Don’t Cancel, Just Adapt! Why You Should Still Adventure if Your Plans Go Awry

Spending time outside is often less about planning and more about embracing the unpredictable. Eva tells us a story of how ruined plans turned into the best adventure anyone could have asked for.

We acknowledge that this adventure is located on the traditional Country of the Ngarigo people who have occupied and cared for the lands, waters, and their inhabitants for thousands of years. We pay our respects to them as the Traditional Custodians and recognise that sovereignty was never ceded.

My Dad’s favourite saying is ‘You know how to make God laugh? Tell him your plans’. He’s the least religious person I’ve ever met so I dunno where he got it from, but he’s not wrong.

How many times have you had a perfect adventure plan all mapped out and it goes completely pear-shaped? When your transport falls through or your gear breaks or the weather turns to crap or you forget something critical, it can be so easy to just pull the pin and stay home.

But I don’t think you should. Because when plans go awry and you embrace what gets thrown your way, your adventure often ends up even cooler than you imagined it (and a way better story to boot).

The Best Laid Plans

This story is a classic case of that. In 2022 a group of seven of us locked in an overnight hike on the Kosciuszko Main Range Track.

I was the main driver of the plan because I’d never been to Australia’s highest peak despite living within a few hours of it my entire life.

I know it’s not known as the most spectacular or challenging hike in Aus, but it’s pretty iconic and was firmly on top of my To Do list.

So armed with our calendars, we found a free weekend and locked it in three months in advance. We thought, ‘Hey, let’s go at the beginning of November. It won’t be too hot and there might even still be some snow on the ground. Won’t that be nice?’.

Making God Laugh

Fast forward to the start of November and the nerve-wracking one-week-out-from-your-adventure-so-time-to-look-at-the-forecast day had arrived.

I jumped on Willy Weather, set the pin to Mt Kosci, a moment of anticipation and …. the whole week leading up to our hike was forecast as -15C degree temps, howling winds, and snow. In November.

A slightly nervous and frantic group chat ensued, punctured with screenshots of the forecast.

‘How’s this weather!?’

‘Will it clear by the weekend?’

‘Should we still go?’

‘Will it be safe?’

Although the day of the hike looked OK (a balmy top of 14C degrees and sunny), it was clear that our adventure was already not going to plan.

Read more: Remember to leave no trace!

Don’t cancel, just adapt!

Now, I’m a naturally cautious and risk-averse person. And I’m also not very knowledgeable about alpine environments, having spent most of my winters submerged in the icy but empty waves on the coast, while everyone else flocked to the snow.

Read more: Ice climbing Blue Lake to South Rams Head

But somewhere amongst the messages, someone threw out the option of hiring some snow shoes and just seeing how far we could get, and eventually, the safety-in-numbers-mindset got us amped.

Someone Googled ‘snowshoe hire’ as if that was even a thing in Jindabyne in November. The plan was going ahead, if slightly altered. 

Pre Hike Chaos is the Best Kind of Chaos

The night before the hike arrived, we all converged on Canberra and the usual, pre-hike bag packing and food prep chaos began, with an added layer of uncertainty around camping in the snow.

‘Have you got this packed?’

‘Where’s my dry bag?’

‘Do I need gloves?’

‘Let’s cook spag bol.’

We managed to make it out the door the next morning with enough food and warm things to get us by, plus a PLB just in case.

The packing process was made all the more chaotic by the difference in experience levels – one person who’d never hiked overnight, two ultralight hikers who just finished the PCT, and a few levels in between (it’s quite the scale I know).

Read more: What to Pack in Your Hiking First Aid Kit

The Snowy Adventure Begins

We headed for the mountains, stopping to collect our snow shoes in exchange for a cheeky case of beer for a mate working in the hire store (how good are adventure buddies who work in gear hire?).

As we honed in on Charlottes Pass, the temps dropped and icy creeks and snowy hills zoomed by the window.

Although the snow shoes kept us mostly on top, the light, breathable, hiking boots I bought in the Northern Territory definitely didn’t stop stray clumps of snow from soaking quickly into my socks.

If you’ve never been snowshoeing before, imagine you’re wearing flippers and walking across soft sand. You stay on top but it’s more of a slog than regular hiking and far less graceful!

Especially compared to the ecstatic cross-country skiers zooming around us having the absolute time of their lives amongst the late-season dump.

The melting snow did provide us plenty of comedic opportunities to get stuck hip-deep in a drift, needing to be hauled out by both arms.

Not-So-Blue Lake is Still Beautiful

By lunchtime, we arrived at the stunning vista overlooking the iconic Blue Lake. While it was less blue than crisp, snowy white, the steep valley walls, rolling hills, and sheer rocky cliffs made for a pretty epic pit stop.

We ended up walking/sliding all the way down to the edge of the lake to explore, take photos, and just generally be silly buggers.

By the time we left Blue Lake and made it back to the ridge with our packs, the weather had closed in.

We could see tiny misty figures heading through the clouds towards the mountain peak, which to us, didn’t look inviting, so we made the call to just stay put, set up camp, enjoy the snow and spend a cruisy arvo chilling on a big rock making our way through a cheese platter.

We cooked up some pasta in the biggest pot anyone has ever taken on a hike (I’m sure it’s a world record) before tucking into our tents and attempting to keep warm for the night.

We all spent a fair amount of time awake and some of us ended up doing a midnight wrangle of flapping tents as the snow melted around the pegs.

We woke up sore, and cold, but amazed by an epic sunrise sparkling across the snow. It didn’t take long for the lure of car heaters and bakery treats to drag us back down the last little bit of the hike, across the river, and home.

Overall? Great Success!

Despite a somewhat freezing and wild night (and very sore legs), the little things are what I remember clearest looking back.

The snowy hills, a bright red robin, gnarled Snow gums, and laughs with good mates. Which, regardless of what adventure you end up on, is what matters most.

Even though we barely hiked 8km all up, never made it to the top, and spent less than 24 hours on the mountain, we were all absolutely buzzing afterwards.

I’m still yet to make it to the top of Kosci. But you know what? LOADS of people have done that before. How many people have camped out and woken up to a snowy November sunrise with a legendary crew?

Far fewer I’d wager. And that’s pretty special if you ask me.