It’s my fourth year of chronic fatigue syndrome. Before I was sick I was an avid outdoors person, bushwalker , guide and ranger in the Tasmanian mountains. I loved climbing hills, feeling alive, swimming in lakes. They were my second home. I didn’t know if I’d ever be able to go back. But this April, I did. This is how it went down.
I start packing my warm clothes, food and sleeping bag several days before. Got to pace it out. I have a miserable crash day two days before and wonder if it’s sensible to go, but it seems to only be a 24hour crash, the heavy weight on my glands is gone the next day.
Shelley and Damien pick me up late on Thursday morning, and Damien carries all my stuff to the car.
There’s a lot of talking on the way, and even though this doesn’t raise my heart rate into the danger zone, it still means I’m pretty tired when we get there at about 1pm.
I’m very excited to see some old plant friends in the drive up. Mixed wet forest and rainforest species like sassafrass, celery top, myrtle, yellow gums, pink flowering prionotes, and further up, mountain top species like twisty curly leafed pandani heaths, white snowberries and beautiful orange autumnal fagus! Hello!!! I didn’t know if I’d ever see you again my tassie mountain plant friends!
It’s freezing cold and windy up in the alpine zone. The fire is still going from the previous people when we get to the hut, which is lovely. Parking is right next to the hut, but I’m a bit dismayed we’ve got the one with the longest walk to the toilet block. Those steps add up to my daily energy and expenditure quota. I retire to my bunk. I’m a bit wired and I know I’ve overdone it, so I calm myself down with some imaginary Qi gong and nap and read for the rest of the arvo. I get to lie in my warm sleeping bag listening to the wind howling outside, the fire crackling inside and Shelley singing with her guitar. My body feels a bit achey, especially in my glands, but its nice. I’m at mt field! The air is wilder and fresher. I perk up a bit later for dinner and a game of bananagrams around the table.
I feel okay the next day, probably due to preventative napping the day before. Woooo, we look out the little windows and it has snowed overnight! I pull on my boots and go for a slow, short wander up the fresh, snowy road, where only pademelons have left tracks before me, the snow sticky and squeaky under my feet, and clinging all over the intertwining branches in the thick subalpine forest. I suck on a few mouthfuls of snow that I munch right off the leaves. Occasionally a sunbeam breaks through clouds and momentarily lights up the valley. Little birds flit across the road between snowy bushes. How do they survive? I’d like to keep going to lake Dobson, but I turn around after a couple of hundred meters, not wanting to overdo things, trying to appreciate the slow chance to walk meditatively, soak it all in. Sometimes I can get in the zone, other times not, and slow is just frustrating. I must admit it’s harder when the weather is so blustery and cold.
Hanging in the hut, crocheting, talking, eating, reading with Nico and Shelley. Diet is out the window this couple of days. Meh, I don’t even know if it helps. Corn crackers and cheese, bring it on. Damien goes for an energetic walk for a few hours through fresh snow almost up to the tarn shelf and comes back stripping off layers, alive and wind blown , hungry and happy. It’s nice that I can picture these adventures in my mind as I’ve been up to tarn shelf so many times before I was chronically fatigued.
It blows a ripping gale and snows all day. Every now and then I look out the window and feel excited to see snow and buttongrass and snowgums. Woooo! It gets too hot in the small hut with the fire, so we have to open the window. Going to the loo is a chore, having to put shoes and coat on, tromp through snow and have your pants down while cold wind whistles up your bum from the chute of the compost loo.
In the afternoon we go for a short drive and wander at lake Fenton in the fagus and snowgums. It’s SO pretty and cold and the crazy wind whips the lake water into spray. I turn around and head back to the car before the others. I’m rugged up, but not enough for going at my careful, unvigorous pace. They also go for a wander at the fagus grove just down the road, but Shelley and I stay in the car and watch the wind tearing down the bouldery valley, bearing the rain and snow in huge horizontal sheets. Back to the hut, to hang in bed and recover from the exertion before dinner cooked by Shelley and another round of bananagrams by the fire.
Nico drives me home the next day. I let the others do the major work of packing and cleaning up. We have a brief stop at lake Dobson so I can walk to the first pencil pine to say hello, and also the super -glorious deciduous beech grove by the road. Slowly walking up the short incline over the boulders with snow, moss and lichen. Crouch down, trying to breath it all in. Slowly back down. Snow is melting and sloppy. Occasional sun showers in the green ferny forest on the way back down. Glistening towering yellow gums. Twisted grey, pink and white snowgums. SOO SOOO pretty. I’d like to walk to russel falls through the tall wet eucalyptus forest too, but i reckon it’d be too much.
All the way home. Nico brings my stuff in. I go to bed. That was nice. I feel a bit more alive and fresh, even though I couldn’t exercise. I’m happy I could do that, and was supported to do so by three generous humans. Now to slowly pace the unpacking.
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