Up Snowy River Way

A couple of days later we’re walking down the steep farm tracks that should eventually lead us to the river. It’s a crisp, blue-skied winter’s day. We’re happy to meander along the tracks, following the loose, thumb-nail kinds of directions you get from locals. Occasionally we spook kangaroos – tall eastern greys – that silently lope away, more out of caution than fear. But when we surprise a single sulphur-crested cockatoo, it shreds the sky with wails fit to wake the dead.

Less helpful is the “wild bush brumby” legend derived from the same poem. Wild horses, and the persistent advocacy for their presence in these ranges, has caused a great deal of environmental damage here. Cloven hooves and thin, slow-to-develop soils, don’t mix well. Goats, horses, deer – all hard-hoofed and feral here – do far more damage to soil and vegetation than the soft-footed kangaroos and wallabies.  

We have two small thermoses of soup, and a little bread. But we’ve forgotten our mugs, so have to take it in turns to sip soup from the tiny demitasse lid. We decide we’re part of the slow food movement, and gladly so here, now: with the sky a deep blue and the snow-fed waters tumbling and chuckling around us.

We move off too, though our steep route doesn’t allow for ambling. Instead we shorten our poles, put our heads down, and trudge back up the way we’d come. We’re almost pleasantly surprised at how quickly two legs and a bit of will can gain altitude, and we say as much to each other – once we regain our breath. 

Nature is home, even if we live in cities. I’m a writer based in Tasmania, Australia. I love learning and writing about the natural world, from the smallest bugs to the broadest landscapes.
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