Personal.

By the time "Spike" appears in print, the Club will have sustained the grievous loss of two good trampers and true, a loss which it can ill afford. Mr. Stuart Wilson surprised us by quietly getting married on the day after Capping. The news was hard to credit, but we are slowly becoming accustomed to the new state of affairs. The Club does miss Stuart, however, his cheery countenance, his boundless energy, his good humour, his skill as camp cook. We are still in hopes that his retirement from the Club is only a temporary defection and that once again will we tramp the Kaitoke Road with him. Are we too optimistic? The second of our trampers whom we hail and farewell is Mr. W. H. Jolliffe, who is leaving us at the end of August, bound for Edinburgh University. He has had a long and honourable connection with the Club, and for two years was its faithful and popular Secretary. "Bill" was the guest of the Club at a pleasant farewell, where Prof. Boyd-Wilson, mellowed by a memorable supper, was in a reminiscent mood and recalled to us some of the "ardours and endurances "of former club days. Incidentally he paid tribute to the sterling qualities of our now lost leader. We have but one consolation to stay us in the passing months, we bid "Bill" not adieu, but au revoir. The days fly by so quickly that it will not be long before we once more see him patiently crouched over a few wet sticks and gently persuading a recalcitrant fire to burn in the pouring rain. He is a past master at that game.

The Club also takes this opportunity to welcome back home Dr. J. S. Yeates, one of the old stalwarts of the Club. Although we understand that our learned friend has now other interests in life besides tramping, yet we assure him that a warm welcome awaits him in our ranks if ever again the joys of the road should tempt him to shoulder the tramper's swag.

The Weather.

The weather for this, the second term's tramping, has been uniformly bad. In fact, our luck is quite out. Once upon a time—last year, for instance—the Club could invariably rely upon getting even moderately fine days for its tramps. But this winter, things have come to such a parlous plight that some of our members, suffering from a bad attack of testamentitis, have been seriously looking about for a Jonah, by the sacrifice of whom they might propitiate the anger of the gods. Not that we have had to postpone more than one or two tramps, but a threatening sky, or persistently falling rain, week after week, with here and there a week-day to show one how fine the weather could really be, is apt to damp the spirits page 50 and enthusiasisms of even the most hardened followers of the open air life. The Club has survived this slump in its luck, however, without loss of members (though, be it noted, without gain of members), and is confidently looking forward with renewed interest to a good Spring and a fine Summer's tramping.

The Tramps.

Oterongu Bay is memorable for three things out of many: first, the the vile weather—there was hail, sleet and snow, and a blustering southerly on the Makara Hills; second, the excellent cooking—the stew was a dream, while the salmon kedgeree beggars all description; third, the five men who made the trip rested most excellently each on a splendid bunk—though, to be sure, two of them not so excellently, but that they had to take a little nourishment in the early hours of the morning.

Mt. Cecil was postponed on account of the weather, while many are beginning to wonder how many Boulder Hills there are between Haywards and Pitcaithlys. In regard to the Boulder Hill trip, too, many realised once again that lunch in the bush in the pouring rain has not a great number of charms, and the sooner over the better.

Karapoti was one of the best trips of the term. Although not at its best on Saturday, the weather made amends on Sunday morning. We climbed high up upon the ridge overlooking the Akatarawa on one side and the Whakatikei on the other side, and basked in the sun for an hour or two. Later on in the day—for this was a leisurely tramp—we sat on a bank for half an hour, eating fruit and studying the various vehicles which paraded before us on the Kaitoke road. We had quite superior feelings as we watched the poor ignorant mortals cooped and cramped up within mere motor cars.

There was a good muster for the Hutt Forks trip, though we fear little tramping was done. It proved too wet to reach the Forks from Philip's Hut though the whole party ascended the main ridge clad in a striking array of motely garments borrowed from the Hut for the purpose of keeping out the rain. To cap all some of us received a bone shaking lift back to Lower Hutt in a lorry. But we had to sprint for the train like Olympic nominees all the same!

Mt. Dick was distinguished by being climbed in glorious weather, the first and only really fine day for our term's tramping. Coming home up the Makara Hill we were vastly entertained by the spectacle of a body of stalwarts, few of whom had not imbibed wisely but too well, struggling to push or drag their broken-down motor lorry up the hill (surface about 1 in 2.) The atmosphere around them could be cut with a knife, the air was lurid with oaths and recriminations. If this is the way some people spend their Sundays, truly the ways of man passeth all understanding.

The Smith's Creek trip eventuated after one postponement on account of the weather. What with our own party and the trapper and his two friends, things in the Hut were a little hectic. We had to eat in relays, and come up to the fire to get warm likewise. It rained hard all Saturday night, and as a consequence the Secretary has been asked to inform certain Club members that unless they withdraw their statements in regard to the way a certain tent was erected, a libel action will probably eventuate as soon as a certain tramper has recovered from his nerve-racking experience of being suspended by a single wire strand over the raging Tauherenikau River. He hopes to be out of the mental hospital in the near future.

Pipinui Point is becoming almost as will-o'-the-wispy as Mt. Cecil. In any case, it is too long a tramp for the Winter term, especially as we are always favoured with howling gales or cloud bursts whenever we make the attempt to reach it. This time we were overtaken by a blinding rain storm on Otairi and arrived home both wet and cold.

Finally, the Tararua crossing. A strong party was offering, all arrangements had been made, and hopes ran high. But alas! on the Friday a cyclone burst upon us, flooded all the rivers, and covered the Tararuas with nice, thick, white mist. Under such circumstances, all that could he done was to swallow our disappointment and declare the trip off. All the same, however, we are more than ever determined to conquer the Tararuas afresh. Given fine weather, it will not be long ere we stand once again triumphantly upon Hector's snowy pinnacle.

The Reason for it.

To those would-be trampers who wish to come tramping, but have page 51 not yet summoned up sufficient courage to join the Club and come out with us; to those sceptics who are inclined to doubt our sanity; to all those who love the freedom that only Nature can give, we recommend these lines of Hamlin Garland:

What have I gained by the toil of the trail?
I know and know well.
I have found once again the love I had lost
In the loud city's hell.

I have broadened my hand to the cinch and the axe,
I have laid my flesh to the rain;
I was hunter and trailer and guide;
I have touched the most primitive wildness again.

I have threaded the wild with the stealth of the deer,
No eagle is freer than I;
No mountain can thwart me, no torrent appal,
I defy the stern sky.

So long as I live, these joys will remain,
I have touched the most primitive wildness again.