(The Drowned Rats were: Mary, Patrick, Martin, Morris, Fay, and John)
The following is an account of one of the most interesting trips I have been on in a while and, as the AC/DC song lyric goes, "only the names have been changed to protect the guilty." It all started innocently enough, we were to go on a nice weekend trip to the Northern Tararuas entering at the Putara road end. The only problem was that the weather didn't want to co-operate, as soon as we arrived at the road end it started to rain. I was (completely uncharacteristically I might add) keen to tramp up to Herepai hut in the rain while everyone else wanted to camp at the road end. As I hate setting up camp in the rain I decided to sleep in Patrick's car where it was dry. The others set up a fly and camped out. I had just dropped off to sleep when I was woken by the car door being opened and wet gear being thrown over me. It seems that there was a river running though the fly and the hardy campers, in imminent danger of being washed away, were striking camp with great haste. We drove off in search of another place to sleep and more importantly, another place to tramp. Both vehicles pulled in at a gas station in Masterton where we decided what to do. Patrick and Mary were keen to go to Holdsworth lodge and then do a trip based from that road end. Everyone else agreed and we arrived at the lodge just after midnight. This is where the trouble began. When we got to the lodge we found that there was a large group already there. We entered the lodge as quietly as possible and went to sleep.
We were woken by a number of children playing around at about six o'clock on the morning. This did not put some of us in a good frame of mind. We left the lodge quickly and had breakfast in the picnic shelter. We knew that payment is required if you stay in the lodge and were hoping to be well clear before any DOC workers arrived. Unfortunately the caretaker at the road end is an early riser and he turned up just as we were about to hit the trail. He greeted us jovially and inquired where we were headed, by this time we decided a trip to Totara flats would be a good idea so we informed him of our intentions. At this stage he had no idea that we had stayed at the lodge. He left us to our trip and we proceeded up the track. Unbeknownst to me, Mary had written a rather snotty note in the hut book to the effect that families and their little 'brats' shouldn't be allowed in the bush if they were going to wake up hard trampers at an unreasonable hour. Now seeing as we were not meant to be there in the first place as the family group had booked the lodge (we had no idea that you could do that, but apparently you can) and secondly mother bears tend to protect their cubs, this note could be seen as a bad move. The mother of one of the 'brats' complained about us to the caretaker. Five of us were on our way to Totara flats while Martin dropped something off at the cars. It was in the carpark that the caretaker caught up with him and explained that we had to pay for our nights accommodation. Martin had slept outside and as the rest of us were in the bush the caretaker let the matter drop but there are now several tramping club members who may be reluctant to go tramping from the Holdsworth road end lest they be hit up for twelve dollars by the caretaker.
We wandered up the Gentle Annie talking about how unfair it was that DOC accommodation could be booked out and that as Holdsworth lodge was built by trampers for trampers we should be able to stay in it whenever we wish. We knew that there would be a warden at Totara flats hut and as Mary had left our names in the hut book we quickly assumed new identities in case the warden was informed that there were six trampers headed in his direction who had failed to pay for their stay in Holdsworth lodge. At the core of our cunning disguises was the use of our middle names when talking to one another (so now you know why you haven't recognized any of the names used in this tale so far). The trip to Totara flats was uneventful and we managed to avoid any more rain. We arrived at the hut to find it empty which in our minds was a major score. After some discussion we decided to check out Sayers hut as it would make a nice change from Totara flats and as Fay, Morris, and I hadn't been there. Unfortunately Sayers was fully occupied by a group of hunters (we could tell this because even though they were not there some of their firearms were, along with the ammunition, anyone could have wandered off with a gun if they had wished. Don't you love the quaint way some people interpret the new firearms safety laws?) so we went back to Totara flats where things were about to get interesting for a second time.
It wasn't long after our return to Totara flats hut that the rain arrived. During the afternoon more people began to turn up at the hut. Most members of our group began to get a bad feeling as more and more groups arrived. We quickly ascertained that the many small groups that were turning up were actually part of one large group from the Upper valley club and numbering in the mid twenties (which would have been fine apart from the fact that Totara flats is designed to sleep 24). A cunning plan was quickly hatched. We spread ourselves out to make it look as though there were more of us than there really were and then we occupied the table, leaving at least two of us at it until after dinner. This may seem like a rather selfish thing to do but so is turning up to a hut with more people than it can comfortably hold (it's a matter of etiquette old boy). Some of the Upper Valley members were prepared to camp out and did so, this was quite nice of them considering the weather. After tea we returned to our fortifications and played cards.
The rest of the trip was uneventful. We had a nice day to tramp out but we moved quite quickly through the carpark and left quickly. This is not the first trip I have been on this year where plans have gone awry. I always seem to end up doing less tramping than the original plan proposed. Some people may say that I am soft, to them I reply trust your feelings and give into the soft side....it is your destiny (oh no mien cover ist blown, I must flee, Switzerland here I come, oh well at least they have Camembert and watches which don't look like mice).
Eric and Tony decided to go to Carkeek. Eric decided a weekend was too short a time. I wanted to go. Tony had to work. Julian decided to go. Julian pulled out (soft). So.....
Eric and I stood up at a club meeting and said; "who wants to come to Carkeek, we also need a car". We got laughed at. Dave Walker expressed interest but had to work. Then Jeremy Haines said "I'll come, my car goes well". So we went.
Thursday night; "We'll leave about 5pm"
" rush hour, what"
" ok, we'll stop in Whitby"
" fish n chips"
So...at 8.30pm on Thursday we were standing outside Jeremy's car, parked outside the Holdsworth toilets (ease of push starting) in light drizzle, contemplating our fate.
About 1 and 1/2 hours later we were still contemplating, but we were now at Atiwhakatu. Going up to Jumbo via Rainguage Spur was very hard. I needed a drink stop, a toilet stop and a view stop, all at 20 minute intervals - as told by my watch.
At Jumbo we went to bed, and a decision was made to leave at 7am on Friday. My alarm went off at 6am, I lit a candle and then went back to sleep. We eventually got up, and Eric decided he would carry 10kg of coal to Carkeek so we could have a fire. Jeremy and I encouraged him.
At 8am we left, and we soon reached McGregor spur (or so we thought) and went down it. After 45 minutes of leatherwood surfing, "McGregor spur" kind of stopped. We went back up, silently cursing leatherwood, DOC, God and anyone else whose fault it was, all the way. We then went down McGregor spur and stopped at McGregor Biv. The temperature had plummeted and it wasn't even warm inside. The track down McGregor spur is well marked and I recommend it to anyone. We debated over which steep bit to go down, and thanks to Eric's waterfall and bluff experiences, we decided to keep right. We came out just where we wanted and wandered up to Park Forks. Luckily the river was low and none of the frequent river crossings exceeded chest depth. At Park Forks we stopped for lunch and Eric confirmed that my scroggin was the best in the world (secret ingredients).
After lunch, shivering (the first sign of hypothermia) set in, so we started wandering up Carkeek ridge, and wandered and wandered and wandered..... Yes, stops became quite frequent and we enjoyed getting to Carkeek Ridge Hut in lots of daylight. The coal came in useful, and after tea the stripping had really set in. Jeremy - sitting in shorts only, in the coldest part of the hut - was too hot. It made quite a marked contrast to Jumbo and huts like Lunar on the South trip.
We again decided to leave early on Saturday. Eric spilt some hot water, and to keep it from going to waste, I intercepted it with my knee. I then lay beside the water-tank outside - wasting cold water. (Warning: there may be a water shortage at Carkeek Hut).
For Saturday we had something different planned. Eric once saw a very old park map and thought there was a route marked on it down a spur from Carkeek Ridge to Waiohine river and then up the other side to Dorset Ridge. We found it and then established for ourselves DOC's reasons for not maintaining it. However, it was fun and we eventually reached Dorset Ridge with amazing and inspiring views of where we had come from, and where we were going. Dorset Ridge Hut was our lunch destination and it was here that we found vital reading material for New Tarn Ridge Hut - a 1995 Cosmo.
Wandering up Dorset Ridge, we came across a tarn and decided to see how frozen it was. Although we tempted fate by jumping up and down and taking photos, the ice layers held.
Upon reaching New Tarn Ridge Hut, we were disgusted to find that the cupboards had been broken into. Someone had disguised a leaky kerosene container as a seat and Jeremy sat on it. It leaked. We used Pink Batts to soak up the kero and the fire roared..... We all read about dieting, make-up and everything else today's young women need to know - Cosmo is cool. We ate copious amounts of jellybeans and prepared for another alpine start.
About 9am Sunday we decided to leave and stepped outside. It was bloody cold and we stepped back inside. At 10am we left and walked up to Girdlestone, listening to Eric wax lyrical about unskied avalanche chutes, takeoffs, deep powder, phat air, and imminent death - if he had had his skis, he would have been in heaven (via the direct route). Our worries about ice had been unfounded and the only ice-wall we encountered was 1 metre high. We stopped for the compulsory photo stop at Girdlestone and then plodded down. A couple of rocky/icy sections kept our interest and then we saw another tarn. Now, as we all know, tarns are for walking on - however, this one had a design fault.
Over Atkin we traipsed, then North King, Mid King and South King, with the whole group red-lining. On Baldy, we encountered another person (the first for the trip), but he didn't even stop - he in fact ran out of his way to avoid us. Some time after this, we encountered a rather sturdy looking DOC structure, adorned with a beautiful picture - Frozen Rs Hole Hut it was, and even Eric hadn't been there before. In fact it is quite likely that we were the first VUWTC members to visit it. Lunch was good, and we made our way out. However...
The pace picked up and I realised that getting to Carkeek had not made me hard, but it had instead accentuated my lack of fitness. By the time we reached Holdsworth I was even more in awe of these 2 superhuman beings who had guided me to Carkeek. All in all this trip was one of the best trips I have been on and I recommend it to all "Easy" groups who have an experienced guide or leader.
We were: Eric Duggan ( hardman extraordinaire)
Jeremy Haines ( very fit car-owner)
Dave Hodson (soft scribe)
In May 1995, three of the Vic hard men set off to conquer Bannister, perhaps the most mountain like peak in the Tararuas, without oxygen. Nils piked early on, so it was up to Jonathan Clarke (soon to be mountain climber extraordinaire), Adrian Barr (staunch Wairarapa local and hut bagger) and the author (general hardman, skier and soon to be regular Carkeek visitor). (Oh please, my kingdom for a bucket, I'm going to be sick - ed)
I skipped GEOL 332 for the afternoon and met Adrian and Jonathan at the railway station for the afternoon train to Masterton. From Masterton station we took a taxi to Kiriwhakapapa road end which only cost about $5 each. From here we set off to Cow creek for the night. Jonathan had a celebratory crate of Lion Brown over one shoulder for when we reached the summit of Bannister. Jonathan and Adrian set off with such great speed that I was able to sit back in their slip stream and be carried along with minimum effort. We worked as a team and each had their turn in the slipstream. Half way along it turned dark and we put on our headlamps for the rest of the journey to Cow Creek. When we got to the river Adrian wanted to swim across but instead we went across the cable-way.
The alarm woke us up at 4am the next morning. I organised a large feed of porridge and we were out into the dark at 5am. We crossed the Waingawa and headed up to Cow saddle. From here it was through the bush and up to the bushline for daylight. The awesome navigation skills of Adrian and Jonathan had successfully got us to Waingawa bushline in the dark. Here we were met by mist, rain and general shithouse conditions.
We soon reached the top of Waingawa and began the long journey across the ridge line to Bannister. We were hit by torrential winds and 100 knot winds and we had to rope up to Jonathan to prevent ourselves being blown away. The journey across to Bannister involves heaps of ups and downs and we were pretty shagged near the top. The air was pretty thin and we had taken no oxygen so we would have room for extra beer in our packs. On top of Bannister we celebrated our triumph by skulling 4 big bottles of Lion Brown each, finishing off the crate Jonathan had carried up on his shoulder.
Adrian suggested parapenting across to Arete biv but we reminded him that he had not taken a sail or 'chute. After checking out ski descents we headed for Arete biv via the Twins. We got to Arete biv at 10am, a 5 hour journey from Cow creek.
We left Arete biv after a quick beer or two (or three) and set off for Dundas hut. We arrived at Dundas at about 1:30pm and after briefly considering going to Mangahao flats decided to remain here for the night. To entertain ourselves Jonathan suggested a couple of hundred press ups but we decided to have a feed instead.
The next morning Jonathan's alarm was set for early but he was soft so we slept in. We still left before dawn and set off for the tracks down Triangle spur to the Mangahao valley. We arrived in brilliant weather at Mangahao Flats hut and we relaxed there for several hours. After a greater than planned stop we continued down the valley at increased speed. We moved with such great speed that we set the track on fire due to the friction. Using the slip stream method we made the second Mangahao dam in no time and met our ride back to Wellington. Halfway down the road we broke down but Jonathan towed us to a garage.
The 80’s tirade of b-rate American music crescendoed as we pulled up in our 4-wheeled beast with only one mission: dinner. I was armed with money and a big appetite. I did not think that I was in LaVin. Yes, La Vin as all Victoria Tramping Club members must know, is not the culinary capital which I was led to believe. As a matter of fact there were only two choices: McDonalds or Fish 'n Chips.
These choices left me in quite a quandary. Yes, I am American. However, contrary to popular belief, I do not like McDonalds. Secondly, I am actually quite fond of Kiwi specialities. I will spread Marmite on my toast, I will even volunteer for the occasional breakfast of (gasp) Weet Bix. However, I draw the line at Fish 'n Chips. One look at the grease-stained container and I want to sign up for heart surgery. Oily, deep fried fish-like specimens are just not my idea of ‘rock-climbing friendly food.’
So, I got myself a kilo of NZ apples and met the rest of the gang chomping happily away on America’s greatest practical joke on the world (that McDonalds serves beef). It was Caroline Duggan, Jeremy Bray, Nils Elgar, Rebekah Eyles (Long - ed.), Jeremy Haines, Melinda Short and Chris FitzGerald. Finally we left dear old LaVin and began our climbing adventures.
I am here for one year on a Fulbright Fellowship doing a Masters in Politics at Victoria. I have already fallen in love with New Zealand even with all of its small-town food dilemmas. The dinner episode I just described took place on the first night of the Vic Tramping Club rock-climbing trip to Wharepapa South over Labour weekend. As both an observer and a participant, I can tell you that my experience with VUWTC has given me plenty to write home about.
When we reached Wharepapa South, I had ridden through hills containing what I can now verify was an awful lot of sheep. We did not get far from the woolly beasts and their springy off-spring because our climb site was in the midst of cattle/sheep country. We climbed a beautiful volcanic outcrop just ten minutes from our camp site. It provided easy access and had “heaps” of climbs. On Sunday the rain prevented our climbing, so we got to go sight-seeing. Yeah!
We visited Huka Falls, Craters of the Moon, and the hot pools near Taupo. The hot pools were a two fold blessing. One, to ease early season climbing muscles and two, to compensate for the lack of showers. We made it through the weekend trading stories about outdoor trips in NZ and the US. There are so many places I want to visit in New Zealand- especially those wet and wild Tauranga huts. (Do you mean Tararua huts? Check out Tauranga at New Year! - ed.)
It would not be fair to end this article without a final word of warning for all the Kiwi trampers. As a visitor to your shores I was quite surprised the first time someone asked me to go tramping. My initial reaction was that I am not that kind of girl! I should explain that the word “tramp” has very different connotations in America than it does in NZ. Next time you meet an American, start up the conversation with a phrase like “I like to tramp on the weekends.” Wait for the reaction of your new acquaintance. If they do not blush too readily they would make a wonderful new mate for a rigorous tour of the NZ bush.
In early December '95 I headed into the hills for a couple of days break. Because it was mid week everyone was working so no one could go tramping. But I knew that Gary Hutchings, a Vic ski club member, wasn't working at the time so I persuaded him to come along.
We left the carpark at Otaki forks at about 4:30pm. The weather was
extremely hot and it was a clear and sunny afternoon. The walk in was a
bit of a grunt in the heat but we got to Waitewaewae with enough time to
cook a meal before dark.
The plan for the next day was to head up the Otaki river to Te Matawai
hut and then across to Arete biv for the night. We left about 9am in hot
weather again but it was dull and overcast. The river was low and travel
was fairly easy. About half an hour past the hut we met a couple of lads
fishing. They told us there was a gorge ahead but we could climb around
it. We negotiated this successfully and then the river widened out for
quite a while. About 2+1/2 hours past Waitewaewae we came across river
flats with some old fireplaces. It was a perfect site for camping.
The river was narrower for the next hour until it reached the base of Kelleher. This is the site of the old Mid Otaki hut and is about halfway to Te Matawai. We stopped for lunch here after approximately 3-4 hours travel. All the way up the river was beautiful and it was great to be in such a wilderness spot. This was a perfect site to have a hut. Just north of the old hut site we passed the spur that leads up to Oriwa ridge biv (Jonathan and I came down it in Easter '95). From here on the river became noticeably narrow and smaller but it was never very steep.
Just below Te Matawai the Otaki was enclosed and quiet; very beautiful and quite different from further down stream. The track up from the river is hidden in bushes, but easy to find and follow.
We stopped at Te Matawai for lunch at about 3pm. The weather was shitty and cold so I was forced to put on a polypro top. We headed up to Pukematawai about 4pm and into the clag. Once we hit the tops we were into strong cold winds. The journey across to Arete wasn't the most enjoyable and we were pleased to get to Arete biv. Here we discovered, with the aid of Gary's cell phone, that Telecom's coverage extended to Arete. It was great to spend a night at Arete biv - one of the best spots in the Tararuas.
The next morning the weather was awesome. The wind had gone completely, the sky was clear and the sun was out - nice and hot. We had a relaxed breakfast of sizzlers outside the door of Arete biv in the sunshine. I had just gone down to have a look at Arete spring when I noticed a large stag looking up at me. I shouted to Gary to come over with my camera, grabbed a photo and then it took off down the stream. We set off from the biv at about 10am. The temperature was just starting to reach its peak and we sweated all the way. We sat on top of Lancaster for about 10 minutes, taking in 360 degree views of the main range, Eastern range, Bannister and Carkeek ridge. We then continued the long journey down the ridge to Carkeek for lunch.
After lunch it was a relief to hit the bush for the journey down to Park forks. After a water stop at the river we started the 600m vertical grunt straight up. The first 150m has no track so you just head up the side and eventually come onto a track that is fairly easy to follow up the hill. About half way up we could hear a helicopter. A bit further up we noticed it buzzing around McGregor and Dorset ridges just on the bush line, obviously hunting.
The view back down from Nichols bush line is amazing. It just seems to drop straight down to the river but once you reach it it's only about 20 minutes to Nichols hut.
We had only been at the hut for about 15 minutes when we heard the helicopter again. This time we could see it coming towards the hut, with a dead stag dangling underneath it. The helicopter landed, a hunter got out, came in for a quick smoke, asked "how's it going boys?" then he and the helicopter were gone again. In total they were only there for about 5 minutes.
The next day was fairly slow going as Gary was quite shagged although he wasn't doing too badly for his first tramp in a couple of years and not much exercise. We went out over Mt. Crawford and down Junction and Shoulder knobs to Waitewaewae. Then it was a wander back out to the Forks and once again back to civilisation.
Pete Barnes and I had just walked into the Reay Valley in the Malte Brun range at Mt. Cook National park. November conditions. Sunny one minute, snowing the next; powder snow and frozen waterfalls. The weather is poked.
Pete had a tiny Goretex tent, which just fits two people if you both lie on your side and hold your breath. I don't care though because comfort has never been a priority for me (or a regular occurrence for that matter) whilst climbing. We pitched tent in a freezing storm before I climbed into my poor excuse for a sleeping bag. It must have more duck's beaks than down in it. I scoff crackers. Sleep.
We're just going to have a play on some technical ground today 'cause Pete hasn't climbed for about a year. We head around to the West face of Mt. Chudleigh aiming for a grade 3- rock climb. Pete somehow convinced me we were going the wrong way and half an hour later we were doing a new route variation of our intended climb. The ice got steeper and dodgier; then I'm leading a crack on a rock slab in my crampons. We rapped off soon after and descended to camp. We were warmed up now.
Our objective loomed. The "Spaghetti Route" on the East face of Chudleigh. At close to 3000 metres Chudleigh was going to be a long climb from our 1300 metre camp, especially since our tent and climb were on different sides of the Malte Brun divide. I ate an extra cracker.
I got up at 4:00 am and got a cup of tea. We were off soon after. We slogged up to Reay col and descended the other side. We watched carefully for any slots covered with fresh spring snow and rushed past some huge active seracs spitting blocks of ice out at us. We were at the base of the climb. We ploughed through deep snow and tippy toed over a deep schrund. I led out up some soft ice, Pete followed then traversed to the right. My turn again, on water ice now, and I eagerly nicked my axes and front points into the brittle ice. The weather is deteriorating quickly and it's snowing now. We're committed. The only way is up. Small powder avalanches are occurring every five minutes and I search for the easiest ground I can see because we're now at the crux. There's a waterfall with lots of vertical steps to the left which I'd prefer but it's got too much shit coming down. A section of mixed ground stands before me. I thoroughly underestimate its difficulty and length. Pete put in a good snow stake and I climbed up 3 metres and put in an ice screw runner- one of two runners I'd use on the first 50 metre pitch. I climb. It's steeper than it looked.
The ice isn't great either. I'm using all manner of holds. One crampon in ice, the other on rock; One axe pick hooking a rock crack, the other holstered so I can use a handhold. I'm way above Pete and at least 30 metres above my runner. And I've got a difficult move. I layback off my left axe and push my right crampon into some ice so thin I can see the rock behind it. I don't like this. I weight my foot and it holds. My other axe goes into ice and I carefully transfer weight and get across. Relief. I head on up, find another runner and put in a terrible belay off a sideways crack and an expanding flake. Pete comes up red faced with a look of despair. I lead off again, some more thin moves then over the top to easy ground. It had been 70 metres, about 40 metres more than I had thought. And still 150 metres to the summit. It's snowing heavier. A few more easy pitches. I'm just 3 metres below the summit ridge and it gets hard again. Some difficult moves up some steep rock and I get my head over the top. My face gets blasted with wind and ice and I'm momentarily blinded. I do a pull-up over the lip and realise the wind is fierce and freezing. We had been falsely protected from the Northerly and my entire windsuit quickly froze solid. Pete came up and we descend immediately down a steep ice gully trying to race for shelter. It's moving in and out of a whiteout now and we descend to the wrong glacier. Darkness is coming and we traverse quickly across glaciers until we get to the Reay valley. Lightning storm now, and rain, and hail. We need shelter. I slip and smash my shins on some rocks but feel nothing. We wander around as lightning strikes nearby. The tent comes into view. It's 11:00pm and I need rest. I get into the tent as Pete vomits several times. Sleep.
I wish I had been at university 10 years ago. There were no fees to worry about and you got an allowance every week. When the summer holidays came along there was no need to work non-stop to pay for your education so you could go tramping all over the South Island. Unfortunately I had to work this summer, but I had 6 days off so I decided to head into the Tararuas. Everybody seemed to be rock climbing in Takaka or down in the Mount Cook region so I headed in by myself. Since I was going solo I decided to hire a mountain radio. It's a good safety option if you're by yourself and also provides some entertainment at sched time each night.
26/12/96
My parents dropped me off at the water works near Kaitoke. From here
there is a 4wd track that climbs up to a cell site and then down to Hutt
Forks. The weather was clear and hot and it was hard work getting in there.
There was a 3 wire bridge across the Eastern Hutt river. From there I followed
a track that climbs above a gorge section of the river and then drops back
down to the river about 1 km upstream. I then followed the river upstream
either in it or on a track to the side of it that I could occasionally
find. It only took about 3 hours from the water works to reach Eastern
Hutt hut. This section of river is beautiful and secluded and it's a pity
it is locked up in water board land (and therefore illegal to tramp through
-ed). Eastern Hutt hut is in immaculate condition and it was good to be
spending another night in it.
27/12/96
I set off at 9am and headed up the spur on the right hand side of Quoin
stream, about five minutes up from the hut. The spur is defined and easy
to follow and I was surprised to find old track markers up it. The weather
was clear but I had only just reached the bushline when I was hit by strong
winds. I put on my mountain jacket and continued on up 200m to where the
spur meets Alpha. I then set off along the Southern Crossing for Cone hut.
The weather was deteriorating and around the beehives the wind was cold
and strong and the clag came in. On top of Mt. Hector I could hardly stand
up because of the wind. I was shouting and cursing and abusing the wind
every time that it nearly knocked me over.
I had lunch at Kime hut and there were a couple of guys who had come
over from Alpha in the bad weather and were going to the Forks.
I turned right at Bridge peak and headed along the main range to Maungahuka.
Past Bridge peak the weather started to clear and when I reached the top
of Vosseler I was out of the clag but it was still windy. From here I had
good views of Neil and of Winchcombe ridge.
The trip over Macintosh was windy but it reduced when I got to the Tararua peaks. It was my first time on the chain ladder and it was good to have views from it. I don't think it is as bad as the Broken Axe Pinnacles but there are some sheer drops on the approach to the ladder. I spent the night at Maungahuka hut.
28/12/96
I left Maungahuka at 9 am in bloody hot weather . The wind had gone
completely and it was clear. It was a real grunt over to Andersons and
I was sweating heaps. It took me 3+1/2 hours and I was fairly dehydrated.
There were a couple of hunters at Andersons who had been flown in by helicopter.
They told me that McGregor biv had been turned into a bottle store. Apparently
there were a couple of guys hunting there for ten days and they had 10
dozen cans of beer with them. They told me there were also some crazy hunters
at Carkeek.
Just after I arrived a couple of young guys turned up. They had hardly any gear or maps and hadn't been on the tops before. The hunters gave them a bit of stick and sent them back down to Waitewaewae where they had come from. After a good break for lunch I set off over Mt. Crawford and down to Nichols. It took me 2 hours to get there and after a brief stop I continued down to Park Forks.
I was glad to reach Park Forks because I knew at most I was only 1+1/2 hours from Carkeek, my destination for the night. The journey up the ridge was one of the hardest I've experienced tramping. I had drunk plenty of water at the forks but I was just soaking it up completely. I was feeling really dehydrated and was starting to cramp up in my legs. Every time I tripped on a root I really felt it in my leg muscles. The conditions were too hot to be tramping, especially on the tops where I had been all day. In the end it took me 1+1/2 hours from Park forks and I arrived at Carkeek hut at 7 pm - a 10 hour day from Maungahuka.
There were some young guys from NZDA who were hunting in the area. One of the guys worked for DOC and told me why so many of the tracks were not being maintained any more. He said it's because the people responsible for it are lazy bastards. These hunters were hardcase, they didn't believe in getting up early to hunt. I think they were in there having a break more than anything as they didn't set out hunting until the middle of the day. One of them referred to Carkeek as Club Med.
29/12/96
I didn't leave until 10 am and once again it was bloody hot. Two of
the hunters had gone when I left and one was still in bed. I told him I
was going to Dracophyllum biv via the Park river and then onto Nichols
hut. He told me that the old Whatiuru biv was at Dracophyllum now. It had
been cleaned up and moved there for possum control work. He also told me
that the old Renata Forks biv was now at the old Mid Ohau site.
I dropped off a spur just above Carkeek into the Park river. Just inside
the bush I disturbed a deer, which was quite ironic as the hunters at Carkeek
were having no luck. It was good travel down to the Park and not much of
a drop although it got very steep at the bottom. From the Park river I
shot straight up the side and onto Dracophyllum (only a climb of about
300 m).
Sure enough when I got to Dracophyllum biv I also saw Whatiuru biv just behind it. There was somebody in it who I had just woken up. He said he had left Te Matawai at 6 am, got to this biv and had been asleep until I arrived. The biv was a shrunken version of Arete biv and was in immaculate condition (cleaned out and freshly painted).
The temperature was really hot so I had a good feed and rest in the
shade.
The track along to Kelleher was a lot worse than I remembered from
last time. It didn't help that I was sweating like a pig either. By the
time I got ot the top of Kelleher I was feeling shagged. I wasn't looking
forward to the rest of the journey to Nichols in the heat. Instead I decided
to drop off Kelleher down the old track to Mid Otaki. I had travelled the
old track to Mid Otaki before and I wanted to spend another night at Renata
Forks biv, albeit in a new location.
The hunter from Carkeek had told me that the tracks down Kelleher had
been blazed on every second tree. Unfortunately the blazes led off the
track and I had soon lost it. I decided to climb a tree and from it I could
see the ridge I was meant to be on. I just bashed down and across to the
ridge line and soon found the track again. I was feeling dehydrated again
and when I reached the Otaki river I felt quite shagged. It didn't take
long to find the old Mid Ohau biv site and, sure enough, there stood the
old Renata Forks biv.
As with Whatiuru biv it was now a portable biv that could be moved
by helicopter. It had also been cleaned up and painted.
There was a table and also a couple of chairs inside the biv. I set
up the mountain radio and put one of the chairs next to it. I spent the
rest of the afternoon and evening sitting there in the sun with views of
the river.
I was still enjoying the sun at sched time - 8 pm, so I was surprised
to hear the weather forecast of 130 km/hr winds and torrential rain for
the Ruahines and Hawkes Bay region. They were predicting that it would
be worse than Cyclone Bola. The rain was meant to hit the Tararuas the
next morning. I went to bed expecting the worse and with my alarm set for
early. I didn't get much sleep because of bloody mosquitos buzzing around
all night.
30/12/96
I woke up at 5:45 am to the sound of rain on the roof of the biv. I
thought this was the start of the bad weather, so got up, had breakfast
and was gone by 6 am.
As soon as I had left the rain stopped but I still hurried down the
river. The weather stayed overcast all the way down but it didn't start
raining again. About 1/2 hour before Waitewaewae I passed a couple from
Auckland heading up the river. I told them about the cyclone warning so
they decided to head back out to Otaki Forks.
I arrived at Waitewaewae at about 9 am. Since I wasn't getting picked
up until midday the next day I spent the day at Waitewaewae waiting for
the rain, which never came. Luckily there was a report on feral goat control
to keep me amused.
31/12/96
The day dawned without the cyclone having made an appearance. I cruised
out to the roadend to be picked up at midday, ready for a 6:15 am start
at work the next morning.
Em sat surrounded by trendy, experienced trampers. It was 7 days before
she was due to head into the Tararuas, to scale the peaks, to tramp without
a leader.
“Jay and I are thinking of going to Maungahuka at New Year, do you
have any advice?” she asked ex-chief guide Caroline Duggan.
“You’d better take a mountain radio if there are only two of you going.....”
“Yeah. Mountain radio. Cool.” Em made a mental note to find out what
a mountain radio was before she went.
Sidling over to Mike Cots she asked, “Er, Mike, do you think that Jay
and I will be okay going over the Tararua Peaks? Are they really that high?”
Mike raised his eyebrows and exchanged glances with Caroline. “Um” he said.
Three days later Em had sorted out the radio but was still in need of
reassurance. Dialling Chris Fitz’s number she asked, “Chris, do you think
we’re absolutely insane going to Maungahuka by ourselves?”
“Oh no, well, you should be okay. . . “ was the response.
After spreading the word about their epic tramp to various VUWTC members,
Jay and Em knew there was no going back.
The little green Morris Minor chugged away from Wellington and into
the unknown.
“Tent fly, stove, food, yep, chuck that lot, we don’t need it, clothes, RAINCOAT, etc, etc - I think that’s all!” Jay moved about the farm house at Otaki with confident ease. Mr. Legge walked in to inform them how long it was going to take to get to Field Hut - 5 hours. Em and Jay felt their hearts begin to pound. They had three hours before dark.
Two old codgers ask as they cross the bridge, “You’re not planning to
go to Penn Creek are you? The track is closed. . . “
“Oh no, we’re not going there, thanks, bye!”
A man runs down the track and spies two exhausted women 20 minutes into
their trip.
“Where are you heading?”
“Field Hut”
“OH MY GOD! You won’t get there before dark! It took me three hours
and I’m really fit!”
The girls groaned as he sprinted off down the track.
They timed, they walked, they stopped for chocolate and in exactly
2 and a half hours, there was the red roof of Field shining through the
black trees.
At 8 pm they radioed to reassure Wellington that they were all right.
Laughing at their success, Em bounded down the path to lower the aerial
which was stretched across the porch roof.
“What do you mean it’s stuck?” demanded Jay.
“It’s caught or something . . . . no, no, no! Don’t pull it or the
metal will cut it!”
From the top floor of Field a group of friendly TTC women watched in
amusement as Em scrabbled around on the porch roof. Finally she unhooked
it and they returned to the warmth of the hut. The weather forecast had
been depressing - strong, gusty nor’westers, rain and mist.”
Two hut wardens were playing cards and giggling quietly to themselves.
Jay decided to discuss the route with them. When they heard that the aim
was Maungahuka, their eyebrows shot up as they looked at Em who was now
wearing her fluffy dog hair hat.
“How much Alpine experience do you have?” they asked.
“Er. Not much actually,” said Em.
“Don’t go to Maungahuka” they said bluntly.
Jay and Em had a hasty consultation and taking into account the weather,
they changed their route. From Field they would do a trip up to Kime and
Mt Hector, then down the “Gutbuster” (In actual fact this is not the original
gutbuster but to call it thus was appropriate at the time - ed.) to Penn
Creek for the night and out via the track that wasn’t there.
“We can handle those slips” said Em confidently.
After a delicious bean salad and chat to the TTC on why women were
quite capable of tramping without men, Jay and Em fell asleep.
All is quiet, bar the genteel snoring of the TTC. Three young boys creep
like elephants into the hut and hit pit. Maungahuka features largely in
their soft conversation.
The ridge stretches ahead shrouded in mist that curls around bush and
branch while pale daisies and lichens shine wetly beneath. Bridge peak
is hidden and the wind wails in eerie composition around the crags.
Jay and Em reached Kime and sat shivering whilst eating lunch.
Mt Hector was out of the question so they returned to Table top. On
the way down they were given a terrible fright by a large unidentified
flying object leaping out of the tussock.
Fearing for their lives, they fled down the bluff. Soon the mist closed
in and it was time for some expert navigation down the Gutbuster.
They hit the bushline quickly and wandered happily down the hill. Suddenly
from below there was a loud crashing. Jay and Em stopped, hearts racing
and palms sweaty. A large goat glared up at them. It was shaggy. It was
brown . It was ANGRY.
“What do we do?” hissed Jay “I’m shit scared!”
“Don’t worry,” Em reassured her, “ It’ll move in a minute.”
2 minutes later Em is locked in a staring contest which she knew she
was going to lose.
“Great,” she thought, “killed by a rabid goat. I’ll never live this
one down. . .”
The situation was getting desperate.
“Shoo?” she said hopefully. . .
The goat turned tail and disappeared off the track. Em the conqueror
strode down the hill supremely happy, with only the occasional glance over
her shoulder.
A little song ran through her head. “I beat the goat. I beat the goat.”
she chanted.
“Oh shut up!” said Jay.
They stopped at the bottom by the stream for afternoon tea. Water cascaded
over black rocks into the boiling fury of the pool and resurfaced in tiny
prismatic bubbles. They named it Tirrinoak.
The bush was gnarled and dark. Around the corner Penn Creek was waiting.
What a dear little hut! Jay and Em admired the purple colour, the aeroplane
tail chimney and the comfortable bunks. Soon it was time to add to their
photo collection so Em climbed into one of the dog boxes regardless of
miscellaneous insects.
“Woof!” she barked. “Woof! Woof! O, hang on, I - can’t - seem - to
get out - again! Jaaaay. . . . . I’m stuck! Help me!”
“Ha ha ha ha ha. O, O, you look so - ha ha ha - so stupid ha ha ha ha!”
In the middle of cooking dinner and after the radio call, their quiet
solitude was interrupted by three boys from Field. An interesting converstion
revealed that they had decided to abort their mission to Maungahuka and
follow them down to Penn Creek.
Jay went out to wash the dishes while Em lazed about and watched with
amusement as one of the musketeers nearly singed his eyebrows off with
the stove.
“Er, Em,” Jay came sheepishly through the door, “my plate is stuck in the bottom of your billy.” They hurled it to the ground, stamped on it and levered it with a knife until it bent but the plate was well and truly stuck.Now Jay would have to eat out of the billy (shock, horror).
Next morning, Jay and Em were up early to begin their mission out to
Otaki Forks. As they left the boys in bed and wandered out Em remarked
“You know, it’s funny, but I have a feeling this isn’t the last we’ll see
of Penn Creek today.”
“Just what I was thinking!”
“But we can’t possibly go back up the Gutbuster. I’m not going back
up. . . it will take too long. The slips will be okay.”
The first slip loomed large and dangerous ahead. Scree and mud trickled
down the near vertical slope in the early morning light. Jay was thinking,
“This is my worst nightmare.”
“Okay, we’ll go down the bottom,” she said.
They scrambled over logs and boulders until they reached a large fallen
tree.
“No worries” said Em who climbed over the tree (accidentally pushing
her head through a large spider web) and jumped down the other side.
Suddenly, Jay heard an odd screaming sound. Racing to her companion’s
rescue she saw Em dancing around swiping at her face.
“What’s the matter?” she yelled.
“There’s a spider on my nose!” said Em tearfully.
Sure enough, a large black spider fell innocently to the ground and
scuttled into the rocks. Jay had to put up with Em’s protestations that
she “liked spiders, just not on her face,” all the way to the next slip.
They found the track and wandered along an overgrown slip in the sunshine.
“This is okay, I can do this,” said Jay nervously, worrying about her knees.
A fresh slip appears ahead. Where the earth has been torn away, a huge
and terrifying wound scars the landscape. Large jagged rocks protrude like
teeth within the yawning cavernous mouth.
“Streuth!” Em swore quietly under her breath. Far across was a pinpoint
of orange. Clearer than the furthest star it beckoned. Em struck out across
the slope with Jay bravely behind her. Halfway across Jay was not feeling
so confident. I don’t think I can do this,” she called to Em watching her
slide a couple of metres.
“Yes you can, it’s easy” said Em and she tried to give some helpful
instruction. Em wouldn’t admit it but she was beginning to get jumpy.
Jay suddenly lost her foothold and began careering down the slope only
to stop herself on a loose rock. “No, I really can’t do this” she called.
“Okay, I’m coming back!” said Em.
The earth is sliding out from under her feet. Em watches the river far
below and feels the dizzy clutch of space before reaching the broken side.
Stones run down gathering momentum, dragging the clay with it until it
heaps up in a pile at the base. "I could be down there," she thinks, mesmerised
by her own daring.
“We can’t go below. . . . .Em, EM!”
“What? Sorry, I wasn’t listening.”
“I said, we can’t go below the slip because of the cliffs but maybe
we can go above.”
So Jay and Em began a long bush
bash up the vertical side of the slip.*
They fought through epiphytes and supplejack until at last, panting
with exhaustion they reached the top only to be barred by a large fallen
tree. Jay was clinging desperately to an epiphyte in danger of breaking
, so Em had to find a way around the obstacle. Finally she took off her
pack with care and crawled underneath through the mud.
“Jay! Get up here quick!” she said sharply.
Jay scrambled through and stared in horror at the large crack in the
hillside - the beginning of a new slip. Exhaustedly they moved into the
bush above the danger zone and collapsed in a small dry stream bed to consult
the map and have some food.
“I’m sure we haven’t come that far!”
“No, look, we’re here! There’s the bluff running out onto the river.”
“How much time do we have before we have to turn back?”
“An hour. If we don’t find the track. . . “
Em felt panic rising to choke her, to stifle all reasonable thought.
Surrounded by tangles of supplejack, unable to see further than a few metres,
Jay and Em realised they were lost.
Will Jay and Em ever get out without annoying Search and Rescue?
What will VUWTC think when they hear that they only went to Penn Creek?
Tune in next time when you’ll hear Nurse Jay say: “That boy has severe surface abrasions and an inch wound in his shin”.
* Kids, don’t try this at home.