We love receiving feedback on the magazine. Lately there have been quite a few emails come in from people who have spotted copies of the magazine in places as scattered in Derrick Hut and a cafe in Thredbo. But this is the first time the feedback was a mountain poem.

Stephen Whiteside has provided this one as part of his efforts to help create a body of bush verse that relates to the snow country.

Last weekend, while staying at Cleve Cole Memorial Hut near Mt Bogong with my two adult children, I discovered Mountain Journal. It was lying in a pile of magazines above the mantlepiece, and made good reading on a rainy Saturday morning. This particular edition contained an article about the hut, and featured a beautiful photograph of it, illuminated against a starry sky, on the front and back covers.

Upon my return earlier this week, I spent some time looking at the Mountain Journal website, and decided to submit an illustrated rhyming poem, ‘Giles’, that I wrote (and illustrated) many years ago. The illustration includes a picture of the Cleve Cole Hut. Cam has asked me to provide some context to the poem – when did I write it, and why?

When I was a teenager, my father introduced me to downhill skiing, mostly at Mt Hotham. I loved it, but after a few years began to tire of the endless ‘down the run, and back up the tow’ routine. I asked him if he had any ideas about how I could tackle something more adventurous. He talked a little about Mt Bogong, how it was higher than Mt Hotham, and had practically no facilities at all. It sounded amazing! He hadn’t been there himself, but referred me to a friend of his who had skied there a little. This friend referred me to a friend of HIS, who skied regularly at Mt Bogong and was a member of the Mt Bogong Club. Thus it was that I came to gather a few like-minded friends, and spend an evening at the home of this intrepid man, who taught us about instep crampons, woollen mittens, how to find our way through thick fog, and much else.

My first trips to Mt Bogong were a revelation – a reconnaissance trip in high summer, followed by a spring trip with plenty of snow still on the ground. There was so much to love about it – the physical challenge, the isolation, the sense of adventure, the extraordinary views, the aggressive ravens, etc. The little stone-walled Cleve Cole Memorial Hut was an absolute oasis of safety and comfort. Many more trips followed over the ensuing decade. (I have only tackled the mountain once during the height of winter and, to be honest, I found the experience quite frightening.)

I also began to fall in love with the history of early skiing in the Victorian Alps. I was enthralled by the tragic story of the death of Cleve Cole, and got to know his friend, Mick Hull, a little, later in his life. (Hull and the injured Cole sheltered together in hollow logs while the third member of the party, Howard MichelI, headed off in search of assistance.) I was rather stunned to learn that, while nobody doubted Cleve Cole’s passion for the mountains he was not, in fact, regarded as a very good skier. As one early skier put it, “I don’t recall Cleve Cole ever completing a downhill ski run. He was mostly a photographer.”

So what does any of this have to do with poetry, you may well ask. When I was a child, my father read me the poems of Banjo Paterson and Henry Lawson. I loved the rhyme and rhythm of the words, and the stories that they told about old Australia. I began writing rhyming verse myself, and found I had an affinity for it. As a young adult, I also discovered the poetry of C. J. Dennis. If possible, this affected me even more.

I was conscious that most of Australia’s rhyming/bush verse heritage relates to the outback, with tales of drovers and shearers. The best (and almost the only) example of traditional bush verse set in the snow that I can think of is ‘The Demon Show-shoes’, set in Kiandra, by Barcroft Boake. You can read it here.

Wouldn’t it be great, I thought to myself, if I could create a body of bush verse that related to the snow country? It was in this spirit that ‘Giles’ was written. Standing in front of Cleve Cole Hut, and looking out over Camp Valley, I could so easily imagine the terror of catching a glimpse of a (real or imagined) mountain monster, and retreating to the absolute safety of those solid stone walls.

The spirit of Mt Bogong has never left me, and I am sure it never will. I have introduced my kids to the joys of the high country, and they love it as much as I. It is now almost fifty years since I first climbed Victoria’s highest mountain. I last walked up there in 2006, and approached the climb this year with a degree of trepidation. Would I make it? It was immensely satisfying to discover that I was in fact still equal to the challenge. Hopefully many more trips to Cleve Cole Memorial Hut await me yet!

© Stephen Whiteside 09/12/2023