THE WIZ OF FEATHERTOP
When the heavens opened in Wangaratta, I began to fear for the snow we were chasing. If it was raining up in the mountains, would all our snow have been washed away? Perhaps at that altitude, droplets of rain would morph into their crystalline cousins and we’d find more snow than we’d anticipated? Dad and I drove for hours in the hope of trudging to Mount Feathertop through the last snows of the season.
DAY ONE
After a night at the Alpine Hotel in Bright, we drove to Harrietville to begin our walk mid-morning. I’d hoped that when leaving Bright, Feathertop would emerge in its gracious enormity. I expected it to be sporting a glistening white cap and powdery streams flowing down its impressive gullies. Alas, much of the peak was hidden by clouds and not a patch of snow was to be seen. I began to worry that there wouldn’t be much left at all.
It was lush and green at the foot of the Bungalow
