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We pushed out across the alpine plateau below Mount Kosciuszko, cutting through the high catchment country. The land opens up completely out there — wide, exposed, rolling in every direction. No tall tree cover. Just snow gums twisted by relentless wind and an endless, dominating sky.

This is sensitive water country. The alpine catchment feeds much of the Snowy Mountains system. You can see how delicate it is — shallow soils, marshy beds underfoot, fine water channels threading quietly through the grass. Every step feels like you’re walking across something ancient and protected. It demands respect.

And then the flies hit.

Not one or two — swarms. The kind that orbit your head in formation. The warmer it got, the more aggressive they became. Stop for ten seconds to take in the view and the march flies would land, biting through sweat and patience alike.

The sun reflected hard off the pale alpine ground. The air was thin, dry, and unforgiving. There’s a strange contradiction out there — brutal exposure paired with complete stillness. No noise. No cover. Just space. It makes you feel small in the best and worst ways at once.

Despite the flies and heat, the catchment was impressive. You don’t realise how much water is born up there — tiny trickles gathering strength, eventually becoming major rivers that feed farms, towns, and cities far below.

It wasn’t a technical hike.

It was mental.

Exposure. Heat. Flies. Long stretches without shelter.