Mike Hamill: The Mountain Maestro’s Aussie Adventure

Mike Hamill is at home in the mountains. He pretty much wrote the book on mountaineering. Literally! (I’m not kidding! Search Climbing the Seven Summits on Amazon). Across his mountaineering career, Mike has summited Everest six times and guided more than twenty 8000m expeditions. He’s accomplished those famed ‘seven summits’ six times, cycled unsupported across the United States, ski toured to the South Pole, and the list goes on. In short, he’s no underachiever.

Personally, I should probably have a man-crush on this chiselled Yank mountain guide, but I have issues with Hamill. In fact, I have a HUGE problem with the bloke… Because it’s mid-July in the Aussie Alps and he’s standing over me laughing. And what’s worse is I deserve it.

A Misstep in the Mountains

When Mike first moved to Australia, I joyously discovered that for a guru of 8000m Himalayan peaks, he wasn’t so confident at 80m above sea level, on Sydney’s rutted, off-camber, sandstone mountain bike trails. His lack of confidence likely stemmed from having smashed his femur to bits riding a mountain bike only a few years previous, but that didn’t stop me dropping a few heckles. “C’mon mate, it ain’t Everest,” I jeered with a grin. In return, he grinned back and quietly suggested he’d get his own back one day. I thought to myself, “not likely mate. You won’t find me hangin’ in the death zone,” and so the heckling continued unabated.

Payback Time in the Snowy Mountains

Now, on the semi-frozen banks of the Snowy River in Kosciuszko National Park, Mike is getting his own back. He’s at home amongst the snow and ice, even if it is my own Aussie backyard rather than his usual playground of high-altitude Antarctica or the Himalayas.

We’re at the suspension bridge at Illawong, in the backcountry. The bridge hangs over the swift-moving waters of the Snowy River and is a gateway to Australia’s ancient and weathered alpine peaks. This portal to adventure lies a rather short slog (that incorporates a painful snow gum-strewn sidehill traverse) from the trailhead, two and a half kilometers back at Guthega. It is also a transition point for Mike’s Australian Alpine Training Academy, where our team of future mountaineers launches into the nuances of hauling a heavy sled of gear across frozen white stuff. The banks of the Snowy also happen to be where my 10-year-old snowshoes explode into a million tiny pieces…

Snowshoe Snafu

It occurred to me, too late, that a decade of UV and freeze/thaw cycles on plastic bindings might lead to what some term ‘a critical failure of structural integrity’. Me… I call it, “up a creek without a paddle.” Maybe I should have ticked the checkbox beside ‘hire equipment required’. My “she’ll be right” attitude was now biting me firmly in my frozen backside. And to top it off, underneath Mike’s look of concern, I know he’s quietly laughing at me. In fact, he’s not even being quiet about it, and as promised, he is getting his own back by suggesting I should be savvy enough to find a solution and catch up to the team later that day. I’m less confident in my own abilities.

A Hasty Retreat

Fatefully, I do have a backup. A set of lightweight ski-touring boots and a split-board (a snowboard that splits into touring skis) sit in my car back at Guthega. It’s worth a try. I inform Mike I’ll hightail it back for my gear and send a message if I think I’ll be able to re-join the team.

With plan in place, the alpine academy crew traipses into the vastness of the Kosciuszko main range while I stash my pack under a rock and begin a jog (as much as you can jog in mountaineering boots on a thawing crust) back to Guthega.

Footprints to Nowhere

As I trudged back, I couldn’t help but reflect on the irony of my situation. The seasoned mountaineer Mike Hamill, who had braved some of the world’s highest peaks, was now watching me fumble in the relatively tame Australian Alps. Yet, in this moment of adversity, I found a strange sense of camaraderie and respect for the mountain maestro. His laughter wasn’t just at my expense; it was a shared acknowledgment of the unpredictable, humbling nature of the great outdoors.

Mike’s Australian Alpine Training Academy might just be the beginning of many more such adventures, blending the rugged charm of the Aussie Alps with the high-stakes drama of world-class mountaineering. And as for me, I’ll be sure to double-check my gear next time and maybe, just maybe, hold off on the heckling.