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Heels 1981

Highway 61 Revisited

Highway 61 Revisited

Thursday 15 January,1981. Another seemingly timeless day when you have to think for a second before you can recall where it started. After a period of stuffing around this morning I finally hit the road for St Arnaud leaving Mike and Lynette smiling from behind their milkshakes. It didn't matter that it was late because I had plenty of time and no schedule to meet. It occurred to me as I rode out of Hoki' that I was 100% FREE and could go anywhere I liked. Despite the exhiliration I kept my sights on St Arnaud hoping that Simon and Ian would turn up.

The West Coast north of Hokitika I found fairly boring,with most of the land cleared of bush and the towns depressingly [unclear: doab]. I rode fast the whole way driven by some restless nomadic spirit,long supressed. There was no sign of Simon at St Arnaud and I kicked around ideas that he'd decided not to come but resolved to stick it out for a day or so anyway. I pitched the tent by the lake and after attempting to remove a twist from it,decided it was a design fault on Mike's account and tried to ignore the embarrassment. I had no food for dinner and cursed myself for being conned out of the Paw Paw chunks I'd carried around the hills for 10 days.

Yet another fine day and my appetite was raging. I went down to the shop and bought $8 worth of groceries to get me through the day (savs and tomato sauce, fresh white bread,butter,peanut butter,pate,weet bix and peaches),and indulged myself....LUXURY! At 11 Simon and Ian rode past on their bikes. They didn't come back so I went looking all the way to the Mt Robert carpark,but they somehow eluded me. Bloody typical turn of events. As it turned out they had ditched their bikes near the carpark and continued up the lake to Lake Head and down the other side to the town. Eventually I found them in a remote corner of the motorcamp and after abusing them in general,told them it was good to see them.

Back to early starts and on with the boots once more. My feet announced their disgust in no uncertain terms,still sore from ten days tramping. Up the Travers River I saw some birds of prey I think were NZ Falcons. They had a chequered appearance and were very noisy and aggressive. At Hopeless Ck we stopped for a timely lunch break and a dip in the river. Then at 2.30 we headed up the creek through dry beech forest and mosied in to Hopeless Hut. The rest of the day was page 39spent eating and discussing the route up Mt Hopeless.

5 am seemed like a good time to shed pit and start the primus,so I woke the other sleeping beauties and we were tramping by 6. The route we took was the traditional one from Hopeless Hut;traditional,no doubt,because it's the easiest. The ascent was fast and direct;the early start paid dividends by getting us to the ridge before the sun. From the ridge we climbed onto a small plateau which steepened into a narrow snow gully. This gully snuffs out under the summit ridge and the peak was surmounted by grovelling up some loose steep rock followed by an even steeper snow slope onto the summit ridge. Falling off this last snowy pitch was not on my top ten list of good ideas,so I took great care to ensure a happy ending. On top the view was excellent in all directions. Tasman Bay glittered in the sun and looked invitingly cool from our hot little perch. Caution was taken on the descent until we were in the snow gully and then it was bumsliding down to the plateau. Hopeless is 7475 ' ± which is plenty for a morning stroll and we arrived back at the hut at 12 hot and tired. We decided to make for Angelus Hut that afternoon and after a leisurely repast by the stream we headed up the valley. The heat took its toll on our vitality and a large [unclear: tern] halfway to the saddle gave us a chance to cool down.

Cooled and thawed out,we reached Sunset Saddle. From it we could see Lake Angelus and hut about a mile away and decided it was worthwhile nipping up Mt Angelus, nearby on the right. The nip turned into a niiiiiiiip but we made it to the hut by 5. I drew some pretty curious looks from some of the loopier occupants of the hut as I arrived;two weeks in the sun and snow had turned me as brown as a bear's bum and I must have looked like an Indian with my chux multicloth tied around my head for shade and a pair of tatty hawaiian shorts to hide the naughty bits.

Warning! Never venture into Lake Angelus bog in summer unless you are well prepared! Disturbing 6,000,000 blowflies is like striking oil and not getting out of the way.