LAUNCESTON, Tasmania — The jagged cliffs of Cradle Mountain stab upward into the cobalt blue sky like a serrated knife. The peak's perfect mirror image is reflected in the cool waters of Crater Lake hundreds of feet below.

In the distant valley, a fine mist curls round the towering gum trees of the native rainforest, and the turning leaves of the deciduous Fagus beech set the mountainside ablaze with a bright copper glow.

At least that's what the postcard looked like. The first three days I spent in Tasmania all it did was rain, and my views were limited to the gray swirling mass that is the inside of a cloud.

But for the 8,000 hikers who set out every year on the 50-mile trek through one of Tasmania's renowned world heritage areas, the mud, rain and hope of a picture-postcard view are all part of the adventure known as the Overland Track.

Tasmania, Australia's only island state, is a bushwalker's Mecca. With 17 national parks, 200 forest reserves, thousands of miles of tracks and dozens of peaks towering over 3,600 feet, it is a paradise on earth for the curious breed of folk who like nothing more than donning a heavy pack and walking through the wilderness.

The Overland Track is regarded as one of the world's classic bushwalks. Over the course of five to eight days, depending on fitness and how much time you have, the well-marked route threads its way through the heart of Cradle Mountain Lake — St. Clair National Park. Glacial lakes, ice-covered crags, alpine shrubbery, waterfalls and eucalyptus forests are among the scenic highlights, not forgetting the wallabies, wombats and wildcats (the latter fortunately only the size of a large hamster) you encounter along the way.

But it is perhaps the people you meet on the hillsides and bunk next to in the rough but welcoming alpine huts scattered along the trail who make the trek so memorable.

Like Jim, for example, an amiable, white-bearded fellow doing the walk with his wife and three children, ages 14, 12 and 9, despite only having one leg. Not that he explicitly advertised the fact. But when he boasted about only having to get one sock and boot dry as we sat by the coal stove in Pelion Hut — which is nestled in a thickly forested valley — it kind of gave the game away.

"I think I've been overdoing it carrying this damned backpack," said Jim, from Launceston, Tasmania's largest city after Hobart. "I've got most of the kids' food in here, and a three-man tent. I'm shattered.

"Still, it is a great thing to do with the family, the children are loving it," he added.

With 11 huts spread evenly along the route, and never more than five hours' hike apart, even the least ambitious walker is guaranteed a place of refuge for the night. The huts, little more than shacks equipped with a stove, tables and two-tier wooden bunks (minus mattresses) lining the walls, do get crowded, however, and walkers are advised to carry tents in case they are full.