Heels 1998 Trip Reports- Part One

• Freshers
• VUWTC in Fiordland
• The Southern Crossing Trip
• Bushcraft
• Central Ruahines
• Central Ruahines (2)
• VUWTC in the Wainui Hills Part One
• What will we do with the Drunken Trampers
• North Mangahao Biv revisited
• VUWTC gets Busted in Nelson Lakes
• Putara trip

Freshers

The VUWTC's inaugural trip for the 1998 academic year, Freshers, brought out both the senior tramper and the uninitiated-but-keen for an early March weekend wander through the arid Tararuas. The trip was marred by mayhem, violence, and disruption, leading to the death or disappearance of nearly the entire group.

Organised by Leigh Matheson, the club's chief guide (read: "the person to whom you have to suck up if you want to go anywhere good"), the trip attracted over 50 trampers, the largest turnout to-date in 1998. [Note: DOC officials denied allegations that the recent fall in turnout was triggered by a fall in DOC structures. Winston Peters demanded a Parliamentary inquiry. We will provide more details as they come available.]

After some carpark confusion, typical for the annual Freshers trip, the group boarded the bus and headed off to paradise, first stop: the Featherston Fish N Chips Shoppe. Police were called in to stop a riot that broke out after the store owner asked who had the piece of hoki and the scoop of chips. No arrests were made, although several trampers had to be taken to a nearby hospital for contusions and lobotomies. When order was restored, the group travelled on to their camp for the night. Saturday began with the perilous crossing of DOC structure 410312887, also known as "that damn bridge." Three more trampers were lost in the crossing

More violence erupted as the American faction demanded that the group play ultimate Frisbee, while the English contingent argued for cricket. When the smoke settled, five Kiwis were dead, which always seem to be the outcome when the "mother country" picks a fight. Meanwhile, other trampers engaged in water sports received quite a shock when attacked by a sweaty-toothed eel. One swimmer lost a piece of his toe, while Tash Park sustained a major injury to her leg

Back at the campsite, gear custodian Neal Osborne was demonstrating his self-immolation technique for lighting a portable cooker. Club officials said that they provided Osborne with the proper training required under the Kiwi Ingenuity Act (KIA) 1993. During the evening, the majority of the trampers discussed pressing social issues such as "Bill Clinton vs. the Titanic, A Comparative Approach: Going Down In History," the proper enumeration of things brown and sticky, and just what IS grosser than gross. Meanwhile, several club members shed their clothes, their inhibitions, and their rational functions, and skinny-dipped in the eel-infested waters. One club member proceeded to write her Ph.D. dissertation on the event, which is available in the University Library under the title: "Dangling One's Willy in Eel-Infested Waters: The Paradigm of Stupidity."

The following day saw more of the same weather. At the end of their tramp, several club members played a cricket test at the road-end in an attempt to appease the rain gods. The attempt failed, although Adrian Pike did make his century before an unfortunate LBW cut down the VUWTC offensive attack The only four trampers who survived the trip, in fact, found shelter in the confines of the Kiwi Ranch. Julian Boorman, sporting rather uninspired blonde hair, was quoted later as saying, "the Lord works in mysterious ways."

VUWTC in Fiordland

January 10 1998 saw 8 of us loading packs on the boat on the shoreline of Lake Te Anau just next to the centre of town. At 6.10pm we were off courtesy of Lakeland Boat Rentals to the Worsley arm of the lake. Ahead of us were 3 major river valleys, 3 alpine passes, torrential rain and wind which threatened to flatten our tents, uncharacteristically fine weather (for Fiordland), half the Milford Track, and plenty of sandflies.

In late December 1981 Mike Sheridan and Terry Patterson and co had embarked on a Fiordland epic following in the footsteps of the legendary early explorer W.E. Grave. They had encountered incredibly steep sided valleys and passes between them, lots of bush bashing and lots of rain and sandflies. To recreate the atmosphere of the early explorer they hadn't taken a mountain radio, which had caused a bit of tension.

Our trip involved following the same route as the 1981 trip but we took a radio this time. We also decided to end at lake Te Anau by doing half the Milford Track in a day in reverse, whereas the 1981 trip came out at Milford Sound. The route went up the Worsley Valley and then up into Prospect Creek and onto Hunter Pass. From there it was down Starvation Creek, up the Dark River and onto the Dark-Light Saddle. Then it was down the Light and up one of its branches onto the saddle into Staircase Creek. Then down Staircase Creek to Sutherland Falls and onto the Milford Track.

We reached the beach at the end of the Worsley arm at 7:40pm and after farewelling our boat driver we were attacked by the resident sandfly population. The attack was vicious and we retreated to the safety of the only hut for the trip. In celebration of the imminent journey we had some wine with dinner that night.

January 11 dawned fine and clear and we headed up the Worsley making good time on a bit of a ground trail here and there. We had lunch at the base of Prospect Creek and then began our first Fiordland bush bash. We had notes from Mike Sheridan about the route from the 1981 trip and Moir's also.

Notes didn't help much here though as we thrashed around in fallen logs, bush lawyer and generally dense vegetation. The bush was nice and dry, which was a pleasant surprise, as we were in Fiordland. Eventually we reached our target Lake Brownlee and were met with incredible views. Looking up the valley we could see steep sides and a sheer face of about 800 m height at the head of the valley.

We sidled round the east side of the lake with one wade of chest deep water and made camp at the head of the lake. The sandflies were significantly tame here for us to sit outside that night and play cards.

The next day we headed up past Lake Sumor to the head of the Prospect Valley for lunch and then a climb up onto Hunter Pass. The climb up to the pass wasn't too bad but when we reached the top and had a look at the way down we realised why Moir's guide says it isn't often crossed and we could see why Mike's group used a rope. The pass is just sheer cliffs on the western side and we spent some time trying to look for a route but we realised you wouldn't be able to find one by looking down, as it was too steep.

We spent that night camped by a tarn playing cards until the sun went down and with awesome views into the Dark Valley.

We set off on the 13th down steep snow grass slopes until we were above sheer cliffs. After some route finding we decided to descend some steep slabs. Phil, Adrian, and Dave down climbed them without packs. We then used our 30m of tied together prussick cord to lower all our packs down. This took a couple of hours and after we had all down climbed we then descended not so steep slabs all the way down to Starvation Creek. It definitely isn't a wet weather route.

We camped that night at the head of the Dark River in a sandfly infested spot. Although at least I could enjoy some time outside thanks to a full covering of clothing and my insect-proof head-net.

The morning of the 14th greeted us with our first real rain, and clagged in, rather than clear sky. We headed up a stream leading to the Dark-Light Saddle which was slow going with numerous and long sidles around waterfalls. We reached grassy slopes immediately above a large un-named lake below the pass just after midday. The weather was quite crappy now and very wet.

We reached the saddle and had views of lots of clag so we split into two groups to try and find a way off the saddle. There was a brief clearance and we thought we saw a promising spur heading down the true left. We headed down very steep snow grass and then bashed our way through thick and impenetrable scrub, which was very wet, and down into the bush, only to be bluffed. We then had to climb back up and went down towards another spur. The visibility was crap though and we knew we couldn't confidently find a bluff free route off the saddle.

We were now all soaked through and decided to camp just below the saddle on the side we had come from (sheltered from the wind). The wind then decided to pick up and blow our tents round a bit, as it was being funnelled over the saddle. Phil confirmed the wind was really bad when he went up to the saddle, so about 9pm we packed up and headed down to a crap tent site just above the lake. There was only room for three tents so we had to have 3 people in each of the 2 assaults that were pitched. I don't recommend squeezing three into an assault if you want anything resembling a comfortable night's sleep.

It rained heavily all night and the next morning on the radio we heard they were expecting heavy rain that afternoon and strong winds - I thought we had already had heavy rain. We spent all day crammed uncomfortably in our tents and at one stage we had visits from Phil and then Adrian in our tent (Steve, Dave, and I) to play cards. That afternoon it started to piss down and didn't let up until 4am.

On the morning of the 16th the wind had changed to the south and the weather was clearing so we packed up our wet gear and headed over the saddle. We eventually found a promising spur which we were able to follow all the way down to the Light River. It was extremely steep in places and this proved hazardous in the wet bush so we used the prussick rope again in one section.

Down in the river it was a beautiful day as the sky had cleared and the sun had come out. We stopped on a gravel flat next to the river for several hours and dried all our gear. After that it was a sidle up to Lake Dale and then an interesting crossing of the outlet which involved jumping across it to avoid being swept over an epic waterfall.

We stopped round the other side of the lake at about 7pm and had dinner and did the radio sked. We then set off again heading towards the river and looking for a camp site. We came across a steep slope down towards the river and descended by grabbing onto any vegetation and then lowering yourself down to the next hand hold. It was only about 20m in height but still steep enough that you didn't want to fall. I went down first and the rest followed and all was okay until Dave's vegetation he was holding onto collapsed and he came cart wheeling down. It was probably because of his heavy pack on his back that he didn't hurt himself. It made us realise you didn't really want an accident in Fiordland. Even if a helicopter could have landed in the river it would have still been a heinous stretcher carry for someone with a back injury from where we were. After reaching the river we decided to camp for the night.

The 17th was slightly over cast and we headed up the Light River. The highlight was coming across a family of blue ducks (2 adults and 4 chicks) paddling in the river. We climbed up a steep gut in the head waters of the river and up into the cloud on the pass over into Staircase Creek. Visibility was fine though and we sidled the un-named lake and then descended Staircase Creek, stopping at the mid flats for the night. We knew that psychologically everything was fine now because the Milford Track was just below us.

The next day we followed the stream down with a lot of boulder hopping and sidling around some impressive drops. Near Sutherland Falls we came across some old track markers but more or less headed towards the falls. Crossing the outlet from the falls where it meets Staircase Creek was interesting but after that we hit a benched track and punters. They gave us a few strange looks but after getting some photos at the falls we went on the search for a secluded camp site off the track.

We found a nice spot next to the river and had a bit of excitement that night with an electrical storm lighting up the inside of our tents. One of the tents decided to move in case the river came up over night.

The next day was okay with no flooded camp site and we were off at 6:45am hoping to avoid any punters and Milford Track staff who might question us walking it the wrong way. The shelter at Mackinnon Pass provided us with sausages and baked beans, and chocolate biscuits, courtesy of THC. A few of the punters were worried we were going the wrong way but the guides generally didn't seem to mind.

We got out to the wharf at Lake Te Anau and had an awesome swim. Lakeland Boat Hire picked us up again and we were back to Te Anau for Pizza and red wine. It was an awesome trip all around and as Terry Patterson told us you can't call yourself real trampers until you have been to Fiordland.

Trampers:
Eric Duggan Aroha Wigram Adrian Barr Phil Clark	Sarah Devon Tony Stephens Dave Hodson Steve Yeoman

The Southern Crossing Trip

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 Hoffmann, Gareth Wood, and Catherine Moger.

It was a dark and stormy night and I was lost in the streets of Upper Hutt. We had two missions: to pick up Tim's group from the railway station, and to pay homage to the golden arches.

We arrived at Kiwi Ranch in the late evening and noticed a mysterious precipitation, leading to a quick decision - flag the climb on to Marchant, and head for Smiths Creek instead. 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 club's 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.

As we headed for Marchant via the block XVI track, 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, and 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.

Bushcraft

Following the Freshers debacle, the VUWTC (motto: What It Means To Be A Man...Who Is Tramping Through The Tararuas In A Crack-Induced Haze) paid its annual lip-service to tramping safety, Bushcraft. Frankly, the only craft evident belonged to trip organiser Adrian Pike, who managed to get eight free meals over the two-day trip. But I digress.

Fifteen students and five leaders took part in the trip. First stop: the Paraparamerican fast food strip. After consuming 46,900 calories in total, the score of trampers drove off to Otaki Forks. [Note: the average American consumes 48,300 calories daily.] Trip organisers received quite a scare when, upon arrival, Tash Park and Doug Campbell were unable to be located. Sources say that Pike feared the worst: foul play by a migratory herd of killer eels. His fears were allayed, however, when the pair turned up unharmed, flushed, and out of breath.

The highlights of the first evening included a ferocious possum attack on Veslemoy Guise and the typical deluge that greets every VUWTC trip (especially when the, ahem, EXPERT FORECAST calls for no rain).

Saturday included several enlightening workshops. Dave Walker presented "Navigation Skills and SAR Sadism: Looking for Markers I Have Hidden in Impossible-to-Find Places." (Walker offered an encore performance at Bash on Thru.) Neal Osborne led "Advanced Campsite Management: 15 More Ways Not to Light Your Cooker," while Leigh "Karen Olsen-Wannabe" Matheson taught "Jumping in Stinging Nettle: The Optimal Approach for Preserving New Zealand's Global Leadership in Youth Suicide." Ben Wiles and Matt Ravlich gave a joint discussion of river-crossing skills entitled "If the River Looks Too Swollen to Cross, Grab on to Matt, Not on to Ben, and Go For It!"

That evening's activities included Adrian Pike's impromptu lessons on "Being a Big Fat Scrounger," groundsheet debauchery, a rousing American sing-along ("I never knew," one Kiwi remarked, "that James Brown had so little soul"), and another camp-lamp discussion. The topics: "How to Trick Adrian Out of His Cider" and "Why Sophie H. Lewis should never, EVER ask Adrian what the clown joke is."

Sunday began with a first-aid demonstration by Dave Walker ("I will apply this bandage to myself like this after you beat me within an inch of my life following Bash on Thru") and a shameless demonstration by Adrian Pike of "Advanced Scrounging for Breakfast." The highlight of the day, however, was the convincing victory of Walker's team over the "Lame Cheaters" (a.k.a. Ravlich's team) in "The Game Formerly Known As 'Capture The Flag.'" Their keys to success: strength in numbers, teamwork, and lots of steroids.

The trip ended with a long group hug, described by Pike as "my favourite thing."

Central Ruahines

A trip to such a great place as the central Ruahines should go down in club records. Julian B looked at me rather suspiciously when I first suggested the trip, and for good reason too, as he didn't know me and I had some pretty crazy plans. Names like Sawtooth Ridge and Te Hekenga strike fear into the hearts of even the most intrepid Tararua trampers.

The plan was originally to have two groups, medium and medium/fit, but numbers reduced and as we were only seven we decided to go as one large group. This made for a very socially diverse (i.e. crazy) trip. We nearly lost another member on Good Friday morning. Rob was told the trip was on Saturday and we woke him with a phone call at 9am. He made the right decision and came in the end, even though he was completely not ready. The only food available on Good Friday was hot cross buns and after thirty or so he was getting rather sick of them. Apparently they were rather stale by Monday too!

We finally made it to the road-end at 2pm and set off for Howletts Hut, a five hour walk. Unfortunately the wind became very strong and we had to stop off at Longview Hut for the night. Some of the lighter members of the party were being blown around and we hadn't even reached the ridge top. A long and vicious game of Black Bitch was played and we all had to wait until it was over before dinner was cooked. Of course Anke won. That night was punctuated by the loud snores of Julian D and I was almost tempted to start out at 3am as I could not sleep, there was a full moon and the wind had died.

I held off but the temptation of those Ruahine tops was too much and I woke the others at 6am. We set off not a moment too soon as the wind began rising after sunrise. A couple of hours over the ridge and we were again in the shelter. We took a break just before the bushline and enjoyed fantastic views of the Northern Manawatu and Rangatiki (fortunately Palmerston North was just out of sight). Someone told us that Iron Gates hut had burnt down but we arrived to find it remarkably intact (mongrel hunters). After a long lunch there we headed on to Triangle Hut for the night. A 300 metre saddle took it's toll late in the day and we were all glad to see the hut 9 hours after we left Longview. There were a couple of hunters at Triangle and they seemed keen to shoot me while I was over the river exploring possible campsites; rather a dangerous thing not to identify one's target when hunting (mongrel hunters). The rest of the group reminded them that I was over there although I think Anke was encouraging them to fire away. Because the hunters had lit the fire (mongrel hunters) most of us slept on the porch.

Sunday dawned fine and clear with no wind. A long climb up an uncut but obvious track took us onto the tops again. Julian D was suffering dehydration but came right eventually with lots of water. We were on the top of Te Hekenga at midday for lunch, Rob with his hot cross buns and me with everything tasting of White Spirit after a club fuel bottle leaked (grrrr!). At 1700 metres Te Hekenga is one of the highest peaks in the range and possibly the most rugged piece of terrain in the whole Ruahine/Tararua area. I kid you not. I encouraged the group to try the cheval pitch but after a scary shingle slip they weren't really in the mood. I demonstrated the technique for crossing the pitch, basically grovelling with one's face in the dirt trying to balance between two 85 degree shingle slopes. Anke didn't like the idea of grovelling and suggested walking across! We backed off and sidled below the difficult part and continued on to Howletts Hut. I was tired enough to sleep through the snoring this night.

I didn't force everyone out of bed so early on Monday but a beautiful sunrise got me up to shout, scream and rave at the view. Supposedly a short trip out, one saddle in the middle turned out to be a real heartbreaker. Fine views gave way to mist but we soon dropped below the cloud. We reached the cars at 2pm and were home in Wellington surprisingly shortly after 6pm considering Julian's car sounded like it wouldn't get there at all from time to time.

Quotes from the trip: "I don't want to go down any more." (Anke halfway down any HILL) "There's no way I'm doing that ever again!" (Karla after the cheval pitch) "I'm nearly ready." (Julian D, and he never was) "This is a really strange looking hot cross bun." (Rob at lunchtime) "Uuummm Alistair, what are we doing???" (Julian B most of the time) "Oh goody!" (Keren) "Please don't shoot our trip leader" (everyone except Anke) "It's not far now, just over the next hill/around the next corner" (me (and I was always wrong))

Early Morning - Howletts Hut

Central Ruahines (2)

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. Mis-informed? Yeah we believe you. Okay the seven included, in order of insanity;

Alistair: "It is safe really/ Beauty!!!"
Anke: "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 Anke 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 Anke 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 Anke. 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 gruelling 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 "Dannevirke" 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.

VUWTC in the Wainui Hills Part One

HILLS SEARCH FOR MISSING RUNNER - Evening Post 23/11/98 A search and rescue operation was launched in the hills between Wainuiomata and Lower Hutt today to help find a 29 year-old intellectually handicapped man who has been missing since yesterday. Mark Bedford, of Wainuiomata, a keen runner who is a member of the Para-Olympic team, failed to turn up for a lunch appointment yesterday, said Senior Sergeant Jim Taare. Mr Bedford was last seen in bush at the end of Trelawney Rd by a group of trail bike riders yesterday afternoon and looked to be in a distressed state. "I don't know whether he was startled by the motorbikes or having a fit or seizure," Mr Taare said. The sighting was not reported to police until earlier today. Mr Taare said Mr Bedford is about 160cm tall, has short red hair and a moustache. When last seen, he was wearing black shorts with a green strip around the waist, a white T-shirt with writing on it, white sneakers and socks and had a yellow and green scarf or sweatband.

Dave Walker called me around 1300 to warn me that there might be a search on Tuesday for a missing IHC male. He didn't have too many details at that point, and probably wouldn't know until the advisors meeting that evening. In the meantime I started calling a few people to warn them of the search so they could arrange leave if necessary. Handing this list of available people to Brendan and Nils (as they would do the actual call out), I went back to my work.

Brendan called me around 1700 to say that Mike Sheridan wanted two teams at the Wainui Police Station at 1900. He got my team together (Dave Hodson, Adrian Pike, Nyree Bace) and we got prepared for a night out in the hills. The only snag turned out to be the lack of flys in the gear cupboard. While four flys were out on a club trip, the other 8-10 have yet to be returned by people who have borrowed them earlier in the year. If you have one RETURN IT NOW!

I picked up Dave and eventually found Nyree and Adrian (having got their address slightly wrong - its amazing how my fuddled brain can read 1/12 as flat 12, No 1 xxx Rd). We wombled out to Wainui, doing a slight detour through Petone township, and then eventually have to ask directions to the Police Station:

Dave - "Hi! We're with search and rescue. We're looking for a missing person in the hills around here. Could you tell us how to get to the police station?"

[There are some things that are need-to-know, and the fact that we're Searchers who are lost in Wainui shouldn't be one of them :)]

We walked into the station at 1930 (Greek time for 1900) and found everyone having dinner (thanks to the Red Cross). Since nothing appeared to be happening at that point, we all sat down to a scrumptious meal - we were going to need it. While we ate, other teams who had already been in the field started returning; tired, sore and scratched, telling gloomy tales of gorse thickets worse than the impenetrable forest in Snow White.

To be continued…
In the next episode: Team 8's encounters with the dense and potentially child-procreation-inhibiting gorse. Find out what Mark's favourite drink is, and also discover how far from civilisation they really are.

What will we do with the Drunken Trampers?

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 Pike's 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 (a.k.a. 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 berth 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 berth for the night.

Crewmember Sophie navigated us down one dead end, past the first and second turnoff and then past our berth 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.

North Mangahao Biv revisited

On March 21 this year Adrian Barr and I were cruising up to Putara road end on a very windy night. The plan was to head up Cattle Ridge for the night and then the next day across to Dundas, around Herepai and back out again. However just after the turn off to Putara Adrian's VW got a puncture and that forced us to stop. We got out and jacked up the car with a really dodgy jack that proceeded to collapse on us. After jacking it up again and Adrian risking severing a finger if it collapsed again we finally got the spare tyre in place. After a bit of discussion we decided not to risk the new tyre so headed to Adrian's mother's house in Greytown.

The next day we were up early and off to north of Eketahuna with a new mission to revisit North Mangahao Biv. This is the northern most structure in the Tararuas and we had bagged a visit there in June 1995 along with Dave Walker and Jonothan Clarke. This time there would be no Dave and once again Jonothan's fitness failed him.

After sorting out permission with the local farmer we parked the car and skirted wide of the bull paddock to head up the river. At the fork in the river we found the track up to the biv and within half an hour we were back again. Not many people visit North Mangahao and there were only 14 entries since we were last there.

After a leisurely brew it was time to leave again and we wandered back down the spur with a small helicopter buzzing just above us. We were out by 3pm and pleased to have revisited North Mangahao Biv; the least visited biv but easiest to get to.

VUWTC gets Busted in Nelson Lakes

No, we weren't caught doing a major drug deal in a National Park - it was more a case of "who's going to break something next?" During the course of the club's annual foray south at least half of the participants were, in some way at least partially incapacitated.

The ferry trip down went off without a hitch (of course! - Ed), no one hurt themselves going up the rather steep gangway onto the ship and no one was burnt while drinking a cup of coffee in the middle of Cook Strait. Once we were on the other side of the pond it was into the bus and off to St. Arnaud. On the way we saw the damage that had been caused by the flooding the week before, there had been a lot of water but luckily the flood waters had receded and the recent bad weather didn't look like it was going to affect the trip.

The bus we were on belonged to one of the St. Arnaud ski fields, which was having a reasonably bad time of it. There was no snow! Here it was, the beginning of July and no bloody snow! In St. Arnaud itself we could see the tops of the mountains only had a light dusting. The week ahead looked good. My group and that of Sarah Devon headed up to Lakehead Hut on the first night which passed almost without incident (the almost being an American guy who sat bolt upright in the middle of the night, screamed and went straight back to sleep. Weird).

The next morning was clear so it was off to Cupola Basin Hut. Sarah's group left ahead of us and we meandered up the Travers Track and got to know one another (a weeklong trip is always a great way to find out all the information that you never wanted to know about the people in your group). We were a fairly diverse lot; there was Keren Harris, an arts student originally from England; Dave Rafferty, our American economics and logic guy; Karla Roberts; part time Spice Girl and medic; and me, a lay about masters student pulling hard time avoiding my thesis. On the first day we learnt that Karla expects a Spice Girl pose in every photo, that following your leader is not always a good thing and that logic was going to 'rear its ugly head' quite a lot on the trip. All was going swimmingly until we came to the hill up to Cupola. It was fairly slow going with full packs but eventually we made it only to find that Sarah's group had scored five of the bunks in an eight bunker. Someone was going to end up on the floor. Who would it be? Karla walked in last, which is always a bad move in these situations. "I'll freeze on the floor! It's all hard and uncomfortable!" Her protestations had little effect. We were the bunked, she was the bunkless, it's a dog eat dog world for young trampers when it comes to finding a place to sleep.

Dinner brought the harbinger of a rather large problem on the trip. We were all munching away happily only to find that Keren was feeling a bit off colour. We dismissed it as not being too serious (how wrong we were) and went to bed.

The next day saw us complete our wander up the Travers Valley. By the time we got to Upper Travers Hut it became clear that Keren was not at all well. Sarah's group was with us and it was the intention of both groups to go over the Travers Saddle together. It didn't look like Keren was going anywhere. She began throwing up and hadn't really eaten anything since the previous night. There was no way she was going over the saddle the next day. The time had come to make an executive decision (damn this leader stuff), I told Sarah to go over the saddle the next day without us. If Keren got better during the next day at Upper Travers all well and good, we'd follow the day after, if not I would have to take the group out to St. Arnaud to get her some medical attention (pretty rough, eh?).

We spent the next day at Upper Travers; things weren't looking too good. Keren still couldn't hold anything down and had developed diarrhoea. A trip to the doctor was definitely in order. Enter the fit group. Benj's group had been charging over hill and dale until they came quite unexpectedly on our little encampment. We explained the situation and came up with (what we thought) was the most sensible solution. Keren, Benj and I would go out to St Arnaud the next day and get to a doctor as soon as possible, and Dave Hodson would lead the rest of the two groups over the Travers Saddle the next day and complete the trip with them. It would work.

In the afternoon those who wanted to went for a wee day trip up towards the ridge on the West Side of the Travers Valley. Rob and Dave H. went on a mission; Anke, Steph and Karla went for a fairly serious walk; Mr. Rafferty and myself wandered halfway up the slope and made snowmen. These were good snowmen, Dave comes from Philadelphia where they have much snow in the winter and snowman building is considered an art.

The following morning Benj, Keren and I bade farewell to those continuing the trip and after they left we made ready to head out. As we were packing we noticed a distinct lack of bog wrap. This is a bit of a problem when a member of the party has diarrhoea. Someone in the group that left must have taken the large roll that Benj had put on the table - bastards. We vowed to get them back and left the hut planning our revenge. We made good time downstream as Keren now had a light pack and it was all downhill. There had been quite a bit of rain the previous night and the rivers were up. We were just below John Tait Hut when we came upon a small side stream (that wasn't even running on the way up) that had turned into a raging torrent. The Travers River had burst its bank at this point and we had to cross the stream using the mutual-support river-crossing technique. It worked really well, as it would have been dangerous to cross one at a time (especially as there were large chunks of tree careering downstream in the torrent).

We stayed the night at Lakehead Hut and made our way out to St Arnaud the next morning. Keren was feeling a bit better by this time, but my knee was playing up (you can't win!). We went straight to the DOC centre at St Arnaud and told them of our predicament. They told us that the nearest medical centre was in Wakefield (near Nelson). We had no way to get there so the DOC staff asked the policemen who were visiting St Arnaud if they could give us a lift. They said that they could and it was off to Wakefield in the back of a police car (the police even fed us). We were dropped off at the medical centre and both Keren and I saw doctors - I was told to rest my leg and Keren was given many drugs, which were guaranteed to kill anything!

The next problem we encountered was where to stay - our hut passes weren't going to be much good in Wakefield. The receptionist at the medical centre suggested the pub or a B&B on the edge of town. She rang the B&B for us and they had room, so we decided to stay there. Everyone we met was incredibly helpful. The DOC receptionist had made Keren's doctor's appointment for her, the receptionist at the medical centre arranged our accommodation and the nurse from the medical centre gave us a lift to the B&B.

The B and B was owned by Buster and Marion Stringer, and I recommend it if you ever need a place to stay in Wakefield (you never know, it could happen!) They were really friendly, the rooms were very nice, and they even gave us a student discount.

It was decided that we should make our way back to St Arnaud so we could get our bus back to Picton when it came. Keren was much better now and my knee felt pretty good, so we got a minibus back to Nelson Lakes - we didn't know at the time that it was also the mail van. It had taken us 40 minutes to get to Wakefield in the police car; it took us 3 hours to get back in the van. It was an interesting trip, I got to play postie and we went all over the place. When we finally got to St Arnaud it was quite late, so it was off to the Youth Hostel. I sat in the spa pool for an hour (it was nearly as good as a hot pool), and then we went to the pub for dinner.

By this time we were sick of spending money and we thought it might be a good idea to get back into the bush where things were a bit cheaper. We got a lift to the road-end the next morning and headed off to Angelus for the last night of the trip. At Angelus we met up with some of our group who had come up from the Sabine Valley that day. They were suitably chastised for stealing the toilet paper and we all told stories of our adventures since we parted. It turned out that most of the groups had met up at West Sabine and after visiting Blue Lake, had been heading out down the Sabine Valley. On the second to last day of the trip, those who were fit and well (about half) had decided that the weather was too good to waste and that they should head for Angelus. We all cobbled together a good meal and had a great night. We all left early in the morning and headed out via Robert Ridge. The weather was brilliant - almost no wind and very little cloud. It was one of the best days I had had on the tops anywhere for ages and it was July! There was almost no snow, the going was really easy and we were out in time for lunch. At the Robert carpark we met the other members of our group - more stories were compared and photos were taken.

The bus trip to Picton was good - lots of singing - and the calm ferry trip home was a great end to an eventful trip.

Putara trip

My group eventually piled into Adrian's airplane and flew to the road-end. A brief stop was made on the way for us to fuel up and then we were off again. A car was spotted in the distance and we recognised it as belonging to the President. We passed it and waved in a manner that is appropriate for occupants of such an astral body - "we in the heavens salute you".

At the road-end we bumped into Jeremy's group and realised that we'd be tramping with them for the weekend. After slowly getting changed we headed off after Jeremy's group, followed by Julian's group. The glimpses of light we occasionally caught were written off as wil'o'wisps, but we followed them anyway. Eventually the lights got brighter and two groups combined forces. On up to Herepai hut, which to our disgust had been heavily vandalised. Here a brew and plans were made; the other group turned up just after the water boiled so they took advantage of some hot chocolate, although one of their number (Anna) had experienced a close encounter with the ground - and being as hard core as she is, the broken nose was dismissed as nothing. Welcome to New Zealand VUWTC style! We wondered if she was to continue the trend of Australians and injuries (remember Alexis).

It was an early start the next morning, thanks to Adrian and Jeremy forcing us out of bed, and then the six of us set off. Julian's group were planning on seeing us at Cattle Ridge that night, via the river and Roaring Stag Lodge. On East Peak it was a bit claggy, so maps and compasses were consulted, but it soon cleared and we were joined by the fantastic weather that characterises all of our trips.

There was a little wind about the tops, but an almost total absence of snow made travel pleasant. A fit group meant good time was made. Soon we saw Dundas and our spirits soared, our hunger would soon be gone. It's further than it looks to Dundas from this point, and we welcomed the opportunity to sit down and eat when we arrived. This hut would have to be in one of the best locations of all Tararua huts, but it's maintenance leaves a little to be desired. Here the germ of an idea appeared, and it has since been agreed that the club will approach DOC about taking some responsibility for Dundas - in addition to 'our' other two huts; Carkeek and Penn Creek. With some maintenance this hut could easily become my most loved hut.

After lunch we set off down the hill and realised we'd probably have to get wet crossing the river. None of us wanted to, so Adrian charged across and we were all shamed into following. Afterwards we realised that the options of using river crossing methods other than "just charge and hope" hadn't even entered our minds, although we had got our cameras out in the hope of recording some carnage - Jeremy nearly obliged.

It was a quick climb on to Cattle Ridge, fuelled by Adrian's supply of sour gummy bears, and then down to the hut. There were huge quantities of dead leatherwood lying around so we collected firewood and got the fire cranking. A great meal was had and then Rob and I managed to acquire more - Tim and Duncan and chilli don't get on too well. I had about 1.5 litres of hot chocolate, whiskey and lots of speculation about possible reasons for the absence of Julian's group. In the end we decided there were only two acceptable explanations....

Next morning was a late start, and we had barely packed when the other group arrived. We discovered that their explanation for not turning up the night before was unacceptable and left. Down to Roaring Stag and lunch, then started out. Duncan seemed to decide we'd been going too slow, so a good burn-out was had up to the Herepai turn-off. We had a five minute break there and then it was out to the cars and back to Wellington. It was a fantastic weekend trip with good people; doing the Dundas loop in winter.

We were: Our group: Dave Hodson (scribe and kind-of leader) Adrian Barr Rob Holmes Jeremy Haines (leader) Tim Baker Duncan Elton

Their group: Julian Boorman (leader) Anna Pulford Catherine Moger Joe Prebble.