A flock of libidinous trampers took to the Orongarongas on 2-3 May for the VUWTC's annual orgy of drinking and dancing, Bush Ball. Highlights included limbo contests, dance lessons, and … well, if you haven't heard about the real highlight of the trip by the time this story is published, then you are so in the dark, you belong in Auckland.
Jesse Kyle organised the trip and arrived early on Saturday to decorate Jans Hut, site of the festivities. Along the way to the hut, she and several fellow trampers, in an impressive display of Kiwi Ingenuity, built a series of elaborate markers to guide late arrivals to the hut. One of the builders remarked, "you'd have to be an idiot to miss those markers."
Among the late arrivals, a group comprising Douglas Campbell and Dave Rafferty missed those markers. As part of his ongoing pedagogical series entitled "Never Do What We're Doing Right Now," Campbell demonstrated the improper method of crossing a shallow stream (to wit, running full-on while screaming "Helen Clark is tasty!"). [Editor's note: See the previous edition of Baaa for more of Campbell's lessons.] Another late arrival was Jeremy Haines, who himself taught an impressive lesson in "Never Do What I'm Doing Right Now" by knocking back two six-packs of Lion Brown while tramping in alone. Nonetheless, all trampers arrived safely, donned their formal attire, and began the festivities without further incident.
Following dinner, club members began imbibing a variety of intoxicating beverages fervently. [Editor's note: You can always count on those damn Americans to try to disguise the truth. What he means is: "The trampers got pissed so fast, Winston Peters would have had a hard time keeping up."] Many club members partook of a variety of games, while others engaged in stimulating conversations concerning accrual budgeting, the reorganisation of Statistics New Zealand, and power chucking. Several participants demonstrated their prowess on the ballroom floor, teaching others a variety of international dance steps. And there was even a chin-up contest, won by Michelle Cunningham, who logged an incredible 26 chin-ups. Sources say that Cunningham was motivated by the fact that one of the taller club members placed her Cadbury chocolate atop the chin-up bar.
As no self-respecting Bush Ball would be complete without it, the night included the annual Bush Ball limbo contest. This year's winner was the one and only sober guy, Stef Gaitanos. In winning, Gaitanos set an all-time record for lowest bar height successfully under-limboed. [Editor's note: I have never heard of that verb either.] The record-setting height of the limbo bar was 1.36 metres, fully .14 metres lower than last year's winning height. [Editor's note: Apparently equilibrium, along with decorum and heat, were the first things out the window after the drinking began.]
Of course the two words on everyone's lips were fashion and love. Turning first to the former topic, Simon Hassall sported especially snazzy attire among the gentleman, earning raves from the women in attendance. Meanwhile, Keren Harris caught the eyes of many with her pink hair and gown. Greg Ries best embodied the spirit of the evening, with two devil's horns in his hair. But the undisputed winner of the "Crying Game Award for Fashion" was Douglas Campbell.
Although Campbell arrived in a sharp vest, he quickly traded in his tails for … you know, there's a really ugly pun waiting there and I want nothing to do with it, so I am not going to finish that sentence. So anyway, Campbell returned wearing a short, slinky dress from the Sophie H. Lewis collection. The music was drowned out by the sound of flashbulbs popping and jaws hitting the floor. And then the fun really began.
Because this is a family newsletter (Whose ¾ the Manson family?), I will refrain from
revealing the lurid details of the infamous culmination of the evening's affairs.
In short, Campbell and Haines gave their best impersonation of Leonardo Dicaprio
and Kate Winslet from that standing-on-the-ship's-hand-rail scene in Titanic.
(Nearly lasted as long as Titanic, too.)
But I would like to pose two questions for the reader to ponder:
The fire died down before the party, which raged on past 4 AM. Finally, the remaining partiers
went to bed, more often than not in double-sleeping bags with fellow club members.
The following morning saw a horrific return to sobriety, as club members tried to gather up
the last precious remnants of their self-respect along with the garbage from the night before.
[Editor's note: Thanks and kudos to the decorators and the clean-up crew.]
After a lazy morning, the club finally departed at noon, ending Bush Ball 1998.
[Editor's note: Club members can contact publicity guru Adrian Pike if they would like copies of the Bush Ball 1998 video. The price is $19.95 + GST for the publicly released edition, and $49.95 + GST for the uncut director's version.]
It was a dark and stormy Friday night (actually it was calm and clear), when captain Pike of the good ship Baaa faced his most difficult decision. To face certain death and mutiny on the Field Hut route or seek the calm of the good port of Parawai. Needless to say the crew was rather relieved when their captain, following some gentle persuasion with rubber hoses, barbed wire and deep tissue massage decided discretion was the better part of valour. Captain Pike spent the rest of the night attempting, somewhat unsuccessfully, to send the rest of us on a round the world guilt trip.
Next day dawned cloudy and amidst captain Pikes insistence that if we had gone on Friday night like he wanted, the hill wouldn't have been nearly as steep and tiring, we plodded on to the port of Field. Upon reading the port book we found that a band of old salties (aka TTC members) were already on there way to Penn port, and so captain Pike and his brave crew faced yet another decision. Someone joked that we should go to the Taupo hot pools and was surprised to find Captain Pike nodding his head. It was already 13:30 on Saturday and the clock was ticking (pool closes at 21:30).
The record for fastest descent from Field to Otaki forks was easily halved and we followed the North Star to the tropical climate of the Taupo hot pools. During our voyage a birth in Taupo was secured by crewmate Sophie and information that we were alive and insane was passed on to Rear Admiral Osborne.
The voyage was uneventful aside from captain Pike having to put down a mutiny due to a lack of recognisable cassettes on board his ship, and at around 19:30 we rolled into the tropical port of De Bretts. The natives appeared friendly but we kept our distance and luxuriated in relaxing hot pool heaven for two hours. At 21:30 (that's 9:30pm) we got chucked out and decided to head for our birth for the night.
Crewmember Sophie navigated us down one dead end, past the first and second turnoff and then past our birth but it was OK she knew exactly where we were going. She was given fifty lashes with barbed wire for geographical embarrassment and fifty more 'cos we felt like it. Finally, at our port for the night we settled down to a meal, some port and a well-deserved sleep.
Sunday morning was spent at the port of Tokaanu once again luxuriating in the hot pool lifestyle (this sailing is really tough) and finally we had no choice or excuses, but to batten down the hatches, up the anchor, set the mainsails and set course for our home port of Wellington.
Disclaimer: I can't write to save myself so I take no responsibility for the poor way this story is written and trip represented. Due to increased pressure from a certain Publicity Officer who will remain nameless I was forced to subject you to one of my written works. The characters in this story are fictional and any similarities to person/s living or dead is purely coincidental.
Characters in my story:
Group One: Me, Sarah Wood, Kirsten Hume, and Wei Quan Lee (pronounced Way Chan Lee in case this is being read out as a bedtime story).
Group Two: Tim Ingleton, Brendan Swift, and Julian Duerr.
Group Three: Steve Yeoman, Anke Hoffman, Gareth Wood, and Catherine Mogen.
It was a dark and stormy night and I was lost in the streets of Upper Hutt. We had two missions, pick up Tim's group from the railway station and pay homage to the golden arches.
We arrived at Kiwi Ranch in the late evening and noticed a mysterious precipitation, quick decision, flag the climb on to Marchant - head for Smiths Creek. Julian was keen to spend the entire night tramping so he convinced his group to head for Tutuwai.
My group and I made good time in the precipitating blackness and arrived at Smiths Creek around 10.30-11pm, where we found Tim's group setting up pit,.. apparently due to inadequate lighting they had decided to bail. Smiths Creek is far from luxury accommodation. The air is scented with the rubbish pit in the middle of the floor and a suspicious brown object (most definitely human, I should know I saw enough of them in my time in the old peoples' home) in the centre of the drop floor made the facilities unusable. Despite this, it was a relief to be out of the rain and not braving it under the clubs notorious flies.
Saturday morning, I felt like crap after having been woken up at 3am by Julian thinking it was time to leave, but I dragged myself and my group out for the big day ahead.
We headed for Marchant via the block XVI track, all along the route I informed my group that they were lucky that they were doing this route rather than the Marchant. On climbing the block XVI track I noticed some doubt and a hint of rebellion taking place within my group. At the top of the track they decided that I had cheated them into the harder route, despite my protests, they were not swayed - I guess a 1200m vertical climb can do that to anyone.
We arrived at Alpha in the late afternoon, I was poked and had absolutely no intention of making the crossing that day, despite the good weather. Sarah, Kirsten and Wei Quan were quite happy with that, although I think Wei Quan probably could have run to Otaki and back in the remaining hours of sunlight.
Tim's group had also decided to crash at Alpha so we tucked into Julian's kindly donated chocolate chippies and waited for Steve's group to arrive.
Steve's group arrived just on dusk and then proceeded to burn down the hut with an exploding club Primus. They spent the rest of the night waiting for my Primus to become free so they could finally cook their dinner.
The hut was full of people who had made the crossing that day. One of the people was Matt's old tramping buddy from his legendary tramping days. This guy is living proof of Matt's former fitness. On Sunday morning when the day dawned better than any day you could have possibly asked for, Matt's old mate (buggered if I can remember his name now) decided that he would come with us back to Otaki Forks.
The crossing was fabulous, brilliant weather and spectacular views,… I will not go into detail as I barely scraped through seventh form English so my written description would not give that day justice. I am sure that all the hardened crusty trampers reading this will understand perfectly what I mean.
Tim's group and mine merged into one and we moved as a globulous mass over the crossing, however this pace was a bit too geriatric for Julian so we set him loose with Mr. Fitness Plus, who literally RAN over.
Julian and Mr. Fitness waited for us on top of Hector for the traditional period of silence beside the cross - being ANZAC weekend and all.
Kime was, as usual, a joy to visit. Good to see the water tank but unfortunately our TTC friends have cunningly devised a tap which requires a degree to turn off.
The trip from Hector to Otaki was fuelled by Brendan's amusing chatter, and a peek at the photo spread in Field hut. The TTC's desperate attempt to hold onto that damn huts history.
We arrived at Otaki Forks in the late afternoon and braved Steve's overheating car back to Wellington. Steve's group weren't quite so lucky; they arrived at Kaitoke to find my car with a steering wheel lock attached which they didn't have the key for. But our dear friends at Kiwi Ranch were apparently more than happy to hacksaw the thing off!!
All in all a bloody good trip.
To all of those lazy buggers who missed the Easter Trip to the Ruahines all we have to say is, Ha you missed a treat. Oh well at least you can read all about it and become totally lost by all our "in" jokes and insinuations.
Well seven crazy people went along, nearly six but with the temptations of Hot Cross Buns we coaxed Rob out of bed. Miss informed? Yeah we believe you. Okay the seven included, in order of insanity;
Alistair: It is safe really/ Beauty!!!
Anka: Evil woman/ Alistair I don't want to go down
Julian D.: Where?/ Earthquake? No just snoring
Karla: I'm not going to moan today
Julian B: Organiser/ Your car keeps exploding
Keren: Well I can forget about skirts for a while
Rob: Hot Cross Bun Rob?
With the exception of a rather windy Friday when wine and cards came in handy and Eye Spy became the name of the game, the weekend overall was weather friendly, scenery friendly (BEAUTY!!!) and tramping friendly with the exception of one precarious moment. Alistair can Anka just walk along the crumbling peak? I think the rest of us will take a less life threatening detour. Thank goodness for Karla's crackers and Julian's brie, our lives stopped flashing before our eyes and our heart rates returned to normal.
Saturday began early (wow, what a sunrise) and proved to be full of tramping variety, with uphill bush bashing (I don't think your legs will ever be the same Keren), a stroll up the river, and mingling with sophisticated company. Please don't shoot our friend! Bloody mongrels, as if a deer would wear a white shirt (not mocking your good taste Alistair).
We ended the day at Triangle Hut reminiscing the days stimulating conversation of chemistry and physics, thanks lads! The quieter members slept under a full moon whilst the noisy people kept the hunters entertained with all night mumbles and rumbles. Ha!
Sunday was up, up and up, more bush bashing and of course not forgetting Alistair's efforts to test the ridges' stability, it's all in the technique, right Alistair? Well if Anka thinks it's a bit unstable (a bit!) there ain't no way I'm gonna cross that thing. Well the view made up for the adrenaline rush with Mt. Taranaki on the left and Ruapehu to the rightish. We continued on our journey with our Kinder Surprise Mascot, Mummy, and songs from Sesame Street onto Howletts Hut.
Once there Alistair was a bit blue at finding out he had missed his friends by a day but meeting John (a less trigger happy hunter) a long time Howletts mate made up for the disappointment. Being the last night we indulged in group bonding, we recommended Julian B for a good foot and back massage, but girls if you want to know where the orgasm inducing spot on the soles of your feet are ask Anka. For a primo shoulder massage talk to Rob, oooh a bit to the left mate. And if anybody wants to know what happens to sun sensitive people who forget sun hats, lotion and the like ask a rather rosy red Julian D.
Being a hard man Julian D. was fully recovered and raring to go on Monday morning. As the rest of us prepared ourselves for a grueling mish out of the wilderness, Julian D. again had a leisurely rise out of bed.
Well you'd think our adventures would have come to an end having reached the relatively "civilised" town of "Danneverke" chuckle, chuckle. But no with Julian, his exploding car (CNG; cheap, environmentally friendly but a wee bit flammable) and the groovy tunes of the best of the 80's Volume 3 (Volume 1 kept us going on the journey up). Yeah go "Tiffany" we bopped, foot tapped and banged our way home. Unfortunately Rob had finished his hot cross buns but the toffees were still in abundant supply.
All we have to say to our fellow trampers is thanks people for a great weekend, from
Keren and Karla.