Mueller Hut

One doesn’t casually decide to hike up to Mueller Hut like it’s a gentle Sunday stroll to the dairy for milk and bread. The Mueller Hut track has a rather unhealthy obsession with the word “up” and seems personally offended by the idea of flat ground. Apparently 1,800 metres of relentless climbing through an alpine environment is what DOC considers recreational fun.

Still, fully aware of all this, and perhaps slightly overconfident after checking the weather forecast from the comfort of my campsite, I set off in what appeared to be perfect conditions. Blue skies, light winds, birds chirping... the usual setup nature provides before attempting to humble you completely.

Naturally, in true photographer fashion, my backpack contained considerably more camera gear than sensible alpine equipment. Lenses? Plenty. Spare batteries? Absolutely. Proper wet weather gear easily accessible? Of course not. About halfway up the mountain the climb stopped being “character building” and started becoming a full-scale negotiation between lungs, legs and regret.

Then, right on cue, the weather turned.

Out of nowhere came horizontal sleet blasting across the mountain like the Southern Alps had decided I needed exfoliating. Within minutes it went from mildly uncomfortable to “why can’t I feel my legs anymore?” cold. I briefly considered stopping to change out of shorts and into proper wet weather gear, but the thought of standing still long enough to freeze solid didn’t seem like a winning strategy. So I boxed on uphill, fuelled entirely by the fantasy of arriving at Mueller Hut and warming myself beside a roaring fire with a heroic cup of tea.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of climbing over boulders so big one would thought they were put there by sadists, I pushed over the ridge and there it was in all its bright red glory - Mueller Hut. 

But something was missing.

No smoke.

No smell of burning wood.

No glorious crackling fireplace waiting to resurrect frozen photographers.

That’s when I realised true alpine huts don’t have fireplaces… because setting fire to an isolated hut perched high in the Southern Alps would apparently be considered “bad”. Fair enough.

So instead it was a cup of tea, a sleeping bag and a quiet period of questioning my life choices. Thankfully after half an hour wrapped up like an oversized caterpillar, feeling slowly returned to my limbs and optimism crept back in.

Around midnight the weather suddenly cleared and the sky exploded into one of those ridiculous alpine nights where the stars look so sharp and bright they almost don’t seem real. Sleep became optional at that point.

Then came the truly questionable decision.

Up again at 4am to climb the ridge behind Mueller Hut before sunrise.

Now scrambling over boulders in darkness with only a head torch and a rather alarming drop-off beside you does make one reflect on mortality surprisingly quickly. Every loose rock suddenly feels personal. Every gust of wind becomes suspicious. And one does begin calculating how embarrassing it would be for friends and family if the official DOC report read: “Photographer distracted by sunrise.”

But somehow I survived long enough to watch the first light spill across the Southern Alps, illuminating Aoraki / Mount Cook and the surrounding peaks in that unreal golden glow that makes all the suffering seem temporarily acceptable.

And standing there half frozen, mildly sleep deprived and balancing far too close to a cliff edge with a tripod in hand, I captured what I still consider my most adventurous photograph ever. 

Location Mueller Hut sits high on the Sealy Range above the Hooker Valley at approximately 1,800 metres, perched amongst the rugged peaks and shifting scree slopes of Aoraki / Mount Cook National Park. Surrounded by glaciers, snowfields and towering alpine ridgelines, the hut offers one of the most dramatic viewpoints in the Southern Alps, a place where weather, light and landscape collide with breathtaking intensity.