four-stroke singles echoing through
the Snow Gums.
We climbed into the reaches of
the Mount Buller and Stirling snow-
lines, the whole time looking for the
wildlife of the area, a few wallabies
were about as well as birdlife like I’d
never seen before, thankfully none
of the dreaded feral deer and wild
dogs were seen. Despite the pain and
now lack of movement in my wrist
the riding continued to impress, the
little Honda was something else; very
different to the last bike I’d ridden
through here … a BMW F800GS.
Bugger me! The temperature was
dropping, to the point where working
up a sweat was needed. I tried but
had little success, unable to throw the
bike around anywhere near as much
as I would’ve liked. It didn’t matter,
the ride through this part of the world
was enjoyable for many other reasons
… enjoying the moment, enjoying the
landscape. Plenty of stops to regroup
added to the experience; a chance to
walk amongst the underbrush and
soak it in.
Tracks wind, climb, branch in all
directions, it’s easy to get lost out
here … as far as I knew we were, it
mattered little as Dave knew where
he was, we had to trust him.
We popped out of the bush onto
a main track called the Buckland
Spur Track, a welcome sight was the
Tomahawk Hut; one of the famous
High-Country Huts. Bitterly cold,
no fire had been lit, the promise of a
hot lunch cooked by the MBMA team
rectified that.
Tomahawk Hut, sometimes known
as Dales Hut, was originally built in
1927 by the first Mansfield Forestry
Commissioner, Arthur Dale. Taking
just 16 days to construct the hut stills
stands, albeit reconstructed numer-
ous times due to damage from the
weather, falling trees and bushfires,
still a testament to the quality of the
workmanship over 90 years ago. Built
to shelter from the bitter alpine win-
TRAVERSE 21
ters, we also took refuge.
Lunch was warm and nourishing,
a perfect way to replenish our bodies
while having a laugh about the riding
so far … mostly at my expense … all
good natured, all rebutted with com-
ments about “at least having a go”.
Lunch devoured we remounted
and headed further up the hills, the
MBMA team all sympathetic to the
fact that I was tiring and in pain, no
one complained that I was holding
them up although I knew I was.
We continued climbing, the trails
between Mount’s Stirling and Buller
were outstanding. The landscape
ever changing as three bikes contin-
ued popping in and out of the thick
bush, while I, with either Dave or Tim
plodded on meeting further along a
more defined path.
“What the fuck?”, I mumbled to
myself as Dave suggested that he and
I head up a steep, rocky incline. It
was the sort of riding I love … rocks,
the bigger the better. My hand had