There is nothing quite like a father-son adventure. The youngest of our four kids, Will, is 22 and earlier in the year he went for a trek through the mountains of New Zealand. When he returned, we started talking about doing something together. A father-son trek to the summit of Mt. Kosciuszko seemed like the perfect place to start. We’re new to mountain trekking, so this felt like a challenging but achievable entry point. We decided on a date and booked it in.
One thing I’ve learned over the years is that taking action the moment you decide something is critical. Too many people talk about trips, adventures, or goals but never follow through. There’s always “later”, and later never comes. If we discuss something and we both say yes, my next step is to book it immediately. Not tomorrow. Not next week. Right now. I want to live life, not just dream about it. And I want my kids to think the same way too.
So, we set the date, made the plan, and last weekend we arrived at Charlottes Pass ready for the 18.4km round trip to the summit and back.
When we arrived early in the morning, the weather was shocking; strong winds, cold rain and an unfriendly sky. No one else was around. Then, out of nowhere, a man appeared and approached us. He told us he’d trekked the mountain many times and this weather was going to get nasty. Wind strong enough to blow you over. Hail the size of golf balls. He pointed to the dark clouds building across the range and said they are going to get worse this afternoon.
We already knew thunderstorms were expected but they were forecast to be late in the afternoon.
So, before our first step, we were faced with a decision to make.
Play it safe, turn back, drive 40km to Jindabyne, and accept that the summit wasn’t happening. Then five hours back to Sydney the next day.
Or press on and see how the conditions felt in the first couple of kilometres, ready to turn back at any point.
We definitely didn’t want to be the people on the news who ignored warnings. But we also didn’t want to walk away from something we’d been planning and looking forward to. So, we decided to start, stay alert, and pull the pin if things deteriorated.
We progressed well and the storms seemed to be holding off. We crossed the Snowy River (4.5km mark), past Seaman’s Hut (6km) before reaching Rawson Pass (8km). There we met a hiker who had been camping overnight in brutal conditions. As we talked to him, he had clearly spent a little bit too much time alone, but he did give us some critical information for the last 1.7km to the summit.
He told us the trail ahead had been snowed-in, but only one section. If we could get past that, the rest of the climb to the summit was straightforward. It was an incredibly fortunate and timely conversation.
We assumed the track would be covered in some light snow. But when we reached it, we realised the mountain had completely reclaimed the trail. A steep 100-200 metre stretch was buried under solid, icy snow. Only a faint, narrow line of footsteps showed where others had crossed. Without that, we would have turned back on the spot.
We stepped cautiously onto the snow. It was extremely slippery, and a stumble would mean sliding fast down the icy slope into rocks below. But knowing it was just one section, and that others had crossed it, gave us the confidence to continue. It was a slow, nerve-wracking traverse that felt like it would never end.
Once we got to solid ground, we were only one kilometre from the summit.
We charged ahead through the strongest winds I’ve ever experienced and eventually reached the peak. We took a few photos and sat for a moment to celebrate. But almost immediately, we felt the weather shift. We got up and it started to move quickly as the rain hit, within seconds we realised we were getting hit by hail.
We needed to get back across the snowed-in section fast in case conditions worsened and we found ourselves on the wrong side of the mountain and were blocked in. We jogged down the next kilometre bombarded by wind and hail until we reached the snow. Crossing it a second time was just as scary, but once we were across, we were safe.
From there, it was a wet and windy but straightforward descent back to Charlottes Pass.
There were 2 times we could have turned back: right at the start, and at the snowed-in section. Twice we listened to the warnings, weighed the risks, and ultimately made our own decisions. And we’re glad we did.
It was an incredible experience. The scenery was stunning, the adventure unforgettable, and the time together priceless. These are the moments that stay with you as a parent, the shared challenges, decisions made together, the doubt, the trust, the laughs, the uncomfortable parts and the moments you both know you will talk about for years.
We’re already planning our next father-son adventure: Mt Fuji, Japan, in 2026.
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