Like two red squirrels, we scurry through the tunnel-like entrance, careful to duck our heads under the low door frame.
Despite being late afternoon, it takes our eyes a few seconds to adjust to the darkness.
On the left side of the solitary room (barely 3 metres by 3 metres) is a wooden bench strewn with an empty can of baked beans and a tattered blanket.
Then we see it. A window.
We both rush up to it. For this is the very reason we've trekked to the fabled Warnscale Head Bothy (hut).
I jostle for best position on the bench with my daughter Sarah.
Perfectly framed not just by its timber border but also by the craggy, dark silhouette of the Haystacks on one side, and the soaring scree slopes of Fleetwith Pike on the other, is the U-shaped deep blue waters of Lake Buttermere. Talk about a room with a view.
But we almost didn't make it.
We'd been warned by the manager at our off-grid youth hostel that the 18th-century miner's hut, derelict for more than 150 years and restored by volunteers in 1985, was "camouflaged and tucked in at the bottom of an abandoned slate spoil". But we didn't realise it would be this hard to find.
Our walk had started 90 minutes earlier under blue skies at the Honister Slate Mine and for the first hour or so we thought we'd been transported back to the NSW Snowy Mountains - the spectacular spread of craggy peaks a similar scale and grandeur to those that hold up the Main Range to the west of Charlotte Pass.
Then there was the crossing of the Warnscale Beck (stream), whose catchment wasn't only mimicking the Snowy River below Charlotte Pass, but whose nearly identical stepping stones proved just as slippery. Brrr. Perhaps I should have taken Sarah's lead and left my shoes on after all.
But unlike most Australian huts, there is no real track leading to the Warnscale Head Bothy. And no signs. It's as if you're only worthy to visit if you can somehow find your way here. Frozen feet and all. Call it a rite of passage, Cumbria style.
But back to that window. Sure, it's the only decent window in the hut, but when it commands a view this drool-worthy, you don't need more than one.
While we were hoping for cloudless skies, the gathering grey clouds stir that primal sense of comfort you only get when hunkered down in a remote hut as a storm approaches. The Germans call it "Gemutlichkeit" and the Cumbrians more loosely refer to it as "heemly". Sarah simply calls it "thank goodness we made it inside before the lightning".
I've dreamt about making a pilgrimage to this part of the Lake District of England for decades - ever since I fell under the spell of English romantic-era poet William Wordsworth in high school. While my mates were roughing each other up on the footy field, I'd be in library, my head buried in poetry anthologies, imagining far-away places I thought I'd never visit. Yet here I am.
Those well-versed in Wordsworth will know that his most famous 'lake' poem, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud, was actually about Ullswater, not Buttermere, but I'm close enough, aren't I? It's a lot closer than my Year 7 English classroom in rural NSW that's for sure. Oh, and not to forget, he did immortalise 'the Maid of Buttermere' in his epic autobiographical poem The Prelude (1805).
While soaking up the majestic view (yes, the storm thankfully cleared as quickly as it blew in) I can't help but draw comparisons between Warnscale Head Bothy and two former huts in our own high country.
The way its exterior blends seamlessly into the surroundings reminds me of the ruins of the Mason Moraine Shelter, a circa-late 1800s stockman's refuge, which even though only about 250 metres from the main access road between Charlotte Pass and Mt Kosciuszko, is impossible to spot unless you know exactly where to look. In fact, I've only ever tracked down a handful of people who claim to have seen it, and even fewer who have visited it.
In terms of comparable outlooks, the closest I can think of is the former Lake Albina Lodge.
While I never got to see this legendary mountain eyrie, demolished by rangers (on environmental grounds) in the early 1980s, I wish I had.
In his seminal work, Huts of the High Country (1982), that doyen of Australian mountain hut lore, Klaus Hueneke quoted the following description of the origins of the rudimentary lodge from the Ski Year Book of 1951.
"Lake Albina, nestling below the frowning glory of Townsend's northern spur and overlooking the gorges that plunge down thousands of feet to the Geehi, has appealed to many skiers as an ideal site for a chalet. True, when blizzards rage it is storm-tossed and bleak, for prevailing winter winds surge through the valley with the fury of a thousand demons, but when the sun shines and the winds are stilled, here are perfect slopes and perfect snow - a skier's paradise."
Next week heralds the start of winter, a time when the thoughts of many will turn to alpine adventures.
I can hardly wait. For as imperious as that view from Warnscale Head Bothy is, there's nothing quite like turning a rickety handle and pushing open the creaking wooden door of one of our own high-country huts.
One Canberran who knows what makes a good mountain hut better than most is Klaus Hueneke - author of Huts of the High Country, in print since 1982. So which huts are his must-sees?
"All the huts are favourites when tired, cold and wet in a howling blizzard, even a tumble-down shack with only walls, a roof and a fireplace," he asserts.
"But if nailed down, of the stockmen's huts my favourites are Wheelers, Oldfields and Grey Mare. All of them face east into the morning sun across a former grazing lease, have some running fresh water nearby, are sheltered from fierce westerlies and are not far from timber for a fire to boil the billy and ward off the chill. Two of them are of timber slabs with a veranda that makes them more photogenic although Grey Mare, made of corrugated iron and lined, is far more snug."
And according to Klaus, what makes a good mountain hut?
"It needs to have bunks, some simple furniture, a decent stove and maybe some hooks to hang all that walking and skiing paraphernalia. A view is nice but not essential when all you want is sleep," he says.
Klaus admits he also has a soft spot for the former Lake Albina Lodge. "It had fabulous views over a glacial lake and the Geehi Valley, hot water, a decent kitchen, some heating, separate bedrooms with mattresses, a bathroom, a well-stocked larder and dramatic steep ski slopes nearby."
And his verdict? "What is my overall favourite depends on weather, age and fitness - rough and ready when young but with some comforts when a few decades have passed. The main thing is to just get out there and have an adventure."
Hear! hear!
What is your favourite mountain hut? Please let me know.
Rating: Hard
Cryptic Clue: Aviation theme
How to enter: Email your guess along with your name and address to tym@iinet.net.au. The first correct email received after 10am, Saturday May 30 wins a double pass to Dendy, the Home of Quality Cinema.
Last week: Congratulations to Sally Bond of Curtin who was the first reader to correctly identify last week's photo as the timber bus stop (#2321) shelter on the corner of Arthur Circle and Moresby Street in Forrest. Sally just beat Andy Hogan of Bonython, Chris Drakakis of Griffith and Joanna Hall of Forrest to the prize. Peter Harris reports the shelter was "built in the early 1930s and moved from its original site about 50 metres down the road in 1937". Canberra has just 12 of these heritage timber shelters, all of which pre-date our iconic concrete bunker-style shelters, and I'm collating stories about them, so if you have any recollections of catching the bus from (or having a party in!) these bus stops, then please let me know.
While recently undertaking "a bit of backyard landscaping", Jenine of Reid was surprised to find this motorbike numberplate (9-027) buried in her garden. Who knows how long it's been there? Was it purposefully discarded, lost, or heaven forbid, hastily buried many years ago after being involved in a crime?
Several readers including Laurie Laffan of O'Connor recall the mass fish deaths at Lake George in the early 1960s.
"I rode past the lake on a Honda Dream during the great carp and redfin dieback" reveals Laurie who distinctly remembers "the stench was nearly overwhelming."
The smell must have been bad for he "left the scene just as quickly as I could on a 250cc Dream."
CONTACT TIM: Email: tym@iinet.net.au or Twitter: @TimYowie or write c/- The Canberra Times, GPO Box 606, Civic, ACT, 2601
