Return to Jerusalem
Mike Martyn revisits Tasmania’s Walls of Jerusalem in winter
The Walls of Jerusalem have always held fond memories for me. My wife and I did our first overnight walk together there. We took our kids there as a prelude to the Overland Track. And I had a strange experience years ago, walking in kicking up dust in joggers and shorts, then walking out the next day in knee-deep snow in a blizzard. Despite the rude introduction to Tasmanian summer walking, as I left I looked back through Herods Gate just as a patch of blue passed over revealing the Walls, the view left me with a strong desire to return on skis. Little did I know it would take more than 20 years to happen.
Finally, in 2010 the rare combination of snowfall, weather forecast, companion and available time all came together. As is typical of our Tassie trips, planning was impromptu. The idea was raised on Wednesday and confirmed on Thursday night. The forecast was for more snow on Friday so we decided against an early start. Nick (my 27-year-old eldest son) and I finally got out of Hobart mid-morning, buying some food and provisions on the way. Nick packed light: rice, lentils, one spoon, sleeping bag and his ski gear all packed into a 50 litre pack. I less particular and also had my camera gear, including tripod, thrown into a 90 litre pack, which he naturally ridiculed. In a few hours time I would be agreeing with him.
Sporting large plastic boots, fat telemark skis, skins, snow shovels and no tent wasn’t a sight the other bushwalkers in the car park were used to. In fact, our lack of gear was met with a large helping of doubt. Were they wrong or right? We weren’t sure ourselves at this stage.
The plan was to ski into Dixons Kingdom and perhaps build an igloo or snow cave on Mt Jerusalem and explore from there. In retrospect leaving the car park at 2.30pm in winter was a bit late. As we reached the ridge and the snowline above Trappers hut I realised that perhaps the schooner and counter lunch at Mole Creek had also not been a good idea. But at least now we could put our skis on.
We were following some walker’s tracks (both boots and snow shoes) that actually made skiing harder, and with the inclement weather neither of us were overly confident of where exactly we were heading. As the sun set, in between snow flurries, I was lagging badly and starting to cramp, testing Nick’s patience – we were still short of Wild Dog Creek. Nick, in an attempt to pick up the speed, tried to take both our packs, but refused to make a seat for me on top. After all the times I had carried him when he was young!
To read more, grab a copy of Wild no 124
