We trekked around for two days in the high country, each of us about an inch taller due to the thick, sticky mud that had made best friends with our footwear.
It was really just a typical winter’s day in the area — misty air, drizzling on and off, muddy underfoot, breath escaping as clouds of fog.
I’m not winter’s biggest fan. My mum always told me growing up, “Hate is a very strong word” and that’s stuck even more firmly than the mud to my boots, but I probably would go as far as to use the word to describe my emotion for most cold, dreary days in winter.
But somehow, it doesn’t bother me so much in the high country. If it has to be as cold as an ex-husband’s mother, then that’s the one place in the world I’ll not only accept being cold, I’ll embrace it.
My three teenage boys were on school holidays, and I’d scored an unexpected weekday off.
When they were little, they weren’t as easily transportable as now.
Now, thankfully, there’s no packing prams and nappies, no bottles and baby food, or timing experiences around sleep.
When they were in primary school, I still struggled to get away with them because they were involved in weekend sports.
So we reached this point where everyone could pack their own bags, no-one needed a pram or nap and we could all talk civilly about what we did and didn’t want to do on a trip rather than chuck any tantrums about it because they couldn’t yet express themselves properly.
But other things now bind us to home, like part-time jobs outside school hours, which usually puts teenagers on weekend rosters when most parents aren’t working.
The stars aligned and my day off fell on a day clear of my son’s shifts, so we jumped in the car and headed towards Murrundindi, our destination for the night, a cabin in Thornton.
As Murphy’s Law has a habit of enforcing itself during such times, my son fell sick on our mutual day off, halfway there, making it a slow trip; as we stopped for the waves of nausea we thought might give way to vomit.
It was looking more like we’d have to head immediately to our accommodation so he could rest rather than gallivant around and explore the area, so we took the opportunity to swing by the historic Cheviot Tunnel for him to get a good dose of fresh air in his lungs and so we could at least see something of tourism significance.
This tunnel sits on the Great Victorian Rail Trail between Yea and Molesworth and is open to walkers, cyclists and horse riders.
It was a key feature of the Tallarook to Mansfield rail line, which operated between 1883 and 1970, as it was the only tunnel on the line and was made using 675,000 bricks handmade of clay from the surrounding area.
It is beautiful. And huge. And dark. And a touch spooky when you walk through it.
We got some 20 metres inside its 201m before my spine tingled and my fight-or-flight instinct urged me to get out of there.
It is as dark inside as a windowless room in the dead of night with no light on.
But, we stayed the course and walked through to the other side, climbing the steep hill to the top of the tunnel, using the strong wire line that someone had fashioned as a climbing aid.
I learned afterwards that three men in their 20s died during the tunnel’s construction; two during an explosion in 1887 and another one later during a rock fall.
Maybe it’s haunted and maybe that’s why the hair on the back of my neck stood up.
From the tunnel, we made it to Thornton without any hurling.
We’d carted a bag of firewood with us and stoked up the firepit at the rear of our cabin, toasting marshmallows as the afternoon sun tried in vain to shine a few rays through the overcast sky.
We explored the park, town and walked along the river. When it got too cold outside for even the fire to keep us warm, we went inside, cooked pizza and apple pies and played board games in a nice little night of family bonding away from PlayStations and reliable wi-fi.
The next day we headed towards the Rubicon Valley Historic Area to hike the historic 7km aqueduct trail through old mining country in the forest, which we’d planned to do the day before, before my oldest fell sick.
Turns out the track was closed because of flooding last year anyway, so we explored a little outside before taking a 4x4 drive into the hills, climbing into low clouds in the hills and dodging wallabies.
From there we headed to Eildon for a look at its picturesque lake, then back to Snobs Creek to check out a ferocious waterfall. There’s a platform built so close to the powerful vertical stream that you can almost touch it.
That was quite an exhilarating experience, which my kids agreed made up for missing out on the Rubicon Valley hike.
Just quietly, they were probably pretty chuffed that their feet were spared from seven more kilometres of soggy paths and mud accumulation on their shoes.
We stopped here and there for photos as we slowly made our way back home via Alexandra for a wood-fired pizza and cider lunch at its On Point Brewery, playing quoits in the beer garden while we waited for it to cook.
It was nice to get my young away, even if just overnight, when in winter it’s sometimes more tempting to hibernate at home.
But, if I spend a whole three months doing that while the weather I ‘hate’ rages around us, I get far too restless.
Pack a picnic and, if you get up early enough, you could skip the cost of an overnight stay and see all of this in a day trip for no further expense than a tank of fuel.
And maybe a little frostbite on the end of your nose.