Life on the bogong highplains
by P J Jenkin
published in the herald sun, 5 January 1929

Two hundred miles from a tram. Sixty miles from a train. Twenty-five miles from a telephone. Fifty miles from a hotel. Five thousand feet above sea level, and nowhere to spend money! No noise other than the cawing of crows and the bellowing of mountain cattle, and not very much of either. Mountains stretching away into infinity: some of them misty blue; others capped with forests of dead snow gums, like huge plantations of white-flowering peaches; others, again, whose jagged rocks show up clearly against the sky; early morning mists like lakes of silver in the valleys; snowdrifts in the hollows, sheltered by mountain peaks; moonlight nights that would make even a misogynist feel romantic. Victoria in mid-summer.

Ask any of the 29 Melbourne businessmen who have just returned from the Bogong High Plains riding tour what he regards as the ideal holiday, and you will probably find him speechless, for a few minutes at least. Then maybe. he will tell you of warm, sunny days, and clear, frosty nights; of rolling mountains and flower spangled valleys; of friendly snow poles which guide the wayfarer across the roof of Victoria; of shy emus which are always at least half a mile away from prying humans; of crystal streams where trout abound, and where bathing is a delight. He will talk to you of the panorama from Spion Kop, looking down 6000 feet on Kiewa Valley, a vista of prosperous dairy farms; of the Hereford cattle, which for four months in the year roam the high plains and fatten on the succulent snow grass, and which walk for miles for the lick of salt; of mountain-bread ponies which pick their way over boulders and the trunks of fallen trees, and register annoyance when the city greenhorn tries to guide them; of cattlemen who sleep only when they are exhausted, and eat only when they are hungry, and who around the camp fire at night, recite Banjo Paterson and Billy Wye because they live the verses that each has written.

Victoria has in the High Plains an undiscovered province, a marvellous tract of country, where life is a heroic poem. The tourists who have just journeyed through this country have returned to Melbourne with a new respect for the men who have conquered the plains – surely the most mountainous plains in the world – and for the glorious wildflower country so far from civilisation, and so unspoiled that to set foot on it seems like desecration. They have seen our Switzerland; they have looked down on Victoria from Victoria’s greatest heights; they have gazed across a sea of ranges to Kosciusko and Buffalo; they have discovered the soul of Gippsland, and – they are going back next year.

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P B Jenkin captured the majestic, almost prehistoric, beauty of the Bogong High Plains beautifully. His words transport those of us who have gasped in awe at the incredible scenery of the Bogong High Plains back to visual and tactile memories of one of the most picturesque places on earth. Bathing may be a little different these days as we have a shower tent with hot running water. Nothing compares to a High Country camp shower … warm water … a beautiful vista through a small zip up window on a crisp morning … heaven.