Currently in Hobart, having fled the vampire filled Launceston.
So maybe it's a good thing that I didn't do the Overland Track, after all, I nearly killed myself yesterday hiking up Mt Wellington. And that was just a day hike.
Let me explain: as with all things that almost kill you it seemed like a good idea at the time. I mean, hell, a bus deposits you halfway up to the trail head, how hard could it be?
I fully confess that what follows is all entirely my own fault.
So yeah, it seemed foolproof, take a city bus to the trail head ($5) and then spend the day hiking up to the summit, enjoy views, take pictures, hike down. Cheapest, awesomest day ever!
There were dubious beginnings. First, I had trouble even getting a bus pass - why does no one in Hobart want to take my money? The rest of the country seems comfortable enough with that act. Then I had to wait 35 minutes for the appropriate bus, which isn't a big deal, but as the bus ride was another 30 minutes, it put me at a later start then what I had originally planned.
I didn't have a good map, just the one in my travel guide that's only 2/3 of a page and cut off around the edges. I didn't even have a realistic estimate how long it would take to get to the top: the lady at the bus station - 2 hours, the dudes at my hostel - 1 hour, the sign at the trail head - 3 hours.
All of this adds up to Catherine rethinking this undertaking and doing it at a later date, right? Wrong. I was hell bent on scaling this mountain, on this particular day.
And then I did perhaps one of the stupidest things of my adult life.
I didn't fill up my canteen before I set out.
That's basic. That's one of the first things you do before every hike, even the ones you've been on a million times. I have no explanation. Like I said, it was an act of stupidity beyond what I normally inflict upon myself.
From the bus stop, there were several dark, ominous trails that snaked through the woods. None of them were marked as summit trails, so I picked the middle one and set off. I don't consider myself an especially experienced hiker - I do my fair share of hiking in LA, but I'm not blazing new trails through the Southern California wilderness. Mt Wellington, it should be noted, is 1270 meters tall. That's roughly 4167 feet. I have never particularly paid attention to the elevation gained and lost on my favorite trails, so I'm not sure how it stacks up.
Within the first 30 minutes it was obvious I had desperately underestimated the difficulty of the trail. I guess because it's so accessible to the biggest city in Tas, I assumed it would be easy.
What followed was three hours of ascent; steep, rocky trails that had me sweaty profusely and a constant wind chilling me to the bone. Of course I ran out of water. I kept pushing upward because I knew it was possible to drive to the top and I figured I could follow the road back down. About halfway to the top, I started getting dizzy spells and was afraid to try to clamber down the loose boulders.
Sitting in a warm library, it's hard to stress how scary it really was. I only saw maybe half a dozen people on the trail the entire time. What would have happened if I had truly been in distress?
I made it to the top and snapped a few pictures (bragging rights and a humility reminder). I happened to see an older couple taking each others pictures and I stopped and offered to take a picture of them together. We started talking and I told them about my ordeal, they insisted on driving me down.
I have never been so grateful in my entire life. I may have cried. In the bathroom of course. They saved me probably a cold and uncomfortable hour walking down to the bus stop and who knows how long waiting for the bus.
It took several hours and a hot shower to chase the chills away completely. I treated myself to a dinner of fish and chips, because nothing says congratulations on living like fried carbohydrates.
As for my next adventure, I set on Friday to see more of the island. In a car. Driving in Australia. Keep your fingers crossed.
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