Our departure was delayed by a forecast for 80mm of rain and
snow down to 600m, but three days later we arrived at the trailhead
of Farmhouse Creek Track and I realised what Nick had meant
when he’d warned me previously that the word ‘track’ was mean-
ingless. As first light drifted through the canopy, my mind swam
with thoughts of the leeches, moss and swamps ahead of us. But
I soon forgot all that as I hoisted my pack – more than half my
bodyweight – onto my shoulders.
As we trudged for two days through rain and sleet, we gave up
guessing which mud-pits were ankle-deep and which would
devour us whole. But, against the odds, rivers were passable, the
leeches tolerable and dinners warm enough. The never-ending
snakes and ladders of Moss Ridge didn’t break anyone’s ribs as
they’d done on the reconnaissance trip and the mountain drew
ever closer until finally we dragged ourselves onto the Bechervaise
Plateau, dishevelled but elated. We were relieved to find our supplies
safely hidden in the snow.
Next morning, as dew drops woke me, I found my mattress
floating and sleeping bag sodden. It had been a grim night, but
morning brought unexpected breaks in the cloud and so Simon
and Mick headed out to explore. We farewelled them in sunshine
but soon it was sleeting. They returned at dusk, traumatised. “Solo-
ing up that slab in snow was one of the scariest moments of my
life,” Mick said, as Simon explained they’d had to rappel off the
mountain by slinging a mound of shards held together with mud.
T
HE WEEK PASSED in a constant sideways drizzle. We were
halfway through our expedition when we found ourselves
huddled in a tent around possibly the only flame flicker-
ing in the state’s entire south-west, waiting for Mick to return
from his daily ritual of donning wet boots and sprinting up above
the plateau to download weather updates.
Suddenly the zip flew open and Mick burst in, beaming. “We
might have a weather window,” he said. We agreed to place all
bets on this sliver of a chance, although it meant we’d have to
stretch food supplies from 12 to 17 days. The remainder of the
evening was spent rationing. Unlike Mark, whose lunch on one
mountaineering trip had once been the rinsed remains of a Vege-
mite jar, Mick and Simon struggled with the concept.
And so we waited for our weather window to open. Mornings
continued to be bleak with most of us lying in as long as we could,
savouring our one daily hot drink. Simon would make the morn-
ing porridge, his saturated sleeping bag and deflated mattress hav-
ing little allure, and would then suck every last calorie from his
coffee grinds as Mick licked the cooking pot clean. Our hunger
and boredom were slightly alleviated by taking turns playing chess.
Occasionally lukewarm sunshine filtered through the fog and
we’d rush out of our tents, feet wrapped in plastic bags and Crocs,
cameras in tow. When it lasted we explored Thwaites Plateau, or
scaled the peaks behind Hanging Lake to view the columnar cliffs
of Precipitous Bluff that tower towards the Southern Ocean.Simon Bischoff traverses
a slimy log on Moss Ridge.
Eventually the team adapted
to using micro-spikes designed
for ice to stay upright in this
slippery forest.
Andy Szollosi at camp, trying
in vain to dry the team’s gear. Each
team member was limited to one
set of wet clothes and one set of
dry. Sleeping bags succumbed to
the relentless moisture.Mick Wright and Mark
Savage (at left) brave
the night and dropping
temperatures to continue
climbing up the North West
Face of Federation Peak.102 Australian Geographic
PHOTO CREDITS, CLOCKWISE FROM LEFT: DAN HALEY; DAN HALEY; OLIVIA PAGE. OPPOSITE PAGE: SIMON BISCHOFF