Tabla de contenidos para Issue 198, Summer 2025 en Wild

Abseiling Crystal Brook Falls, in Victoria’s Mt Buffalo NP, is a full-on day out. These low, late-summer flows tamed the beast, and other than a stuck rope, we enjoyed a relatively calm day by Crystal Brook’s standards. As we descended further into the depths of the gorge, we kept tabs on the several groups of nearby climbers scaling the dramatic cliffs. Even our climbers’ route back to the car was an adventure of its own. by RYAN HANSEN Sony A7R II, 16-35mm f4, 1/250s, f5, ISO 1250 I took this photo just before entering the Franklin River’s Great Ravine, the final flat water before the obstacles ahead. There are always mixed feelings at these points of an adventure; you’re trying to take in the scenery and the stillness, but knowing…

When you were a child, did you ever imagine a national park could be a place of conflict, a battleground over land, law, and guns? Chances are you tumbled out of the car, finally free from the seatbelt and the smell of a hot car and sandwiches gone soft, and stood for a moment in awe. The air felt cleaner, the light brighter, and that first deep breath was freedom itself. You forgot the long drive and bolted toward the trailhead, the rope swing, the promise of adventure. National parks were where freedom lived, not where it was threatened. The idea these sanctuaries could become arenas of conflict, or worse, places shadowed by firearms, never crossed our young minds. Yet in Victoria in 2025, under an Allan Labor Government and…

The pressures of everyday life, running a business and long-haul flights feel far away stepping into the volcanic heart of Hokkaido, Japan. I had come in search of stillness and immersion, a walk lasting more than a day and free from tents and ration packs. A walk where I could carry nothing more than a small daypack and finish each hiking day with a good meal, a decent place to sleep, and the luxury of bathing. In short, I didn’t want to have to think too much. Japan’s northern mountains are modest in elevation, compared to the Himalayas or the Alps. The drama of the Daisetsuzan National Park is not in lofty summits seen from below, but in what happens once you step inside the range itself. Daisetsuzan, which means…

For most of my adult life, I’ve been a diehard hiker. It’s been my passion, my obsession, my every holiday, virtually synonymous with annual leave. I knew fighting it was useless when it became impossible to look at a beautiful peak without simultaneously feeling the urge to stand at its summit. The more achievable the objective, the stronger the magnetism, hence distant snow-capped mountains exerted less of a pull (although I have climbed a few of those in my time). However, in recent years my body has become a battleground, my immune system attacking its host in the neurological equivalent of an own goal. Hiking has become more difficult. Not impossible, but I’m no longer capable of legging it up every hill I come across. So I’ve fiddled with my…

THE ROOF OF AUSTRALIA has always contained some of the country’s finest walking. It’s not merely that the peaks of the Main Range, including Kosciuszko and its surrounds, are the highest in the nation; there are—and pardon the cliches here, but they are entirely justified—the stunning views, the spectacular topography, the fields of wildflowers, the glittering lakes, the glacier-carved valleys, the crystalclear brooks, the tumbling rivers, the incredible rock formations. Best of all, for some, is the openness; the area has the greatest expanse of high-alpine, above-treeline walking in the country. When you walk through seemingly near endless grassy meadows on a still, sunny blue day, it really feels you’re in a walker’s nirvana. That openness means it’s possible to set your own path and to wander off track with…

On isolated islands surrounded by clear blue water, high in the fragile alpine country, and among the rolling red sand dunes of Australia’s vast inland deserts, new AI-powered technology is being deployed in the fight to save Australia’s precious wildlife. It’s a project led by Bush Heritage Australia in partnership with tech provider eVorta and First Nations business Timberscope. The focus: the devastating impacts of feral cats on Australia’s native wildlife and biodiversity. Already, there are promising signs that they could be game-changers. The Humane Animal Net Device (HAND), developed by Timberscope, is a soft net trap combined with a new high-tech camera that uses AI image recognition for identifying feral cats and triggering a remote capture mechanism. Once a cat is caught, the trap sends real-time alerts via satellite…

I’ve lost count of how many summer bushwalking holidays I’ve spent in New Zealand. Definitely more than eight. Ten? A dozen, maybe? (I’m 28, by the way, so whatever the exact number, it’s a mighty high ratio). I don’t say this to boast—I’m fortunate to have had these opportunities, especially as a child and teenager—but to show how entrenched the Land of the Long White Cloud is in my family’s history and tradition. I fondly recall my first multi-day bushwalk there as a five-year-old—the St James Walkway—shared with my toy tiger, Tigie, who popped his head out the top of my school-bag-come-backpack, just as excited as I was to see this new land. I’ll forever remember pausing along the way, and being surprised by a friendly couple who brought out…

How do you even start to put a place like Chamonix into words? Should I even try? Sure, many have written about the mountains here before, although others prefer to let the peaks themselves tell the story, as they always have the final say. Mountains can’t be conquered, but occasionally they let their guard down long enough for us to recreate in their presence. And at other times, well, those are the other times. The European Alps, but in particular France’s Chamonix Valley, had been a goal of mine for as long as I can remember. This year, for the first time, I was able to realise that ambition. The mountains here, widely considered the birthplace of modern alpinism, are some of the most revered in the world. The elevation…

Life-changing. It’s too often said and written. But while I’m putting one gaiter-covered leg in front of the other, and striding comfortably with fancy carbon hiking poles, something in me switches on. The narrow singletrack trails we’re hiking have dry-season grasses bending over them, and there are protruding rocks in random places, so my eyes are busy flicking up from where I am to where I’m going. I try, as often as I can, to look up, because I can’t believe what I’m seeing. At one point, I round a bend and the view of sharp mountains in the distance comes into focus. I do a double-take: I could be in the European Alps. I came here expecting heat and unforgiving terrain: Instead, I find amazement. This is Timor-Leste (half…

FROM THE EDITOR: This is not your usual Wild Shot, and I’ll explain why, but first here’s a bit of background. Every Wild Shot since I became editor of Wild seven years ago, we’ve given away a prize, one organised by Zac Dooling, marketing director at Outdoor Agencies. It meant that every three months or so, I’d get on the phone with Zac to talk about the upcoming Wild Shot and the prize to go with it. Our conversations were rarely short, usually half an hour or more, and we’d chat through not only the prizes but also our recent adventures, a bit of industry gossip, and, more broadly, life in general. In July, however, two days after our last chat, Zac had a massive heart attack, and passed away.…

Recently, I had just forded the Snowy River in Kosciuszko NP on my way out for a few days of backcountry skiing—the river’s frigid waters, despite being swollen with snowmelt, had thankfully remained just below testicle depth—when I got chatting with a woman about to ford back across the river. She’d only just braved the icy crossing in my direction less than half an hour earlier, so I asked why she was heading back so soon. The wind, she told me. I gathered it freaked her out. Granted, it was a blustery day. But it was nowhere near as blustery as it would be three days later, when I could barely stay upright while walking across ridgelines or while transitioning for a ski descent off Carruthers. And that, in turn,…

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Painting in nature, or ‘plein air’, has had a profound impact on the way I spend time in nature or go on adventures. It has made me observe my surrounds in a different way, and has helped me develop a new mindfulness. Previously, I rarely stopped to truly experience a vista over time, to note the way that light changes, shadows lengthen, and how creatures and people come and go. Rocks become burnt umber. Trees create opposing shadows of darkened cobalt. There are pattern changes in colour. To stop and sketch offers a different approach to moving through nature. It is now part of my practice, and, as a trekker or cyclist, is a wonderful way to mark a halfway point, to have a view to arrive at, to rest,…

DURING SPRING 2023, INSPIRED by a long-standing idea of Mark Oates’, I joined Mark, Jen Oates and Nick Hancock in an attempt to descend the steep valley of the Vale River in northwest Tasmania. With Mark and Nick due at work on Monday morning, we knew the four-day timing would be tight, but the combination of an appropriate weather forecast and our rare collective availability meant we decided to give it a go regardless. We started on a creek draining a grassy highland valley—the fresh snow on the ranges was a bit intimidating—but by Day Two, when we reached the gorge proper, the water levels had dropped to near-perfect. We carried both packrafting and canyoning gear, and we saw some stunning country, but in the end, we didn’t have enough…

We are standing in Colin Gibson’s botanical library. Plant samples surround us, running up the walls from floor to ceiling. And it’s while we’re taking in this testament to decades of specimen collection that Colin says something that, in hindsight, seems like a forewarning: “They are lovers of the shadowland.” We switch rooms, settling into lounge chairs as Col serves a pot of tea to myself and Max de Beer, a fellow ecologist. We’re now in the living room, where the walls, like those in the botanical library, are again lined with specimens. In this case, though, the plants have been replaced by hanging, long-retired, hiking packs, a nod to Colin’s lifelong passion for heading into the wilderness to see what he can find. The bags mounted proudly on the wall…

“The crew out there testing Summit Series gear—on all kinds of first ascents and crazy expeditions—reads like a who’s who of the adventure community.” TWENTY-FIVE YEARS AGO, The North Face launched its Summit Series. Now, a quarter century is a long time for a brand to be around, let alone a particular product line within a brand. But the Summit Series is no ordinary collection of products. From the very beginning, it was designed to be the pinnacle of The North Face’s gear. And at the heart of it has always been its athlete testing and sponsorship program. Man, I’ve often thought to myself, wouldn’t that be the gig to be on! Become one of The North Face’s sponsored athletes, then flit around the world going off on awesome trips.…