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VUWTC History

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Contents

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VUWTC 1970-75

In 1971 Wharry Keys organised a snowcraft course at Arthurs Pass National Park with about 30 people and held in brilliant weather. The value of a mountain radio on such trips was evident when Linda Dyett injured her eye with an ice axe and we were able to have her choppered out to Christchurch and continue the instruction course. (I think this was the first club trip to use a mountain radio).

The traditional casual organisation of some trips was exemplified by one down the Hutt Gorge. On this occasion it was not discovered until the first big pool that two people couldn't swim and that the English language is open to interpretation. The trip notice emphasised the need for a positive means of flotation. One newcomer took this to mean a plywood canoe with a dozen bottled beer for ballast. The river being rather low, the craft was holed at the first rocky rapid and sank with its precious cargo, the owner abandoning it in favour of a lilo.

Social events included wine and cheese evenings, slide shows and entertaining speakers such as Norm Elder and Bonk Scotney telling us about the good old days. Several trampers' flats were the focus of many parties, trip planning and climbing practise. Residences such as 143 Dixon Street and 254 The Terrace saw much prussiking and gymnastic indoor traverses on picture rails, mantelpieces etc, with some judicious 'aid' screwed into historic Edwardian timbers (the benefit of an absentee landlord).

In 1974/75 the scale of club activity tapered off as many experienced people moved on, however a core of enthusiasts kept club traditions alive.

John (Colonel) Atkinson

Early to Mid Seventies

The success of the club at this time could probably be attributed to full employment and a less than strenuous demand on students in terms of assessment. During this time it was easy to find holiday work and to move from job to job. Student allowances were generous and most courses were assessed solely on an end of year examination. This meant that the average student could have a reasonable social life, tramp and climb for 80 days a year, work for about 8 weeks of the holidays and still pass enough units to justify their existence.

The club ran trips to the Tararuas most weekends. Popular annual events such as the Freshers trip with as many as 60 members heading into Totara Flats, the Gourmet trip with up to 25 people (usually in fancy dress) carrying large amounts of food and drink into the bush.The club also had some large expeditions to places such as the Mount Arthur Tablelands, Tongariro and Egmont. For three consecutive August holidays 30 to 40 people descended upon Nelson Lakes National Park for 5 days.

The club ran an annual bushcraft course and 2 or 3 Alpine Instruction courses each year, with instruction provided by both club members and experts brought in from outside.Successful summer expeditions covered most of the Southern Alps during this period. With destinations such as the Garden of Eden, the Bracken Snowfield , the Olivine Ice Plateau, Mount Aspiring, Mount Cook, the Darrens and Arthur's Pass being popular.

Two major highlights of this period were the 50th anniversary of the club and our hosting of the annual May meeting of all of the University tramping clubs. We held the May meet at Totaranui which, at the time, had very limited resources. There were about 110 people at the three day gathering and the late Bob Sullivan did a magnificent job feeding everyone. He even produced a roast dinner using one electric stove, several open fires and a couple of old coppers in the laundry.

The low point for the club was the drowning of Kelvin Kennedy at Otaki Folks while heading home from an unsuccessful Middle Crossing. Kelvin was one of the fittest and most enthusiastic members of the club and his loss was felt deeply by all who knew him.

Many of the people running the club at this time had brothers and sisters who were also active members. The Sissons, Atkinson, Keys, Sullivan, Taylor and Gilman families were all prominent.

Towards the end of this era active membership started to decline as internal assessment was introduced and the workload of students increased. This did not detract from the social life but it became increasingly more difficult to put a party together for a weekend trip.

Rod Gilman
(VUWTC 1974 -1975)

An Impression - the later seventies (1976 - 1980)

The remnants of the sixties. The last group of dynamic people before generation X. Sex, drugs and Rock and Roll. Where did VUWTC fit into all this? What was it doing? Where was it going? Who were the dedicated people that kept the club running? Were they any different to the many students today who have worked long and hard to provide the outdoor experience for Victoria University? Judging from the above extracts they are not. They tramped for the same reasons, had a similar social life and no doubt faced the same committee challenges.

In General

Transport has always been a problem and most trips relied on private cars . . .

"First obstacle to be overcome - actually getting ourselves and our packs to the Ruahines. This proved to be entertaining for Karen and me as we watched George and Matt lying under the dreaded Humber, in the mud, fighting to get the muffler back on."

Heels '79, (VUWTC, 1979), p. 7

Trips were restricted to the usual areas of Lower North Island and Upper South Island with private trips ranging further afield, usually expeditions into the Southern region. Freshers, Gourmet, Bushcraft and AICs ran alongside Penn Creek Work parties after the club was given custody in 1978. Tubing and rock-climbing featured largely in the club at this time, with the Waiohine as a favourite river and Baring Head or Titahi Bay for local rock. August 1979 saw an extended alpine climbing trip consisting of 11 members in the Kaikouras which was highly successful. Longer trips were common over the periods of Easter, August and May targetting the Ruahines, Kaimanawas and Tongariro National Park. It was usual to visit North West Nelson at Easter and Nelson Lakes in August (after the AIC) of the same year. 1978 had a few problems as Bushcraft, Rockcraft, Nelson Lakes, Gourmet, the Southern Crossing and other miscellaneous trips were cancelled due to bad weather or lack of interest.

VUWTC was involved to some extent on a national scale during this time, through the annual "May Meet". This event ran on par with today's Easter Tourney or Christian Union's Conference. The May Meet was hosted in turn by University Tramping Clubs of New Zealand in which representatives from each club went away for a weekend where they would socialise and listen to guest speakers. For example, in 1978 environmental issues affecting Tongariro National Park were discussed and trips to Ruapehu, Tama Lakes and Turoa were also organised. Perhaps this is something VUWTC 1997 should think about pursuing as it is a unique opportunity to interact with other University Tramping clubs.

The late 70s VUWTC Tramper

In terms of the club's focus on Vic students, some have suggested in their reports that VUWTC became far more outwardly social towards the later 70s.

The club was not only there to get students out into the hills but was becoming the large incestuous tribe we all know and love. The club established its tapestry of "red liners" (hard core), "pikers" and normal people out to enjoy the bush.
Those were some of the facts of life for VUWTC members but as to what really went on we must ask those who were there.

Melinda Short

The Tramper’s Year

The VUWTC year began when enrolment time came around in February, with the Club miraculously regrouping out of nowhere for Orientation. Half a dozen of us put up hand-drawn posters enticing students with photos of sun-drenched mountain tops and a Freshers Trip list that we persuaded new and returning students to sign up for. Last year’s members popped in over the course of enrolment week, looking tanned and fit from their summer trips, and it was a great way to catch up. It was summer, a new year and everyone was KEEN.

To give Orientation a bit of ‘zing’ we abseiled off the top of Easterfield Building down into the quad (before the glass cover was built). Ronny Lock was the speed king, using a simple bar across a karabiner instead of the figure-eight descender. Going over the edge at the top was heart-stopping, especially for Cath Alington who flipped right upside down. It was such a buzz descending seven storeys that running up seven flights of steps back to the top was a breeze. Once we did a ‘stereo’ abseil, Jenny Iles and I on separate ropes (probably trying to imitate commandos). Normally the person abseiling was belayed with a safety rope, but there weren’t enough ropes so I slid a prussik knot down the rope as an emergency break. Halfway down the prussic jammed and melted onto the main rope and I was unceremoniously hauled back up and over the top like a sack of spuds. A strange but effective way to select your crevasse rescue team.

FreshersTrip was the first weekend of the varsity year, and for the first of these trips I can remember about 25 of us camped in the Atiwhakatu, were treated to bread baked in a billy by Olly Druce, then followed an old route from Pinnacle Saddle down into the Waingawa gorge. In later years the trips were much less adventurous with destinations such as Totara Flats or the Tauherenikau and the numbers grew to about 70. (The publication of the Minimum Impact Code about this time was probably not a coincidence). Tents and flies spread out over the river flats and the campfire appeared to double as a singles bar. After a few years in the Club it was impossible not to reflect on the Freshers phenomenon: huge numbers of new students turned up for Freshers to face road-walks, dubious stews and the antics of older (male) members, and many of the freshers were never seen on trips again. On the other hand, some took an instant liking to the freedom of the varsity life and the Club in particular and there was never really a shortage of keen trampers.

By the time of Gourmet Trip, people had come to know each other a lot better, and just in case they hadn’t there was plenty of booze around to help you get friendly. The plan was usually to take as much fancy food and booze as you could afford (and carry) into a hut or campsite and have a totally debauched party. Recollections of events are conveniently blurred now (as they were at the time), but I have glimpses of Cam Falkner doing brilliant imitations of Sam Hunt, someone being hoisted up a tree by the ankle, the ingeniously creative Cuba Mall Fountain and even a fire-walking ritual.

The Easter Trips to North-West Nelson were memorable for wheelbarrow races at Balloon Hut, and a young ‘climber’ breaking his foot by slipping off a log across a tiny creek, finding his own way to Nelson Hospital then nearly being thrown out for lighting up a joint in the ward.

Queen’s Birthday Weekend was usually the first Ruapehu snow trip of the year but these trips usually had more than their fair share of ‘epics’. What looked like snow was often crampon-breaking ice and sastrugi. Ever optimistic, we usually set out to camp or snow-cave on the plateau on top of Ruapehu. It became almost normal to get covered in snow, have your tent ripped then have to escape to the wrong road-end. One time we found a huge ice-cave formed by the snow curling over the top of Dome Ridge down onto the plateau. There was plenty of space inside to walk around and for the whole party to sleep. While some of us spent the afternoon climbing Te Heuheu and visiting the glaciers on the eastern side of the mountain, Cam and Peter set off to climb Tahurangi but didn’t get back by the time a thick mist set in. In the morning it was still impossible to see anything but we did find Glacier Shelter with the two guys safe inside. They had climbed in through the roof door and slept in a stretcher with a thin blanket over the top.

The Alpine Instruction Course (AIC) was another opportunity for Ruapehu antics during the short break after mid-year exams in late June. A Rockcraft day was usually held at Baring Head or Titahi Bay a couple of weekends before the AIC to get people used to tying knots and belaying. The AIC was four days long including the travel there and back so the pace was quite leisurely. We drove up during the day and walked in daylight to the Alpine Club hut at Whakapapa, or into Rangipo Hut on the Desert Road side. Tony Teeling drove his old van and we lurched up the Tukino ‘Road’ to the ethereal accompaniment of Dark Side of the Moon.

Former members such as Harry Keys, Bryan Sissons and Bill Foster were roped in as instructors and we even had a camp cook. Some keen person carried a huge cauldron on the back of their pack, and I can still visualise Eddie Mroczek fending aside the festoons of wet mittens hanging over the coal range to stir his porridge and sultana brew and Alan Ross turning out a brilliant mac cheese for breakfast while the ubiquitous wet mittens burnt in the oven compartment.

In the early 1980s the AIC was just a weekend trip and we walked into these huts on Friday night in pitch darkness in conditions ranging from icy snow to a calf-deep plod. The irony of trampers with no snow experience making their way across icy slopes to the AC Whakapapa hut in the middle of the night to begin the AIC did not escape us.

The actual instruction was aimed at training us for snow tramping rather than climbing, so we learned how to kick steps, spent most of a day doing all sorts of self-arrests including backwards somersaults downhill, then practised walking in crampons and running down slopes to test each others’ shaft belays. One of these assaults resulted in the destruction of an ageing Club ice-axe, so the remaining Club axes, typically up to a metre long with straight blunt picks, no teeth and small blunt adzes, were marshalled into the hut for scientific testing which amounted to summary execution for several of them and probably permanent damage for the survivors.

In these days of transition from oil-skin parkas to PVC and the emergence of closed-cell foam, the Club also had a supply of mild-steel crampons and some hawser-laid nylon ropes along with the tents, flies and billies in the gear cupboard in Eddie Mroczek’s chemistry lab. In the 1980s the gear custodianship moved to Terry Patterson in the Commerce Department. The extra financial skills were put to good use in milking the Sports Council for money and the Club went up market with new gear of all descriptions including kernmantel ropes and alpine tents.

On several occasions lack of snow was a problem at Rangipo and we had to climb for about 20 minutes above the hut to find slopes to play on. On the other hand it wasn’t unknown to be driving a convoy of vans down the Tukino Road through deep powder snow at the end of the trip.

Transport hassles seemed to dog us every year, particularly on the Ruapehu trips. In rental vans we managed to lose a wheel, break a windscreen with a snowball, pop the side windows out by jostling in the back seat, lose the headlights on the twisting road north of Taihape, nearly hit a cow and some drunks, and get the driving wheels stuck in the scoria at Tukino. George Symmes helped to cement the relationship with Avis by striding into the head office in his swanni and gumboots to negotiate a Club discount, which lasted for many years. We had just as much excitement in student cars: driving through the Roaring Meg with the stream over the headlights in Bill Taylor’s VW, crawling up the Bruce Road at night in George’s ox-car (Morris Oxford) with someone sitting on the bonnet to give directions in the thick mist, cramming 4-gallon tins of petrol into the boot of my Humber 80 and siphoning petrol out of rental vans to beat the weekend petrol sales ban during the ‘carless days’ era. I have vivid memories of arriving in Waiouru in the dead of night to find all the roads covered in snow, all the garages shut and a dozen skiers’ cars stopped at odd angles all over the road, run out of petrol.

For many students the goal of the AIC training was the August Holidays winter tramp to Nelson Lakes National Park. We plodded up to Hopeless Hut, Cupola Basin and over Travers Saddle, Moss Pass and Lake Angelus in full winter conditions. We knew how to tackle snow slopes and we were suitably clothed and cautious about hypothermia but in retrospect we probably exposed ourselves to considerable avalanche risk. One day we were hut bound in Upper Travers Hut in a snow storm then set off in perfect weather the next day to find the whole Sabine side of Travers Saddle had avalanched and left a hard icy gulch for us to traverse. Two dead chamois were among the jumbled debris that dammed the river. Say no more.

On these trips the trip leader bought all the breakfast and dinner food and brew materials. Breakfast was rice and raisins, porridge and pineapple, or mac cheese. I remember being excessively organised for one trip by salting the porridge before packing it at home, then forgot this when I salted it again to cook up breakfast for two trips starting out from Lake Head Hut. It was so salty it was inedible, but while I was sweating about how to feed 13 people I discovered that the more you cook the oats the more salt they absorb and half an hour later nobody noticed. Among the list of gear for the party members to bring I had added “goodies for trip leader” as a joke, only to be shocked about four days into the trip when two innocent young trampers produced home-made cookies and cakes from their packs and kindly handed them over. At least we shared the cake around. My own favourite recipe for a winter dessert was to empty a packet of gingernuts into a billy, cover them with jam and hot custard and wait for the gingernuts to soften. Yum.

The big event on the winter social calendar was the Progressive Dinner. We usually managed to stagger from one flat to the next for mulled wine, entrees, main course, dessert, then an all-out party. Lasting memories are of Bruce Wilson lining the floor (and the lower walls!) at Adams Tce with black plastic sheeting in preparation for the onslaught, Tony Teeling greeting party-goers at the front door in Epuni St with a squirt into the gob from a wine cask, and a side room at Mudges Tce full of drunk and stoned bodies and only three people capable of getting up and raging.

Slide shows at someone’s flat were excuses for more piss-ups, and it was ten out of ten to the tramper who put his glass of beer next to the shutter on the slide projector and couldn’t work out why the beer spilt all over the carpet every time another slide was shown. Entertainment included piggy-back fights, ‘humping’, jumping off the back porch into the hydrangeas and a demolition party mid-week in Karori that the neighbours invited the Boys In Blue to, complete with long batons drawn. Well it was during the Springbok tour and who knows what these commy students were up to. As usual there were more injuries at the parties than on tramping trips, but that’s what you expect when you get piggy-backed through a glass door or you fall off the top of a fifteen-person ‘hump’.

Before final exams loomed too close we got down to the job of putting ‘Heels’ together. All through the year the editor cajoled people into writing trip reports and poems and providing drawings, and then we set aside a weekend to hire an electric typewriter and take over someone’s flat to consume endless cups of tea and take turns at typing and pasting up the text to be taken to the printer.

After final exams we vanished to all corners of the country for holiday jobs and summer tramping trips. Some keen trampers got holiday jobs working at Tongariro National Park or for the Forest Service doing veg surveys or shit-lines (counting deer/possum/hare droppings) in the bush, or doing track and hut work in the Kaimanawas, West Coast or Stewart Island. I worked as a postie or in the wool stores or the brewery, counting down every day to the start of my first summer tramping trip. Then eventually enrolment would come around and the cycle-within-a-cycle would begin again.

Formative years they certainly were. Varsity work definitely took second place to tramping for many of us, and twenty years later I don’t regret this in the slightest. The life-long friendships, the self-sufficiency learned from tackling the hills and the organisational skills obtained from leading trips, running meetings and manipulating the purse-strings far outweigh the value of the lectures, labs, essays and exams.

Matt Johnston
(1978 -1983)

Social, notes and selected antics - mid 70's to 1980

The mountains and student reasons for tramping in them (escape, social, etc) remain constant, so it is the antics that I associated with this particular group and period that I will try to cast some light on.

These were for me very exciting days and people - informal, enthusiastic and responsible only to themselves (and on occasions only just at that). All tramping clubs are ‘cliquey’ with their own social structures and groups. The Varsity club with its youthfulness seemed to exaggerate this aspect.

The club was influenced by two flats. 22 Northland Road was occupied by the Keyes, Atkinson and Sissons set . While their interest was from a distance they had an important stabilising influence on the younger bloods. Here were a group of experienced mountaineers, considerably more mature people, intelligent and hospitable. Their collective depth and wisdom gave the club considerable strength. While their involvement with the VUWTC was at its fullest in the very early 70's by younger brothers or sisters joining they were able to keep an eye on things. John Keyes (Wharry) was a personable leader and Bryan Sissons an experienced and sensitive resource. Both turned up to AICs until the late 70's. Mary Atkinson and Noel Sissons' collective wisdom was also accessible.

254 The Terrace was more significant in the social context. This flat was less mature with a wilder and noisier ethos. Among others, the Sullivan, Gilman and Taylor brothers dominated this flat until the end of 1977 when it disbanded. This was the VUWTC front line not only because all of its members were enthusiastic trampers, just as important was its proximity to Varsity. The Student Union building was only 110 metres away. People came and went, constantly picking up gear or having quick cuppas between lectures. Spontaneous social gatherings or orchestrated parties were a constant rhythm of life here.
The 70's were wild . Everybody was out to have a good time and study was definitely secondary to socialising. Alcohol use was conventional and fitted in with the myth of the 'hardman', generated by this group. Not to be accepted by this (in hindsight) judgemental and insular group could have spelt doom on aspiring trampers and full or happy involvement with the club. This myth of the 'hardman' seemed to influence club atmosphere until at least 1980.

There are still images of life in the VUWTC that make me laugh though . . . . .

Social Climbing at 254

In early 1977 an artificial climb was created. Wooden blocks up the wall beside a bedroom door provided holds to gain access to the ceiling traverse. Where eye bolts led diagonally down the hallway over to the front door. A victim armed with two “etriers”, a bunch of karabiners and a rope belayed by the most sober fellow enthusiast would grunt, swing, and using rope tensions struggle from point to point. A crowd of onlookers would assemble on the stairway to cheer their favourites or abuse anybody that was not readily assimilable by the hardman culture.
The crux of the traverse was two widely spaced bolts. Taller people with more reach had the advantage here while shorter people with more reach had the advantage while shorter people would have to pendulum wildly, hoping to clip in with each swing. Once a rather porcine inebriate swung a little too hard, the bolt collapsed and the ensuing momentum meant that other bolts zipped in sympathy. The audience (all pissed) dropped their jaws in astounded horror.
“F.... he actually bounced!”

Innovations at 22 - Urban Bushmen Take Control

Cuba Mall Fountains - performance Art comes to the Hills.

Penn Creek Hut - Property Management

Matt Johnston and myself trialed the scheme on the chimney, ie blue-grey on the sides with red and white rings at the top as the chimney was the only part of the hut noticeable from the creek - we thought it should stand out. (A tradition that remains today - ed) A working party in late April saw the hut a hive of activity. A rubbish pit was dug and the walls and roof painted. Well pleased with the results everybody crammed inside to cook. It was a cool night and a lesson was learnt as a result. The first person to get up the next morning was perplexed by the two neat straight lines of red beside the walls of the hut. The entire roof repaint had been killed by the cold and had run off with the heavy dew. The next weekend the roof was repainted - earlier in the day.

Weekends at Penn Creek were pleasant affairs as usually Matt and myself pottered around achieving very little but feeling content with life. Often we would drive to the Forks on Friday night and walk in through the dark. One night still stands out. Matt, Bruce Wilson and I walked in, in the dark, in heavy rain with only one torch between us. Even then the track was overgrown and traversed woolly country. We had a miserable time of it, soaked through and hungry we plodded on. There were several falls down banks and many cries of agony. Ignored demands to stop and make camp there and then changed to suggestions as to where I could stick my torch. By dogged persistence (some would say dictatorship) we stayed more on the track than off and emerged into the open at Penn Creek as the batteries gave out. The fly was pitched on a piece of level ground and soon sausages sizzled and suffering eased.

Even in those days the track was a problem, marred by large slips and muddy patches. We adopted a policy of carrying axes and slashers with us for some impromptu bush whacking. The worst of the mud puddles were bridged and indistinct parts of the track clarified but for the most part we just played at being “bushmen”. It was good fun.

A Gourmet Trip

Stripping off my wet gear I went in search of familiar faces and found Matt Johnston sitting at the back of the top Maori Bunk. As I walked over to him he put his arms out in a gesture to stop and mumbled something incoherent but it was too late. As my nose picked out the smell of vomit I became aware of its source creeping up between my toes. In short, everybody was written off or well on the way. Remaining sober myself I found it difficult to do anything socially other than observe. One group of enthusiasts had brought in a wok to cook chicken chow mein in. As the meal was prepared and cooked, the participants succumbed to the effects of alcohol. One had brought his golden Labrador puppy for its inaugural overnight bush experience. In the end the dog was the only one fit to eat. With her back paws on the hearth, head and shoulders in the wok, “Jude” the Labrador found the meaning of life very early on in her bush career. She became quite bloated and lay cast beside the wok for several hours before some wise person put her out for “tinkles and whatsits”.

For some members this was their first experience of heavy drinking and several 'nice young girls fresh out of school' were to be seen having their first vomit off the hut verandah. One sitting beside me at the fire place smiled sweetly before cupping her hands for a liquid cough - still smiling she excused herself - some people have natural style. I was impressed with her composure.

Several quotes spring to mind. One from an indignant first year:

“My father arrests people for smoking that stuff!”
Retort . . . none, just stoned giggles.

Another came late in the evening (1.00am) from a justly brassed off member of the public. We were asked to turn the music off.
Anon: “Turn that thing off!”
Retort: “You can go and sleep down by the river if you don’t like it!”

As a cold dawn broke next morning Matt noticed someone clad only in a singlet with his feet in a nylon stuff sack pulled up to his knees, sleeping soundly in a foetal position. He had given his own sleeping bag to a girl whose bag he had vomited on the night before. The flats were covered with a good dusting of snow. This provided an uncharitable background as a steady procession of hung over refugees headed off.

Totara Creek became dotted here and there with small groups of sad quiet people brewing coffee and talking in a subdued manner. Nobody was repentant. This was just part of growing up.

Bill Taylor
(VUWTC 1977-1980)

Better Remembered?

Even before this uphill breakthrough though, something kept drawing me back to VUWTC trips, since the first time my sister took me on a Waiohine Gorge trip when I was 17. That time, it was enough that a glamorous older sister (several of whose admirers were, to my naive surprise, VERY kind to me on that trip) had invited me. Later, a lonely and unglamorous student myself, doing battle with depression, I remember lying awake in my sleeping bag in the long grass of Donnelly’s Flat, infinitely comforted by the many voices murmuring in the darkness around me; sleepily conversing, counting shooting stars, singing...

The singing was something special. I think new “recruits” to the club sometimes thought they had inadvertently joined a Christian club, as we cheerfully ploughed through the first half of the campfire repertoire - hymns, remembered from years of school assemblies. They probably changed their minds when we embarked on Part 2, the “dirty” songs, also well remembered though for different reasons. Over time a third type of song was added to the repertoire - folk songs and gradually some lovely harmonies crept in. I remembered one particularly fine rendition of “O You Can’t Get to Heaven”, sung with enormous gusto and rhythm in multiple harmonies. I’m busy trying to teach our three children to sing it like that.

Where are they now, those tough trampers who sobbed into their hankies during “Paper Roses”? Those earnest choristers of “Jerusalem”? Those who lay down and wept “By the Waters of Babylon”? (The latter giving a remarkably washing-machine-like effect. . . ) How about a reunion tramp? We could leave out the singing - I’ll admit, some things are better forgotten...

Janet Atkinson
(1974 - 1976 inclusive)

A few words from an ex-Chief Guide...

Four of us on this trip could discuss the children left behind with partners and how tricky it is to find the time to go tramping while raising the trampers of the future. My partner and I usually have to take turns tramping and staying home or plan elaborate schemes to deposit children with relatives. I find I am much more fussy who I go tramping with these days. I remember we used to head for huts at all costs. On this trip we avoided them completely, camping out every night including one beautiful site by a tarn above Blue Lake on the way to Moss Pass. I slept out under the stars for three nights out of the five.

We seemed to have a lot more potions on hand than I remember: hand creams, sun repellent, insect block etc. Well, I do think we know how to look after ourselves better than we used to. It IS possible to cohabit with sandflies and mosquitoes without being driven nuts if you have enough protection and defences. Tramping need not be pain and suffering.

My VUWTC days provide an endless source of memories. The worst have been suppressed deep into the subconscious. Arriving by bus about dawn at the bottom of the Graham Valley and then staggering up to Flora Saddle without any sleep. Crawling across the Ruahine tops on all fours clutching tussocks so as not to become airborne. Swimming along a Fiordland track as the Seaforth river rose alarmingly through the trees. Watching a 3 - wire bridge tip my friend upside down with the legs stuck in the wires. Surviving a certain person falling asleep into his candle and igniting the book he was ‘reading’.

Still for me the tramping urge has never died. I have a long list of places in NZ I plan to go to, both on and off the beaten track. I hope I will still be out there in another 25 years.

Oliver Druce
(1973 - 1978)

in the '80s

The same trips are still run - Bash-on-thru, Freshers, Rockcraft, Penn Creek Work(?) Party etc-, there are hard core trampers, a lot of piking, getting lost, tea and bikkies at the meetings, pit days, torch bashing, supplejack, wet socks.....These things will always be what tramping is all about, whatever date it is. There are some differences though, which are worth a mention;

TC Traditions

Fashion

Social

Food

Publicity

Overall, VUWTC hasn't really changed at all. Tramping involves being in the bush with a group of great people, eating lots of food and enjoying the outdoor life. Unless something dramatic happens, this will probably never change.

Rachel Crawley

More of the 1980s

The end of 1982 as usual saw a fair bit of activity to prepare for summer trips but everything was geared to the experienced tramper My thought that a few less experienced people may also like to enjoy a long summer trip was correct. In less than a week 10 people had signed up and we closed off the trip so safety wouldn't be compromised. This trip of 10 effective novices into the Lake Christabel area near Lewis pass set the scene for the year to come.

A big recruiting drive and a focus on running trips for people of all abilities meant a number of new members. A few keen people felt that tramping didn't have the recognition it deserved as a true sport. Hence a weekend long "orientation" style event was linked in with the Easter Tournament. To my knowledge this has never been repeated. Given the tremendous effort put in by the organisers over several months setting up checkpoints around the Tararuas I am not really surprised.

Along this theme there was were also large numbers participating in two of what were then the highlights of the year - the Freshers and Gourmet trips. My enduring memory is you do not have to be superfit and extremely organised to enjoy. And when it comes to the hills enjoyment really is the key.

Thanks for the memories V.U.W.T.C.
Hugh Dawson

Jacque Bash on Thru and Search and Rescue

Well, the idea was stolen, merged and reshaped really. I had read in the Canterbury University Tramping Club magazine of an event they had called TWALK (for twenty four hour walk) and had also heard of Rogaines from orienteering circles. I had also just competed in the first Macpac Mountain Marathon at Tongariro so had a thing about running around the hills looking for checkpoints. So the bash on thru it was then. The objective back then was to really test people's navigation and cruise round the hills visiting as many checkpoints as possible - a hands on navigation exercise that eventually turned into a sort of SAR training exercise using radios and grid coordinates and pinpoint navigation.

The first Bash on Thru was held in Mangaterere in 1983 - an area that held special fondness. The first bushcraft I went on we got lost and ended back at the road end thinking we were approaching Totara Flats. An area of confusing spurs and flat ridges. My distant memory is of lots of fun. Well the event took off in popularity and throughout the eighties was part of the regular trip schedule with usually between 20 and 30 people involved. Not happy with this success I wanted to share this adventure with other clubs. Easter Tourney was not something the club usually got involved with but I thought it was a great opportunity to hit up the Students Association for some funding and attempt to get some of the other clubs involved.

Well, we spent many weekends running around the Cone, Totara flats, Mangaterere area - setting up, marking, and checking 30 checkpoints and lugging supplies over to Cone flats for our HQ. The event itself ran for 4 days over Easter 1984. 2 days competing, a day of partying and fun at Cone flats and a days walk out to Kaitoke. I think a pair from Auckland University won the event and the prized ice axe. Not to be outdone Massey ran the event in 1985 in the Southern Ruahines and won the crown. Johnny and Harpo then organised the event again in 1988 back around Cone. Vic won the trophy which is sitting on my wall at home awaiting the next inter-university Bash on Thru.

I think the Bash on Thru with its intense navigation and radio skills was the lead up to the clubs eventual involvement in Search and Rescue. Over the years we had been at the receiving end of the occasional search or rescue and generally had a rather lax reputation. It is fair to say that it took two to three years of lobbying and training before the club was eventually used on an operation.

In 1984 Hugh Dawson organised an entry into the SAR competition at the Catchpool at which, by all accounts, we were the quickest but not the most gentle on the patient. In May 1985 in the great attempt to visit all the huts in the Tararuas it snowed - bulk! Trapping one party in Maungahuka for several days. I recall many phone calls to worried parents and managing to convince the police that we could arrange a SAR team.

It was not until 1986 that we were called out for the first time. Some of the real stalwarts - Myself, Richard Haverkamp, David Clelland and Peter Mansell thrashed around the Tauherinikau for a day looking for a lost hunter. From here things moved from strength to strength. By 1988 things had changed to such an extent that we were generally the first club called out. The competence and enthusiasm of the club members was often commented upon.

During the period of the late 1980's, because of the enthusiasm of MANY within the club SAR became a focus and an area where the club made a positive contribution to the mountain community. This reputation of enthusiasm and competence continues today.

Mike Sheridan
President 1980
Chief guide 1981,1982
Treasurer 1983

Epics and Exploration with VUWTC in the 1980s

"The justly feared phenomenon known as "epic" is always unplanned, unexpected and participants bear both the physical and emotional scars for the rest of their lives. During exploration of unknown terrain the potential for "epics" increases dramatically..."

"The Exploration of New Zealand" by Graham Peters

I had a solid grounding in epics during when I was fixated on doing a one day Shormanns - Kaitoke. We would always set out like lions, get horrendously lost, spend a miserable night sheltering under a rotten log and return like lambs blaming the confusing compass readings on sunspots. Since then there have been numerous VUWTC epics of which I have unfortunately been involved with a few.

For a while massive day trips were all the rage where you would cover in a day what normally took a hard weekends tramping. The Southern Crossing was popular, especially the moonlight, winter variety which caused many an epic. So too was the Northern, Neil-Winchcombe, Main Range, Bannister and Holdsworth-Jumbo crossings. An interesting trip arose when the club took over the running of Carkeek hut, arguably the most remote hut in the park. This was known as the Carkeek picnic involving visiting the hut and crossing the range in a day. A picnic cloth and hamper full of cucumber sammies was obligatory. Of course the winter variation had to come...

Tubing was popular in those days with several veteran exponents (sometimes I think the words tubing and epic are interchangeable). All the major rivers were fair game with many overdue trips, bruised tailbones and a couple of close calls. Other gorge trips relied on pack floating, sidling and waterfall jumping skills, especially the notorious Chamberlaine Creek. The weekend trips of the time were no less demanding. On the first trip I ever did with the club (a winter Southern) one of the party got hypothermia and 30 rescuers tramped in atrocious conditions to get to her.

There was a real keeness to find new country and during the holidays the club completed some impressive exploration trips. There were several trips to the remotest parts of Fiordland, Stewart Island and Kahurangi (North West Nelson), a full traverse of the Paparoas, gold exploration up the Callery river, trans-alpine crossings of the Garden of Eden, Allah and the Olivines and of course the mid-winter Victoria Range trip (how could I forget!). In those days we chose places to go from the map - the less tracks and roads the better!

Many VUWTCers became keen mountaineers and went from AICs on the North Island volcanoes to Tapuae-o-Uenuku, Mt. Cook, Aspiring and mountains throughout the Alps. My first trip to the Mt. Cook region had us down-climbing Mt. Haidinger in a storm. For several months afterwards I could still stick a pin into my frost-nip affected toe. The risks associated with mountaineering are much greater than tramping and there were several incidents involving VUWTCers. Perhaps the most serious was a broken ankle on Middle Peak of Mt. Cook.

The worst incident during my time as Chief Guide occurred on an Easter trip in the Ruahines. One of the trip leaders fell down a waterfall and crushed a vertebrae. The rescue was definitely of epic proportions but everyone involved was fantastic. Since that time the club has had an active role in SAR, sometimes being called upon to rescue their own trips, especially the seemingly annual event in May where a trip got snowed in at Maungahuka hut. The second worst incident in my time was during orientation where one particularly excitable committee member gave a public demonstration of prussiking and abseiling. At the top of the rope he completely bollocked up the change over. He was hanging from the quad roof by one arm mumbling "I've forgotten how to do this!".

In later years epics became institutionalised to an extent with the sudden boost in popularity of mountain marathons and the like. Club members over the years have competed in these events with distinction especially the Southern Crossing race and Kaweka Challenge.

No mention of epics would be complete without mentioning the committee meeting of '87. With the advent of DOC and the introduction of hut fees there was much debate whether to make Penn Creek part of the national hut fee system.

The 80s were a very active time in VUWTC. Many of the people around at that time are still active in the mountains today- whether it be organising SAR, rearing kakapo, setting up wildlife sanctuaries, guiding tourists in the mountains or writing guidebooks...It was a privilege to be part of it. And no matter what anyone tells you about epics, at least they imbibe a healthy respect for the hills.

Johnny Mulheron
(VUWTC 1986-1988)

Extract from a letter:

Chrissy and I were President and Chief Guide team back in 88 (I think - memory is starting to fade - ). Had a great time . Club was quite strong then. There were lots of trips run and we had a good response for them.

That was just before it became real expensive to be a varsity student. I remember being able to break even on the grant cheque plus wages from summer holiday jobs. Generally got trips to the hills in over the summer and managed to keep a ‘car’ on the road. I guess this has changed a bit now. Did I hear that the average student loan is ten grand!! Holy bank manager! I’m shocked and stunned.

The year I was Chief Guide was also the start of the hut fee program by DOC. This was an emotive issue at the time. Chrissy and I and a bunch of old codgers from previous years put a letter together pointing out how bad an idea this was. Well Chrissy now works for DOC
and keeps reminding me of that letter with our signatures on it that was produced at her job interview. My views on the matter have mellowed. I now feel that the fee program is the best available option to try and keep the parks funded. They are a wonderful resource that sadly few New Zealanders appreciate.

I tried to be an observing tramper. David Bellamy with his bare feet in a bog, tasting peat was my mentor. Sure this caused some grief to those who would rather put head down and barrel on to the hut for a brew. I’d be off looking at ferns and stuff, tasting berries, setting up photos. . . next thing I’m way behind the group and would have to run to catch up. But I enjoyed soaking up the feel, sound and smell of the bush. I’d advise you to keep your senses alert and take the time to look, listen and smell the forest. It’s not just a race to the next hut. I’ve watched trampers walk within inches of wood pigeons silently resting on a branch - they never even saw it. Their loss!

Someone else that used to really experience the bush was Bruce Cragie. He is still doing it to the best of my knowledge. As hut warden somewhere down south. Look him up and share a brew and a yarn sometime.

It’s been several years and five countries since I left New Zealand. I’m an industrial chemist. Professional glue sniffer I guess. This may explain the fading memory. Since June last year I’ve been working for NIKE and on my second posting already! - Taiwan. Last posting, in Jakarta, was for only five months! I’m getting a bit punch drunk of all the moving around and restless lifestyle. Still it has been interesting to experience so many different cultures. Not meaning to blow their horn but it’s also refreshing to work for a company that has such a sound policy on environment and labour. This is important to me and difficult to come by in the chemical industry. Bit like being a conservationist and working for a mining company I guess.

I still try to get hiking in whenever I can. I need to call it hiking - most people look at you strangely when you say you like to go tramping! There are some hiking ‘trails’ near here but they are not a shadow of what the Tararuas can deliver. On an island smaller than NZ with 21 million other people it is also difficult to get a wilderness experience! Still I won’t be here forever. Unfortunately the work is mostly in high population density countries and large cities. So I guess I’ll continue to miss the wild un-peopled places. Still you have to take advantage of what there is on offer.

I took up diving in Saudi Arabia which somehow substituted for the lack of trees in that place. I missed the clouds, trees and rain while there. Actually pined for a Fiordland grovel! Diving is a wonderful experience especially in the Red Sea. You walk out of the almost totally barren desert and drop below the water to what seems like another universe. Life is seething all around. Layer upon layer of it in intricate communities all depending on each other. Such a wonderful, indescribable place and like the bush in NZ so under appreciated by the vast majority of people.

The forest places in NZ are truly unique. To be immersed in so much life and activity all busy around you is a special feeling I’ve found difficult to find since leaving NZ. At least I have the memories (and a few photos) which is a heck of a lot more than most people on this planet. I guess what I’ve been trying to say is: Get out there and experience the bush. You may not have another chance!

I mentioned stuff earlier and guess I should elaborate a bit. Virtually all native berries are edible. I recommend you try them out. Snow berries and Totara berries are my faves. (Strictly speaking neither of these are berries but bits of the flowers.) I remember a wonderful breakfast snack I shared with a bunch of Tui at Totara Flats. However, a word of caution. There is some stuff out there that is NOT edible. Introduced weeds mostly and Tutu. The berries of the Tutu - leafy bush that is common on river beds - have nice perfectly safe juice. Unfortunately everything else about the plant - seeds,berry skins, leaves, flowers. . . is highly toxic. I recommend that you steer clear of it unless you really know what you’re doing and even wash your hands before eating if you’ve touched it (difficult to avoid on river bashes). If you’re thinking of trying things, get a book and make sure of your identification. Also bear in mind that you can live off spag bog and rice-n-raisins (at least for a while). The bush birds depend on the berries for survival. They have enough competition from possums, rabbits and rats to have us tuck in to their dinner table as well. By all means taste but leave some for the birds.

Guess that’s about it. Good tramping.

Geoff Nichols
(Chief Guide 1989)
If anybody wants contacts/advice for: Ireland, Saudi Arabia, Shanghai, Guangzhou, Jakarta,Tiachung or just a chat they are welcome. You can contact Geoff at geoff.nichols@nike.com

The Black Singlet Revolution

They travelled the length of the Islands. Members and their black singlets were inseparable. Photo poses were just not staunch unless clad in a black singlet. They caused fashion revolutions due to the fact that they were cheap to buy and lasted a hell of a long time. Life will never be the same as we will no longer be raising our arms to the air and exposing our smelly, hairy armpits. As all revolutions end, black singlets became the provenances of old codgers. Gone are the days when black singlets roamed the forest in search of places and pits to bash. Polypro had begun and with it a new breed of trampers known as the 90s polypro clad gear freaks.
But for us old codgers, we will still remember the days when the black singlet reigned supreme and shed a tear in its passing.

Chris FitzGerald

“I would like to propose a toast. . . . “

I must confess, I am somewhat at a loss as to what to say. I could talk about people, about parties, about missions, explorations and piking without guilt. But my stories will be familiar to everyone who had been a part of the club for the last 75 years, the names will be different, the party music will be different, but everything that really matters will be the same.

I joined VUWTC in 1986 - hut fees were unheard of and Forest Service “6 bunkers” were orange. In the last 10 years a lot has changed, Forest Service and Lands and Survey went out, and DOC came in, bringing with it a change in facilities we use and the need to have to pay fees. A number of huts have got bigger and flasher, some tracks are becoming highways, some tracks and huts are gone. But what matters remains, and that is the spirit and we will have all shared for the last 75 years, the spirit of “going bush” with some like minded souls and having a great time.

So ladies and gentlemen please raise your glasses and join me in drinking a toast:

• to Tararua mud,
• to rainy days and fine days,
• to pineapple lumps in your scroggin, and chocolate too - especially on hot trips when the chocolate melts and mixes in
• with the raisins yum, yum, yum,
• to the fleet of decrepit vehicles used to get to the roadends (if you are lucky),
• to those who have given so much of themselves to the club in the last 75 years,
• to old friends and absent friends,
• to whoever stored that wet tent fly in the gear cupboard,
• to 8R primus’ and setting fire to Crow Hut,
• to search and rescue exercises looking for that mythical deaf dumb and blind
• amputee,
• to Mac Cheese and instant spud,
• and to uphills that never end, downhills that occur too frequently when you are trying to go uphill
• and bastard grass.

BAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA !!

And if any of you are ever passing down the West Coast stop by and let’s have a drink in person.

Cheers!
Chris Visser
Ross, Westland.
(VUWTC 1988-1989)

The 1990’s

So what have been the events and attitudes which defined the tramping club in the nineties? One of the most marked changes in attitude is the general shift away from the epic and towards the social. This is not to say that the club didn’t have a social aspect in the past it just seems that the ‘balance’ between epic tramps and social occasions has tilted towards the social. Social trips are usually well attended, but it can be hard to get a car load of people interested in doing a full on weekend slog in the Tararuas. Even hut maintenance trips turn into social occasions as people enjoy each others company at the end of the day. Maintenance trips are also a great opportunity for the club to put it’s own stamp on the Tararuas. One of the latest trips to paint Penn Creek hut turned into a bit of a fiasco when it was discovered that DoC had supplied us with the wrong colour paint. One artistic member decided that the hut would look good with red hand prints all around it. Needless to say DoC were not impressed but who cares about public opinion? Not us said Caroline.

In the early nineties the club got quite political. There was a lot of debate about where the club was going and how it was run. At the 1994 AGM it was mooted that the club have a women’s officer on the committee but no one was quite sure what this person would do. In the end the club decided that a women’s officer probably wasn’t necessary as the executive was already quite big. In 1993 the club executive decided it would be a good idea to buy a van to alleviate transport hassles. This move may have been partially driven by the new transport regulations which forbade the carrying of passengers in the back of trucks which up until the early nineties had been a cheap way to get trampers to road ends. Thankfully the scheme never got off the ground, as it would have been a financial and organisational nightmare. There are still differences of opinion on how things should be done but people seem to be generally happy with how things are going now, at least in the way the club is run.

Even with the current pressure on tertiary students the club has managed to get some tramping done (well it is what we are here to do). During the 1990’s the club began to focus more and more on the Tararuas as trips to other mountain ranges became too expensive. Despite the increased expense, the club still manages to get further afield. The mid year trips have generally ended up in the Northern South Island, North West Nelson, and Nelson Lakes being popular destinations. There have also been a few trips up North to the Ruahines, Kaimanawas, Mt. Taranaki, and AIC’s to Ruapehu (when it wasn’t erupting). The standard club trips have usually attracted a good turnout. Freshers is always popular and a good opportunity to introduce people to tramping in a fairly relaxed manner. Bushcraft is a good way of learning how to do things properly in the hills and a chance to acquire the skills necessary to travel safely in the bush. Some of the trips that have been advertised have not gone due to lack of interest. This is probably a reflection on increasing work loads. Trips near exams are particularly susceptible to being canceled because there are not enough people interested to make them viable. It is something the club will have to get used to but not necessarily like.

There was a diversification in the clubs activities in the early to mid nineties. Mountain biking really began to take off and people began to go rock climbing for it’s own sake. In previous years many people rock climbed as practice for serious alpine climbing. Fewer members are involved in mountaineering in the nineties but a lot rock climb. The appeal of rock climbing and mountain biking is two fold, not only are they more “on the edge” when compared to tramping, but it is also possible to partake in them without having to put a whole weekend aside which is an advantage if you have an essay due on Monday that you haven’t started yet.

Traveling in the back country is not without risk and a few club members have gotten into life threatening scrapes. In 1993 Chris Boys pack floated over a waterfall and ended up with cracked ribs and hypothermia, and Alexis Lambeck, who got gangrene down South in 1994, fell off Mount Taranaki in 1995 and ended up in New Plymouth hospitals intensive care unit. There is an epic tale in Heels ’95 which describes his accident and eventual rescue and the steps the other party members took to ensure his survival. It is interesting and informative reading.

The people in the club are changing. There are less ‘hard’ trampers and old codgers around the club these days. While these two forms of tramping animal were quite common in the early nineties the passage of time seems to be weeding them out as they move on with their lives. There is a delightful passage in Heels `91 which describes the battering to death of several possums with ice axes by a bunch of old codgers who obviously knew what these climbing tools were really designed for, and I quote “I kinda pity the possums there though. They got a battering. Richard managed to impale one on a tree stump and finished it off with my ice axe, on a previous trip Pete Ozich and Ian Marshall had cooked one, from the same tree stump interestingly, and on our return Mike was to do one in as well.”

The club is a place where friendships are made. A lot of tramping club members go into the bush together on private trips. This happens mostly in summer when the club is less active. These trips are natural extensions of the club and have the advantage of being easier to organise than a club trip. All that is required is one car (or thumb), a destination and a small group of eager trampers. Most members seem to get on well with each other. There have been many tramping club parties which have been great successes. It is funny to see civilians at these gatherings. There is usually a large gaggle of TC members having a good time and the afore mentioned civilians can be seen casting furtive glances in their direction and wondering just who these weirdoes are.

There have been a few interesting articles in Heels over the past few years (okay most of them are interesting but some even more so). One in 1993 is entitled ‘Romany hints for hikers’ and instructs the reader how to hike in Europe in 1939 (the original is in Italian). It includes such gems as “One thing you must remember when hiking; never hurry!” There is a delightful section on what to wear. You shouldn’t wear a collar and tie and you should carry “pyjamas, stockings, mackintosh, and a spare shirt.” Gipsy (the writer) then goes on to say that “My hints so far have been for men. I hardly dare advise the Ladies. They generally know what suits them best, and whether on a hike or at the Opera they like to look neat and trim.” If you get a chance to read this article I thoroughly recommend it. An article from 1992 with the auspicious title ‘The hunting of the SNARM (sensitive new age real men) is a tale in which Lewis Carroll tangles with a bunch of trampers and comes off worse for the experience,

“In the midst of the word he was trying to say,
In the midst of his laughter and glee,
He had softly and suddenly vanished away -
For the SNARM was a Boojum, you see.”

You get the general idea.

1995 saw some interesting articles. Mike Cots wrote a brilliant article on his Nelson Lakes trip that year. On this trip Mike had to deal with all sorts of injuries and ailments and in his words became “promoted from orderly to doctor in seven short days.” There is a song entitled Scout Hall California (which I don’t think the Eagles had much to do with) about Rachel Crawleys’ unhealthy obsession with Boy Scouts in the bush. Melinda Short penned a scary little article with the title “Doomed.” You should have a look at this article if you wish to see how truly paranoid trampers can be (or is it just Melinda?). The story she relates is one where she pikes on a Southern Crossing and explains that the reason she did this is because she failed to read the omens she received before the trip correctly. There are also several very fetching photos of Mike Cots in a dress (the scary thing is he looks quite good). Every year there have been some good recipes and, up until recently, the inimitable Auntie Girdlestone (where is she now?) has always put in an appearance.

The club has shone through all the changes that have happened over the past few years. Trips have still run and a lot of people have had a good time in the bush. In 1996 many of the new members have become active in the club very quickly, if this trend continues the club can only improve. University clubs in general have to deal with fairly transient members. After all the average degree takes three years, so the idea is to get them early, encourage the hell out of them and hopefully they will continue to tramp and enjoy the outdoors. That is what the Tramping Club is all about.

Adrian Pike

Ex-Presidential Pondering

These were the days when large tuition fees really started to affect students. When this was combined with a relatively lower bursary structure for many, varsity became a much more serious place. People were there to do study foremost, rather than all those other things that students have a reputation for!

User pays also affected outdoor recreation facilities - we now pay for the privilege of staying in a hut. In a very short space of time getting into the hills was no longer as easy as it was. The government also deemed that piling people into the back of a hired covered truck was dangerous and no longer acceptable - so not only did we lose a cheap way of getting trampers to road ends, but trampers also missed on the joys of mass humps in the back of the truck - or games of bitch!

In an attempt to offset the rising costs - both in money and time - the club attempted to focus on running shorter trips to the Tararuas or even closer to Wellington. More day trips were held and we tried to cater for the growing popularity of other activities, especially mountain biking. At this time the Department of Conservation sought to get clubs more involved with hut maintenance. VUWTC had for some time been responsible for Penn Creek Hut and around this time Carkeek was added to the list. Much time and effort was spent by members maintaining these huts and many a tale was told of the efforts to get to Carkeek in a day - from all points of the compass!

Tramping club was a great socialising exercise. Hell, at the start of a week long tramp you sometimes know very little about people in your group - by the end of it you know who does the smelliest farts, who goes fastest, slowest, is a morning person, snores, etc. etc. Perhaps this is why so many longer term relationships are formed within tramping club members - you get to live with them without having to live with them!!
And, who can’t remember a tramping club party when they didn’t dress up in a weird and wonderful costume, got rolling drunk, and had a bloody good night?

Friendships come and go, but the hills remain. I love tramping, I loved my time with the club. It is a scary thought though, that if I went back now I would be deemed an old codger ... and I’m only 28!!!

Looking back at Heels from the time and realised just what a great time everyone had with the club and in the hills. If you don’t do a huge amount of tramping now, I’m sure the memories of the times you had in the hills will bring a smile to your face and get make you feel the need to get out there again or contact people you haven’t seen in a while.

Spotcha in hills. BAAAAA

Peter Leitch
(President 1990-1991)

Chief Guide 1991

The year opened with the traditional piss taking exercise at the first meeting. That year was an Aqua Ballet, complete with wetsuits, fins and masks. Being the smallest and lightest, I was the unfortunate being thrown around all over the place during the acrobatic maneuvers. My memory is sketchy at the best of times, but there are a number of occasions and events that even I could not forget. This will hopefully give you some idea what we were doing back in ’91, and the years around that time.

There are lots of new names and faces in the club since I was CG. Most I wouldn’t recognise, they probably wouldn’t recognise me, and the rest have probably been warned and wouldn’t want to recognise me. But there are a few old(ish) stalwarts around that do feel the inclination to chat now and again. Most were young-uns back in ’91, but we soon toughened them up and put calluses on their feet. Most of the old codgers from my era have moved on - South, North, overseas, anywhere but Wellington it seems.

I personally have forsaken those hard core knee shattering epics for the even more horrifying sport, floating down rivers (above and below) enclosed in plastic bathtubs For those of you who may still be slightly doubtful, yes I did make it to Carkeek in a weekend before I had my rein as CG, although I haven’t had a Carkeek picnic. I do still get into the hills on occasions, and on my last trip I met three other ex VUWTC members all on different trips in the same area. One was even my co-host President for 1991, the infamous Leitch.

But I am wandering, and you probably didn’t want to know that bullshit. So what was it really like in the club when I was CG? Well, the club was starting to feel the squeeze of Rogernomics and user pays. Allowances were cut, and students started to attend university to study, perish the thought. No more using university as a fill in period in their lives, or as a social or recreational medium. Students were getting serious!! There was a rapid decline of numbers on trips, and fewer and fewer people were involved in boozed nakedness and orgies. The traditional trips such as Easter, mid-year and the AIC’s still received good turnouts.

So what specifically springs to my extremely forgetful mind of my time as Chief Guide and the surrounding years (they all run into a bit of a blur that far back). One distinctly memorable moment occurred in Ohakune during one of the AIC’s. The weather was absolute pox, so Saturday was aborted into the Ohakune township. A couple of unmentionable members decided to take on the entire local netball team in some boat races. They claim they won, but I distinctly remember walking around the corner, returning from the movies, and spotting two VUWTC members filling the gutter quicker than they emptied their glasses. I won’t mention any names. So what is Ric Parry doing these days?

One of my favorite trips of the year was Bash on Thru. I always enjoyed racing the checkpoints to the rendezvous, or when I was a checkpoint, taking great pleasure in watching groups bash and struggle up untracked spurs and ridges, whilst I would nip along unmarked tram tracks and beat them with enough time to set out my pit and boil the billy. After the trip, one flabbergasted young groupie was heard to ask how I managed it all because they never saw me out of my sleeping bag!

For any of you that ever attended a party organised by Harpo, like me, you are probably missing him. These were arguably the best parties ever, and somehow, each one was better than the last. People arranged their social calendars around a Harpos’ party. Anyone who attended one of these parties will be able you of the extravaganzas you missed. They were certainly full of memorable moments.

The AIC’s were always well received and attended trips. Especially when Pete Ozich pulled a beautifully cooked roast chicken out of the oven. But There are always some students who have to push things to the limit. It doesn’t matter how many times you tell someone not to practise self arresting with crampons on. Well, everyone on one trip learnt a valuable lesson after one ill fated pupil took a painful trip down the mountain in a banana boat, with a broken ankle. Oh well, shit happens.

CD drives weren’t around on computers when I was CG and my memory reflects that. I am dried up as far as memorable VUWTC reflections go. I am sure I will think of a few others after this has been published. Such as that rainy freshers trip when the bus drove off the road at Otaki forks road………

Mark Hurly
(Chief Guide 1991)

President 1992

How to approach the task in hand. The environment is not really conducive to epic keyboarding, given the context of Christmas, New Year, Holiday, return to work, and consequent “rtw” depression... A few emails’ and conversations with like afflicted people has at least comforted me (in a group therapy sort of way) that others are also suffering and pondering long and hard over the task in hand. The bummer is that it still doesn’t get the words connected and onto the hard drive. Which perspective to take?, What angles can I begin to explore (how lateral can I get this thing)? Will I remember to use the spell check?

Some pertinent, hard hitting, pseudo investigative journalism type questions could be posed in a dramatic, human interest-rating focused type manner. Perhaps questions along the lines of Has anything changed over the last five years? Do people still tramp? Does mud still constitute the main feature of the Tararua’s? (I guess I’m fortunate enough to have retained some connections with the tramping club through to now to be able to answer a resounding “YES” to all of the above, ie: there are no more student politicians left in the club, I still tramp and yes, it was still muddy right up to the tops of the Tararua’s last weekend.)

In terms of approach, I guess one could consider something deep and philosophical (maybe accompanied by a spliff or two to enhance the deepness of it all, (wo)man), something along the lines of “I tramp therefore I am.” On the other hand, a movie title or two could be explored, maybe “To Tramp for” (starring Nicole, bushwalking babe of the outback, Kiddman, supported by a few Hollywood ring-in’s and a budget to match) or (for foreign film buffs), “Antonia’s tramp” (with subtitles) a down to earth Dutch number with something for everyone and a plot that basically says that mud happens, tramps go on (but the hut is ALWAYS just around the corner), so cope with it.

I guess if I wanted to capture the attention of the more youthful section of society (potential TC members, a “huge” market), I could write a piece entitled “(BAA)rney Goes Bush”, the story of a badly drawn but brightly coloured (note the English spelling) dinosaur and his futile attempts to usurp the role of the VUWTC sheep in hutbook entries across the land. Not quite sure what the outcome would be, but it could grow into a conspiracy theory involving Winston Peters, Nick Smith, a friendly society or two and a jolly big warning to money grabbing corporates to sod off and leave our forests alone, thank-you. This legalistic twist in the plot further leads me to think that another topic for consideration could be a serious article on risk management in the bush, with little asides on the practicalities of adopting principles contained in the Health and Safety in Employment Act 1992, along with lots of helpful hints on how to claim for heaps of entitlements from ACC in the unfortunate event of an accident. Dry, but potentially lucrative.

I am, however, tending toward an exposé on how the tramping club changed my life. I feel this could be revealing and helpful to others (a positive contribution to society, etc). I would relate (in a sincere, touching manner, as if I was being interviewed by Geneveive Westcott) how through the slavish physical discipline imposed on me by days of energy sapping pit-bashing with nothing to survive on but a 750ml bottle of Robbie Burns Vodka, I slowed down my metamorphosis from a thin, malnourished mature student (recently recovered from the weight stripping ravages of an Asian strain of giardia), into a office oriented, suit wearing-pen-pushing (no pocket protectors please) bureaucratic fat bastard. The story would track the inevitable expansion of interest into associated leisure activities such as pseudo rock climbing (POSE 101), mountain biking, mountain running, and racing to catch the train. Comparisons could be drawn with the ongoing activities of other past members of the Vic tramping fraternity, and an analysis done on what effect the club had had on the future lives of its brethren, with conclusions drawn on the overall public good that the tramping club has produced. On the basis of a positive outcome, an application could then be made to the Hillary Commission for extra funding which could then be siphoned off to the extra piss for parties fund.

Ahh, parties. Scandal, goss, slander... I sense the potential for a complete loss of plot at this point. The clock continues its interminable count and I’m still buggered if I know what to write.

Dave Walker
(President 1992)

Chief Guide 1992

From my point of view 1992 was a significant year on a university wide basis because it was the first year means testing was introduced. I don't know whether this affected how many people went tramping or not it certainly meant that part time jobs became necessary and so there was another thing to juggle on top of varsity and tramping club things. Looking back I think some good things happened that year: we went to Nelson Lakes in June where everyone swam through mountains of soft snow, the Kawekas in May which was somewhere we hadn't been for a while. Also that May we managed to get several shorter Tararua trips going which seemed to fill a need that hadn't always been met. People went mountain biking and attended mountain safety council courses and of course there were the bread and butter Tararua trips. We participated in various regional event such as walk week as well as the regional searchy type things. I think another area we coped with quite well was the increasing shortage of experienced people to instruct on trips such as bushcraft and AICs.

In terms of club politics the thing that stands out in my mind was the old chestnut of why are there fewer women tramping than men. This issue seems to raise its head every few years and 1992 was no exception. I think the committee that year needs to be commended for taking the issue seriously. From a comment made at a committee meeting, people like Dave Walker and Ian Marshall were prepared to put some time and thought into the issue. A woman from WONZ was organised to come and talk at a meeting and a successful women's trip was run. Equally importantly time was spent talking to women about why they didn't go tramping. At the end of the year I don't think we had answered the question, as it came up again and again at subsequent AGMs, but at least we had a try.

Being Chief Guide is a full on job and it can take over your life if you let it. By the end of the year I felt I had gone through a wringer and I realise that in retrospect I was quite bitter by the time November rolled around. However with the benefit of four or so years hindsight I think the experience was invaluable and although I would probably do it differently, I certainly would do it again.

As my deadline is looming large and anything else would probably just be tedious repetition all that remains to be said is thanks to the committee of 1992 as they certainly made the job a lot easier.

Sarah Weston
(Chief Guide 1992)

Chief Guide 1993

For this special 75th Anniversary edition of ‘Heels' I was asked to write about the 1993 year but, since my involvement goes back even further, I thought I might share my thoughts on what's happened over the last decade, and where we could be heading. Hmmm, a Ph.D thesis in itself...

The 1990s, in the eyes of many of the ‘old codgers', has seen the club in something of a downturn after the golden years of the mid to late '80s. Many older members consider the club to be in decline in regards to both participation and experience and lamented the 'good old days' of...Carkeek Picnics, advanced AICs and ACR (Alpine Cliff Rescue) - the days when the club was Tough (with a capital 'T').

So what's happened? Why aren't we tough any more? Did the change of diet to lentils and red bean patties eliminate our drive to constantly improve on our Southern Crossing times? Does the sensitive new age guy spend more time getting in touch with his feelings than planning his Putara-Kaitoke daytrip? Are we more concerned for the injustices caused by our ancestors on the tangata whenua than hut bagging in the Tararuas? Perhaps it's the Internet. Who needs waist-deep mud, horizontal rain and dubious DOC structures when there is Virtual tramping? Just check out those homepages of Bevan, Bohdan and Brendan. On a more serious note, the restructuring of the Tertiary Sector with regards to User Pays has a lot to answer for. Tertiary education in the mid '80s was a much more relaxed affair. Fees were set at about $200, parental means-testing had not been invented and universal allowances ensured students could bum around during the academic year without needing to work! All this extra time and money gave students the opportunity to develop their leisure activities. The freedom to get into the hills EVERY weekend allowed ‘bush-sense' to develop at a greater rate than is possible today. Hence, after only one or two years serious tramping, skill levels were such that epic tramping trips could be undertaken.

The decline in tramping skills also coincides with the rapid evolution of other outdoor activities. The current university generation have mountain biking, rock climbing, skiing and snow boarding, kayaking and windsurfing to choose from. The recent trend towards multi-sport events such as the Coast-to-Coast, Mountains-to-the-Sea, and endurance races such as the Southern Traverse, Kaweka Challenge and Southern Crossing Race are also taking a share of the 'market'. Tramping once provided a door to many of these other sports, but today these activities seem to be accessed directly by a generation who perceive tramping to be the poor cousin of these other more glamorous activities.

So where to now? More people than ever are involved in outdoor activities, but not so many are interested in just tramping. I would suggest it would take even more than a Saatchi and Saatchi advertising campaign to convince the public on the virtues of tramping, certainly more resources than the club has to offer. We aren't the only ones suffering either; numbers are also down in the caving club. If VUWTC wants to continue to grow it may have to consider embracing at least some of these other activities and provide a greater choice of weekend outings. Tramping does have a lot to offer, and I'm sure that many people will get into tramping from their current interests, in much the same way as tramping once provided a gateway to other activities. Many of us already participate in a number of these outdoor activities, and perhaps one way for these to continue to prosper within a club banner is for the amalgamation of the various clubs to form an Outdoor club. The prospect of turning up to a single club meeting during the week where one can choose a weekend away either tramping, rock climbing, mountain biking or caving would, I think, bring in the numbers and more importantly the inertia and enthusiasm for these activities to thrive.

 So...what do you think of that? I know Brendan will be proud of me.

My advice for those of you out there who want to keep to the status quo and become epic trampers and restore past glories back to the club. Have rich parents or be prepared to take out a student loan - either way your weekends will be free to do the things that really matter!

Nils Elgar
(Chief Guide 1993)

President 1994

I was surprised to get an e-mail a few months ago from your publicity officer Melinda Short, asking me to write an article about the old days (gee what 90-92), so that members can get an impression about what the club was like. Well to be quite honest I don’t think the club has changed much since I left it a couple of years back. However, there is one trip I have wanted to write up, and it seems only fair now to relate it to you.

My memory of this trip is fading, but it was a cracker. Some of the names and places I have forgotten, but the events and characters are still as fresh as ever. The place, Nelson Lakes national Park. The time, July 1992. The event, the 1992 mid winter trip - just after some horrible mid term exams.

Mount Pinutubo had really blown it’s stack earlier that year and so the winter was a really cold one. It meant heaps of ice and snow all round - yeehah. It also meant a rather gloomy ferry ride across the Strait. We had bad weather warnings for the week from the met. office and the Saturday of departure had dawned cold and grey. Good honest Wellington weather. I think about 20 of us were making our way South. Amongst the group hid the likes of Dave Walker (the president), Sarah Weston (Chief Guide and number one spaghetti thrower), Mike “God” Cotsilinis, Nils Elgar (doing his PhD even back then), Matt Dell, Kim Potter, Sarah Devon, Rebecca Ansell, Francis Henson, Aaron Jones, Tony Stephens, Vivienne Therkleson, Neal Glew (now at Cornall doing his PhD), Chris “crusty” Boys (who was meant to be climbing with Neal, and Anjali Pande (now telling people how to climb an artificial rock wall in London).

However, these are only bit players in my story. Here are the main characters. In my group (and it is only mine for the purposes of telling the story as we had no group leader - even then I believed in flat management structures) we had three fearless explorers and a complete head case! The group consisted of Geoff Clitheroe (a former Chief Guide now living in Canberra), myself, Brian “Old man” Murphy, who even then was rapidly approaching the big 40, and Hamish (who I think must have been consigned to a mental hospital by now! It was dangerous to give him an ice axe).

I make no bones about this. This was a lads trip. No girlys or soft things allowed! No whinging and no moaning. No calling the Chief Guide - all in good jest I hasten to add - a Black Haired Feminist Bitch just because there was a wee bit of snow around, and no piking WHATSOEVER! Once the raw meat jokes and talking about carrying a carcass up the hill had finished we found that a) we were in St. Arnard, b) neither Hamish nor Geoff could play 500 and c) there was shitloads of snow.

Our trip begins. Contrary to the weather reports it was a brilliantly sunny, if not chilly day. We were dropped off at the Mt. Robert carpark and proceeded to climb through the glorious Beech forest to the Mt. Roberts ski fields. Once on the tops we realised how much snow was shitloads - up to my bloody thighs shit loads! So after a struggle with ginormous packs we finally made it to Bushline hut for the night. It was a rather new and sterile place, but at least it had a gas fire.

The next day dawned as clear as the last, so we set off for our first real day of walking. Our destination - Angelus Tarn and Angelus hut via Roberts ridge. The trip should take about four hours on a nice summers day. However, you haven’t got deep snow to deal with then. At first the going wasn’t so bad and the views of Kahurangi National Park and the Kaikouras made up for the excess snow - pure magic. A trudge saw us arrive at the small Roberts ski field. Morning tea was taken in a ski shelter, while we derided the skiers down below. The rest of the day was a slow trudge to Angelus hut. And boy was it long. Poor Sarah came in for a “why the hell did you send us here?” bashing and raw meat jokes were the order of the day. On the way we came across some cross country skiers. How I wished that I could glide over the snow like they were and not have to sink up to my thighs in snow - AAARRRRGGG. By the time we got to Angelus basin we were shagged and it was almost dark. It had taken nine hours of exhausting slog to get there, but I still rate it as one of my best days tramping. The hut was fairly well covered in snow but at least we didn’t have to dig our way in. The bumslide into the basin was cool as well, but bigger bum slides were to come! The gas heater didn’t work - it was cold and we were hungry, so dinner was followed by a couple of hands of 500 and then it was pit.

The next day saw us follow a stream from Angelus hut down to the Travers river and along to upper Travers hut. The day was quite fine but the trip down the river was torturous. The snow fall was so heavy the at the top of the stream the trees were about 50cm under foot. An agonising six hours were spent climbing down the stream, falling into deep snow, falling down trees underneath deep snow, and generally getting lost. However, the scenery was awesome. Along the way we crossed over some avalanche debris (so it was quite a safe descent!) By the time we got down to the river it was about 3pm and we only had two hours of daylight left. We legged it to John Tait hut arriving just on dusk. Boy were we shagged, so it was time for some dindins, some 500 and bed.

The next day we awoke to grey skies and aching thighs from all that snow. All of a sudden the hard man element drained from our bodies and we became soft masses. We hung around the hut most of the morning eating, playing cards, and watching Hamish cut the eyes out of the Nelson Girls High marching team whose photo was on the piece of news paper we were using as a table cloth. By mid afternoon we were bored shitless and started to have ice axe fights. We headed off for upper Travers hut by mid afternoon and were not expecting anyone to be there as we were the only the hard man types able to conquer all that snow. However, on arriving at the hut three hours later we found both Anjalis’ and Sarahs’ groups were already resident. We took the opposite room and proceeded to make animal noises and talk about eating raw meat and being hard men. We also thought we would have a wind up Anjali session - which worked a treat. At one point she came into our room and asked us why we were all being sooo horrible, at which point we all yelled at the top of our voices - NIGEL. Imagine a cartoon character running through the air before forward movement and you have Anjali running out of the room! That night Brian caught Hamish inside his sleeping bag with a torch and rustling something. It transpired in the morning that he had been holding a secret bag of scroggin! Considering he had been scabbing from us the whole trip we were not well pleased!

The next day saw us climb over Travers saddle and down into the Sabine valley to Upper Sabine hut. The scenery in this area is outstanding. True alpine tramping without having to go above 2300m.The climb up was buggering, although we did have the footprints of the others to follow. Poor Geoff was stuffed after deciding against brekky that morning. The trip down was fantastic, one huge bumslide all the way down to the tree line 600m below. Not safe, but great fun. Once we got to the bush line it was time for lunch. Out came the bacon! Bacon sandwiches on a sunny winter day with lots of snow and a wet bum from the slide - Heaven!

When we got to the hut we found that some tosser had thrown water all over the floor. In a very cold winter that soon becomes ice. Not very safe children. That night Hamish actually offered us some of his scrog. His scrog consisted of lollies, our lollies that he had scabbed and aspirin. By this time we were convinced he had a satellite dish on his head and was not from planet earth.

The next day we walked down the valley to lake Rotoiti and Lake Head hut. The area is just fantastic. Gorgeous Beech forest with high valley walls and some nice river flats. We even saw some deer in the valley. At Lake Head hut we found Matt Dells’ group. Let the games begin was the call from the lads, and begin they did. This was Thursday night. We had enough food left for a dinner and a lunch. Therefore we decided that we would leg it the next day and walk all the way back to Roberts carpark via Speargrass hut and on to St. Arnaud to stay in a youth hostel. The call of real food and beer was too much! However, as some of us were out collecting fire wood a certain member of another group ate all my bloody crackers. My entire lunch for the next day. All I had left was half a packet of muesli and some milk powder. Someone was going to pay.

We left very early the next day after telling our dirty jokes and sordid stories. We got to Speargrass hut about 2pm after a knackering seven hours. All of us had managed to go arse over tit along the way, but I went head first into some mud. It took two minutes to find my specs! We knew the other groups were going to come through this hut - even stay, so we left a few treats for them as I munched on the last of my muesli. Sardine tins left under bunks can really reek.

So, at about 6pm on Friday night we came out at St. Arnard ready to catch the ferry back the next day. Unknown to us most of the other groups were already out - except Nils’ who were at Angelus and Matts’ who were at Speargrass. The other groups stayed in the shelter down by the lake. We, being hard men, booked into the Yellow House, had a hot shower, did some washing and had some beers. The next day saw us into the pub by 10 for a venison burger, some chips and some more beers. Never, ever, give Hamish more than one beer. We had to confiscate his ice axe from him. He became even worse on the ferry back incurring the wrath of several hard looking bikers. By this stage the facade of hardness had nearly fallen from us, but not until we could sing our last vulgar song (courtesy of Brian) and end our hard blokes trip.

I don’t go out with Jane anymore
I don’t go out with Mary
I don’t go out with girls anymore
Poof I’m a fairy

Bevan Blair
(President 1994)

Chief Guide 1995

There weren’t too many old codgers left. (Nils and Dave W. were still around of course!) Everyone said the club was in a recession, numbers on trips were dropping, membership was dropping. But the club pulled through and managed to survive for another year as it always has.

The year started with the lets embarrass the committee at the first meeting as usual. After much soul searching it was decided to hold the House of Baaaaa Fashion Awards. Winner of the night had to go to Mr. Sexual Fetishist Chris Fitzgerald complete with leather miniskirt, black bra and crampons. Freshers went to Totara Flats, where it rained on the Friday night and Bushcraft went to the Tauherinikau where it rained all weekend. A valuable though not altogether useful lesson learnt on the Friday night was that Matt’s car was quite good for tying your fly too when it got windy. Many of the groups learnt that the Kaitoke roadend was not a great place for flycamping.

There was a big decline in numbers on trips at Easter and May with about 6 people going to the Ruahines at Easter and the May trip to the Kaimanawas not going at all. As per usual the Mid Year trip proved popular, going to Nelson Lakes. Mike Cots graduated from Orderly to Doctor Mike on that trip treating sea sickness, exhaustion, burns, food poisoning, concussion, stab wounds, twisted knees, and sprains, all confined to the two groups traveling together. David Hodson was heard to complain I can’t even get blisters!, being the only person out of those eight that nothing went wrong with.

For the second year in a row AIC was hit by bad weather. The Desert road was marginal on Friday night so the vans went over the Paraparas. On the Saturday the mountain was closed so the Grade 1’s and 2’s drove to National Park to play in the snow while the Grade 3's played with ropes back at the Lodge. Saturday evening provided Ian Marshall and Johnny Mulheron with great amusement as Jeremy Bray did his all you ever wanted to know about the difference between goretex and reflex talk. The mountain road was still closed on Sunday morning so someone decided we would walk the 13km up the access road. Those of us in plastics were cursing all the way. Still I had a few hours in the snow playing with an avalanche receiver before heading back.

There was a Mid-Winter Xmas trip complete with turkey to Jumbo. I don’t remember much else from the second half of the year(I lost some brain cells last weekend while painting the inside of Carkeek). The pressure and cost of university meant there were no more 5 year BA’s so I spent my August holidays at varsity working. The AGM came and I stood for committee again, this time as Hut Custodian(which I am still doing). Despite only being 21 I am considered old by newcomers. Their time will come. One day someone will write in their birthday card too God, you’re old!

Caroline Duggan
(Chief Guide 1995)