Chasing the Snow


Snow at Cradle Mountain had been on my bucket list for years. I'd stayed at Cradle Mountain Lodge before, but somehow I'd never managed to time a visit with a decent fall of snow. Shift work, parenting and life in general always seemed to get in the way.

Then I saw the forecast. A significant dumping of snow was expected across Tasmania's Central Highlands and Western Plateau, and for once there was nothing really stopping me from going.

So I thought, stuff it. I'm going.

Three nights at Cradle Mountain Lodge was considerably more than I'd normally spend on accommodation, but this was something I'd wanted to experience for a very long time. I booked it, packed my camera gear and made the four-and-a-half-hour drive north on Tuesday.

Now I just had to hope the forecast was right.

Close-up of a water droplet hanging from vibrant green moss, reflecting light in a lush natural setting.
Cluster of delicate pale blue-white mushrooms growing on dark tree bark in a moody, atmospheric close-up shot.
Close-up of a spider web with water droplets and a small yellow fruit hanging in dark forest foliage.

Before The Snow

On Wednesday, while I waited to see whether the forecast would deliver, I took my macro lens for a wander along the Enchanted Walk near Cradle Mountain Lodge.

I'd gone looking for fungi, although they proved surprisingly difficult to find. I spotted a couple — including some growing inconveniently small and high up a tree — but before long I became just as interested in everything else happening on a much smaller scale.

It was raining, so the mosses and tiny plants were intensely green and covered in water droplets. Through the macro lens, things I would normally walk straight past became little landscapes of their own, full of colour, texture and detail. I even spent far too long trying to catch a droplet at the exact moment it fell.

That's one of the things I enjoy most about macro photography. It makes me slow down and actually look.

How often do we walk through somewhere beautiful looking at the mountains and the view ahead of us, without ever really looking down?

Sometimes there's an entire little world beneath our feet.

Snow-covered leaning tree trunk in a winter forest with bare branches and white snow blanketing the woodland landscape.
Snow-covered forest path with wooden steps winding through bare trees dusted in white winter snow.
Snow-covered wooden boardwalk winds through a winter forest with moss-covered trees and fallen logs dusted in white snow.
Snow-covered landscape with a tall eucalyptus tree in winter, surrounded by frosted trees under a grey overcast sky.

And Then It Snowed

I went to bed on Wednesday night knowing the snow was forecast and hoping I'd got the timing right.

When I opened the curtains on Thursday morning, I had.

It was magical. Snow was falling heavily, the ground was completely covered and, for a while, there was barely any wind. Everything I'd walked past the day before had been transformed overnight.

I spent much of the day wandering along the King Billy Pine Lookout Track, taking my time and enjoying it rather than trying to get anywhere in particular. Branches and leaves were so heavily laden with snow that in places they drooped across the track, and I found myself ducking and weaving my way underneath them.

Mostly, I just went looking for pretty things.

I photographed the bigger scenes, but once again I found myself drawn to the details — snow clinging to leaves and branches, the shapes it created and the way familiar things looked completely different underneath it.

I was ridiculously excited. I took videos as I walked and FaceTimed my family with some variation of, “Look at me! I'm in the snow! Look how wonderful it is!”

Later in the day the wind picked up. Snow that had been sitting heavily on the trees all morning began blowing from the branches, and the landscape started changing again.

By then, though, I'd had hours to wander through it with my camera.

It was exactly what I'd come for.


My Room with a View

Walking through the snow-laden forest on the King Billy Pine Lookout Track.

Into Dove Lake

On my final day, I decided to drive into Dove Lake.

It had been a long time since I'd driven in snow, and I'd certainly never done it alone. The road was closed to the usual public traffic and buses weren't running, with access restricted to four-wheel drives. I was apprehensive, but I took it slowly and headed in.


Into Dove Lake

Into Dove Lake -

Along the way, I noticed a couple of people standing beside the road photographing what I initially thought was a rock. As I slowly drove past, I realised the rock was actually a wombat.

Naturally, I had to stop.

I joined the couple trying to photograph him, although he had absolutely no interest in cooperating. He was far too busy digging through the snow, searching for whatever little bits of grass he could find underneath. After waiting for quite a while, I finally managed one photograph where I could actually see his face and his eyes. He never did look at me, but I decided that was probably the best I was going to get.

I continued on to Dove Lake and found it almost deserted.

It felt quite eerie. Snow was still coming through on and off, the usual buses weren't running, and there were very few people around. Standing there in those conditions, I became very conscious of just how alone I was.

Once the snow eased, I wandered around the lake with my camera and waited, hoping the clouds would lift enough to reveal Cradle Mountain. Mostly they refused. I caught just a brief glimpse of the summit through the cloud — enough for one photograph before it disappeared again.


A wild boar foraging through deep snow in winter, its dark bristly fur dusted with snowflakes.
Snow-covered mountain landscape with a serene lake, overcast sky, and frost-dusted shrubs in a winter wilderness scene.
Snow-covered alpine lake surrounded by misty mountains and frost-laden shrubs in a serene winter wilderness landscape.

The Boatshed

I wanted one more photograph before I left — the Dove Lake boatshed in the snow.

I rugged up and started walking. I couldn't remember exactly how far it was, but I knew it wasn't particularly far, so I headed off on my own with my EPIRB in my pocket.

Before long I was hot, sweating and puffing. I kept stopping, thinking, God, I'm unfit. I'd catch my breath, tell myself to keep going and push on a little further.

Eventually I realised it wasn't my fitness.

I was having a panic attack.

I kept going until I reached a higher point where I could see the boatshed below me. It wasn't far away but it was snowing. I tried several times to convince myself to keep walking down towards it, but each time I started, the panic took over again.

In the end, I couldn't do it.

I was disappointed. The photograph I'd imagined was right there in front of me, and part of me desperately wanted to push through and get it. But I was alone, the park had been closed to walkers because of the conditions, and I was very conscious of how quickly things can go wrong in the Tasmanian wilderness.

So I stopped where I was and took the photograph from there.

Then I turned around, walked back to the car and began the long drive home.

It wasn't quite the ending I'd imagined when I set off chasing the snow.

But it was the ending I got.

Snow-covered landscape with dark shrubs beside a serene mountain lake under overcast winter skies.
Snow-covered shoreline with dark mountain lake and misty mountain backdrop in winter landscape.
Snow-covered rocky shoreline with a white building beside a calm lake, surrounded by snow-dusted shrubs and misty mountains.