Our Trail Chapel adventurers packed their gear and headed into the alpine country around Guthega, ready to explore new terrain on snowshoes. For many of us, it was a first – strapping on unfamiliar gear, stepping into the snow, and learning as we went. There’s something good about that kind of beginning… a mix of curiosity, uncertainty, and quiet anticipation.
We set off from the dam and followed the creek line upward, the landscape already wrapped in a soft, muted stillness. At first, the weather felt manageable – low cloud drifting through and ball-bearing sleet tapping gently against us. But the mountains had more in store.
Before long, the conditions shifted. The wind picked up, the temperature dropped, and what had been a gentle start turned into a full alpine blizzard. Snow swept across us sideways, driven by gusts that blurred the line between sky and ground. One moment the world was a brilliant white expanse; the next, visibility closed in and we were moving through near-whiteout conditions. It changed constantly—wild, unpredictable, and strangely beautiful.
We paused briefly for lunch, huddled in the elements, before pressing further up the valley. And somewhere in that storm, something shifted in us too. What could have felt uncomfortable or even unwelcome became part of the adventure. In fact, it felt like a gift. The weather wasn’t a distraction from the experience – it was the experience.
There’s a kind of creativity in that, a reminder that God is not only present in calm and clarity, but also in chaos and intensity. The blizzard revealed a side of creation that many of us had never encountered before. Raw. Untamed. Alive.
Despite the cold and the challenge, the joy among the group, especially the younger adventurers, was impossible to miss. When we found a perfect, steep snow-covered hill, it quickly became a place of laughter and play. Running, tumbling, throwing themselves into the soft powder… it was simple, childlike joy breaking through the storm.
In the midst of it all, we were reminded of a familiar promise from Isaiah 1:18 – “that though our sins are like scarlet, they shall be made white as snow”. Standing there, surrounded by that brightness, it took on a deeper meaning. Snow in its purity reflects light so intensely it can be hard to look at without the protection of sunglasses or goggles. It’s dazzling. Overwhelming. Complete.
And that’s the picture we’re given of God’s grace.
Not partial. Not hesitant. But full, covering, and pure.
The journey back carried its own kind of energy. Legs were tired, but spirits were high. The storm hadn’t let up, but neither had our sense of wonder. If anything, it pushed us forward, carrying us through the final stretch with a shared sense of accomplishment and quiet joy.
When we returned to the cars, they were buried under a thick blanket of snow—one last reminder of the day we’d just lived. We brushed them off, climbed in, and began the drive out of the national park, snow still falling around us.
There was a deep sense of satisfaction in the group. Not just from completing the journey, but from having stepped into something bigger than ourselves—something wild, beautiful, and grounding all at once.
We came away energised, grateful, and already looking forward to the next time.
Because sometimes, it’s in the storm that we see most clearly.
