So there we are, my daughter and I, riding down what I personally would call a steep hill, in the company of Nev Barrass and his partner Linda who run Thredbo Valley Horse Riding. Nev’s in front on a small, somewhat nervy chestnut, who is prancing and dancing his way along the track, and I’m next on William, a taller, and I’m pleased to say, much more sedate mount.

I’m talking ‘horse’ with Barrass, as we horse owners do, and I’m saying to him, how, in all my years of riding I’ve never actually cantered or galloped down a really steep slope.

“I’m guessing,” I say, “that this would be too steep?”

Well, of course, a Mountain Man needs no further encouragement, and before you can say the Man from Snowy River, Nev is off in a sliding avalanche of gravel, mud and stones at a breakneck speed.

Just for a second William thinks his luck’s changed and perhaps we’ll be following. I point his head firmly into a tree and tell him to stand.

“Nev,” I shout, somewhat plaintively. “Come back!” So he does, equally fast. His little horse is in a hoof-stomping state of delight, and I would swear minus, the hooves, so is Nev. Because even though, at the time of riding, he is full of creaks and aches due to what he calls an “early dismount” a few weeks ago, it’s obvious that he loves what he does.

For my daughter and I, the decision to ride was a last minute one.   We were staying just up the road at the Lake Crackenback Resort and spa on a few days rest and recreation and the cool fine weather, and a window of opportunity was just too tempting.

Nev Barrass from Thredvo Valley Horse Riding and his partner in business and life Linda Falconer, giving the horses a run.

Two mornings before, our first morning at Lake Crackenback, I’d tried a different kind of riding – a mountain bike ride, under the tutelage of the Cycling Coordinator, Craig Trevallion. Unfortunately I’d arrived with a pinched calf muscle (at least that’s my excuse and I’m sticking to it), so we had to take a very sedate tour of the resort and its surrounding grounds, but for me it was a stunning introduction into the beautiful landscape of the Snowy Mountains in summer, (which has been on my bucket list for years) and I was happy to potter, with the occasional dismount for hills, while more serious bike aficionados sped past us. Craig took us down to the beautiful Thredbo River, relatively calm at this time of year, and pointed out the numerous wombat holes along the way. On the way back we saw a couple of Gang Gang cockatoos, and as we went around the back of one of the clusters of chalets, a herd of happy kangaroos, sleeping in the summer sun by the lake.

The lake is the main feature of the resort, which is on 150 acres, and surrounded by the Kosciuszko national park. The only visible accommodation when you drive in are the low-rise apartments, in their muted bush-friendly colours jutting out into the lake, with a stunning background of mountains behind them.   Behind the various hills are clusters of houses, all built of stone, wood and tin, nestling into their bush environment, hidden from view until you get out and about on a bike, or on Shank’s pony.

Craig Trevallion, the Cycling Coordinator on the cycling track next to the Thredbo River.

The apartment we were staying in was substantial – two large bedrooms, a spacious living and dining area, two bathrooms, a balcony and a sizeable laundry. The main bedroom opened onto the verandah, and in the living room two large windows, nestled between the fireplace, looked straight out over the water. At the edge of the lake there are free canoes, kayaks, and a paddleboard for guests to use, and there were kids of all (water-safe) ages out enjoying their water sports. And, the absolute best bit of all, once we’d got freezing cold in the lake it was only a hundred metres straight across the road to the heated swimming pool.

Heated swimming pools, fireplaces – in an Australian summer, I hear you ask – really?! Well, here’s the thing about mountain weather, it’s as changeable as a teenager’s moods, sunny one moment, glowering the next. In three days we experienced the full gamut – brilliant hot sunshine, pouring rain and one surprisingly cold night where we snuggled around the fire and drank hot chocolate. An occupation you’d normally associate with winter.

In the winter of course, Lake Crackenback is a snow resort, and although it doesn’t have skiing itself, it’s easy to get on to the ski-tube to Perisher. Even in summer there are winter reminders – signs saying ‘Please don’t walk on lake ice’, and large woodpiles outside each house or unit.

The Cusine restaurant, complete with woodpile and resident wombat, is right on the lake.

It was seductively easy to stroll between the apartment and the two fabulous eateries, the Alpine Larder and Cuisine, (which between them were responsible for pounds going on rather than coming off, despite the various forms of exercise) and I loved the easy access to the pool and gym, and last but by no means least, there is the luxurious day spa where we sampled a Moroccan hand treatment and scalp massage. Immersed in the warm, welcoming room, filled with the scent of roses and oils, it was easy to forget that just outside was the ‘weather’ – that all important subject of mountain conversation, dictating, as it does, everybody’s movements.

We were lucky because apart from the odd squall and the one, almost refreshingly cold night, the weather was clement, so much so that the even the dreaded bush flies I’d been warned about weren’t too bad. But nevertheless taking aeroguard is a good idea, and if you forget, the Activate Centre where you hire bikes, or book river rapid rides (not for the faint-hearted, or so I was told), has plenty of sunscreen and fly repellent on hand.

The Activate centre is also where you go for your ‘Segway’ experience, and if you haven’t ridden a Segway yet, if you get a chance, give it a go. Our first Segway outing was around Lake Burley Griffin in Canberra but in Crackenback it was much more exciting – the all-terrain Segways loved the hills, and within ten minutes or so, our Segway group was ready for action. It’s truly a brilliant form of exercise – all pleasure and no exertion. According to Matt Tripet, the Activate Centre manager who takes out the Segway tours, it’s something just about everybody can do. “We had an 85-year-old here once, on his walking frame,” he told me, “and he loved it. We also had a young man with cerebral palsy, who had never been able to do anything active. He came here every day just to watch, and one day he persuaded his mother to let him have a go, and he was stoked. It was the first time that he’d ever been able to move independently outside of his wheelchair.”

Matt Tripet, the Activate Centre Manager, shows us how it’s done while the kangaroos look on.

Perhaps, more than anything, those stories sum up what Lake Crackenback is all about. Even in the summer, you can, if you so wish, push yourself to the physical limits of endurance – there’s Mt Kosciuszko to climb nearby, there’s riding the rapids in the freezing cold river, all-day mountain bike hike, extreme bush-walking and hiking; or at the other end of the scale, you could just sit comfortably on your balcony overlooking the lake and read a book, or even paint. You could quite easily pretend you were on a lake in the Swiss Alps, as part of a European Grand Tour in days gone by, and it is very much a place to indulge in painting or photography if those are your interests. The resort even run landscape photography workshops there with acclaimed landscape photographer Michael Scott Lees, which are booked out almost as soon as they are advertised.

As for wildlife spotting, we’d been told night-time was obviously the time to catch sight of a wombat (they’re nocturnal), so we headed off one night in the car up the road towards Thredbo. We didn’t spot a wombat but we did see several herds of deer, and numerous kangaroos. (According to a local, the deer herds have built up since the devastating Canberra bush fires swept through the mountains ten years ago, when some domesticated deer were let loose. It seems a little ironic given the implacable position of the National Parks towards brumbies that the area is being overrun by deer, but that’s another story.) We drove back to the resort disappointed by our lack of wombat sighting, only to find another herd of deer on the village green, near the archery targets and trampolines, and, yes – wait for it, down there, what’s that? A real-live massive wombat, lumbering about in his passive way, his burrow only metres from the Cuisine restaurant where breakfast is served each morning. We were delighted with our ‘sighting’, and went off to bed tired but happy, as they say.

This wombat hole houses Wally the Wombat who boasts his own mailbox

And talking of brumbies – the next morning, back at the Thredbo Valley Horse Riding HQ, Nev is telling me their best stock are either pure brumby, or part brumby. “They’re just amazing horses,” he says. “They have quiet, brave temperaments, they make great kids ponies, and they’re easy-going, as well as being sure-footed and tough.” Brumbies, he says, are his passion. “We’re part of the brumby advocacy programme, and we’ve been liaising with the National Parks to have aerial culling taken off the agenda. What we would like to do is to manage the genetics so that we keep the best of their characteristics. It’s only 50 years ago that families were still pulling brumbies off the mountains for their kids to ride to school, and we believe they are an important part of the mountain heritage.”

For visitors these days the mountain heritage is a rich experience – from the beautiful town of Jindabyne, nestled by the side of its massive lake, to a ride in the remotest mountains, or the comforts of the Lake Crackenback resort, it reminds me a little of the hill towns in India. During the height of the summer in India people leave the hot plains in droves for the cool mountains, and I’m convinced a trip to the Snowy every summer is (at least for me) an even more compelling idea than a trip to the snow.

How to get there:

We flew from Ballina to Sydney, and hired a car. It takes around six hours to drive, taking it in easy stages and it is a beautiful drive. The other option is to fly to Canberra and hire a car, or the nearest airport to the Snowy Mountains is Cooma.

Contacts:

www.lakecrackenback.com.au

02 6451 3000

www.thredbovalleyhorseriding.com

02 6456 2142

[email protected]

Candida Baker was a guest of the Lake Crackenback Resort and of Thredbo Valley Horse Riding.

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The time-honoured tradition of jumping off the Brunswick Bridge. Photo: Candida Baker

Which is best?  City life or country life?  Candida Baker likes to have a foot, or in her case, a hoof, in each camp…

So there we were standing in the arena, giving my daughter’s two city cousins, Joanna, 15 and Max 12, a little riding lesson when Max called out, “Look! Your horse is falling down!!” Somewhat alarmed I looked up to see one of our horses enjoying a post-breakfast roll, and I couldn’t help laughing. “He’s rolling, Max,” I said. “That’s all.”

“Oh,” said Max. He paused in his attempts to use our old Arab’s reins like motorbike handles. “Why?”

The inevitable “Why?” was a question we’d heard rather a lot of during the previous week.

Why for instance, did our water smell, well, somewhat like a mixture of leaves and bleach. Fair question really, and that’s exactly what it did smell like for a while because unfortunately the very large fig tree that shades the house in summer, also drops its little fruit into the gutters, and if we don’t manage the cleaning of the gutters and the dropping of the berries in fine synchronicity, somewhat leafy smelling water is the result.

The city cousins were visiting us for a week, and it was the first time they’d come to us. Usually we leave our horses, dogs, cat, gumboots and smelly water behind and head down to their place near Collaroy beach, and indulge in lots of shopping at Warringah Mall – or one of us does – no names no packdrill, Anna; catch some culture in the city, and head back to the hills, refreshed but usually relieved to leave life in the fast lane behind us. Now here they were, with Cathy, their mum, all set to enjoy a week in our cottage, spiders, smelly water, falling horses and all.

Compulsory country wear.

It was a wonderful thing to introduce them to the notion of the country produce stall with all their honesty boxes, to the fact that the key lives in the car, to the idea that you can stroll into the macadamia farms and pick up an entire bag of macadamias in no time, and that macadamias, roasted, with honey and cinnamon are a treat to die for – even if it’s possible you might actually die before you crack enough to make it worthwhile! We took the Landcruiser across country, while the kids hung off at perilous angles on the running boards, had picnics in the woods, visited our local waterfall and swam in the freezing cold water, doggedly went to the beach every day even when it was grey and cold, watched them all jump off the bridge at Brunswick Heads over and over again, until Cathy and I were turning blue just looking at them, so we were forced to go to the Starfish café for calamari and chips and chocolate mousse, and on the very last night of all, drove deep into the macca farm, crossed the river, and lay on our backs gazing up at the stars, and saw not one, not two, not three but four shooting stars.

When we finally got cold and stood up to begin the journey home, I put my arm around Anna to give her a cuddle, Max spotted us. “Group hug,” he shouted gleefully, hugging Anna and me to him as tight as he could, and then being 12 and a boy, he got all overcome with boyness and banged our heads together, and was rather surprised when we thought it was just a tad painful.

The cousins took to it all, although they weren’t quite sure about wearing empty ice-cream containers on their heads to avoid swooping plovers and magpies, and I had a small moment of regret when I gave into Max’s incessant demands that he have a drive in the farm, and I thought we might be about to meet our mutual maker, but my advanced training skills from a Rauno Aaltonen (The Rally Professor) course many years ago, came in handy, albeit from the passenger seat. (Do you know – if you actually slam your foot down on an imaginary brake hard enough I think you can stop the car!)

Does it sound dangerous? I’d like to think it was ‘safe danger’. When I grew up in the country in England, my mother would throw us outside after breakfast and other than to return to eat we would often spend whole days outside. Nowadays I’ll often catch the teenage girls on their inevitable iPads ‘playing’ some outside game on technology, while the swing, and the sun and the garden and the lake and the beach and the animals all beckon. Or at least, they do to me.

It was a wonderful week – where the city kids discovered they could yell as loud as they liked outside at night without disturbing anyone, and the country kid got taught how to play chess, and forgive a 12-year-old boy for being, well a 12-year-old boy.

Groaning with goodies – The Harvest Bakery on a Saturday morning. Photo: Candida Baker

One of the highlights of the whole week, and it’s an addictive highlight I warn you for those who haven’t discovered it yet – is The Harvest bakery – harvestcafe.com.au – on a Saturday morning. Sitting in the Harvest Deli’s beautiful vegetable garden with a double-shot flat white and a salted caramel doughnut, is pretty close to heaven in my book – and in Max’s too, who finished his own doughnut and then did all he could to steal my crumbs – to no avail, I might add. They also have a beautiful gluten-free chocolate-coated salted caramel muffin which is another family favourite. It’s a city treat in a country setting – a perfect mix.

When I was little, one of my favourite Beatrix Potter books was Johnny Town Mouse. Of course, at the age of six, I didn’t realise that Potter had based her charming story of a country mouse who accidentally ends up in the city, and is rescued by a Town Mouse, who then pays a visit to his country friend, on the Aesop Fable ‘The Town Mouse and the Country Mouse’, but it appealed to me because from as far back as I can remember, my family had lived in both the city and the country – but for me, as for Potter, obviously, my preference was – and is – for country living.

Sometimes when it pours with rain for weeks on end and the orange mud is permanently ingrained into everything, including the grey horses, or when it doesn’t rain for weeks on end and I have to spend a fortune buying water, or when a rat makes a nest in the engine of the car, or when horses do in fact ‘fall over’, and need the chiropractor, or any number of strange and bizarre accidents that can seem to befall country dwellers I must admit to a bout of nostalgia for a house where clean water comes endlessly out of a tap, where you can walk to the shops, or keep a garden under control, but when I’m too overcome, I know I can book a flight to Sydney for a few days R&R. I guess that’s what they call a balanced life.

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