Hike this sun-kissed Aussie alps trail and soothe your feet in melted snow

A self-guided hike from Falls Creek to Hotham is a blend of stiff climbs, pole lines and fine wines.

Standing at the starting line of any hike is always a slightly daunting moment: I'm facing a two-day, 40-kilometre walk through the Alpine National Park in Victoria. Tales of disappeared hikers, snakes and summer snow white-outs run on warp speed and in hypercolour through my head.

Then JF calls out to me, like a mum waving her second-born off on the first day of kindy.

"There's a G&T waiting for you at Pretty Valley!"

And all is well.

JF is Jean-Francois Rupp, born and raised in the French Alps, who transplanted himself to our own ancient Alps and in 2017 founded Alpine Nature Experiences. One of those eco-tourism experiences is this supported summer hike between the ski resorts of Falls Creek and Mount Hotham.

Our route deviates from the official, way-marked Falls to Hotham trail, which covers 37 kilometres over three days, and also from a masterplan for the region that proposes a five-day, 57-kilometre hike that includes a spur to Mount Feathertop and new hiker huts similar to those on the Grampians Peaks Trail.

One of the few tour operators allowed to set up camp in the Victorian Alps, JF runs a seamless operation prepping and equipping hikers, supplying what I'll find is extraordinary local food and unique accommodation, and transferring us to and from the trail. To the hardened hiker, it could be described as spoon-feeding wilderness - to the pragmatic, it's enabling people to experience our great Alps prepared and safe, and without having to invest in a whole pile of gear they may never use again.

The night before, over burgers at the Harrietville Hotel-Motel, JF had given our group of four a safety briefing, and this morning, we're now fed and caffeinated en route at Mount Beauty and are standing at the trailhead at Wallace Hut car park.

He shares a GPS-UHF radio, first-aid kit, personal beacon locator (PBL) and walking notes among us, then watches as our awesome foursome strides off on the well-marked trail to Wallace Hut.

"It'd better not be some bottom-shelf gin," I think, tightening the straps on my daypack. On my last multi-day hike, in the Grampians, I carried my own tent and four days' food, but today I'm gambolling like a newborn lamb with a featherweight daypack holding water, spare socks, sunscreen, lunch and the omnipresent blister plasters.

Today, we'll hike in a curve from Wallace Hut to Pretty Valley campground, and tomorrow, from Pretty Valley out to Loch reservoir, just near Hotham ski resort.

Built in 1889, Wallace is the first of seven huts on our route and also the oldest remaining hut in the Victorian Alps. Some huts were built by cattlemen, others by mining or ski groups, and our paths will criss-cross with the volunteer maintenance group that keeps these historic refuges upright.

My romantic notions of trekking a wild, lonely landscape are soon scuppered when a sweating man thunders past me. He's a trail runner who'll cover my entire day's hike in a few hours on the 64-kilometre Rooftop Run from Bogong to Hotham. Like us, the ultra-marathon runners are following a long line of numbered timber poles set 40 metres apart, marking the trails through the mountains. Standing tall, the poles are still visible when these high plains are cloaked in snow.

Pole 333 is a four-way junction; it's the bellybutton of all the hikes in this region, the meeting point for trails to Mount Feathertop, Mount Hotham, Falls Creek and our route to Tawonga Huts. Today, Pole 333 is also the trail runners' checkpoint and the alpine equivalent of Tokyo's Shibuya Crossing. We flop down and break out bags of JF's decadent trail mix - think macadamias and organic goji berries - and cheer on the runners, who seem to appreciate our encouraging whoops.

Past the windswept Cope Saddle Hut, built to shelter workers on the local hydro scheme in the 1960s, Feathertop comes fully into view. There's a genuine affection among walkers for Victoria's second highest mountain, us included. Fields of purple and gold wildflowers wave in the foreground while the hulking, 1922-metre pyramid poses photogenically, and I vow to return to do its iconic, 22 kilometre-return Razorback summit trail.

From Tawonga Huts, we could take the 2.5-kilometre side trail up Mount Jaithmathang or ... we could lay in the shade of a vast snow gum, exploring our lunch boxes. Layered like an Indian tiffin, each deck reveals unexpected deliciousness: a fresh green salad, sliced kiwi and a chocolate slice, a cheese and salad wrap. With cloud threatening to cloak the mountain, obscuring any views, which would you choose?

It's an easy 4.5-kilometre run down the Fainter fire trail from Tawonga Huts to our campsite at Pretty Valley. But first, in lieu of the shower, we have the snowmelt-fed Pretty Valley Pondage.

Cold? Pah! Show me cold, I'll show you a woman born to ice bath. While the men's hollers and whimpers echo across the lake, my ingenious layers of subcutaneous fat allow me to slide into the water with nothing but a coo of delight, to wash away a hot day's hiking. Toes newly liberated from the confines of hiking boots now push into the cool pond floor, all thoughts of eels and huge brown trout blocked firmly from mind.

It's only 1.5 kilometres from the pondage to the campsite where JF has set up our tents, a camp kitchen and an open fire - a legal luxury in the national park. Even more of a luxury is the tumbler of curious purple liquid on offer. With packs down and warm layers on, JF's already pouring the promised G&Ts. Like most of his produce, Alfred's Peculiar Gin is local, from Billson's in Beechworth. Refreshed, we gather around the campfire sharing charcuterie and an excellent lamb shoulder, cooked sous vide beforehand then charred on the fire, with a tempranillo from Campbell's of Rutherglen.

There have been cattle yards at Pretty Valley campsite for nearly 100 years, and tonight's residents are Bob, a stout piebald with a wild blue eye, and a white mare who shall remain nameless after she turns her back on me and releases a stream of hot pee by my feet. The mismatched pair belongs to a family camping near us. With a five-year-old and a toddler in her camp, Bob's owner tells me this weekend is her young daughter's first ride in the high country.

While I'm fascinated at a life where kindy kids ride Victoria's mountain plateaus, the intrepid mum is equally fascinated by my tree tent.

Suspended between a couple of obliging snow gums, the Tentsile hovers a metre above ground. To get in, I simply park myself on the door, and then roll in like a mini sumo wrestler.

In my hiking life, I've slept in tents for months at a time, so I can say with authority that cold, hard ground gets really old, really quickly. Here, there's no cold seeping up from the ground, no rocks and no numb hip bones, and the tent leaves no impact on the fragile alpine earth. Its ethos clicks with JF's carbon-neutral company, achieved through sourcing local food with minimal food waste, composting, carbon offsets, harvesting rainwater and running on solar.

Before stepping out after a spoiled hikers' breakfast of hot egg-and-bacon rolls with strong coffee, we fill daypacks with fresh lunch packs, and fruit.

On day one, we'd all kept pace and bonded; day two separates the lambs from the mountain goats. Today we go down and - because what goes down must come up - there is up. A lot of up.

Put simply, day two is no walk in the (Alpine National) park.

Back at Pole 333, we celebrate - and negate - our excellent pace by flopping down to once again snack before the trail starts its descent down to Dibbens Hut. As JF says in his safety briefing, "When you see those little lines close together on a topographical map, you know it's steep." And the lines are very, very close together, indeed.

The sun is beating down, my shin muscles are hurling insults at me as the trail finally bottoms out through the long, and - quite frankly - very snakey grass to the hut. Apparently known as the "Creep Inn" for the low doorway Arthur Dibbens built in 1917, it offers respite from the sun and the best log book entries yet.

"Came inside to escape leeches, but was violated by colony of male rats in fireplace."

"Make friends with the rats. Great snuggling partners. Don't bully them pls."

"The rats have formed a commune. Leave them a sacrifice to be safe."

Today's spectacular lunchbox of lamb and rocket salad, blueberries, wrap and cherry-ripe slice is enjoyed with feet submerged in the icy Cobungra River, still a fledgling so close to its source.

If the descent was steep, the ascent via Swindlers Spur to Derrick Hut is steeper, and it takes way over the advised 75 minutes to climb the 3.7 kilometres to the welcome flat ground and long-drop loo, with its glorious view and blowflies the size of well-fed quail.

The last section of our hike is scenic, but Machinery Track is a harsh, crushed-rock fire trail following the boundary of Hotham ski resort up to our endpoint, at Loch reservoir. Is there anything more creepy than unused ski lifts in summer? I'm looking at you, Heavenly Valley.

The finish line is not me running beneath a banner, trumpets sounding and confetti raining. It's just JF, waiting with cold watermelon at Mount Loch car park, which is really all I need.

After a short drive along Hotham's ridge to Wire Plain, we walk into a hidden alpine meadow. At its centre is a tall tipi - that's the open-air bar and dinner table - and my bed for the night is one of three hyperdomes around it. Made of glass hexagons, they look out over layers of mountains - each a deeper shade of blue than the next. Fat duvets and a woodfired stove keep them super cosy in winter, but we're all ready for a glass of cold anything and a hot wash.

Which is how, shortly afterwards, I find myself at 1635 metres, easing back in an open-air tub of heated rainwater, a glass of Campbells' fine Trebbiano in hand.

This meadow on the Dargo Lookout is a gathering point for all things good about the High Country.

"In Nancy, you're not considered a local unless your grandfather had land there," says JF later, ladling a classically French beef daube onto my plate, "so I was really conscious of local collaborations with this venture."

Read more on Explore:

Bright Brewery beers and the locally smoked terrines and salmon sit alongside reminders of JF's French hometown of Nancy - the decorative cowbell and the classic French herbal liqueur, genepi, which he pours carefully from a gigantic bottle.

By the light of a few lanterns and the moon, it's bedtime when night has settled and I sleep the sleep of the just, sun-kissed and now bathed by the moon.

I won't say I've conquered the alpine crossing - what right have we to conquer wilderness? - but that for a few brief days, I am simply one more of its elements.

Getting there: Harrietville is a four-hour drive from Melbourne, or 1 hour 40 minutes from Albury Airport.

Staying there: The Falls to Hotham Crossing with Alpine Nature Experience costs $1580 a person, including three nights' accommodation, meals, local transfers, safety equipment and emergency support. Departs eight times a year, November to April.

Explore more: alpinenatureexperience.com.au, victoriashighcountry.com.au

The writer was a guest of Alpine Nature Experience.

Pictures by James Davidson/Tourism North East; Belinda Jackson; Shutterstock.