A Case for Ethical Investment in Australia's Superannuation Industry

 

The backstory:

In 2018, Industry Super Fund REST (Retail Employees Superannuation Trust) was sued by its member, Mark McVeigh, for not having an understanding of, and a plan to mitigate, Climate Change Business Risks. The case has been viewed as a much-needed one in the investment industry, given that many Superannuation Funds in an AUD 1.7 trillion industry are heavily investing in coal, oil and gas, and companies in highly polluting industries.

The Pandemic, among many things, has taught us how environmental disasters can impact the whole world. Considering that a large chunk of the current workforce will be retiring in the next 20-30 years, protecting retirement funds is a priority for many Australians. The world has collectively learned, that the environmental risk cannot be ignored any more than it already has.

It is alarming, therefore, that in a recent ruling, The Federal Court ruled that the Environment Minister does NOT have to consider the environmental impacts of emissions while approving gas projects. The Environmental Council of Central Queensland has expressed their concern, that this could lead to many coal and gas projects being approved, exacerbating the climate crisis.

What can Superfunds do?

Superannuation is literally a trillion-dollar industry by funds under management, and has a potential to change the direction of funds being invested, for the better. Organisations like Australian Conservation Foundation are already calling for Australians to demand their Superfunds to invest ethically, away from fossil fuels and in renewable energy.

ESG (Environmental, Social and Governance) Factors play a notable role in ethical investing. Some funds have their own charter used as a tool to outline positive and negative traits while considering an investment option. Several ESG leader funds are publicly declaring their ESG principles, disclosing what they invest in and how they engage with the companies in which they invest, publishing ESG reports, disclosing investment processes and reporting on performance. While superannuation is heavily regulated, regulations in terms of ethical investments can actually go a long way in creating a greener industry and, in the long run, economy.

What happened to the case?

In case you are wondering what happened to the case, REST entered into a settlement with Mr McVeigh in 2020, before the case went to trial, where REST agreed to put a more robust system in place to mitigate and manage risks of climate change, ensure their actions are aligned with TCFD (Task Force on Climate-Related Financial Disclosures) recommendations, and encourage investee companies to do the same. Given that REST has been named as one of ESG leaders in of 2023 by Rainmaker Information, they are definitely doing a good job.

Harry Potter: A book for children, A mirror to the world

‘Of course it is happening inside your head, Harry, but why on earth should that mean that it is not real?’

-Albus Dumbledore in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows.

One of my very favourite quotes from Harry Potter books. Anyone who knows me half-well knows I absolutely love the Harry Potter series. However, like many Potter fans, I am sure, I have heard people say. “It is just a children’s book”. This, in my own experience, comes from people who have never read the book. I won’t say Harry Potter isn’t for children, but it definitely is much, much more than just a book for children, and this is a story of my own experience with the books.

I was about 13 when I was introduced to Harry Potter. Harry Potter and the Philosopher’s Stone was a gift from a friend of my dad’s. I had already discovered my love for reading, and I had read several Kannada books by authors like Poornachandra Tejaswi and Kuvempu, Kannada translations of stories by Leo Tolstoy, and abridgements of English classics like David Copperfield and The Time Machine. I was also hooked on to Tintin comics by then. So when Harry Potter came along, I was already a budding reader.

To be honest, when I picked up the book, it wasn’t an easy start. I remember the first time I read the words “Mr and Mrs Dursley of number four, Privet Drive were proud to say that they were perfectly normal, thank you very much,” I tossed the book aside as ‘weird’. However, after I saw my dad finish reading the book in a week, I was intrigued. I braved my way through the first chapter and, lo and behold, I was hooked.

Maybe it helped that I was roughly the same age group as Harry, but he quickly captured my heart, as did all other characters. I grew up with Harry, Ron and Hermione and the others. I have felt Harry’s hopes and fears, Ron’s jealousy and insecurity, and Hermione’s thirst for knowledge, helpfulness and the occasional smugness. I have felt respect for Dumbledore and McGonagall, Hagrid and other teachers, I have loathed Dolores Umbridge, admired Luna for being different and Ginny for her strength, been in awe of Neville’s evolution through the series, just to name a few. I shed tears as beloved characters were lost, cheered for Gryffindor ever Quidditch match.

I have recently realised, though, how superficial my early reading was, and also that it’s okay. I am glad I have been re-reading the books every couple of years. As I read Harry Potter now, I see our world in Harry’s world.

I see muggle-borns looked down upon, and so-called purebloods, worshipped by some. I see division, I see marginalised people. I look at Draco Malloy and realise many of us aren’t born evil. I delve into the complexity of Snape’s character, to a point where I felt acute pity for him, and then an earnest respect. I see Luna being okay with being different. I see how some people treat house elves with kindness and respect, and some with cruelty. I see corrupt government and irresponsible journalism. I look at the speculations about Dumbledore after his death, and I am reminded of another great man whose name has been dragged through the mud. I think, ironically of Voldemort’s words: “Greatness inspires envy, envy engenders spite, spite spawns lies.”

Through the eyes of three teenagers, we learn love, bravery, friendship and unwavering loyalty. Dumbledore teaches us, in no uncertain terms, the value of trust, and that Love always has the upper hand. For anyone who still believes Harry Potter is just a children’s book, I say, if children who read Harry Potter rule the world, it would be a great place to live.

-Dedicated to all fans of The Boy Who Lived!

Here are some of my favourite quotes for the books:

1. Remember Cedric. Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right, and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory. (Albus Dumbledore, in The Goblet of Fire)

2. Nitwit! Blubber! Oddment! Tweak! (Albus Dumbledore, in The Philosopher’s stone)

3. Don’t put your wand in your pocket, boy! What if it’s ignited? Better wizards than you have lost buttocks, you know!” (Alastor Moody, The Order of the Phoenix)

(Image source: https://www.google.com.au/search?q=harry+potter+scar&tbm=isch&ved=2ahUKEwj2lfDU2_HjAhXIRH0KHaInAa8Q2-cCegQIABAC&oq=harry+potter+sc&gs_l=mobile-gws-wiz-img.1.0.0i67j0j0i67j0l2.4983.14862..15803...1.0..4.814.8708.0j2j9j4j4j3j2......0....1.......5..35i39.oTcDQAqym9M&ei=R0RLXbbWHsiJ9QOiz4T4Cg&bih=622&biw=414&client=safari&prmd=isnv#imgrc=ObCTIleyThCyMM)

Tasmania: Packing a Punch of History, Nature, Culture and Adventure

Hobart really does have it all. The world’s cleanest air, quirky museums, bustling markets, picturesque villages, delectable cuisines, pristine beaches, and history. Our week-long trip to Hobart was a whirlwind of fun and everything else this place has to offer. Even though we were there in the middle of a Total Fire Ban week, we were able to do everything on our list (and a couple more).

We reached Hobart on the evening of 24 January. Much of our first evening was spent navigating the roads of Hobart to get to our Airbnb home. A couple of wrong turns, steep inclines, extremely helpful out-of-town strangers and a startled Kangaroo later, we pulled up in front of the house, looking forward to a fun-filled week.

The occasional visitor we had in Hobart

Day 1: MONA

Our original plan on day 1 was to either drive to Port Arthur, or Freycinet National Park, however, the possibility of bushfires prevented us from venturing anywhere out of the city. We ended up ticking off the top item on my list, MONA (Museum of Old and New Art). If you are into art, a day in this museum is NOT enough.

This might be an exaggeration, but as I remember MONA and go through the photos and videos, I'm in a bit of an existential crisis. I am a complete newbie to art, but there’s something so humbling, so enchanting and absorbing about the world of art, that one can’t help feeling a little overwhelmed. A sensory overload, if you will. These works of art imbibe different types of medium. They play with light, the absence of light, material, colour, sound, and so very often, the spectator becomes a part of the artwork. These works have potential to boggle the mind, maybe in a confrontational manner. Nevertheless, I loved MONA so much, I decided to write a whole other page about it (to be shared soon).

Day 2: Salamanca Market, and Richmond

Most of this day went as planned. Our first stop was Salamanca Market, located at Salamanca place, next to the Hobart waterfront. The market is held only on Saturdays, from 8:30 am to 3 pm. The street was filled with stalls and tourists, selling everything from clothes and books to locally produced Lavender soaps, cherries, fruit s and vegetables. There were stalls of hand crafted cheese, hand worked glass, Tasmanian timber, leather goods and so much more. I decided to beat the heat with a little chocolaty indulgence while M gulped down deliciously refreshing orange juice.

 An antique sewing machine

 Beautiful Stones

 A shop selling lavender products

A display of Russian Dolls

Intricately done woodwork in a shop

After lunch, we wandered around the waterfront for a while, and looked around Tasmanian Museum and Art Gallery. The Museum has numerous displays of countless different species, a miniature Antarctica, recreation of Aboriginal settlements, vintage furniture and much, much, more.

After lunch, we decided to head to a little town called Richmond, about 30 minutes’ drive from Hobart. Famous for the first bridge of Australia, the first cathedral of Australia and historic Richmond Gaol, this little town has a total population of 1,464, as per 2016 census. The drive from Hobart was beautiful, and Richmond itself is terrific.

On an impulse, we stopped at the charming Richmond Bakery for a croissant and hot chocolate. Our next stop, the oldest stone span bridge in Australia. The construction of the bridge started in 1823, and it was completed using convict labour in 1825. We walked across the bridge to the grassy slopes next to it. Taking off my shoes, I walked around the grass barefoot; nothing short of heavenly! I even decided to embrace craziness and went rolling down the grass slope (the things you do when you aren’t worried of judging eyes!).

Richmond Bridge

The grass slopes down to a small river the bridge is built across, and it is a great place to watch ducks swimming ashore, cleaning themselves with their beaks. We were lucky enough to spot a black swan and a white swan!

Our next stop was the oldest Roman Catholic Church in Australia, St John’s Catholic Church. The construction started in 1835, and the church opened for worship in 1837. After lightning a candle in the Cathedral, we took a walk through the cemetery behind it, and I can’t think of a more beautiful final resting place.

St John's Church

If I had to pick one word to describe Richmond, it would be ‘Quaint’, and it was with gratefulness tinged with a little sadness that we bade Richmond goodbye.

Day 3: Bruny island

Bruny island is located about 83 kilometres to the southeast of Hobart. Bruny Island Ferry runs ferries between Kettering, Hobart and Bruny island everyday. We drove to Kettering early in the morning and hopped on the Ferry.

The ferry took about 20 minutes, and once there, we set off to Adventure Bay for a 3 hour cruise. We made a pit stop at The Neck for a great view and some photos and a few minutes at the beach, and then drove to adventure bay.

From Adventure Bay, Bruny Island Cruises runs 3 hour cruises at regular intervals. After a short safety briefing, we were shown into the cruise. Once everyone was given ginger tablets as a precaution for possible sea sickness, the cruise took off.

Being out on a cruise in the ocean, looking at the expanse of the South Pacific was, for me, a kind of deeply spiritual and humbling experience. The wind whipped around as I took in the sights, the sound of the waves crashing against the front of the boat, occasionally sending a spray across my face, the gigantic weathered rocks, and, stretching endlessly ahead, the vast, mysterious, uncaring sea, and my own inconsequence. It’s during these moments of raw feeling that you fall in love with Creation, feel at one with the universe. You feel your importance and unimportance at the same time. You appreciate the transient nature of your own existence.

The rocks in the ocean form a number of caves, and curious shapes. The place is also known to be home to seals and a colony of Albatross.

 The breathing rock, aptly named because of the blowhole

 An opening in the rocks forming an outline of the iconic Australian bird, Cockatoo

 An impressive formation of rocks in the ocean. They say it looks like a King on a Llama in front of a Prima Donna.

Seals on a rock

After the cruise, we spent most of the afternoon exploring beaches in Bruny island (after I had spent half an hour untangling my hair). We took the ferry back to Kettering just after 6.

Day 4: Port Arthur

Many say Port Arthur gives them the creeps, and I agree. Apart from the fact that the place is haunted with convict history, Port Arthur was the site of a brutal massacre that occurred on 28 April 1996. Because of the whole troubled past of the place, I decided to write another page in dedication to Port Arthur.

Day 5: Freycinet National Park

We had to postpone our visit to Freycinet National Park towards the end of our trip, as we visited in the middle of a total fire ban week. It was the hottest day yet. We decided to do the easiest track, and chose the 40 minute return route to Wineglass Bay Lookout, because most of the walks were to be closed off to avoid bushfires.

Even though the walk was short, and we were slathered with sunscreen, it was scorching hot. The track was almost all uphill, with a great view of The Hazards (gigantic mountains, that look pink due to the presence of granite). We had to make a couple of stops along the way, and keep ourselves hydrated with plenty of water, because sunstrokes are common in such weather. Once we reached the lookout though, it was completely worth the climb.

Wineglass Bay, Freycinet National Park

Freycinet National Park is huge, however, by the time we returned from Wineglass Bay Lookout, some of the parts were closed. However, we still got to see the beautiful Honeymoon Beach, and took a walk around Cape Tourville Lighthouse, and got some magnificent views of the ocean.

Day 6: Mount Wellington, and goodbye!

On our last day in Hobart, we took a final trip to the top of Mount Wellington. We set off early in the morning, and drove 30 minutes to the top. It was extremely windy, and there was a lot of cloud cover when we arrived, but the clouds cleared a little later to give us a gorgeous view of Hobart. A perfect way to say goodbye to the beautiful city.

A view of Hobart from the top of Mount Wellington

On my next visit to Hobart, whenever it happens, I plan to spend 3 days at MONA museum, shop till I drop at Salamanca market, do a ghost tour of Port Arthur, and fall in love with Richmond again.

The Blank Canvas

The man stood in front of his easel, a brush held loosely in his right hand, staring at the blank canvas. Once, he indecisively brought his hand closer to the canvas, let it hover, and, a couple of seconds later, let his hand fall back. Setting the brush down, he picked up his cup of tea from the stool next to the easel and took a sip.
The man was in his late sixties, had a lean build, and his head had a bald patch surrounded by greying hair. He was of average height, and his black eyes now contemplated the canvas thoughtfully. Setting down his cup of tea, he reached for an old battered folder sitting on a chair on the other side of the easel, opened it and caressed the first painting he came across.
The folder was his own, back from when he was eight years old, filled with his paintings. This folder had almost all his work from his childhood. For a second, he closed his eyes, and saw an eight-year-old boy’s nimble hands at work, copying an image in his head onto paper. He remembered the smell of colours, how it felt to have his mind focused only on the image. He remembered the stroke of the brush across the page, creating something out of nothing. He opened his eyes. He had his brushes and colours. The blank canvas was in front of him, waiting to be filled. It was just before sunrise, and the hues of dawn spilled all over the horizon. Why, then, was his mind as blank as the canvas; with no stroke of inspiration, no image for him to bring to life?
Putting down his brush wearily, he sat down on a chair facing the easel. It had been ages since he had held a brush; he couldn’t remember the last time he painted. There had actually been a time when he couldn’t go a single day without his brushes and colours. A small sigh escaped him as he thought back.
At the age of eighteen, his dream was to join an art college and go on to become a famous artist. It had seemed ridiculously simple then. Before starting college, though, he decided to take a year abroad, travelling and painting.
That was the year he met Her. She was on holidays before she went off to college to study engineering. She met him in a bar, after observing him doodle a bird on a paper napkin and thought it was rather fascinating. They ended up talking until the bar closed down, him narrating his stories from different countries and their cultures. She went home with him that night, where he showed her his best paintings. She had been enthralled by his work, and they spent two glorious months together. He had been somewhat of a recluse all his life, and now tremendously enjoyed the attention she gave him. Just after two months of courtship, they were married.
He never gave up on his dreams. They just made new plans, again, simple ones. While she went off to college to study engineering, he worked odd jobs, waiting tables, making coffee, cleaning apartments. He also spent time people-watching, and those were the days he created some of his most inspired work.
Once his wife finished her degree and started her well-paying job, their plan was for him to start art college, but only the first part of their plan materialised. Within a couple of weeks of starting her new job, she was pregnant.
They were thrilled, of course. He put his dreams on a seemingly short hold again and went back to working odd jobs. When the baby arrived, he stayed home to take care of it, and did the same when the second baby came the following year.
Once the children started school and his wife was back at her work, he broached the subject of painting full-time or going to art college, but things had changed. She was no longer supportive of his dreams, and wasn’t willing to spend her hard-earned money so he could spend time tinkering around with brushes and colours. Also, he, as a father, wouldn’t be setting a great example to their children, sitting around painting all day. They had mortgages and school fees to pay, and he should pull up his socks, find a decent job and support his wife instead of spending all day making peanuts serving coffee to strangers.
That was what he had done. He somehow landed a clerical job and helped his wife run the house. He had meal prepared when she arrived home, did the cleaning and laundry, and drove the kids to and from school. Those years were now a mere blur to him. He didn’t think consciously of painting, and when he caught himself thinking of it subconsciously, he chided himself and reminded himself of the job at hand.
When their children were independent and well settled, he suggested to his wife that they move to his childhood home, a large, currently unoccupied mansion in a little village. She wouldn’t hear of it. Why would she want to leave her beloved city and go live in the middle of nowhere, she asked him.
About ten years later, a couple of years after his wife passed away, he did move to his old village. The mansion was torn down, and a little house was built instead, and the rest of the space was devoted to a large garden.
It had been a couple of years after he moved here. He had bought the easel a year ago. He had been putting off bringing it out. He was busy working in the garden, he had told himself. He was, in fact, afraid to face reality; that he might not have any inspiration to paint. He had been afraid of this very moment.
It was in the living room of his home that he now sat, thinking about what could have happened but didn’t, not painting, but absent mindedly doodling.
As his eyes difted nowhere in particlular, they landed on the folder in his hand. He had been doodling while staring out of the window, lost in his musings, at the beautiful rose in his garden. A beautiful rose that had been exactly replicated in a corner of the yellowed page of the old file.
He got up with a flourish. It didn’t matter, he thought, if he hadn’t painted in all those years. He was here, now. He had his canvas, brushes and colours. He realised he was the only thing holding himself back. Inspiration was everywhere, and as long as he was inspired, he would be happy.
He reached for his brushes, mixed his colours with vigour, and, in a glorious moment, his brush was reunited with the blank canvas.

A Scientific Blind Date

This post is dedicated to fans of 2 greatest sitcoms, F.R.I.E.N.D.S and The Big Bang Theory. I took two most unique characters, one from each show and created a blind date.

If you need a back story, Sheldon loses a bet to Leonard and has to go on a date with whoever Leonard sets him up with. Phoebe accompanies Ross to a Paleontology conference  where Leonard, who is on a Physics conference, overhears her talking to Ross, and cannot think of anyone else who could be a worse blind date for Sheldon. Leonard talks to Ross and Ross agrees since Phoebe has been pestering him to set her up; neither Phoebe nor Sheldon has an idea of what they are in for (let's forget Mike and Amy for a minute there).

Scene 1
Setting: Phoebe's Apartment

Phoebe in her apartment, speaking over the phone.

Phoebe: Hey Mon, little change of plans; looks like I can’t come over to babysit the twins after all (listens) Well, you are the twins’ mother, and, well, that made me think about my mother and how she killed herself… (hesitates) alright, I have a date, but it’s Ross’s fault, he set me up… (hesitates) alright, I begged him to set me up… is that one of the twins crying? You should get that” hangs up and exhales.

Knock on door.

Knock knock knock

Voice: Miss Buffay?

Knock knock knock

Voice: Miss Buffay?

Knock knock knock

Voice: Miss Buffay?

Phoebe listens, puzzled; then opens the door.

Sheldon: Hi, I’m Sheldon Cooper.

Phoebe: HI, I’m Phoebe Buffay (holds out her hand).

Sheldon: (Stares at Phoebe’s hand) Aren’t you a masseuse?

Phoebe: I’m a guitar player, telemarketer, a womb rental one time, and yes, a masseuse.

Sheldon: Good Lord (walks down the hallway)

Phoebe: Good one, Phoebs (Follows Sheldon down the hall).

Scene 2

Setting: Street

Sheldon is waiting on the street. Phoebe drives down in her grandmother’s cab.

Phoebe: Hey, Sheldon, hop into my relaxi-taxi.

Sheldon (to himself): Like I’m going to relax in that. (gets into the car. to Phoebe): This is your car?

Phoebe: Well, it’s my grandmother’s car, but she sometimes lets me drive it. Would you like to say hi to her?

Sheldon: I only talk to my mee-maw. Other grandmothers are gross.

Phoebe: Come on, she’s right here! (takes out a box from under the seat) Grandma, meet Sheldon. Sheldon, say hi to my grammy.

Sheldon: This is your grandma?

Phoebe: Uh-huh

Sheldon: In the box?

Phoebe: Well, she’s… you know…dead.

Sheldon: How can you be sure she’s dead? Have you never heard of Schrodinger’s cat?

Phoebe: Well… my mom used to live in a cat once, but her owner’s name wasn’t (tries to remember) Dinger.

Sheldon: Oh dear. Schrodinger’s cat was a thought experiment on the interpretation of quantum mechanics. Let me dumb it down for you. You put a cat in a box and lock it, and until you open the box, the cat can be alive, or dead, or both. How do you know your grandma is dead without opening the box?

Phoebe; You would put a cat in a box? That is so cruel.

Sheldon: (to himself) I can’t believe I gave up going to the train store for this. (to Phoebe) Where’s the seat belt?

Phoebe: Oh yes, funny story, the paramedics had to cut through it. I’d get a new one, but grandma wants me to keep it the way she left it, you know?

Sheldon: (Jumps out of the car) I told Leonard I’d need my bus pants.

Phoebe: Bus pants? Are they like apartment pants you wear in a bus?

Sheldon: What are apartment pants?

Phoebe: Well, they’re like, you know, they’re… Hey, let’s go to Central Perk; it’s right here!

Scene 3:

Setting: Central Perk

Central Perk. Sheldon and Phoebe are sitting on the orange couch.

Phoebe: So, Sheldon Germaphobe Cooper, tell me more about you. Ross told me you’re a scientist, but he didn’t say much.

Sheldon: Of course he didn’t Ross Geller studies dead things that are of no importance. I doubt he’d understand my research, the complex study of the whole universe.

Phoebe: Wow, so you study God?

Sheldon: As much as my mother would love that, no. I’m a theoretical physicist. I used to study string theory, but now I study Dark matter.

Phoebe: You know, I’m not sure that’s a good idea. There’s so much dark matter in the world. I know, you should study love!

Sheldon: I should’ve gone on a date with Penny.

Phoebe: Hey do you want coffee?

Sheldon: Sure, I’ll have coffee. Then maybe I’ll have coitus with Kim Kardashian, who, as Penny informs me, has buttocks the size of (Phoebe stares) I’ll have a hot chocolate, please.

Phoebe: (Placing a mug in front of him) Here you go.

Sheldon: Heated to 120 degrees?

Phoebe: Yes.

Sheldon: Cocoa Powder and not chocolate syrup?

Phoebe: Yes.

Sheldon: Extra Sugar?

Phoebe: Yes.

Sheldon: I don’t see marshmallows. You missed them.

Phoebe: I’ll get you some (in undertone) you crazy freak.

Sheldon: Never mind, it’s ruined. And I’m not crazy, my mother had me tested.

Phoebe: So tell me, do you date much?

Sheldon: I date Science, much like Isaac Newton and Albert Einstein.

Phoebe: Don’t get me started on Newton. And who’s Einstein?

Sheldon: You don’t know Albert Einstein? Where did you go to school?

Phoebe: Well, after my mother killed herself and my stepdad was back in prison, and I was living in the streets, I had trouble concentrating at school, you know.

Sheldon: When you’re done with your chatter, that’s Albert Einstein (shows image on phone).

Phoebe: That’s not the Albert guy, that’s my grandfather!

Sheldon: (Stares dubiously, then makes a phone call) Leonard, take me home.

Phoebe: You’re leaving?

Sheldon: Yes. I suddenly miss my friends.

Phoebe: Will you call me?

Sheldon: Are you my mother?

Phoebe: No

Sheldon: Are you Stephen Hawking? Professor Proton? My paediatrician? My dentist?

Phoebe: (Emphatically) No!

Sheldon: Then why on earth would I call you?

Phoebe: Never mind.

Sheldon: Well, Leonard should be here any moment. I’d say it was nice meeting you, but since it really wasn’t, goodbye.

Phoebe: (holds out hand) Goodbye, Sheldon.

Sheldon: (Hesitates, gingerly touches her hand, withdraws it and sprays hand sanitiser) Goodbye (Leaves)

Phoebe: Wow, that was like second base with this guy.

A Kossie Christmas!

Tucked away in the heart of Snowy Mountains in Thredbo, New South Wales, lies majestic Mount Kosciuszko, the tallest mountain in Australia. On 25 December 2017, we hiked up to the summit. 

It was a beautiful day, and as many hikers we met who were regular visitors to The Snowies during Christmas told us, it was one of the best days for the climb. Fun fact: Originally, this was named Mount Townsend, and the real Mount Kosciuszko, thought to be the highest, was located nearby. In early 1900s, when measurements revealed that Mount Townsend was actually higher than Mount Kosciuszko, The NSW government simply swapped names, so Kossie remained the tallest mountain! Thanks to accurate measurements, I am pretty certain we did the right mountain! So here's our story of the climb:

It was just daylight as we left our cottage at Jindabyne. We had a short drive of about 35 km to Thredbo, and we were planning to take the chairlift up to the start of the trek, a 15 minute-ish ride up 560 vertical metres, offering great views.

The drive to Thredbo was smooth. Even with narrow winding roads and a drizzle, we made it pretty quickly. Once we found a good carpark, we bought our tickets and headed towards the chairlift.

It was cold, and there was thick mist, but we didn’t realise just how thick it was before the chairlift moved up. This was the middle of summer, just after 9 am. A little way up, we could faintly make out a biking track below, and a lone biker on her way down. Another few feet up, the tracks disappeared. Mayank, who was trying to shoot a video, soon gave up since all he could see through the mist was my face.

Seconds later we were in the heart of Mistland and we couldn’t even see the car in front of us, or the one behind. Weird thoughts kept popping up in my head. What if we keep going forever? What if we’ve stepped into some alternate dimension? I clutched Mayank’s hand, determined to take him whatever alternate universe it was I was going to.

The end of the chairlift would have been easy to miss, had it not been for the man on duty there, and we might have ended up going back without realising it. A building suddenly loomed into view, and a cheerful man on duty greeted us with a smile and helped us off the car, and we gratefully clambered off.

Now we had made our way to the top of the chairlift, there was the walk itself. Kosciuszko National Park has several walks up to the mountain, and being novices, we chose the easiest one, a 13 km return parth.

The walk started relatively easy, with a defined track to walk on. There were no trees up there, only grass and certain wild flowers. Covered by mist, everything looked surreal. There weren’t many people up there this early, or if there were, we couldn’t see them.

We trooped ahead, me with the camera, snapping pictures here and there, and Mayank warning me to save some battery till we got to the top.

A little farther along our way, the sun came up, and the mist cleared. As our surroundings materialised, we realised there were many people doing the walk. It got a little warm, and I took one of my two jackets off and stowed it away. Soon, we could see patches of snow here and there on the surrounding mountains. We even stopped at a patch of snow to make a tiny little snowman without eyes or nose, which I held on to till my ungloved fingers went numb.

Luckily for us, the path wasn’t all uphill. A little way ahead was a beautiful lookout point from where we could see several mountains ahead of us. We tried to debate about which the tallest one was, but from where we were, they all looked similar in size and we gave up without reaching a consensus.

Mayank and I are both more mountain people than beach ones. I, for one, find them calming, but also mysterious. Mountains have stood the test of time, and could perhaps tell us fascinating stories. Serenity abounds around mountains, and we feel connected with nature.

Coming back to the story, we moved farther along the path, stopping for photos or merely to catch our breaths after a fairly uphill stretch. We passed several patches of snow from winter, still lingering.

About 2.4 kilometres before the summit lies the famous Lake Cootapatamba. I’d laughed myself silly when I heard the name during our research. At 2024 metres above sea level, it is the highest lake in Australia. Derived from Aboriginal heritage and meaning “The Icy waters where the eagle swoops to drink,” this lake remains frozen from June until September. A spectacular sight at this high altitude, it is known to have formed about 20,000 years ago due to glacial movements.

A little ahead, 900 metres from the summit, lies Rawson Pass. This is where the two different paths (the express chairlift walk and Charlotte’s Pass) converge. The last stretch was a little steep, but the view from this altitude was so great it was more than worth the exertion. A little ahead of Rawson pass, we walked past a solid stretch of snow where kids were climbing, sliding, and building snowmen. Christmas with snow, the way it’s meant to be!

Spectacular view from Rawson Pass

Finally, panting, we made it to the summit. Even though it was a little crowded as it was just past one and we had to wait patiently for ‘Summit Photos’, we didn’t mind it, we were busy drinking in the view. Mountains dominated the scenery as far as we could see. Different shades of blue and green interplayed to create an effect so beautiful, no photograph would do it justice (no photograph from our basic Pan Lens).

The tallest person in Australia (Just for that one moment)

A cloud shadow on Kossie

We ate the lunch we brought and sat down for a while at the top of the summit before deciding to head down. We stopped at the large stretch of snow again, Mayank trying to slide and me trying to build a snowman. My fingers were so stiff it was a futile attempt, and Mayank turned out to be too tall to slide. After a few minutes, we decided to head back since we had a long way to go, and if we missed the chairlift, would have a hard time finding dinner at night, stranded atop a mountain.

Past Rawson Pass, Lake Cootapatamba and the lookout, and we could now view the surroundings which we couldn’t in the morning mist. It was a beautiful bright day, thousands of wild flowers danced among the rippling grass in the gentle afternoon breeze.

We were back at the chairlift, just as our legs were about to give way. We could truly appreciate the view as we moved down the mountains.

All too soon, we were clambering off the chairlift, and out the entrance point, heading back to the carpark. We looked up and, even though we couldn’t see Mount Kosciuszko anymore, thanked it for a truly spectacular Christmas.

Picture Courtesy: Some of the pictures above are mine and some are Mayank's. He says the best ones are his, and I begrudgingly agree.