I don’t remember my first trip to the snow, I was one and only just walking, but I do remember the first time I ever went skiing. It was the one and only Lamont family ski holiday when I was seven years old. Staying at Bogong Village we drove the short distance up to Falls Creek each day. That holiday left many lasting memories; seeing the first bit of snow on the side of the road on the drive up the hill was so exciting, it was the ’80’s and my oldest brother played Men at Work constantly, we befriended a dog at Bogong Village and my favourite run was the home trail, even though it meant we’d finished skiing for the day.
Apart from those memories, it initiated a love of snow and the mountains. A love affair that saw many an early morning drive to Mt Buller for day trips full of laughs and fun when my mates and I were old enough to drive, we were often more sore and exhausted from laughing than skiing. The best thing about growing up in Melbourne’s outer eastern suburbs was being close to the Dandenong Ranges. There was nothing like a drive through the foggy, misty mountains on a cold wintery Sunday, or trying to race the storm clouds up to Sky High.
I don’t know exactly what it is about that mountains that I love. The fresh air, the remoteness, the feeling of freedom and adventure, the excitement and beauty of falling snow. There are so many things that draw me to them like a magnet.
A few decades later I still get excited when I see snow on the way up to the mountains, which is now quite often since I’m lucky enough to call Jindabyne home. After spending my first summer here in 2010/2011, my love of the mountains has extended to summer and an ever growing love of mountain biking. This blog isn’t about me, it’s about the mountains that I love, the people whose lives and loves are in them, and the places and adventures within them.
The mountains are now my life. They’re in my blood, they’re in my name.