I can remember the modest knees-up, just like yesterday. We were dining al fresco, and the
mist was so thick you could hardly see who was at the far end of the table, which given
that’s where my ex-girlfriend of the time was sitting, was actually a good thing. The low
visibility also allowed me to skol a bottle of cheap wine out of view of my parents. Ahh,
those were the days.

In recent years, I’ve felt an urge to relive that night at Mt Broughton. No, not to neck another
bottle of nasty wine, rather to fall under the spell of the Highlands Mist and to bunk down
overnight at the now luxury hotel.

Sure, in the last 25 years, I’ve marked special occasions with dinner at Katers, the hotel’s renowned (and hatted) noshery, but never been lucky enough to time it with the arrival of a summer mist.

However, that’s all about to change. I hope. For the last couple of weeks, I’ve been meticulously monitoring weather websites, waiting for the right meteorological conditions
(it’s complex, but essentially you need a heat wave followed by a late afternoon localised easterly) to appear on the forecast.

Finally, all the ducks line up, it’s now or never. After a quick SOS to the babysitter, I advise
Mrs Yowie that we are about to head off. Having put her on a seemingly never-ending ‘stand-
by’, she doesn’t need much preparation, her overnight bag has been ready at the door for the
last few weeks. I made sure of that.

Most partners would be champing at the bit at the prospect of a night away in an upmarket
hotel, but Mrs Yowie is looking more than a bit anxious. She knows this isn’t just a night of
indulgent R&R, this is going to be her preoccupied husband on tenterhooks, scanning the
weather radar every minute for the first sign of the mist. And if it doesn’t arrive? Well, best
we don’t contemplate that.

We arrive mid-afternoon. The temperature is already pushing mid-30s and the sun is shining brightly as we
stroll through the neatly trimmed hedgerows, past the stunning summer house and beneath
the canopy of the century-old London Plane Tree.

As romantic as it sounds, we are here for one reason, and one reason only. Will the mist come
to the party? Or won’t it?

“Can you stop checking your phone for at least five minutes?” implores Mrs Yowie as she
eyes off the hotel’s pool.

However, a refreshing dip is the last thing on my mind. The radar app on my phone shows a
scattering of white dots near the escarpment – it’s only 15 kilometres away. My heart skips a
beat. It might happen!

I grab Mrs Yowie’s hand, leading her away from the pool and instead towards the adjoining
Mt Broughton Golf and Country Club, complete with a two-storey clubhouse which
commands a lofty and uninhibited view to the east.

“This’ll be the best place to see it roll in,” I assure Mrs Yowie, who seems more concerned with
ordering a stiff drink than my meteorological prognostications. She’s also uncharacteristically
gnawing at her fingernails.

The weather app indicates the wind has just swung around to the east at Robertson. “It won’t
be long now,” I quip.

Mrs Yowie downs her first drink in silence while I constantly attempt to refresh the radar to
see just how close the mist really is. “You do know they only update the radar every 10
minutes?” she reminds me. Ouch. She’s right, but it’s akin to repetitively pressing that button at the
traffic lights — you know if you press it three times it’s not going to make the lights change
any faster, but you do it anyway. It makes you feel better.

But I needn’t have worried, for in the distance a massive bank of mist starts rolling across the
fields. In no time at all it encroaches on the golf course, shrouding everything in its wake and
bringing with it a most welcome chill.

Another of this summer’s seemingly endless heat waves is over. Phew! You can almost hear
the collective sigh of relief of the heat-sapped residents of Sutton Forest and beyond. I can
certainly hear Mrs Yowie’s. “Thank goodness for that,” she exclaims, as much to the mirth of
the barman, I fist-pump the air.

In fact, the only person not happy with the arrival of the mist is the Greg Norman wannabe on the 18th who seems to have extra trouble finding his lie in the reduced visibility.

Walking back to the hotel, the gardens have been transformed. Mist laden with moisture
now swirls trance-like around the towering pines, highlighting hundreds of intricately woven
spider webs on their trunks, which just half an hour earlier were baking in the scorching sun.

Looming ahead is the two-storey main homestead where inside its grandiose Baronial Hall we
find the porter mid-way through lighting the open fire after its heatwave hiatus. Well, I guess
it has dropped almost 20 degrees in less than an hour.

At Katers, the mist is so thick we opt for table inside near the fire, where we indulge in a
much-anticipated celebratory dinner, toasting the mist with a glass of fine local wine. No
cheap bottles this time.

Back in our swish suite, I push open the windows and the mist rushes in, filling every corner
of the room. With the extreme heat this summer in Canberra, how long is it since you’ve
gone to sleep snuggled up under a doona? Pure bliss.

In the morning the mist has all but disappeared but I’m still on cloud nine and before
checking out we pop into the property’s historic stables which are in process of being
converted into a den for artisan craftsman.

The brainchild of Amanda Fry of Wild Food Adventures fame, over coming months Fry hopes to entice a photographer, a potter, wood carver and leatherworker to ply their trade from this rustic space.

Today, blacksmith Stephen Hogwood is forging a fire iron. Observing how quickly the metal rod turns from red-hot to room temperature when dunked in water I can’t help but draw
parallels with yesterday’s mist rolling in and in such a short time extinguishing the heat. I even score one of his fire iron’s as a memento.

On the drive back to Canberra, passing the parched paddocks that flank the Federal Highway near Goulburn, the outside temperature climbs back into the 30s. Suddenly, our
scrumptiously cool highland fling feels a world away, not just 90 minutes from home.

I’m tempted to suggest to Mrs Yowie we should make it an annual pilgrimage, but I’m not sure her fingernails could bear it.

Fact File

Peppers Manor House: Kater Road, Sutton Forest (150km from Canberra). Range of heritage accommodation. Ph: 02 4860 3111 or see www.peppers.com.au/manorhouse.

Look out for: Just 500 metres the Canberra side of the turn-off to Kater Road is a tall sculpture in a paddock. Named Walking Woman, this is a Peter Lundberg creation and is
similar to his Dancing Man sculpture whose appearance in a paddock at Mona Farm near Braidwood recently puzzled a number of passing motorists (Fit for a king, January 5).

Don’t miss: ‘Think Wild’ at The Stables is the first artisan experience in an Australian hotel and will soon open regularly for both guests of Peppers Manor House and to the public.
Currently by appointment only. To arrange a demonstration, contact Wild Food Adventures at https://wildfoodadventures.com.au

Mist - a misnomer: Although commonly referred to as a mist, the Southern Highland’s
summer weather phenomenon is actually low cloud. “The so-called Highlands Mist is low cloud that forms when moisture-laden air blows over the ocean,” explains Rosemary Barr from the Bureau of Meteorology. “When
that air blows over the escarpment during an easterly, it can turn into low cloud”.

While a similar phenomenon can occur up and down the south coast, it’s most prominent around the
Southern Highlands due to the proximity of the nearby Illawarra escarpment to the sea. “In other parts of the south coast the mountains are lower and/or further inland, meaning the
clouds that form is usually higher and drier,” explains the meteorologist.

Weather obsession: Are you equally as fixated with a particular weather event? If so, I’d
love to hear from you.

Simulacra Corner

“My daughter, Samantha Screen of Bonner, took this photo of a ‘crocodile’ at Mt Gingera in the Brindabellas recently,” reports Rita Corbett of Spence.

“Unfortunately, the tail end is missing” points out Corbett, adding “the little figures you can see belong to her daughter and were put there for a joke.”

Contact Tim: Email: timtheyowieman@bigpond.com or Twitter: @TimYowie or write c/- The Canberra Times, 9 Pirie St, Fyshwick.

Where in Canberra?

Clue: Learned seat? Or tribute to a Babylonian brick god?

Degree of difficulty: Medium

Last week:

Congratulations to Imogen Bell of Melba who just beat Nathan Holt as the first reader to correctly identify last week’s photo, sent in by Katy Skinner, as a metal cross
near the bike track at Lake Ginninderra, just south of Diddams Close Park.

Like your Akubra-clad columnist, Skinner was perplexed as to its purpose. “It looks religious, but I think it’s a boating sign, or maybe something to do with the drain outlet next to it,” she suggests.

However, as both Shane Hosie and Craig Nash both point out, “it used to have an orange life-saving buoy attached to it for saving swimmers”.  Where the device has gone and why it hasn’t been replaced is anyone’s guess.

How to enter: Email your guess along with your name and address to
timtheyowieman@bigpond.com. The first email sent after 10am, Saturday February 2, 2019
will win a double pass to Dendy - The Home of Quality Cinema.