• Two straight wall bunks, IDIOTS
      Hut quality 10/10Someone never got the memo about blue and greenEach hut has an info board about the next leg. Extremely appreciated by the control freaks.

      Waterfall Valley Hut

      15. huhtikuuta 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 10 °C

      We made it, and even though we were the last people to set off today (as the keen readers may recall), we were not the last to finish, Speed Demon title remains. Phewff.

      After uncomfortably shedding our soggy outer layers and leaving them hanging on the sole remaining hook in the mudroom, I started my aggressive and ferret-like hunt for some good beds.

      All the huts follow a similar format: one enters into a mudroom type setup, with many hooks and racks for leaving gear. From here, there'll usually be 3 or so doors. One will lead into the communal area, filled with tables, a bench, and, more often than not, a group being way too loud. Usually there is also another door leading from this space into a bunk room. This room (off the communal area) typically gains advantage points for being slightly warmer, however loses points for being slightly noisier.

      But back to the mudroom. 3 doors remember. One door is now accounted for, leaving the other two, which each lead straight into a bunk room. For those of us who are the fun personality cocktail of Overthinking, Competitive, and Majorly Introverted, this becomes a real strategy puzzle. The race is on. Full rooms and top bunks are lower on my preference list than throwing myself under a bus, so they're out of the question. We also discovered, around night two, that corner bunks are far superior to wall bunks. Another major thing to consider is the careful weighing of our personal hatred towards particular companions. Solo lady with the loudest sleeping mat in the world, or group of idiots from Canberra who will NOT stop giggling, WHAT IS SO FUNNY - who would be worse to be trapped in a room with for 8 hours... Lots to think about.

      On this first night I was yet to gain familiarity with all of these crucial personality factors, and so was forced to dive in blind. I don't know if all my prayers to Lady MC were heard, or it was simply a classic case of Lucky Girl Syndrome, but we ended up in a mostly empty room, sharing with Jess and Hannah, two friends our age, both also from Tassie. These two quickly earned the creative and groundbreaking nickname of 'The Girls' and we became fast friends. We later learned that we, our meek and humble selves, had also earned a nickname, one that The Girls had coined and passed on to spread rapidly through the troops. This nickname shall now feature on all resumes, bios, and general introductions going forward, and I extend my gracious thanks to The Girls for honouring Dylan and I with the title of 'Elite Athletes'. I wish I was making this up.

      We set up our sleeping quarters, found a spot to settle, and hooked into some cuppas and packet pasta. The night took a bit of a turn when I had to get up FOUR TIMES to pee in the night. This is bad enough at home, but the misery of crawling out of a sleeping bag, putting my warm layers on, finding the toilet paper bag in the dark, trying desperately not to make any noise, and walking outside through the cold FOUR TIMES was enough to absolutely send me. I did see a spotted quoll on one of these trips though, so not all was lost.
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    • Day One - Ronny Creek to Waterfall Hut

      15. huhtikuuta 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 10 °C

      Day one is generally referred to as the hardest day. It's said to be a bit over 10km, but Mr Garmin, whose word is gospel, puts it at a bit over 12km, still, not a huge distance. The hard part comes from the fact that, a) your pack is at its heaviest and, b) you have to climb up and over Marion's Lookout.

      Being moderately fit little shits, this didn't particularly worry us, and we set out bright eyed and bushy tailed. Tails were soon to be soggied, however, as misty foggy rain set in the second we set foot on the track. Hm. Back into the registration shed we went, and promptly donned all the wet weather gear we had. Bundled up like a pair of walking bin-liners, we marched back out and got on with it.

      In all the careful preparation of exactly how many lolly snakes I could carry and how much sunshine I could optimistically expect, one thing that I had completely overlooked was that we would be venturing out in perfect timing for the turning of the fagus, Tasmania's only native deciduous plant!! As seen in the photos, we truly got a magical display, and politely did much oohing and aahing.

      The rain was persistent, and the wind decided not to let her get all the attention, giggling away to herself I'm sure as she almost succeeded in sending me tumbling down rocks, squawking like a cross hen. Dylan and I are staunch believers, however, in something called Type 2 Fun. That is, activities which, undeniably, have a whiff of misery about them, yet, with hindsight, or merely the right ratio of ego-backed confidence and sense of fun, can actually be extremely enjoyable. Could we see a fucking thing at Marion's so-called Lookout? No, pick a better spot Marion you gumnut. Did we have to climb a vertical section of rock with only a wet slippery chain to keep us attached? Yes. Better luck next time WIND you interfering bitch. Were we wet and cold and falling over rocks the whole time? That's a pretty apt description yes, but I am fueled by spite and a lack of self-preservation so did it dampen my spirit? NO IT DID NOT.

      In all seriousness, we had a whale of a time and felt very adventurous and cool. Between friends, I do feel like this benefitted greatly from occuring on the first day, when energy and excitement were at peak levels. Nevertheless, day one got a big fat happy tick.
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    • Kick off

      15. huhtikuuta 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 10 °C

      Firstly and formally, shoutout Mum and Dad. Awarded MVPs, from the brekkie spread of porridge and toast (if we know anything we know how to carb load) to the private chauffeur service out to Cradle Mountain visitor centre. Mum even threw in some photography work, free of charge, what a woman.

      We are dorky, we are heavy, we are the cleanest we'll be for a good while. My pack, while a modest humble tiny skinny 13kg at home, somehow tipped the scale here at 15.5kg... No shame, but someone's got some explaining to do. Absolutely couldn't be me. I'm perfect. Ultralight queen.

      We pinky promised the desk ranger that we had all the recommended gear and had absolutely not snuck in any denim or cotton, we know BETTER. Earnestly nodded our heads through our 30 minute safety briefing, and solemnly swore to monitor each other for the Stumbles, Mumbles and Grumbles - apparently the warning signs of hypothermia but I'm not sure if they know anything about my general personality. I think we're safer keeping an eye out for a good old fashioned shiver.

      Before catching the shuttle bus out to the point in the park that the track actually starts, we were informed we were the last people to start today from our group. So, naturally, we fucked around taking selfies in the bathroom mirror. Self declared Speed Demons do not stress about being stranded out on a mountain in the dark, who are we, mortal? I get the zoomies before bed anyway, that'll keep me warm. I'll chase a quoll.
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    • Logistical shuffling

      13. huhtikuuta 2024, Australia ⋅ ☁️ 19 °C

      Saturday. A day of double checking packs, maccas breakfast, and a lot of car travel. May as well indulge in as much motoring as we can before a week of hoofing it. Lexie would spit.

      Logistics of the OLT are a doozy. Not only do you have to scratch, kick, and bite your way through the rushed shit-fight of securing a booking, you also have to book the ferry that ships you back to civilization at the end (anyone who's dealt with the absolute muffins who run that service will attest to the difficulty), and, crucially, plan all transport from your place of origin to the start line and vice versa from the finish line. When those lines are, practically, on opposite ends of the state, and in the middle of good ol Tasmanian nowhere, it creates a puzzle. If anyone from Metro Tasmania happens to be tuning in, I highly recommend some extended routes.

      Therefore. Saturday consisted of ensuring we had everything needed for 6 days bush; 2 days in Devonport before commencing; and for when we eventually made it back to our car which would be waiting for us at the end. It went like this:

      Drive our car to Lake St Clair (the finish line) on Saturday morning. Leaving a bag with a clean change of clothes, and towel/soap for shower (more on that fucking showstopper later) for when we finish at the end of the week.

      Then, take our packs and a smaller amount of supplies for a two night stay with parents in Devonport. Eg, things I wanted to do last minute before starting: wash my hair. Things I had no need to carry through Cradle: shampoo and conditioner. In hindsight this may have been useful, had I encountered a particularly mangey wombat.

      We took all this and crammed into a privately operated shuttle bus whose business it is to cart walkers from the finish line up to Launceston, where they usually fly out from. As we were Tas locals, and afforded the luxury of leaving our car there to drive home in, we were utilizing this service somewhat backwardly and had the privilege of sharing the (small) bus with ten or so stinky finishers.

      After an absolutely rattling (literally) experience, and a stop at a roadhouse that I truly believe should be bombed, we arrived in Launceston. Here we were greeted by the wonderful cheery waves of Ma and Pa, who lovingly carted us through to Devonport. Here we wait!!
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