We recently asked MJ readers to write about their favourite local mountain, why they are special, and why they matter.

Here is another installment: this one is from Samantha Foster. It is about her decades long connection with Mt Bogong/ Warkwoolowler, the tallest peak in Victoria.

The mountain will always be there. It changes only with the seasons, yet I find myself returning again and again. More than that, my soul longs to be back up there not merely to stand on the cairn itself, but to tackle the brutal Staircase Spur Track that leads to that elusive summit. After more than 75 summits and over 25 years of climbing Victoria’s highest peak, I no longer need to ask myself why. I simply just know.

I still remember the first time I discovered Mt Bogong “the Big Fella” almost 30 years ago. It was just before football season, and my boyfriend at the time was an assistant coach for a local football team and he was searching for a pre-season training camp for his team. By then, I was already a passionate hiker, constantly chasing adventure and seeking bigger challenges. I had trekked to Everest Base Camp, completed Tasmania’s Overland Track twice, and had recently returned from climbing Mt Kilimanjaro and Mt Kenya. Living in the Dandenong Ranges, I spent most weekends pounding the trails of the 1000 Steps and the Glasgow Track. Hiking wasn’t simply a hobby; it was a way of life. I lived and breathed it. He would come on a few day hikes with me up the 1000 Steps and I would tell him about my overseas hiking adventures.

There were few organised hiking groups in those days, so I often ventured out alone.

When I met my boyfriend, he saw hiking through a different lens—as a powerful fitness tool and a way to build endurance. Around that time, AFL clubs were beginning to embrace altitude training camps overseas. Unable to afford an international trip for the team, he started looking closer to home. Having experienced altitude firsthand on my treks to Everest Base Camp and Mt Kilimanjaro and Mt Kenya, I knew the physical benefits that came from being at elevation. Victoria’s highest mountain seemed the perfect alternative, so off we went on an adventure to the Alpine Region.

The truth is, I knew very little about Mt Bogong. I didn’t know the trail, and I certainly didn’t know how demanding it would be. I simply wanted to hike; he wanted a fitness challenge. We set off on an early morning day walk to discover what all the hype was about. The only thing I really knew about the mountain was a quote from legendary marathon runner Steve Moneghetti, who described Mt Bogong as one of the toughest training grounds he had ever encountered. That alone was enough to spark my curiosity. What I didn’t realise that day was that I was about to begin a relationship with a mountain that would shape the next three decades of my life.

The first decade after that inspirational climb was all about the clock. Every ascent became a personal challenge: 1.5 hours from the car park to Bivouac Hut, another 1.5 hours to the summit. Each trip up the mountain was an opportunity to shave a few more minutes from my time and test myself against the slopes of Victoria’s highest peak.

It was during those first years that I discovered ‘The Conquestathon’, an annual event held over the Labour Day long weekend. It quickly became a fixture on my calendar. The event is a race to the summit of Mt Bogong and back via Eskdale Spur. I never entered as a runner, but that hardly mattered. For me, it was about spending a weekend immersed in the mountain environment alongside hundreds of like-minded adventurers.

There was a special sense of camaraderie that came with sharing the challenge, and every participant received a medallion on completion. Today, I have 23 of them—a collection that represents more than two decades of returning to a place that has become part of who I am.

Following COVID, the event transitioned from the Lions Club of the Upper Kiewa Valley to The Kangaroo Hoppet Running Club. While the change altered the character of the weekend for many long-time hikers, myself included, it never diminished my desire to return. The mountain itself remained unchanged.

Life eventually brought changes of its own. After a shift in my relationship status, I found myself hiking alone once again. By then, I had trekked overseas hiking and climbing volcanoes, explored Tasmania’s wild landscapes, and completed the legendary Kokoda Track. Yet despite all those adventures, Mt Bogong continued to call me back every couple of months. With new freedom to spend my winters however I pleased, I answered that call more often than ever. Around this time, I joined a hiking group that was rapidly gaining momentum within the outdoor community. It was the perfect fit. I loved the shared experience of tackling challenging trails with a group of enthusiastic hikers.

That passion eventually inspired me to create my own hiking group, TrailBlazers.

After years of exploring Victoria’s trails and completing hikes that few in my original group had experienced, I felt compelled to share the places that had shaped me. What began as a simple idea soon grew into a community of adventurers eager to discover the wild corners of Melbourne and beyond.

Before long, I was leading complete strangers into landscapes that had become deeply familiar to me. Mt Bogong, of course, was always at the heart of those adventures. Together we tackled day hikes, multi-day expeditions, and challenging winter ascents. We climbed through the heat of summer, wandered beneath the fiery colours of autumn, and embraced the raw beauty of winter, when snow and ice transformed the mountain into an alpine wilderness.

For many, the annual Conquestathon became a tradition of its own. Year after year, familiar faces returned, drawn by the same challenge and the same magnetic pull of Victoria’s highest peak. Watching others experience Bogong for the first time was every bit as rewarding as reaching the summit myself. Yet somewhere along the way, I realised I wasn’t just sharing the mountain with others, I was rediscovering something within myself.

There is a certain stretch of trail, high on the mountain, where the outside world begins to fall away. As the climb steepens and the effort deepens, my thoughts become quieter. I often find myself talking to the mountain as though it were an old friend. The wind whispers through the snow gums, carrying away worries that seemed important only hours before. Problems that once felt heavy begin to dissolve into the vastness of the landscape. With every ascent, Bogong gives me something different. Sometimes it is challenge. Sometimes it is perspective. Sometimes it is simply peace.

But after all these years, I think what the mountain has given me most is a way back to myself. Each journey reminds me why I first fell in love with these high places. Not because of the summit, the distance, or the achievement, but because somewhere between the valley floor and the windswept ridges above, I find clarity. The mountain strips away the noise and leaves only what matters.

Three decades later, I am still climbing Mt Bogong. In a few weeks, I will shoulder my pack once again and set off for what will be my 76th summit. Some might wonder what keeps drawing me back to the same mountain after all these years. The answer is simple: Bogong is never the same mountain twice. Every season paints it differently. Every climb tells a different story.

This time, winter will be waiting. The first cold fronts will be sweeping across the High Country, dusting the ridgelines with snow and transforming familiar tracks into something wild and unpredictable. Perhaps I’ll be lucky enough to witness the season’s first snowfall. Perhaps I’ll pitch my shelter on the summit itself and spend the night above the clouds, watching the last light fade across the Victorian Alps before darkness and silence settle over the mountain.

Even after three decades and more than 75 ascents, I still feel a surge of anticipation each time I step away from the trailhead and turn towards the summit. No matter how well I think I know it, the mountain always has something new to reveal a changing light, a different mood, an unexpected challenge. It continues to surprise me, humble me, and remind me why I fell in love with it all those years ago. As long as my legs will carry me, I’ll keep returning to Bogong. You’ll find me somewhere on its vast slopes, perhaps beside one of the mountain’s memorials, watching the last light fade across the High Country as the sun sinks beyond the horizon.

Why Do I Go to the Mountains?

It’s a question I’m asked all the time.

Why do you keep going back? Why climb another peak? Why endure the cold, the wind, the exhaustion, and the uncertainty?

My answer has always been the same.

 

The process.

I go to the mountains to find peace.

Like everyone, I get caught in the constant noise of daily life—the responsibilities, the expectations, the endless distractions that pull us in every direction. The mountains strip all of that away. Up there, life becomes beautifully simple. One foot in front of the other. Breathe. Keep moving.

For me, it doesn’t really matter where I am. It could be a remote mountain range, a rugged ridgeline close to home, or a quiet hill overlooking the valley below. As long as I’m surrounded by the natural world and standing somewhere high enough to see beyond the immediate horizon, I feel the same thing: perspective.

From above, the problems that seemed so overwhelming down below begin to shrink. The noise fades. The mind settles. But the mountains offer something more than peace. They reveal who you are.

How can you ever know what you’re capable of if you never push beyond what feels comfortable? How can you discover your limits if you never risk reaching them? Every meaningful adventure comes with the possibility of failure. I’ve turned back from mountains. I’ve faced setbacks, doubt, exhaustion, and fear. Yet learning to be comfortable with failure has become one of the most important lessons of my life.

Failure isn’t the opposite of success; it’s part of the journey toward it.

Because I’m not afraid to fail, I’m willing to try.

Sometimes the experience is overwhelming. The weather changes without warning. Plans fall apart. Challenges appear where none were expected. Out there, I have very little control over what unfolds in front of me.

And that’s okay.

The mountains have taught me that uncertainty is not something to fear. It is something to embrace. Every climb, every challenge, every step into the unknown is an opportunity to learn something new about myself.

How will I ever know what I’m capable of unless I try?

That is why I go.

This is my process.

This is where I find peace.

This is where I find myself.

Samantha — to higher places… and beyond.

The mountain changes with the seasons. In winter, it’s a frozen wilderness of snow and biting winds. In summer, the sun bakes the exposed ridgelines and the alpine air shimmers across the high country. Sometimes it’s wrapped in cloud, sometimes it delivers endless views stretching across Victoria’s roofline. But no matter what face it wears, the feeling is always the same for me.

It’s not the mountain that changes, it’s me.

ALL IMAGES BY SAMANTHA FOSTER.

Samantha would like to acknowledge Bogong Equipment as they have been instrumental with her equipment over many years.