Mangahao Mud

Wunce I asked a friend if he'd been into the hills lately. He said he didn't need to anymore because he lived on their shoulders down the coast ...

For me, when their last dose has drained from my fingers onto the concrete, they call me back.

So now some of us needed to touch the trees and feel the hills and this time there would be snow.

All the clear waters and trees with multi-coloured bark,

rich foliage, mosses and lichens ahanging,

where is it now Mangahao?

After spending more than an hour checking out the powerhouse we stayed the first night at the base of a great concrete slab, seeping and grey, and in the morning at fourth light saw what it held back... marsh grasses, slime and bare trees standing brave and quiet. The only hope left was a small island in the midst of it all, rich in growth young trees, berries and green. The lake barely refected and the sky was dull.

So we oozed our way with mud soled boots through the waste and on up the valley. As I crossed the river yet again somebody put rubber bands around my ankles and they got tighter on each page 47successive crossing. Narrow at first, then a wide stony bed flanked by trees, waterfalls and undergrowth. The leaves brushed our arms. Two hunters promised not to shoot us and after eating we turned from the Mangahao into Barra stream. Here a friendly spur offered to show us a route up onto Walker or thereabouts. So we worked our way up and had a near miss with a Dracophyllum thicket which tried to divert us. We had almost given up hope of being in snow, but there were several patches in the long tussock. The old mist began to catch us up, and after the assault on Walker we donned storm-gear minus overtrou (cryptic) and numb kneed onto Pukemoremore. Ground passes slowly when you're cold, and it's darkening and yes here was the snow atlast, thick, white, easy to step into and (hhehehe) hard to get out of. Down off Pukemoremore we had antennae out for Dundas Hut. In the mist and the dark it was difficult to distinguish all the huts from all the patches of snow and ground. They appeared and disappeared, shapes contorted in the darkness. Then those familiar forestry hut lines began to form and we did'nt have to look around for a tent site. Everything was easy now, well I mean the snow was soft enough to walk in thigh deep, imagine! with leatherwood and snowgrass in your shorts all cold and refreshing after a days walk...

Mushrooms, black sausage and rice risotto was good around the fire. Steaming boots, hot brew and the mist outside.

We seemed to fly up the hill back to the ridge next morning with overtrousers on, wind was up too. The tussock had ice around every strand and tinkled on moving. Shithot. There was even blue sky and pain for awhile as the cloud dispersed but it rolled back again as we moved down the spur onto tracked leatherwood territory. The river looked up all polished and shining as we disappeared from it's view into old logs and kidney ferns. We lunched at a reputable side creek that runs into Barra stream and sloped off.

There was even more mud at Mangahao, the level had dropped considerably.

All the clear water and trees with multicoloured bark

Rich foliage, mosses, and lichens ahanging

Where to now Mangahao?

People: Carol Nash, Jill Taylor, Ken Taylor, Nick Logan, Chris Logan, Terry Mumme, Andy Wright, Wharry Keys & Jude Faircloth. ta b.dylan & pink fleyd.

J.F.