There's something about a mate casually dropping "hey, we should do Mt Anne" that hits differently. One second you're catching up over a beer, the next you're nodding along with a grin that says absolutely, let's do this — before the full weight of what you've just agreed to has even landed.

That moment of pure, slightly unhinged joy kicked off three months of planning. Gear checks, map sessions, late-night research rabbit holes, and catch-up coffees with anyone who'd successfully survived the route before. By the time we locked in our dates — August, deep winter, South West Tasmania — the excitement and the nerves had become completely indistinguishable from each other.

The morning we pulled into the carpark, the weather gods seemed to be listening. Blue skies, a whisper of a breeze, and not a cloud in sight. We shouldered our packs and moved fast, the endless sprawl of Lake Pedder opening up behind us as we climbed. It felt almost too good.

We stopped at the High Camp Memorial Hut for a snack and a hot drink, but the sky had already started to change its mind. Rainwear on, we picked our way carefully across the boulder fields as the wind built and the visibility began to shrink around us. Somewhere in the grey, we found a boulder we christened "Chimp Rock" — a small, strange landmark in an increasingly wild afternoon — before pushing on to Shelf Camp to set up for the night.

By the time the tent was up, the wind was too. We were back to crossing fingers and bargaining with the weather gods. Round two...........