NSW Nordic Ski Club
A Week at Charlotte's
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Andy Cairns booked a week at Jerrabombera Lodge for us for four days from Monday 15th to Friday 19th July (1996). Owen Holmwood, Andy and I set out from Peter and June Donnelly's place at Bundanoon after lunch on Sunday, the 14th, and we spent the night in the Caravan Park at Cooma.
We arrived at Thredbo overnight car park mid-morning on the Monday and caught the chairlift to the top. The wind was blowing from the south, very cold. We headed, without delay, up the pole line towards Rawson's Pass which we reached around midday. We passed up the climb to the top of Kosciusko because of the driving wind and low cloud and, for the same reasons, the prospect of dropping down into the Snowy. Instead we headed down the road to Seaman's for lunch where we found a very cold party of campers - tents pitched outside, gear spread out everywhere inside - and then on to Charlotte's. The cold as we skied against the Southerly down to Snowy Bridge was intense - I couldn't feel the tips of my fingers - but we warmed up as we turned the corner and the wind swung around to our backs. I had had a poor season in 1995 and my lack of self confidence in telemarking was evident as we descended the bowl to Charlotte Pass village.
Jerrabombera Lodge proved to be very comfortable and our room commodious and warm. The food was delightful and the company pleasant. The manager, Ted, and staff made us welcome. The guests looked upon us somewhat as visitors from outer space but we soon got to know them and they realised that we were human after all. They were suitably impressed to hear that we had skied from Thredbo and we were able to keep them enthralled with stories of our derring-do!
On the Tuesday morning we gave some instruction to a couple who were trying out cross country skiing on the flats between Charlotte's and Spencer's creek and then headed up onto Mt Guthrie, to the north of Charlotte's, in fairly icy conditions to so a bit of exploring. We had lunch, packed from the lodge, in the lee of a large boulder looking north before wending our way back towards Charlotte Pass lookout. Andy had a tumble and in the process jammed a ski pole into his ribs which knocked him around a bit. In the small saddle to the north of the lookout Ron Smallridge's ashes had been distributed earlier in the year and we stopped for a moment to pay our respects and to recall, with some humour, a few of Ron's characteristics. On the way down the road Andy had another fall and after we returned to the lodge he put himself to bed to recover. The women in the lodge regarded Owen and I as somewhat callous for leaving Andy on his bed of pain while we sat carousing at the bar but we consoled ourselves with the thought that he would have done the same for either of us!
It had become obvious to us the previous night that Michael, the cook at Jerrabombera, was something out of the ordinary when he served up the best chicken we had ever sunk a tooth into and we hastened to dinner when the call came. Andy was not slow to join us from his bed of pain either.
The southerly had swung somewhat to the sou'west on the Wednesday but we set out to explore Trapyard Creek in the morning before returning down Wright's Creek for lunch at the lodge. In the afternoon we practised on the groomed slopes. With the help of the others my confidence was returning and I was even beginning, occasionally, to look proficient. We learned that the cost of lift tickets was $56 per day (half day $45) and this added to our enjoyment we plodded up the slopes. The following day a downhill skier, a newcomer to the sport, meeting me on the slopes asked me whether I climbed up the hill all the time. I told him: "Yes. And as I do so I keep repeating to myself "fifty-six dollars, fifty six dollars!'"
We discovered that the best time to ski occurred after the lifts closed at about 4.20pm. All the downhillers, and especially the young hoons on their boards, went home and the snow was at its best. My telemarking was improving in leaps and bounds. Late in the afternoon Andy and I observed a practice held by the Charlotte's ski patrol in rescuing some bods on the chairlift. They used a rope slung over the cable through a U-shaped fitting which could run down the cable. The rope was controlled from below by men on each end. On one end was a T-bar with a harness attached on which the rescuee was invited to sit and to which the said rescuee was invited to attach him/herself before being lowered to the snow by means of a body belay.
On the Thursday Andy led us out to the foot of Mt Clarke where we hoped to find some good skiing. We were disappointed as there was nothing but ice and castor sugar, the sort of snow that will not let the tails come round. We all had our share of falls before we ran quickly down the Snowy to Foreman's. The crossing of the Snowy proved to be entertaining with each of us choosing a different route. There was no complete snow bridge and a bit of extemporising was engaged in. Owen took his skis off but Andy and I kept ours on. Andy made a successful crossing of a partial bridge but destroyed it in the process. I was following him and launched myself off a rock intending to land on a small ice ledge but missed it slightly and only just clambered out as the rest of the bridge collapsed. We arrived back at the lodge about half an hour late for lunch.
After lunch Andy and Owen had a snooze while I went back to the groomed slopes. They joined me at about 3:00pm when I called to them to hurry before the clag made it impossible to see. As it turned out we were able to ski until about 5.00, with the slopes devoid of skiers from about 4:00pm.
At about 6:30pm, as we were preparing for dinner, a westerly front came in and the wind blew with vigour all night. This was accompanied by snow and meant that we would be skiing back to Thredbo in a blizzard. I have to say I predicted this. I had warned Andy of the perils of leaving the car at Thredbo as opposed to the bottom of the Ski-tube. There was little comfort for me in being able to say 'I told you so' when we woke to the sound of driving snow and howling wind.
We left at about 9:15am rugged to the ears and with the anxious cries of the remaining guests sounding in our ears. I was decked out in a pair of plastic bags in lieu of overgloves; I had thrown my overgloves away some years before and had not had occasion to regret it till then. The grunt up the face of Charlotte's bowl was accomplished fairly easily because of the new snow which was tending to ball up on the skis. At the top the full force of the gale was felt and we were farewelled by a member of the resort's ski patrol who was clearly glad that he was not accompanying us.
We worked our way down to the road and slugged along it. The gale was blasting us from about two o'clock so we could keep most of it out of our faces by turning slightly away. The snow was more like driving ice and the sound of it made a constant clattering against our hoods. And as we went we spared a thought for Stephen Crean who had perished so miserably in the area ten years or so earlier.
We had to turn into the teeth of the gale as we turned to the west over Snowy bridge. Visibility was down to 100 metres or so. We could see no pole line so we proceeded to climb two hundred metres or so to the west before we embarked upon our compass bearing of 190º. The visibility was less here and we shuffled along not knowing whether the ground ahead was sloping left or right or up or down. The rocks that loomed up from time to time would appear to be half a kilometre away. We would soon discover that, in fact, they were less than 50 metres from us. We experienced grievous temptations to deviate from the compass bearing because the going looked better but we persevered and at about 12.30 we found the pole line and soon topped the divide and commenced the descent to the top of the Thredbo chairlift.
Andy persuaded us to ski the 'green' slopes to the bottom. It was all right for him with his superior technique but Owen and I found the going hard. We slid off the side of the access track below the chairlift in a tangle of arms and legs. After we got ourselves untangled we managed to get ourselves back onto the slopes but the telemarking to the bottom was a bit of a handful for us both. Our only consolation was that Andy twisted his knee during the descent!
Owen had a mobile telephone with him and when we got to the bottom he managed to ring Ted back in Jerrabombera to tell him that we had arrived safely.
Back in the Thredbo carpark we soon discovered that the radiator water had frozen (despite the anti-freeze I had put in ) and a welsh plug had dropped out of the engine. This necessitated a tow back to Jindabyne (free, thanks to my NRMA membership) and some quick repairs in the NRMA garage there. We had tea about 6:45pm and were on the road by 7.30. We slept in the Donnelly shack in Bundanoon and arrived home Saturday morning.
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