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Frozen Cross Buns

by Scott Petersen

The year was 1982 and the time was Easter. Well, when I say Easter I mean more around and including Easter; Easter itself was in there. Anyway after spending a shortish to longish drive àla Avis, performing mindless, pre-school, negative I.Q. games with Richard "Andretti" Haverkamp steering, we were off the main drag. The Levin fish 'n chips didn't agree with us all, but we'd have to blame Alan's driving, as one party member rapidly left the van, everyone climbing over each other to let him through. Mårk took this opportunity to pull up some "toilet paper" from the side of the road as he thought he'd rely on 'Bush Bidets' rather than Purex softouch. We reached our destination; a gate beside a road! It was pissing down as we hit pit in various forms of shelter (Nigel said the gearstick was very confortable).

Morning! And Huey's bulkshit chunder still spewed forth from above as Cath woke to find herself doing an Aramoana stint around the tent. After a quick breakfast we were on our way, though an Arctic high velocity trade-wind tried to change this. Totally soaked and refrigerated we reached Kelly Knight hut, our supposed lunch stop, but after everyone commented on how comfortable the bunks looked and how cosy the fire was and how nice the paintwork looked we decided to stay. With Mark constantly walking into beams and Scott into hanging lamps, the morning of Saturday was upon us.

The wind has ceased, so it was an ideal opportunity to head onto the tops and on with our planned trip. (Well, perhaps not ideal, you know. I mean it was still raining and it was completely overcast, but the team spirit was great. Well, not great perhaps. I mean it was okay. The track was great though, but it was uphill and it headed into the cold. Sorry it wasn't ideal was it? But the track was new and well cut. Well, actually it wasn't all that well cut taking into account the avoiding huge thistles, stinging nettles and losing the track at the top. Bloody Hell! Whose stupid idea was it to take off that day?)

Hitting snow at the snowline we also hit wind, sleet and cold, so after four hours of plugging with negative visibility we thought we were at the turn off ridge. Well, when I say "we" I really mean Sue and Cath. They conferred with map and compass and I'd have to say the ridge we headed off down did turn right and I mean, it was only two hours away from the proper ridge. The fact that it headed back in the direction we had just come is a mistake that any woman one could have made. I wouldn't want to put their tracking ability down, oh no, never for a minute, I mean they've been on a first aid course.

The decision was made to bash on down the spur to the snowline as Huey was being a real bastard and one of the team was feeling a bit knackered, but I think anyone would have rather contested a round of Jewish international pig-tickling than continue on, that day.

Finding a spot in the leatherwood, Johnston demolition earthworks ltd. went into operation and a clearing was formed that 'looked' flat.

Into pit to retrieve our feet and hands except of course our gallant leader who hacked (was forced really) the conditions and cooked the mac-cheese and for this was awarded the stainless steel yashmak for bravery. Lying in page 44pit with a Himalaya mountain chain in my back and a Grand Canyon under my rectal area, Mark commented that the pack he was lying on wasn't too bad.

Sunday arrived and the weather had cleared up some, but we decided to head back, as we were too far behind the planned trip with only two days left. So with Bruce replugging our steps at great pace and only disappearing below the surface once, we returned to Kelly Knight only having had to face a snowball in the face.

Monday was upon us and lo and behold, blue (a forgotten colour) sky was there! Cath, having had to tackle the worrying pressures and hardships of sub-zero conditions, and Nigel, having had to face the extremes of physical endurance, decided to rest, well deservedly, but a day ... okay, so they were a couple of lazy pikers! So we bid them adieu and were off for the tops. We had a view for some minutes before the inevitable clag moved in as well as the human clag, i.e. Richard and Paul's 'daytime romp through the trees' parties. Conquering Wooden Peg we headed off for a triple peak triumph, taking in Iron Peg and the mighty Mangaweka with a certain person, unmentioned in this script, doing the eight second hundred metres to race first to the trig. God that stuffed me out...oops. Back we went and down to Purity hut where we set up the tent. After a dinner of Govin's and prunes and custard, Sue excited the scene to be 'one with nature'. With the great view before her she was all set until a certain two roudy lads stood nearby spouting off songs and general silly behaviour which was bound to tighten up anyone's sphincta muscles (she said she lost the mood). Morning arrived with clear views of snow-laden Ruapehu. Off down the ridge and onto the farm land following the notice that said only cross the fences by style. Mark and I crossed the first one by the Asiatic Nureyev style and others by the adapted swan lake style crossing style. And so endeth the Ruahine's 1982 Frigidaire expedition.

We were;	Cath Alington
	Mark Johnston
	Nigel Fitzpatrick
	Scott Petersen
	Bruce Law
	Sue Ensor.