Slaty Hut - Rintoul Hut via Little Rintoul & Mount Rintoul

We were models of effectiveness since we had no tents to pack up, and by 07 Toby and I were already climbing the ridge behind Slaty Hut. It was the most gorgeous morning you could possibly imagine: a high sun, majestic mountains 360, and fluffy blankets of cloud spilled over the mountaintops like waves on a beach. We were above the clouds, on top of the world. It was so beautiful that we almost cried. Today was going to be a whopper, we were summiting two mountains  - Little Rintoul and Mount Rintoul - and the treacherous Emyn Muil-like scree between them.

We knew that those clouds were all but beautiful from the inside. The Richmond Ranges are famous for their whiteouts, and this day was the worst of all to have bad weather. *For any future TA hikers: do NOT attempt this stretch in bad conditions. You will see nothing, and it is dangerous. If you are alone, please join up with others. Toby and I walked the ridges toward the wall of white coming towards us, savouring the last rays of sunshine.

It felt like walking into a different world. From one moment to the next we were engulfed in icy cold, and the splendid sunny day turned into thick fog. I could hardly see Toby only a few metres behind me. Everything was dead quiet. We picked our slow way ahead through the tussock and down into the cover of beech forest. Wisps of mist drifted through the trees, emptying the world of all sound but our muted footsteps.

Hours dragged by until we reached a clearing opposite Little Rintoul. The summit was covered in clouds, and there was rain in the air. We knew we had the option of diverging off trail towards Old Man Hut and wait out the weather there, but the thought of making this stretch even longer than it was wasn’t exactly tempting…

And so we continued past the junction towards Little Rintoul summit. A quick tortilla with peanut butter & Nutella (Toby poured some chips on his for extra morale) was all the lunch we had time for before beginning the long, steep climb up the rocky path. Rain started drizzling down. Through the trees, up, up, up. Once above treeline, I had the feeling we were perched on a precarious outcrop, but I had no way of knowing in the fog. I felt dizzy with thirst and vertigo from the steep climb, there were no water sources. No summit view either, since we could hardly tell up from down.

The descent from Little Rintoul reminded me of the moment on a roller roast ride when the car reaches the top and you are suspended in a moment of nauseating arrest before the fall. Rocks and scree formed a loose clifface so steep I could not believe this was the actual trail. We inched our way down. Every so often we’d step on a loose rock and almost fall. We couldn’t see anything but mist. It was sickening. My thigs were burning from bracing myself when suddenly the ground gave away beneath my feet.

“TOOOOOBYYYYYY!” I screamed in terror as the tiny ledge we stood on broke off with a giant crack. We careened down the mountainside, loose rocks pummelling down around us. Toby’s muffled shouts echoed back at me through the mist, and I went stiff with primal fear knowing that we were going to die. Until, miraculously we came to a halt in a cloud of debris still standing. Not a scrape. My legs quivered beneath me. I’d peed my pants a little. This was beyond my kind of adventure, this was fucking dangerous.

Nor was it going to end anytime soon. I leaned into Toby, who was also shaking like a leaf. WHY had we done this? Our day was far from over, we now had to face the winding paths up the higher Mount Rintoul. The mist showed no signs of yielding, and we had no choice but to plaster ourselves against the rock, sliding our feet forward on what looked like narrow ledges – we couldn’t know if we were about to fall off the mountain or not. Toby – possessing a man’s crap survival instinct – was cracking off jokes and grabbing the challenge with both hands. I willed for the day to be over – I was spent down to the last nerve.

Mount Rintoul summit was a flat, viewless ordeal. It was like walking on a non-red Mars, just grey air and more rock. One last plummet down the pebbly scree down into the forest. Reaching the battered Rintoul Hut was like finding an oasis in the middle of the desert. It rained steadily as we dragged our shattered bodies into the small hut and sank down on the bunk beds. Amazingly we’d done the estimated 9 hours from Slaty in just over 5. It felt like a lifetime. We hung up our clothes, made tea, lit the fire, massaged each other’s feet, and I curled up in my sleeping bag to nap. Both body and mind were exhausted. We had no idea where Patrick and Etienne were, and I lamented losing our group. But lo and behold, at almost 18 they stomped like wet puppies into the hut! We were so happy to be reunited, and spent hours psyching each other out over today’s gut-wrenching trail. Now that it was over and I was snuggled up with spaghetti bolognese, I remembered that morning’s beauty and thought well, at least my life scores high on the extraordinary factor!