In the last episode: It was discovered that Mark Bedford of Wainuiomata was missing. Mysteriously his socks, sneakers and yellow and green scarf are gone. Who did it? Also it was revealed that people from SAR are missing a bit upstairs as they don't know how to find the police station, or someone's house, let alone a missing person. Can Team 8 defy the odds and shed light on the situation? To find out, read on...
After a briefing with Dave Walker (field controller extraordinaire) on the phone, and a long briefing with Tom Clarkson about conditions, etc, we (Team 8) and Team 3 headed off to Hare Rd. Our task was to search up the ridge starting at the Gawler Street Reservoir using track-awareness and sound-sweep search techniques. A quick familiarisation of what we were to do and how to do these search techniques, we headed off into the unknown.
By 2100 we had reached the reservoir and search around the area extensively for a track leading up to the ridge. Not finding any and with the prospect of climbing 8m up a cliff through scrubby gorse (thanks Nyree for attempting it though!), we eventually decided to bash through the gorse and slowly make our way onto the ridge. Then, surprisingly, after 10 minutes of bush bashing (and the occasional curse as the gorse went places it shouldn't have) we found a track only a couple of metres from the reservoir!!! (Arrggghh!!!)
For the next 2 1/2 hours we searched the ridge for signs of broken foliage and footprints in the dry clay (High powered hand held torches at ground level are ideal for this - head torches don't show up footprint and scuff marks very well). We also tried the sound-sweep technique spreading out the team along the ridge, calling every 2-3 min and listening for 30 seconds for a reply. As the evening moved on we eventually reached our first target, the 280m spot height above the reservoir.
Running down a spur to the left and below the spot height was another firebreak. We had not been tasked to search this, but not knowing if any other group had search it yet, Dave Hodson and I wandered down looking for signs that anyone had been here recently. Part way down we noticed a few fresh (1 day old) scuffs in the clay heading back up the hill, but were not able to identify them clearly (there were a lot of fresh goat prints in the clay). At the same time we were continuing to call out for Mark every few minutes.
Suddenly coming faintly from the gully to the north of the firebreak we heard a voice call out to us. We called again and it replied. Thinking it was Team 3 we asked who it was and he said his name was Mark. Sending Dave back to Nyree and Adrian to contact Special Ops, I continued a dialogue with the voice and determined that this was very probably the Mark we were looking for (and not someone playing a hoax).
Shortly Adrian came down and said that I was wanted on the radio. He continued talking to Mark for the next 20 minutes or so. Talking to Special Ops we gave our position on the firebreak and estimated where Mark might be. Given the terrain and the thickness of the bush we had already encountered, I felt we might need more support in finding him. So Dave Walker began to rouse some of the groups in the area which had started to get into pit for the night. In the meantime we were tasked to try and locate Mark. Only having 2 compasses in the group didn't help matters (ALL SAR members take note: YOU NEED A COMPASS AND WHISTLE), so we split up into 2 groups.
In an attempt to locate Mark we attacked the gully from 2 different angles, as there was a possibility that he might get up and move from his spot as he had wanted to earlier in the dialogue. Dave and Adrian were briefed by me on what to if they found Mark before the rest of us caught up (ABCs, head to toe, etc plus keeping warm). We started bush-bashing at 23:45. Nyree and I had great fun pushing our way through gorse and were soon full of prickles and scratches. Shortly into the piece, Dave and Adrian located Mark and then guided us to his spot. On arriving there I found Mark sitting on Adrian's snow foam and chatting to the LADS (not a Carlton Stripe advert). He seemed in good spirits despite being cold, hungry and thirsty. He had scratches all over his body and had managed to loose his shoes. On examination of him I found no serious injuries, although he had some pain in his lower back/pelvis and right elbow. Given that he wasn't able to answer my questions too clearly about the pain I felt it better to call in a stretcher to bring him out. Anyway, I don't think he had the energy (let alone the footwear) to walk out. While moving away from Mark to give his vital signs and my report, Nyree sat with him and talked 'crap' (thanks for that tip Andy) (Anyone requiring training need only apply for a call centre job - they teach you to blither very quickly - Ed)
At this point Dave W. had managed to get three teams to congregate at Hare St. with the stretcher and belay equipment. Dave and Adrian scouted a way down to Hare St, which was only a few hundred metres away from where Mark was. Eventually they made their way up to our spot and proceeded to set up the belay system to assist the stretcher carriers down to the stream.
During this time there were continual vital signs checks and reports (every 15 minutes). Also Mark was hoping that we'd be able to bring in some McDonald's and some Spree to drink as he was very thirsty, before starting to fall asleep from fatigue as he warmed up (thanks for your fleeces Adrian and Dave, and a huge thanks Nyree for the use of the sleeping bag). This allowed us to concentrate on getting things ready for the stretcher carry.
To be Continued...
In the next episode: What happens when you tell your leader you gave the guy a lolly. Oops. How does Team 8 finally get Mark in the stretcher, and what fate awaits them back at the police station….?
Background Information (who we are and how we got there)
Who we are: three ex (in a financial sense but not in spirit) VUWTC members who have followed the tradition of TC members past and present of sailing off to foreign seas in search of fame, fortune and foreign peaks to conquer.
Myself and Jeremy left NZ in February 1998 en route to Chamonix via Melbourne, Arapiles, Adelaide, Melbourne (again), Sydney, LA, San Diego, Seattle, San Francisco, San Diego (Again), London, Copenhagen, Stockholm, Helsinki, Olhava, Kemijarvi, London (again), Brighton, London (yet again), Dover, Calais and numerous townships and cities of varying sizes in France that were driven through in the middle of the night.
We had to decline the chance to go to Fountainbleu (bouldering area just outside Paris) with Anjali as our flights were booked to Denmark, where we arrived in the middle of a general strike. This did not hamper our climbing ambitions as Denmark's highest point is only about 300m above sea level and has no climbing (bar a few offshore islands but as the transport industry was basically at a standstill it did not look promising). So after a week or so of visiting the local sights (Hamlet's castle etc) by train and tandem (a.k.a. 'divorce machine') it was off to Sweden.
Sweden has quite a few good climbing areas. I know because I read about them in a magazine. However as to be expected most were only accessible by car. After a day spent crossing Sweden by high speed train we arrived at Stockholm to find there was a big football match on (between Chelsea and Stuttgart - not even Swedish teams) and with 30,000 fans there the only accommodation available was 100kms out of the city and cost £100 a night. Lucky for us we had a tent and Stockholm has numerous camp grounds within easy reach of the city....
First thing the next morning we booked ourselves on the next ferry crossing to Finland. Having managed not to pay for the crossing we shouted ourselves to dinner in the restaurant onboard. The crossing takes about 12 hours and runs overnight. The cabins were all booked out so Jeremy decided to sleep on deck. He eventually found a spot that wasn't near the night-club, but was on the windward side of the ship. I wasn't so keen to brave the cold so tried to sleep in the chairs where the TV was. I woke up at around 1am to find a porno film being played (they are a liberal lot in Scandinavia) and the seats filled by excited 16 year old boys. I decided to risk the cold outside.
We spent two weeks visiting friends in Helsinki and enjoyed staying in the one place for a while. Having heard from Nils that Finland did in fact have some good climbing (despite also being flat like Denmark) we set off to the local (and only) climbing shop in Helsinki. The people there were very friendly and gave us a free photocopied climbing guide that someone had made. Unfortunately it was all in Finnish. With the help of our hosts we found some local bouldering areas and visited these. At one I had the pleasure of meeting a local drunk who was very happy to meet someone from New Zealand (as he kept telling me for the next half hour). Another was above the motorway and covered in graffiti - which didn't deter Jeremy but I declined to give it a go. A third we found, with the help of our bus map, after riding in circles through the woods for an hour. Unfortunately by this time it was getting late and cold so we headed home (nothing to do with the fact that the climbing looked rather hard!).
After two weeks there our hosts started to get restless so we decided it was time to move on. We had been told that the best climbing in Finland was at a place called Olhava and it was only a few hours from Helsinki. We found the website for the Finnish Alpine Club and emailed their contact to find out about Olhava. So armed with our guide, hand-written directions, and local information courtesy of an English climber living in Turku we headed off.
We took the train to Kouvola (about 3 hours) and then a local bus to Valkealla where we had planned to stay in a campground and then go shopping the next day and find a taxi to take us to Olhava. The bus didn't drop us off near the camping ground so we decided to try and get there that night. The lady at the chemist booked a taxi for us. We did a rush shop in 20 minutes (with a trolley each for our packs) and left by taxi at about 4.30.
We also needed to buy fuel for our stove but in Finland you can only buy fuel from a petrol station (not in camping stores). The taxi driver did not speak English and when I tried to explain that we needed to go to a petrol station first, where cars get fuel he replied that he had fuel and a car. The lady in the chemist had told me we would pass a petrol station so I decided to wait until we got to it and then point it out. Unfortunately we never passed one and one hour and 250kms (about $100 NZ) later we arrived at Olhavanlamppi (Lake Olhava, although pond is a better translation).
The crag is in the middle of the Valkaella Wilderness Area. It is next to a small lake/large pond and you camp between the rock and the water. Part of the cliff is over the water and you can row out to a little island (about 3m square) and climb from there. The climbing is predominately natural pro, with some belay anchors, although there was a bolted climb that had recently been put up, graded Finnish 8 (about 27).
We were a little apprehensive at being dropped off in the middle of 'nowhere', with a weeks worth of food but nothing to cook it on and a good 20km walk from 'civilisation'. We set up camp in between tree roots and rocks and tried to avoid the larger ants nests (although the whole area was one big ants nest). We were soon to find out that Finns always light fires in the outdoors and cook their sausages over them so we were able to find some pre-made fireplaces and a small supply of firewood. There were some initial bouts of paranoia that night regarding bears but we realised that the place was too frequented for that.
On the second day there we woke to find a couple of people running an outdoor course for school children. Osku, the Finnish mountaineer running it, was demonstrating his program for a group of politicians from the Education Ministry who were coming out later that afternoon. He put a top rope on two climbs that we gladly used. One climb passes a bats cave (it was too early in the season for them to be too active, though you can hear a buzzing as you pass it). When he left he showed us the way to a hiking hut where we could 'get' firewood from and left behind us some chocolate and a spare packed lunch for us.
The next few days it rained. On Saturday morning we did a grade 4(?) (about NZ 15) in cold conditions. I was wearing polypro, fleece jacket and a hat. The climb was a horrible grovelly offwidth followed by a short pitch up a shallow dirty crack. People started arriving that morning (a climbing club from Helsinki was having its Spring meet there that weekend) and the campsite soon looked like the Bay - tents everywhere. The weather fined up for the afternoon and we were called out to the island to meet some of the club. We were shown the classic climbs there from the island: The Swedish Route, Lightening and Lightening Direct (5/5+ - about NZ 17/18). One of the corner cracks there is used as practise for some of the routes on El Cap.
The Finns climbed and partied on into the night (outside our tent) helped by the fact that it doesn't really get dark - just a sort of dusk between 11pm and 2am. We were hoping to score some fuel off one of them but everyone was cooking on open fires. Come Sunday morning it was raining and at last we managed to scrounge 1/2 a litre of white spirits. Everyone packed up and left and we also managed to score a litre of fresh water. After drinking out of the lake it tasted great.
We spent another day lying in the tent while it rained outside.
Monday dawned fine and we rowed out to the island and did The Swedish Route - a nice finger/hand crack with good nobbles for your feet, and then Lightening -a strenuous hand/fist crack without nice holds for your feet, and Lightening Direct - a delicate finger crack. Jeremy managed the step across the water to the cliff for the last climb but I wimped out and still used the log 'bridge'.
It rained for the rest of that day and the next, so we decided to pack up and leave the following day (a week after arriving). We were hoping to hitch a ride out (as many families seemed to come into the area to have a look) but luck was against us that morning (and the fact that we were going the wrong way). After about 3 hours and 12 km of carrying two packs (about 25 - 30kgs each) along the dirt road we were given a lift by two young lads who were at the crag. They kindly took us out of their way and into the nearest town so we had time to catch our bus and train.
The walk out and subsequent walk that evening from the railway station to the hostel in Joensuu left us wrecked and we were forced to take taxis for the next two days when moving around. After another two weeks relaxing it was back to London to sort out details to get to Chamonix to meet Melinda....
The third person in our group was Melinda Short. She left New Zealand after us but got to the UK before us Her climbing trip until Chamonix consisted of trips to the Warwick University climbing wall with her cousin and his friend, climbing on natural gear in tramping boots and the rain in Wales and tripping around the Austrian Alps pretending to be Heidi.
When she met us in Chamonix we had already been there for three weeks, walking and climbing at the various crags within walking distance (8-10km) of our camp in the Chamonix Valley. Having forgotten to write down which campground we were staying in Melinda [who had arrived on the wrong train - but as France had just won the World Cup the conductor let her stay on the tourist train from Martigny to Chamonix - co-authors note: for full story please see article by the aforementioned] walked to every campground looking for us. As to be expected we were at the last one, which was the cheapest and furthest from town.
Melinda's cousins (Doug and Jo) and their friends (Fiona and Andy) arrived later that week. When Melinda had recovered from her cold and Jeremy was starting to get ill we joined Doug and Andy for an overnight trip up to the Aiguille Rouge range (the opposite side of the valley to Mont Blanc) to climb a few easy peaks (taken from the book - 100 Easy Summits For All).
After nearly 2 hours we reached Lac Blanc and ummed and ahhed for a few minutes over which particular peak was the one described as casting an imposing presence over Lac Blanc. After deciding which imposing peak we were going to we left the crowds behind at the cafe and headed up through the rocks. The rocky gully we could see we decided was the glacier and hence our route took us up the snow field on the left. Melinda, Doug and Andy headed up through the snow while Jeremy and I (me in my Nikes) kept to the rocks trying to keep our feet dry as long as possible. Soon after, Doug decided he wasn't feeling too great so we emptied our packs, left him sitting on a rock guarding our gear, and headed off with much lighter packs. It was after this that I decided Nikes aren't too great on snow - the rubber sole not providing much friction but with the help of our trekking poles (I'm converted to them now) we managed not to embarrass ourselves.
At the top of the snowfield it turns into a steep narrow rocky ridge, with exposed drop offs on each side. We reached the crux - a deep notch that we decided to rope up for. Melinda gallantly led the climb (about 6m) and made an anchor around a few large boulders perched on top. By the time all of us had got up that bit it was about 6.30pm and grey clouds were rolling in so we decided to head back down to the lake rather than risk coming down the ridge in bad weather. We added our own bit of rope to the boulder and abseiled off it and headed back down to meet Doug.
We bivvied that night in a hollow just off the path (le Tour du Mont Blanc) near Lac Blanc, complete with a little stone fence to keep the wind out. Dinner was an interesting concoction of rice and lentils; mainly lentils. Doug and Andy provided meat and peanuts to add to it. I stuck to French bread. Being at 2300m provided great views of the valley and the sunset over Mt Blanc opposite. It was a clear evening and Melinda missed out on seeing the shooting star (which led to lots of comments for the rest of the trip of "look Melinda, a shooting star!").
The mountains were in cloud the next day so Doug and Andy left us their meat, cheese and muesli bars and headed back to the gondola to catch it down. Melinda, Jeremy and I had planned to stay another night and wandered along the tops to where there were a few more crags. After not getting much sleep (due to the cramped bivy and Doug's snoring) and a lack of drinking water we were not feeling the best. We followed the Tour du Mont Blanc along the tops, looking for a suitable water source. The tarns however were rather stagnant and with the abundance of French people peeing everywhere we weren't too keen to drink from it. Jeremy nearly spiked a little snake with his pole along one of the tracks so Melinda got to see a snake at last.
We reached the first crag, alongside which was the Aiguilette d'Argentière described in the guidebook as an imposing monolith which has seen many an aspiring mountaineer stand on its lofty summit posing for posterity. We could not surpass the challenge and decided a photo on the top was necessary. Jeremy led the way up and we each stood on top (complete with round of cheering applause for myself from a group of hikers who passed).
After scoffing the last of our cheese for lunch and our last few drops of water it was time to lose 1000m in height and head for the nearest supermarket. After reaching the valley floor and the supermarket and slurping down coke and orange juice we were too tired to walk and caught the bus back down the valley to the campsite.
Our trip to Chamonix ended with an evenings climbing at Les Gaillands (the crag closest to Chamonix township) and a picnic dinner watching the sunset over Mt Blanc.
Next stop London where our fortune awaits us.....(and we're still waiting.........)
"Wake up Simon, quick, oh shit, it's 9am, we were supposed to be up hours ago!"
This was to become a familiar start to the day on our three day mission to do some climbing at Arthur's Pass. Because we only had three days we were on a very tight schedule with not much time for sleep. But we hadn't counted on our inability to get up in the morning.
The trip started, as most South Island trips do, on a Friday evening with a boring wait at the ferry terminal, an even more boring trip across Cook Strait (there were no people throwing up for our entertainment this time), and a boring drive down the Kaikoura coast. We took some time in Blenheim looking for Simon's workmate in a pub but were eventually on our way South. I had assumed that Simon knew the way to Arthur's Pass, coming from Christchurch and all, but it became evident that he didn't when we missed at least three possible shortcuts through to the Pass and ended up in Christchurch. We finally made it to his family holiday house in Craigieburn at 3am to find his dad had waited up for us. After a welcome cup of tea we crashed and set the alarm for 6:30.
We finally got up at 9am and looked out the window to what looked like nor-westerly conditions. A cooked breakfast care of Simon's dad spurred us on and we arrived at the Christchurch Tramping Club Hut in time for a snack then it was on up to the Temple Basin skifield road-end. We must have looked quite laughable standing in the rain in all our snow climbing equipment looking up at mountains with no snow on them. Even more laughable was the FMC alpine instructors course being held up on the skifield at that time. How to self-arrest and use crampons on rocks! We called in on them on the way up for a brew, continued on to the summit of Blimit, called in for another brew on the way down, then returned to the car and back to the hut to dry our gear out. The top of Blimit had a thin dusting of snow on the rocks which made things rather slippery, a theme that was to continue for the next two days.
During dinner that night Simon's alarm went off. "So that's why we didn't wake up this morning!" After dinner we headed down to the Bealey Pub for a couple of jugs of beer, maaaate. The locals provided some entertainment and the juke box seemed permanently stuck on Neil Diamond and Tina Turner. One rather drunk woman was trying to help and even more drunk man walk in a straight line and when this didn't work she attempted to throw him down the stone staircase. I suggested a game of pool to Simon and as we approached the table a local came up to us:
Local: "Da yoou fullaash wana game of pooool."
Me: "Yes, I'd like to play my friend here."
Local: "Naah ya have toooo play mee ish da ruules."
Me: "I don't want to play you, I want to play my friend here."
Local: "I'm da kung ofsh da taaable, yooo havesh ta play me."
Me: "I don't want to, I want to play my friend here and you don't seem to be using the table."
Local: "Aare yooo a faggot?"
Me: (suppressed laughter) "No, I just don't want to play you at pool."
2nd Local: "Are these guys faggots?"
Me: "Ah, no."
Local: "Aaah ppllay ya fushing gaame!"
"Fuck Simon, it's 8:45!" were the first words I spoke the next morning. At least the weather was miserable and we couldn't have done an early start anyway. We decided on the easy route up Rolleston, the Otira Slide, which Simon intended to ski down. Driving up to the carpark at 11am eating salty corn chips Simon jokingly said "I hope you remembered your water bottle." "Shit! Oh well, I'll just have to share yours." At the carpark I noticed Simon didn't have his ski poles. "Are you going to ski the slide without poles?" "Shit!" We returned to the village, grabbed Simon's poles, I couldn't find my water bottle, and were back at the carpark ready to leave at 11:45. After a trudge up the valley we finally reached some snow and plodded our way through knee deep powder to the bluffs above the slide, the weather improving all the way. We negotiated our way up through the bluffs and Simon, feeling the weight of his skis and perhaps a lack of sleep (?!?), stopped at the ridge and suggested I go on to the summit alone. I reached to top of the low peak, rushed back down to Simon and we were soon on the slide again. He put his skis on and did a good run down to the tricky gut in the middle. I ran, tumbled and slid down. I had some trouble in the gut where an emergency self-arrest stopped me from tumbling down over some rocks into a slot. Simon followed, doing a deliberate self-arrest at the same point. We trudged out down the valley and reached the car after dark. Not willing to face the locals at the Bealey again we had a few beers at the Arthur's Pass Chalet afterwards.
I took Simon's watch that night hoping I had a better chance of waking up. At 6am the following morning I didn't just roll over and go back to sleep, I got up and cooked some breakfast. The smell of frying bacon dragged Simon from his sleeping bag and we were away up the Rome Ridge by 8am! We were both feeling pretty tired and ill which made the going slow but above the bushline the sun was shining and we picked up a little. A fun little rock step took us to a junction on the ridge where we sat and watched some other Wellington climbers who had passed us earlier, one of whom I had met in the Tararuas a few weeks beforehand and another whom Simon had met at Fergs the Monday before, try the tricky part on the ridge, the Rome Gap. It was obviously really out of condition like the rest of the mountain. These guys are hard-core climbers and when they turned around we were quite happy to head the other way and traverse the ridge to Mt Avalanche, a very pleasant tramp on a sunny day with a cool south-westerly breeze to keep things cool. On the ridge I had a most amazing feeling of deja vu, that feeling when you know you've been somewhere before. This was quite impossible seeming as I had never been on that ridge before and Simon simply put it down to an overactive sub-conscious, rather than supernatural powers.
We were down by 5:00 and away towards Christchurch and home by 6:30pm. One of Simon's tyres gave up halfway there and we had to stop to change it. I wanted to have a look at the Waimakariri river while he was doing that so in the dark I leaped over a ditch straight into a gorse hedge. I suppose it gave me something to do in the car, pull all the prickles out. We drove via Christchurch again to see Simon's mum and were at the ferry by 4am. We caught the 5:30 sailing, tried to sleep on the boat and were in Wellington and off to work by 8:30, having had no proper sleep since 6am the previous morning. It was a really fun trip if a little unsuccessful due to the mountains being totally out of condition. Maybe next year I'll go and do something easier at Queens Birthday like rock-climbing, the Penn Creek hot pools or even just sleeping.
| Trip Members: | Alistair Millward Simon Hassall |
| Quotes |
"I'm tired." "Deja vu, that feeling when you know you've been somewhere before.....Deja vu, that feeling when you know you've been somewhere before....Deja vu, that feeling when you know you've been somewhere before." "Are you a faggot?" "Deja vu, that feeling when you know you've been somewhere before." |
Simon and Rob were talking to some NZAC types at Fergs. The NZAC'ers mentioned that they were going to try and climb Mts. Ruapehu, Ngauruhoe, Tongariro and Egmont within 24 hours. Not to be outdone Simon replied "we'll do it too, same day" while Rob added "and we'll do it faster than you". I'm not sure how serious they were when they mentioned this to me but we all sounded enthusiastic so we decided to do it (joke, taken seriously, end up doing it cos no one is prepared to back out - a vicious circle).
On the road and Simon's Mitsubishi wants to be a Hilux. The highlight of the trip up was the 360 handbrake turn on State Highway 1. Got to the Shitteau and bedded down for the night, Jeremy and Jessie were also there and intended to go rock climbing. We got up late in the morning - to give time for one of Simon's alpine finishes - in mist and rain. Simon went for a drive and discovered a hidden fence as well as scaring us in a hydroplane incident.
We decided to climb some mountains Up to Turoa where Simon tried to drive to the summit, eventually gave up after a good attempt and drove back to the carpark where it was starting to snow. Then we started plodding. We found an unlocked snow plough/ski field machine and had some food while debating (30 minutes) whether or not to take it for a drive. I realised I hadn't brought sunnies so kept my eyes closed most of the way up Ruapehu - this added a surreal dimension to the walk. We stopped to put on our crampons and discovered that Rob hadn't considered bringing them, although he had brought his harness just in case we decided to go ice climbing. Simon cut steps for Rob and we reached the top, admired the grey and then headed back down - I was glad to be wearing crampons. We stopped in at the Powderkeg where they were sympathetic and Rob hired crampons for only $20. We love the people at the Powderkeg and may have to consider buying a drink there in future before heading down to Club Ohakune (RSA) - the central North Island's premier watering hole. Johnny's stock of chocolate eclairs was eaten and we headed around to Mangetepopo.
It was a fast blat up the valley before starting the climb up to the saddle. Simon decided to bail so we spent 30 minutes arguing and shouting abuse. We gave up on persuading Simon and continued up. By then it was nearly dusk so we started to rip up Ngauruhoe. I welcomed the break after about five minutes to put my plastics on. Then it was past the steaming rocks and up to the top. Fun ice and scree down to the saddle in twenty minutes. We refused to admit it was dark until it got stupid and came the torches. Onto Tongariro in good time after taking a couple of bearings on the way - just in case. On top we congratulated ourselves, deciding the four peaks were in the bag. And then the cloud rolled in.
The bearings we had taken came in handy! We took a while working out how to get back down to the plateau and after almost climbing Tongariro again we got out the map. Once out on the flat we took another bearing but our tired minds didn't work too well. Note: grid west 9 magnetic west. Whirred and clicked for ten minutes and then realised, changed our bearing and somehow reached the saddle after some panic and confusion. It was a nightmarish time getting down into the valley; due to the conditions we had no perception of depth so our knees and ankles took a hammering. Once into the valley, visibility improved from the five metres we had become accustomed to. Called in to the hut then out to the road-end to wake up Simon - who had driven to Mangetepopo hut in our absence, but then driven back 'cos of the warden.
Somehow we got to North Egmont (a superhuman driving effort by Simon and then Rob) with 6 hours remaining in our 24 hour day. Unfortunately we were tired. So we slept. An hour later Simon made us have a go but we flagged at the base of the puffer (too tired, conditions, shitty weather etc). Slept a while and talked to some of the locals who turned up. Ian MacAlpine talked to us about the four peaks concept, he shares the record for fastest four peaks but the rules that are used allow only one vehicle transfer - between North Egmont and the Whakapapa Tavern - and you have to hoof the whole tavern, mountains, tavern circuit and finish with a beer. He thought that attempting it in winter was insane, and looked like he wanted to give it a go. Davo Bolger also showed up so I told him that I'm going to bag the second ascent of Psycho Mist - THE route on Egmont, up the Tahurangi bluffs with a new middle section (it has fallen off since the first ascent). I was joking but Davo took me seriously and said he's going to beat me to it, so now I have to do it the vicious circle tightens.
Oh well, we failed. I guess it gives us something to do next winter. Never mind, it was great fun and I had never bothered going to any of those three summits until this trip - there are far more interesting places on those mountains. Driving. Sleep. Stop in Wanganui by Lake Virginia where Rob rolled out of the car and slept. Simon and I didn't even make it out of the car. Then back to Wellington where even more sleep awaited us.
Epilogue: that weekend the NZAC lot started at Egmont, didn't get out of the car, drove to Taumaranui, got wasted and then spent a day climbing at the bay. They tried again the following weekend but gave up after getting horribly lost on Ruapehu and spending several hours wandering aimlessly before stumbling across the ski field.
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.
Jessie Kyle organised the trip and arrived early on Saturday to decorate Jan's 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!"). 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, everyone 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 Michele 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, Steph 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 gentlemen, 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, 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.
As we drove back into Arthur's Pass we met up with Aroha's brother Luke who had hitched over from Christchurch to come and join us.
Luke had made good time catching up to us and we noticed him advancing up the valley as we put our crampons on. The snow was quite hard and it definitely required crampons although we had to sidle round on the rock in a couple of places to avoid a schrund. We climbed out of the slide and onto a notch and then followed very chossy rock up onto the low Peak, but Luke decided to stop just short of the summit. We had awesome views of the Crow glacier and icefall and down to Mt Murchison to the south. The high peak of Rolleston wasn't far away but we decided that we couldn't be bothered going over to it.
Just as we were heading back down another climber appeared on the summit. His name was Sam and he had been over on the High Peak. We climbed down to the Otira valley with him and went and joined him at his tent where he had been staying. After a bit of a brew and a yarn we cruised back to Arthur's Pass and Luke started hitching back to Christchurch again.
Three other guys turned up that night and decided to guess what we did for a living. There initial guess was that we all must be students. Eventually they got it right but Phil had to tell them that he was an ex industrial abseiler. It took us quite a while to work out that they were psychiatric nurses which they told us is a shitty job. That night it was incredibly windy and it's the first time I have been in a valley floor hut that I thought was going to blow away.
| We were: | Eric Duggan Phil Clark Aroha Wigram Luke Wigram (Rolleston only) |
While the club was preparing for its annual 8 day Excursion to the South Island - this year to Nelson Lakes National Park - 3 intrepid explorers embarked on a slightly different tramp. The plan was to tramp from Lewis Pass to St Arnaud, thereby joining about 20 VUWTC members for a social drink of Mac's in the pub.
Our plan, simply put, was to tramp … somewhere … and try to get to our destination, while not freezing the proverbials off the brass.
We arrived at Lewis Pass on … my memory is now failing me … at around 2pm to sub zero temperatures. Our destination was the luxurious Cannibal Gorge Hut, so named due to an ancient war between two Maori tribes. The war ended abruptly in the gorge we were travelling in, with the victorious tribe slaughtering, to the last person, all of the enemy, and then settling down to a huge feast of the vanquished. Apparently the fight was over the control of a greenstone-rich river valley.
The hut was freezing, the wood was frozen and Michele had begun her notorious swimming adventures. So eager was Michele to demonstrate her aptness to swim that she stepped on a frozen log in a stream, and ended up face down in the water. Michele was to demonstrate her enthusiasm to swim on several other occasions.
The next day dawned fine, we donned our heavy packs, and set off for our destination of Lake Guyon Hut for the night. The route was via Ada Pass Hut, and down the Ada River to the Waiau River. We skirted the Ada homestead, being electrocuted by the electric fence (I now know what it is like to mend a break in a circuit using nothing but me as the conductor!), and then proceeded to wander up a 4-wheel drive road up the Waiau River. The Waiau River was running too high and swift, so we abandoned Lake Guyon Hut, and camped a very cold night alongside the Waiau River.
We awoke the next morning to frozen everything! Until that morning I had never experienced the joys of frozen boots and the extreme FCT that they bring. Shit it was cold! We tramped for a very nice, long day up the Waiau River to Caroline Creek Hut, passing some very, very nice pools, excellent for swimming and lunch.
We cursed DOC for the well maintained tracks, which were non-existent. The forth day of the trip was likely to be the toughest, up over Waiau Pass. We read the Waiau Pass track information incorrectly and ended up with a totally inaccurate idea of the times between certain points.
The fourth day arrived and we headed up to Waiau Pass via another non-existent track with beech trees fully laden with snow. We turned back at around 11am, about halfway from the Upper Waiau Forks, as we couldn't get to Blue Lake in the remaining time, and none of us wanted to spend another night out - especially due to the forecast shitty weather. We arrived back at Caroline Creek Hut to discover, to my horror, that we could have made it to Blue Lake Hut after all. I feel it's back to school for reading lessons. Oh well, the forecast was for shitty weather the next day, so we decided to abandon Waiau Pass and the pub at St Arnaud, rather than attempt a second go at Waiau Pass.
The next day we made excellent time down the Waiau River, managed to cross it (being a foot lower now), and stayed the night alongside Lake Guyon in Lake Guyon Hut. It was a great night, and our first fire - yes, warmth at last….
We were able to cross the Waiau River the next day, but only after Michele had another attempt at swimming. That day we continued along the St James to Anne Huts. We all got very bored with the landscape; continuous farmland for eight hours, thoroughly sick of the rain, and were very pleased to find heaps of dry wood for another fire at the hut. That night we had a very interesting chat with the man on the other end of the radio, reorganising our transportation.
The next destination was Boyle Flats Hut, our last night in the bush. The terrain was far more interesting - mixed bush and farmland - and we managed to avoid the vicious bull that the people in the logbook had written about. We spent a very lazy day reading mags and trying to get another fire lit.
Our last day was spent trying to walk very fast along the track to catch the bus a day early. We had a huge dilemma when we got to the road-end. Should we head to the hotpools (a half hour walk) - thereby spending another night camping in the freezing cold - or catch the bus back to Nelson, for a warm bath, bed and heaps of hot food. Needless to say, the bus won...
The trip was fantastic. In Caroline Creek Hut the logbook is full with mega epic tramps that people have done in the region of Waiau Pass, Thompson Pass and David Saddle. It provided the inspiration for my summer trip into this region…
Thanks Ben and Michele for a great trip.
Pity the poor Chief Guide. Everyone always wants to do what they want to do, and somehow the Chief Guide has to organise a trip around that. I'm ashamed to say that when it came to this trip I had my heart set on the Broken Axe Pinnacles, and that was that. Most leaders had the same kind of thoughts, so luckily Steve offered to lead the Easier group, going nowhere near the Pinnacles. The story of his trip is an interesting one, but you'll have to get it off him yourselves, as I'm here to relate my tramp's events.
As I remember the absolute beginnings of this trip, I have in my mind a picture of myself at work in the VUW library, having an insane conversation with a stranger on the end of a phone who had a very limited grasp of English. I was attempting to find out if Hugh lived there.
- "Hugh?"
- "Who?"
- "No, Hugh!"
It was impossible to leave a message, so I tried back later in the hopes I'd get Hugh himself. I eventually did get hold of him, as well as my other group members - Molly and Tim - and we got ourselves sorted and at Hunter carpark on Friday night.
Dinner was at the usual place at Featherston. My group was intending to head up to Jumbo that evening, then along the tops and down somewhere - Mid King or Mitre, even - to Mitre Flats, then out the Atiwhakatu on Sunday. We were getting pretty keen. What going up to Jumbo that night would entail - walking till midnight, probably - was discussed amongst my and other groups. As an upshot of this, Molly decided that a long torch bash was not her idea of a fun night, and Martijn in Julian's group thought it sounded quite OK, so we swapped group members.
We arrived at Holdsworth relatively late. There were several groups on this trip, but we were the only ones going to Jumbo that night. Others were going up to Powell or staying in the lodge.
Visibility wasn't too difficult, so we trundled along for a while without torches. Somewhere after Donnelly's Flats we decided it was too dark and got our torches out. Well, 3 of us did. Martijn didn't have a torch. This was a bit of an inconvenience, but the Atiwhakatu track is hardly a problem at night, putting it mildly. Hugh then got out his spare batteries that he'd bought on the way in, to put in his torch. This is when he found out that he didn't know his torch as well as he thought. Wrong size. So, one between two with the torches. It didn't slow us down too much, but we'd had enough by Atiwhakatu and elected to stay there for the night.
Getting away on Sat morning was accomplished in good time, and we made it up to Jumbo with no mishaps. While having morning tea, Martijn pulled out some cheese and asked me how much I needed for the dinner. "Umm... I don't need any cheese for dinner". Dawning realisation - Julian was missing part of his meal, having forgotten to get it off Martijn in Featherston. If we were psychic we could have left it at Jumbo for him to use when he got there, but we didn't know for certain that he would end up there for the night. So we figured he'd cope, as we did with the torches.
Leaving Jumbo and climbing up onto the tops we encountered the full force of the wind. It had been a bit breezy down at the hut, but we figured we'd see what it was like. Battling our way across to Angle Knob I was thinking that if I got blown over, just once, we'd go back. I'm not a great fan of the wind - it tends to freak me out a tad, and makes me pretty cautious on the tops - and I knew we would have trouble on the Pinnacles if it were too windy. Thankfully though the wind calmed down, and the clag even lifted slightly.
I did my usual `lead from the back' thing on this tramp, except in the situations where we needed to figure out where we were. Then we got out the map, I'd take a bearing, check it with what Tim or Hugh got, make a decision, then trundle off again. We had to check where we were just after Macgregor where the track goes slightly down to the west, then hops back round to the ridge top to the east. I hadn't been that far along the tops before, so I couldn't go from previous knowledge, but we figured out our direction, and got back on track.
The Pinnacles were interesting. Luckily by then the wind had dropped off so we didn't. I went over them first thinking "These aren't too bad". But then you get to the northern end. That's when all of a sudden they go straight down. Back in April I was still rockclimbing, so I was able to pass my pack down to Tim and do some styly manoeuvre to get past this yucky steep bit. A month ago when I went over again after not being able to climb since July, I got quite thrown by the same part. Just shows you what confidence you can get from rockclimbing when you are faced with clambering up/down/across dodgy stuff in the hills. Enough free advertising.... Anyway, we got past this major obstacle, had lunch, wondered where on earth Chris' group was, and carried on our merry way.
Up, down, up, down, look across to Dorset Ridge hut - hey, cool - up, up, up, getting late in the day, bail on extensive keen-type plans, head down South King to Baldy. Still no sign of Chris' group as we headed down the hill, tramping as fast as our wee gaitered legs could take us. Veered off to the left as we got onto Baldy and found the start of the track down to Mitre Flats. Home free! Or so we thought.
Either Hugh or Tim went in front, I went in back (surprise, surprise), and we blatted down the hill, following an okay track and minimal markers. I found this nice blue Maglite on the track, and that was lucky for Axel as it was his, and I was the last person to walk the track that day.
At some stage, after going round a treefall I think it was, we realised that we were no longer on a track. It had gone somewhere, and we hadn't gone with it. Ah, well, these things happen. We had a search around for it, and backtracked a little, before having a powwow to suss our position out. We could see the spur to our left, which led down to Mitre Flats hut, and the ridge opposite us, on the other side of the river. We could guess at our approximate location, so we took a bearing on the hut, and followed it. I wasn't worried at all by this, as I knew we were in no difficulties (yet, touch wood), and the bush was lovely and bashable. Having had my tramping attitudes permanently scarred by an infamous Fiordland trip, I was quite enjoying the prospect of bush-bashing.
I led off, compass in hand, and my poor group followed on. We made our way down the spur, gravitating more to the left so we could keep an eye and an ear on South Mitre Stream. At a suitable place we dropped into the stream, within sight of a hunters campsite. Fun as it was, I think everyone was happy to stop bashing, and to be near the hut. Martijn was probably wondering if I knew what I was doing and was wishing he had never swapped! One group photo later we headed off down the stream, around the bend, and up the river to Mitre Flats. We arrived just on dark, and the hut was pretty full. Chris' group wasn't there, but there were several VUWTC people anyway. And also a few older trampers, one with his son. Or so I thought at the time. I had a chat to the `son' about tramping (you bring the subject up in a hut in the hills, and everyone always has something to say - works better than politics), and found he'd been to Dunn Creek hut, an obscure little hut in Taipo State Forest Park, that I'd been to with Adrian B a couple of years ago. I've since apologised for imagining family connections to the `son' as he's seen the light, joined up with us, and been voted Chief Guide for '99. Plying strangers in huts with chocolate chip Kahlua cheesecake does work as an advertising ploy!
We had a good night in the hut, most of us talking till 10pm. Tim was in fine form - I can't remember what he talked about, but it was very interesting. Anyway, seeing as there were so many people in the hut, and someone was bound to snore, I made my bed on the floor. My group slept on the bunks, and the other VUWTC people were on the balcony. Sure enough, a cacophony of snorers! I fled outside and slept under the stars behind some bushes. That was lovely until it started to rain around 2am. This was the rain that Leigh had warned us would come. I packed up, and transferred to the balcony.
It poured and poured. It's got to be the heaviest rain I've seen in the Tararuas. We'd been warned not to go onto the tops on Sunday as it would be a shocker, and it was. We all packed up and began our tramp (swim) out to Holdsworth.
The sidle track is quite nice over to Atiwhakatu. I hadn't been over it before, and I was pleasantly surprised. Well marked, with only one place where the track had slipped away a bit, and you had to get creative. There were a couple of sidestreams that had turned into minor torrents, and we crossed those in twos, just in case. And it was wet. Really raining.
Seeing the Atiwhakatu stream was just amazing. Big, brown, and I reckon about a grade 3. Not that I'd really know, cos I wouldn't go near it in a boat, but some of the rapids looked pretty good. You would hardly believe it was a gentle stream most days of the year. Cruised along the side of it, tramping quite well, until we got to Atiwhak. We had a quick lunch before heading off again for the last time. Hugh led off this time, and boy that guy can walk! We felt like dogs after a mechanical rabbit that is always a little bit ahead of you. He's a non sugar-eating vegan, and where he gets his energy from, I don't know, but it was just amazing!
When we got out to the road-end Chris was waiting for us with a couple of his group members. They'd come from Jumbo, having gone there after deciding it was too windy on the tops on Saturday. Most people had gone out early from Powell or Jumbo as the tops were out of the question on Sunday, so Chris had been waiting for a while. We happily got changed into drier clothes, did the pile-into-cars thing, and headed off into the sunset. Well, what else can you say? It was a really good tramp and I had a wonderful time with my group who were very tolerant of me leading them off track and taking over with dinner.
| The group was | Sarah Devon (scribe) Tim Ingleton Hugh Cave Martijn Engels |
Walking with the Dark Side
Every day we go about our lives little understanding the force of the dark side. Generally it stays subdued and leaves the innocent and young to tramp happily without a care in the world. Then all of a sudden it targets one, usually slightly weakened individual, to join its dark quest in the hills.
This is my confession of how I was turned to the dark side. After a year of working weekends and having to organise trips and then gaze longingly from my desk imagining the individuals that I had sent out having the time of their lives. It was torture. I became bitter and twisted with my desperate longing to hit the hills. The dark side saw this longing and offered an irrefusable candy to me. Mt Tapuae-o-Uenuku.
I fought it, making pathetic feeble excuses as to why I couldn't possibly go. I was too unfit, the weather would probably be crap (usually a very sound excuse indeed),……but it was no use, I was drawn against my will to join the dark side.
I was firstly invited to the lair where the followers meet, every Tuesday night around 7.30pm. Little did we know that as we met for our bikkies and slides….. so did the dark side. In fact they also have bikkies and slides which I feel is a bit of an infringement of copyright,…. sure they have been meeting for a few years longer than us but in those years before we were lovingly created slides probably hadn't been invented and farmbake hadn't been established as a top biscuit making franchaise
Anyway I digress,….
The meeting that took place was initially hosted by the spokesperson of Gore-Tex, ….very cunning indeed as I had just bought a new Gore-Tex jacket that very day. Next the dark side got tough,…..ten to twelve people (can't remember exactly it is all a bit of a blur) stepped forward and started pushing me to go on trips all over the country on that very same weekend…. but I was not swayed, I wanted my mountain.
Friday evening arrives,…I am packed and speeding to the ferry - I have been caught by the dark side. We spent Friday night in the Awatere Valley on the banks of the Hodder River. The leader had left his pack at Picton in the scramble to get all the mountain hungry individuals into the bus. I then offered the warmth of my tent and sno-foam - so great was my dedication. That night the frost hit, I froze my ass and got shit all sleep that night,…. But I still followed.
Saturday, a beautiful day as we moved up the Hodder River. One million river crossings and thorn scratchings later we arrived at the Hodder Huts - mercy to the wet and injured. I erected my superior warm, aerodynamic tent on the only available flat ground. The helicopter pad.
Search and Rescue tip number 537: In case all goes to crap make sure you are the first one in line for the helicopter.
The dark leader arrived later, after retrieving his pack - my sno-foam was mine that night. Pretty uneventful night despite the mad half-clad dash out of the tent to save the gear from a predatory kea which transformed itself into a flapping piece of paper just in the nick of time.
Sunday morning and my tent is demonstrating its effective aerodynamic abilities, good thing we had to be up early to tackle the mountain as we were becoming the only things holding the thing down. After considering carrying the world to the top of the mountain, we bailed and left pretty much everything at the hut and headed up, up, up.
We scrambled up the scree to a nice camping spot which is precisely what the hardies were doing as we wandered past. Apparently they had spent the night using their tent as a kite and couldn't be flagged getting up early,… pretty darn pansy if you ask me. Unfortunately this particular camping spot appears to be the location for the Labour weekend spaniard convention and they expressed their displeasure at being disturbed as we wandered through. Onwards over rock and scree and up to the snow for the putting on of the mighty crampons - best part.
We then headed up the snow on a suitably steep slope to really put those crampons and leg muscles to the test. Managed to reach the top of the first slope minus a mitt which the wind managed to steal as I was tightening up a crampon strap. Initial reaction when mitt when speeding off was to make a dive for it but after careful assessment of the nothingness below me I decided that I really needed my body intact a bit more than a functioning hand. Fortunately a spare glove was dragged out and I was able to return with two hands in reasonable condition.
A drop into a basin with the wind blowing like the buggeries (very technical meteorological term, sorry but had to have some jargon in the script) and then clamber up to the summit. Panoramic views, face roasting nicely in the sun,….ice axe stamped into the snow to prevent a flight into the Clarence River - it was a goodie.
Unfortunately I bailed before the summit after a stream of bailers passed me on their way down due to the high winds. However a few hardy individuals did make it to the summit to announce that we had chosen the windiest route up and that it was practically calm on the other side. Ah well,… nevermind.
The - where the hell's my pack - leader took us on a different route down which removed us from the wind tunnel we were in earlier. Which made the walk down more enjoyable rather adrenaline pumping.
That night we cracked open the wine (the great gravity attractor which I staunchly carried in) and enjoyed the sunset. Damn fine day.
Monday we had a quiet night in my superior, warm, aerodynamic, aesthetically pleasing tent until we were rudely awakened by the morning porridge ritual. The morning porridge ritual involved arousing everyone and causing half clad chaos as everyone donates a portion of porridge to the group mixture. This ritual is beneficial only for those who have boring old rolled oats but the few who add a few fruity numbers end up a bit short changed.
Then it was off back down the river for a pint at the Toot 'n' whistle before being stuffed on the ferry with 780 other holiday makers.
Discalimer:
This story has been somewhat developed due to a bit of Halloween fever.
In case you have not guessed earlier I did this trip with the Tararua tramping club which are by no means the dark side - purely just to scare the kiddies.
I highly enjoyed this trip and encourage others to check out what TTC are up to as they do some mighty fine trips. [Can we print this??? Ed.]
Occasionally one questions why we are called the tramping club. The mid-winter Christmas was a certain example of the notion of the "tramping club" causing cognitive dissonance amongst us "trampers". Having been on many tramps in the past, I have come to associate tramping with several, seemingly obvious, things. Firstly, when I go tramping it usually involves walking a longer distance than, say walking from my house to the corner dairy. Secondly, it usually involves more time than, say, having a bath. And thirdly it usually involves a hot meal in the evening.
However this is not to say that change is bad. One could probably become quite accustomed to walking for 40 minutes per weekend garnering delusions of aerobic grandeur. One could also become accustomed to the idea of driving for six times as long as the tramp itself (12 if you include brunch in New Plymouth and hot pools in Taupo). I suppose that one could even become accustomed to raw broccoli and Cajun garlic bread after a while.
Thankfully we were blessed with primo weather for most of the weekend. The sky (unlike our club primus) was clear, the air was cold and crisp (like our potatoes), the snow on the mountain looked dry and powdery (like our soup) and rain was as common as gas cookers at Maketawa hut.
The drive up was made (un)memorable by a pitstop in the teeming metropolis of Hawera. A quick lunch and we were on the road and heading towards the mountain. At the North Egmont Visitor Centre more time was spent procrastinating over getting ready than the actual walk for that day (but I don't think anyone was too fussed). The walk in, after all that, was actually quite pleasant. Maketawa hut was an excellent location for our celebration, being spacious and offering capacious views of the countryside below.
The evening's festivities were quickly underway. However, amidst fervent food preparation a slight hitch in the proceedings was noticed: the cooker was not working. No worries we thought, who brought the spare… No spare? … Anyone feel like lighting a fire? … No wood? … oh fuck … Dial a Pizza on the mobile? … well maybe not. I suggested we bash the cooker with a hammer to make it work. That was generally agreed to be a bad idea - we didn't have a hammer. Many calls to various people in Wellington didn't instantaneously produce a new cooker, however several people did laugh at us. Thankfully Nyree brought her Big Bird so we managed to throw together a not unagreeable meal of sandwiches. Which was, of course, washed down with a large amount of booze.
After dinner we partook in giving presents to each other. It was generally agreed that shoving the wrestler's leg down his spinal cavity was better than tossing the groan stick. However tossing the groan stick was unanimously regarded as better than shooting the water pistol, which was, in turn, concurred to be more enjoyable than shoving the wrestler's leg into his spinal cavity - weird.
After more drinking, some members of our party told terrible jokes while Keren and Simon did the lambada on the table (the vertical kind - get your mind out of the gutter). I was stupid enough to get so drunk that I offered to write a story for Baaa. I completely forgot about it, but Nyree and Adrian didn't (shit, I mean thankfully).
Sunday involved waking to a very messy hut and a refreshing meander back to the road end. We agreed to meet for lunch in Wanganui. Most of us turned up, some were side-tracked in New Plymouth (hmmm), but we eventually found a late lunch at a rather pathetic food court in the heart of Wanganui. However none of us have died since, so I suppose it wasn't that bad.
Homeward after that to Wellington. All in all a good trip, thanks to Nyree for organising.
I came to organise a trip into the Hutt River Catchment in the usual way - by opening my mouth and expressing an interest to the Chief Guide in going there. Not surprisingly, the response was "Well, you can organise a trip there then!". They're no fools, chief guides.
So the allocated date rolled around (15 - 16 Aug), I'd done a stunningly inspiring poster, and people had signed up. Me being me, I did the phoning up of the candidates at work on the Thurs night. Unfortunately there was only one person with a car - Glen. I phoned him up first.
"Hi, Glen, my name's Sarah and I'm just seeing if you're still coming on the trip this weekend. You're the only car"
"Ah...well...I've got a bit of a problem there....my car's not working"
"Hmm". Panic starts to set in, my trip plans start crumbling around my swivel chair.
"It can't go up hills, really. Are there any hills on the way there?"
"Well...yes." The Te Marua hill. But never mind, he still was keen to go, if I could get an alternative plan together.
This is where the now defunct Transport Officer came in handy. I phoned Matt Ravlich up and reminded him of his committee position and associated duty. He duly said he could take 4 people up to the road end on Sat morning, and pick us up on Sun from Kaitoke car park. Yay! Trip saved!
Next bad bit was having to tell the people on the list after the 4th person that they couldn't go. I always hate doing that. However the 3rd, 4th, and 5th people lived in the same flat, so I left it up to them which 2 people would turn up at the Railway Station on Sat. One of the 3 had something else to do, and that settled itself quite well.
I trundled down to the Central Railway Station on Sat morning, and waited for my group to turn up. Glen arrived first and we introduced ourselves, seeing as we hadn't met before. Axel, who I had met on the Holdsworth-Mitre Flats trip earlier in the year, and his flatmate Ina, new to the club, arrived about same time as Matt. In retrospect, I think we should have met earlier and had more time available to tramp that day. But it's always a bit hard getting up on a Sat morning.
Matt dropped us off, and warned us that he might not pick us up on Sunday. But being a lovely responsible Transport Officer, he'd make sure someone else would. We bade him farewell, shouldered our packs, took deep breaths and started off.
We went in to the Eastern Hutt River via a 4WD track that climbs up to a ridge, sidles round, then down to the river. I'd done it before, though in a 4WD police vehicle when I was dropped in there for last years SAREX. It doesn't take too long to walk, especially on a lovely day such as this one.
It was all familiar to me then when we got to the river. I was looking out for a wire kind of bridge (I think it used to be a 3 wire set-up) across the Eastern Hutt, but we were treated to a brand new suspension thing. We crossed that, and had a break on the west side. We had set the tone of the trip, which was basically cruisy. Ina hadn't been tramping before, and she is also diabetic. Having flatted with a diabetic, I knew a little bit about it, but we found out more on the trip. Ina had to closely watch her energy levels, and eat a bit of chocolate or something if she started to get too tired. From what I'd learnt from my flatmate, I'd always thought that tramping would be very difficult as a diabetic as things can happen unexpectedly, like you may get stuck out and not be able to have dinner on time, and that it must be really hard to judge energy levels. Ina hadn't tramped before either, so she didn't really know what to expect, and she got the deep-end style introduction with river-bashing and bush-bashing. Amazingly she always had a smiling face, and we didn't seem to put her off tramping either!
Back to Saturday: we cruised up a wee hill that drops down to a river flat, stopping for lunch at the top. Noticing the time at lunch, we decided to stay at Eastern Hutt Hut, instead of doing a bush bash climb up to Alpha. We'd rather get caught by DOC people, given the minuscule chances of that, than get stuck out in the dark in the bush. I was carrying a copy of "Tararua Footsteps" and, upon consulting it, informed my group that the hut was about 80 minutes away, from the end of the first flats, going up the river following a series of flats and terraces.
Four hours later, just before 6pm, we reached Eastern Hutt hut. My group forgave me when I showed them the book, as they'd lost a bit of faith in me and my time projection abilities. It had been an interesting wander up the river. We crossed many times, having to debate whether to bash around the bush to get round a bend, or whether the bush looked more bashable on the other side. Since none of us had been up there before, we didn't really know what would be around the next corner. At times we had to back track, and clamber down slips when our little pseudo tracks ran out. River flats? We were still looking for them when we got to the hut. However, it was a good challenge for our tramping skills, and our patience, and it made getting to the hut all the more worthwhile.
Eastern Hutt hut is a lovely little NZFS standard 6 bunker. It sits in the bush, and once inside, you could be anywhere.
We had a dinner prepared by the resident kitchen fascist - me taking over in the kitchen again - though Glen cooked himself up some meat to supplement the beans and rice. Had a look at the map for the next day, and picked ourselves out a spur to travel up to Marchant Ridge. "Tararua Footsteps" recommended a couple of spurs which looked good, so we chose one that sounded okay and seemed easy to pick up. We went to sleep to the sound of the rain. Another reason, apart from extreme reluctance to bash down that jolly river again, to go up to Marchant.
It was still raining on Sunday morning. The weather forecast had been for snow on the tops, and rain below that, and it was right. We had a reliable source for that information. Anyway, we packed up and trundled off. On this trip Glen went first a lot of the time, with me at the back keeping an eye on direction, and Axel and Ina in front. Sometimes though we'd swap around, and very often we would discuss where we were on the map and whether we'd passed a stream yet or not. This worked well, and Glen was very good at picking out routes.
The river was just gorgeous to travel up. We worked our way up the eastern bank until we got to the base of our spur. We must have just missed seeing a deer at one point when we went through a little trampled clearing, smelling strongly of animal. We took a bearing, and started climbing up beside a stream. There was a wee bit of a track, as this was a recommended spur, and other people must use it too. Gradually we angled up to the high point of the spur, and as we climbed the sun came out and it stopped raining. The cloud cleared, revealing fresh snow on Quoin Ridge opposite us.
I know I can speak for myself, but I hope I can speak for everyone, when I say that we were having a really enjoyable time bushbashing. It was pretty easy, really, as we picked up a bit of a trail, and the bush wasn't too dense. You know you're getting near the top when the bush changes, and when it started to get flatter with more moss on the trees, we knew we would hit the track on Marchant Ridge. I think it was a pleasant surprise for the group to now have such an obvious, well marked track. Feet could go into autopilot.
We came out a decent way down Marchant Ridge, not far from the burn. So we trundled down the interminable (I had to check the spelling of that in the dictionary, and it means `tediously long', which is just so appropriate) Marchant Ridge. Also up, because even if the author of "Tararua Footsteps" is a bit optimistic with his times in the Eastern Hutt, he's spot on in saying that the Marchant is uphill in both directions.
We had a good view out over Wellington and down to the Kaikouras at the burn. We plodded on down to the old Dobson's hut site, and had a final break. Matt or whoever was expected at a certain time, and we were getting kinda close to that. So I sent Glen off to the road end to make sure that whoever was there waited, and didn't go driving off to Otaki Forks or anything. Just in case we'd gone to Alpha then over the crossing for some reason. He shot off, and Ina, Axel and I left after our break.
Eventually we got to the car park - a most welcome sight after that last bit coming out from Kaitoke - dirt, gorse, boring scenery, you know you're not in the bush anymore now, don't you - and Julian was waiting there for us. Matt had got him to come up, and he'd brought his flattie with him, who had left already with Glen. Did the usual stuff you do at the end of a tramp, piled into Julian's car, and drove off.
Well, I accomplished my self-set mission of bagging Eastern Hutt hut, and everyone on the trip succeeded in challenging themselves and coming through really well. As a well worn in old-codger, I was impressed by how those with not much tramping experience coped on a trip, the majority of the time being spent off track. All in all, a very enjoyable tramp with a great bunch of people.
Group members:
Sarah Devon (scribe)
Axel Sarnitz
Ina De Vries
Glen Lavin