spend the night. This seemed as good as any place though, so I decided to walk into the wilderness and camp. But first I hid my bike in the bush. Not because I thought someone was going to steal my shitbox but I have always been secretive about my whereabouts and movements in the bush. The less people that know about where I am and what I’m doing, the better. I have always been more apprehensive of humans in the bush, than of animals. I remember when I was younger and trekking in the Himalayas, if I heard or saw people, I would hide in the bush and watch them walk past or circle around them before emerging and going on my way. It was a kind of boy-scout game I played to amuse myself in the bush but stems from a deeper self-preservation reflex.
The ride up to Thredbo was scenic and there were finally some big hills to be seen. I stopped in at Thredbo and got a bite and a coffee. But it was so bloody busy and crammed with cars in the tight streets, it put me off civilization. I headed further up the Alpine Way till I came to Dead Horse Gap. There was not a human in sight and patches of snow dotted the ground. This was more like the mountain views and solitude I was looking for. I lingered and watched dark storm clouds pull in from the south. It was getting dark as well and still didn’t know where I was going to spend the night. This seemed as good as any place though, so I decided to walk into the wilderness and camp. But first I hid my bike in the bush. Not because I thought someone was going to steal my shitbox but I have always been secretive about my whereabouts and movements in the bush. The less people that know about where I am and what I’m doing, the better. I have always been more apprehensive of humans in the bush, than of animals. I remember when I was younger and trekking in the Himalayas, if I heard or saw people, I would hide in the bush and watch them walk past or circle around them before emerging and going on my way. It was a kind of boy-scout game I played to amuse myself in the bush but stems from a deeper self-preservation reflex.
I strapped on my backback and followed a faint track going east into the forest. It started snowing and I thought Fuck, they were right, it does snow in Australia! Very soon everything around me was blanketed in soft, powdery snow. It was deathly quiet as the snow weighs everything down preventing the rustling of leaves. It was magical. After walking for half an hour or so I setup camp in a small clearing in the forest. The wind was picking up and snow was starting to fly around. As I lay in the tent, watching my breath mist up and then condense on the roof, I thought “Wow, this is a whole different side to Australia I’d never imagined”.
I broke camping rule #1 (no I didn’t fall over in the tent) by firing up my gas stove inside the tent to cook my 2 minute noodles and melt some snow. But my tent didn’t have a vestibule and it was too cold and windy to even contemplate an outdoor cooking excursion. I was well aware that if I burnt myself along with my tent in the middle of this wilderness, it’s likely my remains may not be found for a long time. So I worked with exaggerated care and slow motion movements and succeeded in not setting the tent on fire.
It was a long night. It was well below Zero, the storm thrashed the tent around and I didnt think my little $50 would survive but to its credit, it did. And saved my life. I got little sleep but. At some point close to dawn the storm abated and at last I let myself relax a little and believe that I won’t die out here!
I broke camping rule #1 (no I didn’t fall over in the tent) by firing up my gas stove inside the tent to cook my 2 minute noodles and melt some snow. But my tent didn’t have a vestibule and it was too cold and windy to even contemplate an outdoor cooking excursion. I was well aware that if I burnt myself along with my tent in the middle of this wilderness, it’s likely my remains may not be found for a long time. So I worked with exaggerated care and slow motion movements and succeeded in not setting the tent on fire.
It was a long night. It was well below Zero, the storm thrashed the tent around and I didnt think my little $50 would survive but to its credit, it did. And saved my life. I got little sleep but. At some point close to dawn the storm abated and at last I let myself relax a little and believe that I won’t die out here!
I opened the tent, stepped out and couldn’t believe the incredible spectacle that I beheld. A world of pristine white encompassed me. It covered everything and the stunted snow gums drooped with the weight of snow on their branches. My tent was half buried in the snow and I had to dig it out to pack it. It was a grey, overcast day but not all that cold anymore. I packed up and set about exploring the area. I climbed up random rock bluffs and bush bashed my way through the knee deep snow. It was pure jungle exploration, I may as well have been the last human left on earth. I returned to Dead Horse Gap after a few hours and since there was no sun, no watch and no mobile phone I really had no fucken idea what time it was. Could’ve been 10AM or 3PM. I dragged the bike back out of the bush and tried to start it. Nothing. Great, I thought. Bloody thing is probably frozen shut. This happened to my Enfield in the Himalayas a couple of times and we had to light a fire under the engine to warm up the oil and fuel enough to make them flow. But everything was wet and making a fire would take ages. I just rolled it down the hill towards Thredbo and tried to jump start it. Naah. At least it was all downhill to Thredbo. After several kilometres of rolling and pushing the bike, I arrived at Thredbo and shocked the upmarket clientele of a trendy café with my dishevelled appearance, wolfish appetite and horrendous table manners. Then I walked out, said a small prayer and hit the starter on the bike again. It started!
It was already late afternoon and while I had planned to head over to Khancoban and explore further south, I just didn’t have the testicular fortitude to spend another night up in the heights in case the bike died on me again or I got snowed in. So I legged it down to Jindabyne and found a beautiful, secluded camping spot on the lake and just thawed. I remember losing feeling in my hands and feet on the ride down and being seriously concerned about frostbite but down at Jindabyne, the sun was shining and it was mild. I dried out all my clothes and thawed out in no time. It’s amazing how the human mind can flip from misery to ecstasy in the space of a few minutes.
The next day was clear, I rode over the Snowy Mountains Highway and was really impressed with the road and scenery in the national park, especially around Kiandra. Desolate, wind-blown, god-forsaken kind of place but with a haunting beauty. I poked around the old ruins strewn around the hills, then continued on my way to explore this fascinating area further. The Cabramurra road was closed due to snow so I went on towards Tumut. There was some scenic stuff around the reservoir but I missed the beauty of the mountains I’d left behind so I had lunch in Tumut, bought some sausages to cook for dinner and headed back to Kiandra. I pitched my tent in that vast amphitheatre of grass and mountain streams near the Cabramurra turn-off. It is, till date, one of the most memorable experiences of my life, that bitterly cold night in the Snowy Mountains. The sky was clear, with a fire going, watching stars and plugged in to the awesome silence. The silence and isolation in such a place can drive you mad or fill you to the brim. I didn’t ride many kilometres that day but I was deeply content and wanted for nothing more than what I had and to be where I was.
It was already late afternoon and while I had planned to head over to Khancoban and explore further south, I just didn’t have the testicular fortitude to spend another night up in the heights in case the bike died on me again or I got snowed in. So I legged it down to Jindabyne and found a beautiful, secluded camping spot on the lake and just thawed. I remember losing feeling in my hands and feet on the ride down and being seriously concerned about frostbite but down at Jindabyne, the sun was shining and it was mild. I dried out all my clothes and thawed out in no time. It’s amazing how the human mind can flip from misery to ecstasy in the space of a few minutes.
The next day was clear, I rode over the Snowy Mountains Highway and was really impressed with the road and scenery in the national park, especially around Kiandra. Desolate, wind-blown, god-forsaken kind of place but with a haunting beauty. I poked around the old ruins strewn around the hills, then continued on my way to explore this fascinating area further. The Cabramurra road was closed due to snow so I went on towards Tumut. There was some scenic stuff around the reservoir but I missed the beauty of the mountains I’d left behind so I had lunch in Tumut, bought some sausages to cook for dinner and headed back to Kiandra. I pitched my tent in that vast amphitheatre of grass and mountain streams near the Cabramurra turn-off. It is, till date, one of the most memorable experiences of my life, that bitterly cold night in the Snowy Mountains. The sky was clear, with a fire going, watching stars and plugged in to the awesome silence. The silence and isolation in such a place can drive you mad or fill you to the brim. I didn’t ride many kilometres that day but I was deeply content and wanted for nothing more than what I had and to be where I was.
The next day I lingered, meandered and procrastinated till finally accepting my logical brain’s strict refusal to go AWOL from work and stay another day. I didn’t know then that this was my last trip in Australia for when I got back, my manager greeted me with the news that my contract wasn’t being extended and I was going back to India at the end of the week. Just like I was the first person from my company to come to Australia, I was also the only person who’s contract wasn’t extended. Apparently, even though my work was excellent, my attitude was not “professional” and I wasn’t a “team player”. Whatever, I didn’t give a shit and got my return itinerary altered so I could spend 3 days rock climbing in Thailand on the way back.
As I remember those events in my life, I can’t help but think that last night in the Australian wilderness at Kiandra was an immaculately planned farewell that the universe had conspired to make happen for me.
As I remember those events in my life, I can’t help but think that last night in the Australian wilderness at Kiandra was an immaculately planned farewell that the universe had conspired to make happen for me.
RSS Feed