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Four of us decided to spend about ten days in the Arrowsmith Range, climbing. This range lies between the Rakaia and Rangitata rivers in Canterbury and about five miles east of the main divide. Most of the peaks are between 8 and 9000 feet high and are predominantly rock climbs though any snow soon puts them out of condition.
Our plans were almost wrecked by the combined forces of the tropical storm and southerly which devastated Wellington and sank the "Wahine". A quick check revealed that we were on the "Maori" and it was sailing the next night. We arrived at Lake Heron Station some time on the Saturday afternoon and got to Downs Hut in Lake Stream that night. Next day we travelled up the Rakaia over Prospect Hill and up Jagged Stream to a campsite by evening. The weather looked promising but John unfortunately sprained his ankle which ruined his chances of any climbing.
About 5 a.m. Tony, Clive and myself left camp for an attempt on North Pk. A moon and clearish sky created initial optimism but powder snow slowed us down and as we roped up at dawn on the Assault Glacier south-westerly scunge started to drift over us. We reached Reischeck Col about 10 a.m. but it was fairly bitter and unpleasant and no-one wanted to go on so we returned to camp in an impending snowstorm. That night it snowed heavily. I remember belting the tent roof periodically to shake off the rapidly accumulating wet snow. We got up late for obvious reasons to be greeted by a spectacular sight.
It was a perfect day and Jagged Stream was plastered from top to bottom. We spent the day photographing, sunbathing, eating and I, feeling energetic, plugged steps up to just under the Jagged Glacier
By this stage, the two party watches had stopped, so a Jagged Stream Mean Time was established and with this guide we left at about 4 a.m. next morning for Jagged Col. Some hours later after arduous ploughing through snow drifts up to our waists in places, it was still dark - not a sign of the "hunter of the east". It had us worried for a minute. It's okay to joke about the end of the world, but when it's still dark at eight - shucks!
Anyway this story had a happy ending and we were glad to be so high so early. At the col, we headed up Jagged, but knee deep powder snow on atrocious rock turned us back only a few hundred feet above the col. We turned our attentions to Prop Pk. and found the going rather better though we had to move singly, which with three on the rope
However, the descent, like the ascent, was enjoyable and provided excellent photography. We ambled back to the camp where John had been keeping the keas amused. Next day was murky and snowing again as we plugged tediously up to Peg Col and down to Cameron Hut where we stayed the night.
It snowed again that night and dawn provided a wonderful view of the Cameron skyline. We travelled down the Cameron Valley - a pleasant open valley devoid of bush but smaller and narrower than the typical Canterbury rivers. A pleasant autumn afternoon provided the sort of lighting which made the snow-covered foot hills and distant cloud-covered Arrow-smiths most attractive. We returned to the car after a most enjoyable if unsuccessful (peaks-wise) trip. The Cameron-Jagged Stream trip is a highly recommended tramping trip as well as offering exciting and unusual climbing to the proficient climber.
-R.G.
Party:
Some time in June 1967, five bipeds converged on Eketahuna Station, from which they were taxied for an extortionate fee to the end of the road. By midnight they had clomped up to Putara Hut and retired for the night.
Saturday morning was cold with a hint of snow in the air and a definite statement of it on the ground. Tom's scientific apparatus (a thermometer) had soon served its purpose - "it's freezing!" so Euan accidentally leant on it - crunch!
Tom came rapidly to the boil and with the consequent increase in air temperature, we managed to raise our cold limbs and leave the hut. The climb up to Hines kept us warm and we set off in the direction of East Peak in mist and a cool wind. The snow was crisp and we made good time along to East Peak where we found the correct ridge to Haukura Ridge and were soon ploughing through a noxious mixture of snow and leatherwood in the saddle. Over a few knobs and down in another leatherwood saddle we found Haukura Ridge bivvy where we had lunch. After lunch we continued along the ridge and eventually dropped into Ruapae Stream, having lost the track (if there was one). At Roaring Stag we stopped
Next morning was in contrast cloudy to the west - in fact it looked black and ominous. So we motored along to Waingawa in quick time and descended to Cow Saddle, picking up a track at the bushline. Lunch was had at Cow Saddle and we continued over Blue Range admiring fine views of snow covered Tararua knobs on the way. A visit to Blue Range Hut (really cosy and has magnificent views) and a speedy trip downhill to the road end completed the enjoyment of the trip. Sore feet and an aching thumb saw us all home by Monday morning.
- R.G.
Party:
On Friday night, after a good meal at the Sisson's, the three of us sped in Brian's car to Wakarara to arrive at Waipawa base hut just behind two other trampers. Result - we slept on the floor.
Next morning dawned ominously. Hence, before we set off, the car was shifted from just below the hut to the other side of the Triplex Ck. ford. On observing the clouds scudding across the sky, we decided to walk up the Waipawa R. to Waipawa saddle. This was reached after only one minor piece of misnavigation. We started looking for the sidle track up the last little bit to the saddle at a point where it obviously did not start. This track on the northern side of the stream is useful in that it avoids much otherwise vicious scrub bashing. On reaching the saddle we were greeted by a nor'wester wind which would have made tops travel most unpleasant. We descended quickly towards Waikamaka hut - a 5-star H.T.C. hut recently rebuilt at a forks in the headwaters of the Waikamaka stream. En route, we observed an upwards waterfall caused by wind blowing up a downwards waterfall. After lunch in the hut we set up the other fork in the stream in the direction of Rangi saddle. On reaching a basin at the head of this valley, we could see a large U-shaped saddle ahead with a bump and a slight dip in the range to its left. After a map consultation it was decided that the dip was actually Rangi "saddle". On the other side of the saddle we went down an easy to follow trickle until it suddenly cascaded down rock of the loosest species into Rangi creek. Undaunted we proceeded down and much hairy
On Sunday, the weather was again cloudy so, reluctantly, we decided to retrace our steps to Waikamaka. Up Rangi creek we saw a very easy route up an overgrown scree slope to Rangi saddle, which could have been reached the day before by sidling to the right a short distance at the saddle. However, as the weather was now beginning to clear we climbed up to the ridge on the other side of the creek. By the time the main divide was reached the weather was gloriously fine so that we were able to proceed north over Rangioteatua, the Three Johns, Waipawa saddle, and Te Atuaoparapara to Maropea forest service hut, which was reached before 3 o'clock.
The next day in fine weather we arrived one by one at the main divide (one person having suddenly found himself surrounded by thick leatherwood halfway up) where a view of not too distant Ruapehu was enjoyed. We were soon off again down through Armstrong saddle, Shut Eye Shack and Triplex creek to the car and so home after an enjoyable and successful Ruahines trip.
- K.G.J.
Party:
At Ruatahuna the car skidded to a halt alongside the two figures squatting on the roadside, and Lo, who should they be but the rest of the party waiting to be led far into the wilderness by their intrepid leader. Unfortunately, there was no intrepid leader to be seen or found handy so alone they set off into the unknown. After 3-4 miles of tortuous highway the cars had to be abandoned and to the accompaniment of much griping the four bods were seen to hump packs. In their quest for local knowledge the aforesaid bods, that later turn out to be trampers, engaged the local natives in conversation and were informed of the unsuitability of opossum for good. To quote "No eat 'possum. Like cat." After closing the conversation with some cheery words relating to the seaon of the year (for it was but 3 days to Xmas) they proceeded to manufacture a long line of bootprints in the direction of the Whakatane River. Words were uttered describing the extreme heat and the length of the exhausting roadwalk. Two warm but slippery river crossings and a low saddle later they were seen to enter Manatihono Forestry
The sun rose next morning (for it was observed through a gap in the clouds) and after a decent interval our heroes emerged into the open once more looking much worse for their breakfast of macaroni cheese. A swift hour's tramp brought these heroic venturers to the old abandoned Maori settlement of Ohaua, the only sign of which was an old iron horse drawn plow. After the inevitable "horsing" around, a hot humid overcast toddle brought the recently completed Tawhiwhi hut into view. Investigation revealed that the last occupants had been the local wild cattle. The efforts of the track improvement men were noted here in a new section of track that was complete except for the white dotted line down the middle. Fortunately this did not last long and the salubrious stroll down the riverbed (waist deep in water) was enjoyed in the knowledge that this was the best (and fastest?) route. Ngahiramai forestry hut was noted as the trail blazers consumed their hardtack rations therein. The early afternoon saw our heroes proceeding steadily down river and finally, as the guide book says, up onto the Hanimahihi Flats.
This gross error was realised after a couple of miles of battling thru' gigantic tic infested, massively pig rooted elephant grass. This fact was pointed out in the, at that stage unread, notes at the end of the guide book. However, much patience and determination saw the venturers get their just reward in the form of Hanamahihi forestry hut.
Another day dawned whether by accident or thru' design I cannot say, but it dawned anyway and forced our heroes to rise and face the new day. A wrong decision caused them to climb a thousand feet or so to the ridge to save having to go thru' the most "picturesque section of the route", so they missed it - more fools them. A less humid day allowed a better speed so the Waikare Junction forestry hut was achieved in time for a luxurious bathe in the warm waters before a sumptuous lunch of hardtack. At this point a masterfull stroke of navigation enabled the explorers to follow the signs and proceed up the Waikare River hoping to reach the Waikarewhenua Hut before dark. However, fitness must have been catching up with them as in spite of numerous swimming stops in the heat and drizzle they reached the hut by mid-afternoon. Much oo-ing and ah-ing was heard as the extremely pretty unspoilt countryside was admired.
Once again the day (Xmas Day) dawning forced the intrepid explorers up, to a meal of macaroni cheese and, as a special treat, watercress. Regret was expressed at having eaten all their Xmas goodies on the 23rd to save carrying the extra weight for two days. The attraction of a car load of goodies
- W.D.R.
Party:
The start of this weekend trip was delayed for two days owing to heavy rain during which time the trip leader managed to procure the services of a motorcyle. As the entire party (but not all its gear as well) could be accommodated on one motorcycle the trip was changed to one which starts and finishes at the same place, viz. Ohau - Waiopehu - Dundas - Ohau. So on the Sunday afternoon two people set out for Levin, one on a motorbike and one on thumb. The latter won convincingly as the motorbike spluttered and died at Paekak. The ensuing road walk in warm humid sunshine got us in the right sort of mood to meet the farmer. He was very nice about it but tramps were not allowed over his property at lambing time. So the trip started with a half-hour stroll up the Makaretu river, until we decided we had reached a good place to bash up to the Waiopehu track. 20 minutes and several near hangings later we were at the top of the 50 foot supplejack slope above the river. Another 50 yards of relatively easy bushbashing and we were back on Poads farm. Skirting round the farmland we finally arrived at the track which climbed steadily up to Edwards shelter. This shelter is the shape and size of a bus stop with the open side facing the way the weekend's rain had come from. Also it is close enough to Waiopehu hut to be used as its longdrop. Despite
We left on Monday morning in heavy rain, across the open tops of Waiopehu and Twin Peak, where we dropped into the bush. Back at Twin Peak an hour later we dropped off into the bush in a different direction and found ourselves on a newly cut and disced track. This took us to Te Matawai hut in 4 hours from Waipehu (including 1 hour wasted at Twin Peak) we sat in our pits discussing whether or not to go on to Dundas or not, until it was too late to go anyway. The rain eased for a while in the evening but started again with renewed vigour as we left the next morning.
We slithered down the muddy track to South Ohau where we were greeted with a beautiful thick brown Ohau river complete with floating trees and clanging boulders. After sidling for 100 yards we decided that the river was not sidleable so we started to climb towards Gable End ridge. Supplejack near the river gave way to flax, ferns, thick cutty grass, bush-lawyer, stunted beech trees and finally leatherwood before we reached the top of Gable End about an inch of rain later. From here there is a good track down to Ohau hut, with good views, mostly of bush, clouds and waterfalls, though the weather was clearing. Also conspicuous from the ridge was the new extension to Lake Horowhenua.
Back at the farm we made a detour to avoid disturbing lambs, then set off homeward by foot then thumb.
- N.K.W.
Party:
(or "If at first you don't succeed then, try, try, try again")
1st Attempt:
"Come on a mid finals trip - Walls Whare -
2nd Attempt:
Two weeks later four trampers set off from Kaitoke to arrive at an Empty Tauherenikau hut intending to go down the Gorge the next day. Sunday dawned a glorious day and so in high spirits we set off for the river to find it at least a foot higher than normal, murky and extremely cold. Hence we retreated by a little used but interesting route - up the bed of Smith's creek.
3rd Attempt:
At five o'clock the next Saturday two sleepy trampers decided they would not attempt the Tauherenikau gorge that day as it was pouring. However when we both woke again 3 hours later the rain had stopped and a phone call reversed our previous decision and so Bill and I set off for Tauherenikau in most unpromising conditions - there was now just drizzly rain. However we found the river in perfect condition and soon we were floating down the pools of the river. This gorge is easy to negotiate with not many places where it is absolutely essential to swim. Eventually after four most enjoyable hours, spoilt only by lack of puttees, the end was reached.
- K.G.J.
Those who failed once:
He who failed twice:
Those who failed twice and succeeded the third time:
Happiness is a ride home from Otaki Forks.
We all arrived at Klondyke Corner some time in the afternoon from Christchurch by thumb. After clomping through snow in the Waimakariri riverbed we arrived at the Anti-Crow Forestry Hut for tea. Next day was still overcast so we went for a trip up the Anti-Crow River.
The snow from the recent heavy snowstorm made the anti-Crow a real Christmas scene. So much so, that at lunchtime, the males of the party fashioned a snowman which eventually became a comely, but frigid wench. Nigel became enamoured of her - I have photographic evidence. When we came back from the Anti-Crow bivvy she had rather faded away. Nigel wasn't in the slightest bit interested, fickle fellow! There was such a lot of snow around that avalanche fans were seen all up the Anti-Crow. In fact, on the way up, Kevin and I nearly had a nasty encounter with an avalanche of wet snow, which we couldn't hear till it was quite close to us, because of the noise of the river.
Next morning was beautifully fine. We travelled up the Crow River to Crow Hut in good time and spent the rest of the day sunbathing, the results of which appeared a day later. Next morning was a little murky, but Nigel and I left about 6 a.m. for Rolleston. We travelled up a huge avalanche fan and crossed to the Crow neve where the snow was waist deep in places. We turned back when approximately 500 ft. from the High Peak because I broke my snow goggles and because of the weather. That afternoon it rained heavily and we amused ourselves with cards, food, pit-bashing and a yeasty-brew which had been festering in my pit while I climbed.
A government culler called in in the afternoon. We chatted to him and provided a brew before he took off back to his base - Anti-Crow hut, in the rain. It poured that night and in a break the next morning we went down the Crow arriving at the Waimak about midday. The Waimak was sufficiently high to persuade us not to cross. We camped in the beech trees on a flat on the upstream side of the Crow-Waimakariri confluence. It poured all that day and while we lay in the pit inside the tent, Kevin, good lad, prepared our tea on the fire. Once we were comfortably pitted and fed, an enjoyable "I-spy" game was had until dark when our attentions turned to the thunder and lightning four or five thousand feet above us. Next morning Peter and I arose early to examine the river, which was pronounced "crossable", so over we went and up to the hut where breakfast was had. After breakfast we went up to Carrington Hut in intermittent hail showers to find it unoccupied.
A day or so later I got up before dawn to see stars in the sky. A perfect day for crossing Harman and Whitehorn Passes. Carrington Peak looked magnificent with a decent coating of snow and we moved up the Taipo-iti Stream enjoying the scenery on the way. From Harman Pass we plugged slowly up to Whitehorn Pass with thoughts of attempting Rosamund. The physical state of the two keenest party members for this project left much to be desired at the top of the pass, so by tacit agreement, we descended by judicious "on chuff" glissades into the Cronin. The Cronin icefall looked interesting, but deep snow in the valley was tedious. After lunch we slogged on down to Park-Morpeth Hut at the Cronin-Wilberforce confluence. This is a pokey but comfortable hut, oozing character. We found it in a mess. Food was scattered everywhere, so was rat dirt. Apparently the rats had been living it hard during the snow-storm because we found several candle wicks - no wax, lying on the floor. Can't say I'd fancy it meself! We tidied the place up and went to sleep while the rain thundered down once again. The next day too was inclement. We experienced a terrific thunderstorm during the day, the proximity of which provided morbid amusement for our scientists. We couldn't be electrocuted in an iron walled hut, just cooked. One of the flashes was followed by its bang, which shook the hut only a second later - approx. a quarter mile away, I'm told. Peter and I swore we smelt that one. Each thunderclap was followed by torrential rain for about thirty seconds or so, which then receded to its usual downpour. The Wilberforce, like Topsy just growed in a very short time and looked most spectacular for those foolish enough to step outside.
Next day, surprisingly, was fine, or at least fine enough to cross Browning Pass. We got a little bluffed at first trying to follow the eroded miners track, but retreated and plugged up the steep snow slopes to the pass. The dog-kennel which is called Gelignite Hut was observed amusedly and a reprehensible but most satisfying sport was indulged in from the top of the pass. We sidled Lake Browning and descended into the Arahura under an overcast sky. We missed Pyramid Rock, not that we would have known it, and so an unpleasant West Coast alpine scrub-bash had to be endured before we arrived at Harman Creek Hut. We found another friendly culler in residence with his dog, who provided us with piles of venison and Peter with a couple of antlers of velvet. The rest of the day was spent enjoyably there and next day we ambled down to Grassy Flats Hut - only a few hours on benched tracks. Because of this culler's hospitality we deemed it prudent and right to stay the night with him at Grassy Flats.
This bloke really travelled light - pit, sack tent, climbing pack, rifle, cleaning gear, ammo and dog and impressed us all as a professional. Next day we travelled down the Styx River enjoying its typical West Coast scenery and the interesting rocks in the river. After a tiring road bash, we were fortunate in obtaining a ride to Hokitika, where we spent the night and thumbed next day, home.
-R.G.
Party:
On 27th Dec. 8 bods all converged on the two huts at Hopuruahine landing, by the road at the head of Lake Waikaremoana. The better of the two huts was occupied and soon dinner was cooked and eaten. At this stage, Bill, Mike and I all decided that the hut was too full and so Mike departed to his car for the night while Bill and I sauntered up to the other hut to see if there was any room there. We were absolutely amazed on our arrival there when one of its occupants gave us the keys of his 1967 Holden Station Wagon and offered to let us sleep there.
Next morning we proceeded to bush bash around the lake edge to the first hut (Te Puna). We would use tracks for the rest of the trip however. Lake Waikaremoana was formed a few thousand years ago by a huge landslide blocking a gorge - the position of this landslide can be seen clearly from the top of the Panekiri bluffs. Because of this and the steep nature of the countryside, the lake has many deep narrow inlets where once streams flowed. Being so long and narrow, negotiating these streams is quite frustrating. Originally, the bush around the lake went right down to the water's edge. However, several years ago the Electricity Department lowered the level of the lake with the result that the shores are now spoilt by a large number of flats which are covered by either thick manuka or high grass.
After walking across some of these grass flats and sidling a bluff on a sort of track, the first such inlet was reached. An hour and a half later we stood on the other side - 20 yds away. This was because of a bluff on the other side of the inlet the negotiation of which involved much advanced vegetable climbing technique. The three members of the party who had done little or no tramping before got rather a rude introduction to tramping here. At this stage Bill and I resolved to swim all inlets from now on. We kept our resolution but it wasn't till two days later that others joined us. The rest of the day was spent in not too pleasant sidling around the shores
After an early morning swim, a breakfast of macaroni cheese was endured and soon we were on our way in rather doubtful weather. We were now following a track around the lake. Lunch was had at a pleasant sandy beach and soon we arrived at Marauiti hut in the usual pouring rain. After we arrived here Mike went out with his rifle in search of deer but, as he did for the rest of the trip, he had no luck. So, having no venison, we were forced to eat a foul dehy stew in front of four canoeists who were eating half-inch slabs of bacon. Next morning, we ate macaroni cheese as the canoeists ate fried seasoned trout steaks.
Needless to say, the departure to Waiopaoa hut was accompanied by a large number of "I hate canoeists" oaths. This day was much the same as the previous one - following around the lake accompanied by the usual rain. At the last inlet before the hut (one which takes 15 min. to round) the number of inlet swimmers was increased to four (Deidre and Nev being the new ones.) The arrival at the hut was accompanied by a classical display of power bludging which resulted in some passing fishermen donating us a freshly caught trout which was consumed with great relish the next morning.
We then left the lake and proceeded up a track which was reminiscent of those in the botanical gardens - only the names of the trees were missing and soon we were climbing up the last steep bit to the top of the Panekiri bluffs, from which a magnificent view of the lake was enjoyed. Panekiri hut was soon reached and here we were actually able to sunbathe for a short time. However, Huey was soon back again this time bringing thunder and lightning with him. The hut is situated at the highest point on the range and many of the thunderclaps were sufficient to shake the hut considerably - not a pleasant feeling. To celebrate the day (New Year's Eve) some decent food was eaten. Mike and Nev had brought this up before the trip began. New Year's Day dawned with a howling gale and more rain. This wind was hitting the thousand foot bluff whose top was about 20 ft. from the hut and rising straight upwards and over the ridge. The result was that when we
Note: Although it rained every day on this trip, three of us did not wear parkas once - it was easier to just simply get wet and stay wet.
- K.G.J.
Party:
We left Wellington on a fine morning in the holidays and with expert thumbmanship travelled from Picton at 1.30 to the middle of nowhere beyond Motueka at nightfall. Tramping along the road in the dark we suddenly came across a nearly completed house by the road, so we crept in and laid our pits down on the floor. We were glad of that shelter as the night was clear and very frosty. A few more short lifts took us up the Graham Valley to Flora Saddle - the last lift being on a tractor. By this time it was midday and there was one little cloud in the sky. We climbed up thru' the bush for half-an-hour by which time the one cloud was no longer little; it covered the whole sky and also the top of Mt. Arthur, so we contemplated the view at the bushline before retreating to Flora hut.
After a little rain overnight we set off downstream in cool murkey conditions. A perfectly graded pack track followed down Flora Ck then up a sidestream to Salisbury hut on the Mt. Arthur tableland. From there the track continues across the open tussock of the tableland to Balloon hut 1½ hours from Salisbury. 30 seconds after we arrived at the hut it started snowing. That was when we noticed it was 400 yds to water, so we grabbed a basin and kerosene tin and set off in the blizzard to the distant waterhole. There we noticed that the kerosene tin had a hole in the bottom. However water problems were solved when the snow turned to rain and increased in intensity, so we spent the rest of the day in the luxury of this fine new hut. High winds shook the hut that night but the next morning was considered suitable for a stroll to the top of Mt. Peel (5300'). Despite continuous rain, conditions were reasonable, with visibility good enough to pick out the outline of Cobb Lake in the murk from the top of Peel. That was the only place
We left the hut the following morning with a rather watery sun shining thru' the clouds, and the ground saturated after heavy rain overnight. We dropped off the western side of the tableland on a spur leading to the junction of the Peel and Leslie rivers. This spur also had a stupid graded pack track on it. On reaching the river we set off down-stream to Leslie hut on what would normally be called a "good pack track" but which was
The next day's work over Baton saddle looked rather interesting from the map. There was a prominent line of bluffs about 1000' above the river, and where a creek crossed this line there was a waterfall. Then the map marks a track going straight up one of these waterfalls. So we decided to travel up the ridge on the true right of the river. This provided easy travelling up as far as the said bluffs, and probably easy travelling further up but for the small matter of a 100 ft. vertical limestone wall. We scrambled down to the creek, using our ice axes for the first time, to cut steps in steep mud. When we reached the creek we saw that it wasn't there because it flows underground. So
We dropped blindly into the mist on the eastern side to find ourselves in a large tussock basin at the head of the Baton river, with a belt of scabby scrub-bashing between us and the bushline. A surprise awaited us at the bushline, in the form of a hut, very small even when there is only two in the party, but nonetheless cosy, and extremely welcome as we were expecting to sleep out in the rain.
A morning's stroll down the river got us to the road end where we met a few gold prospectors. More expert thumbmanship that afternoon was rewarded with a 20 hour wait at Picton for the ferry.
- N.K.W.
Party:
Once upon a time - in March it was - 5 male carbide lamps and 1 female electric lamp set off from Otaki Forks in search of Plateau Stream. They found it, just before midnight, hiding next to a rather lowly saddle. At 10 a.m. next day they set off after a surfeit of talk and "fire" lighting, only to stop in the bed of the Otaki river to inflate various tubes and lilos. Spirits were high, the river was low, and worms were turning. Not long afterwards waterfalls were nigh, temperatures were low, and rapids were a-churning. A warming-up stop was held about thirty feet above river-level, near some mighty big driftwood. Back into the tubes, and out into the great grey-green, greasy river. The first pair of spectacles was lost when its owner was swamped by a smallish treacherous waterfall. Wettish bread and other pack contents were viewed with some distaste soon afterwards. The day wore on, and our behinds nearly wore off in some rocky wee rapids. By now, as Ross put it, the trip was becoming "interesting". Interesting scenery - huge boulders, deep pools, and a distinct lack of vegetation for the first 30 feet up the valley walls. Interesting also in learning how to cross a 20 mph neck-deep river, or in retrieving a pack from the middle of a scary-looking cataract after nearly being sucked into it.
By 5 p.m. it was plain that we would be camping out again. The Tararua peaks looked savage in the last of the sunlight as we crossed to a suitable flat in the dank recesses of the valley. 3 wet pits soon steamed themselves to a semblance of dryness beside a roaring fire and six sleeping bag covers soon lay scattered around on unfamiliar moonscape. At 4 p.m. the drizzle started tocking on the covers a warning of approaching derision, which fortunately came to little more than temporary cloud. Our packs again doubled in weight as we took to the water again, but our main thoughts were of the sun, which shone happily all the way down to Penn Creek, where we spent the last of our precious energy on a side-trip of nearly 2 hours, just to visit a hut which belonged to Tom. Penn Creek Hut or something, I think he called it.
A brew and some food brought us back to life. The river, although larger, was somewhat tamer now - long pools, less tricky sidling, and some navigable rapids which, along with the psychological advantage of a hot sun, contributed to some long voyages in armchair comfort. By 4.30 we had drifted serenely under the bridge and disembarked onto the river-flats for the slog back to the car, feeling that this had been something more than the usual Tararua week-end trip.
- P.K.R.
- P.K.R.
Party:
I feel bound to say, right at the beginning, that this trip was the first club trip in living memory to operate for 10 days without a drop of rain. Absurd, but true.
The eight people who were to partake in this frolic assembled on Napier Railway Station on a fine-mid-February afternoon. Jokes were being handed round like Minties when the Kombi rolled up, containing a bearded HTC version of
The next morning saw us grinding away up through clearing mist and Forest Service experimental plots on to Kaweka J. (5657'). At this stage it became apparent that this trip had three "fitties" - in the form of Keith, Gerald, and Nick. Lesley and Peter took off with these three on a side trip to Studholme Saddle hut and Kaiarahi, leaving the others to the heat and flies of Kaweka J. until our return at midday. Our two HTC companions decided to turn back then, so a rehash of food, and farewells took place. A few hours walking over gently undulating tops in the full glare of the sun and we arrived at Ballard hut, settled in a tiny bushed saddle, some distance off the main ridge. At this point we realised that this was to be a luxury trip - at every stop we made throughout the trip we were waited on hand and foot by flies. Blowflies and little grey-striped flies - all eager to please, fanning us with their wings, attempting to clean out dirty billies, even down to little details like waking us up at first light - 5.30 a.m.
The second morning saw us plugging up on to the main ridge, sweating under heavyish packs and a hot sun. Stops (ostensibly for admiring the view of miles and miles of eroded ranges) were made on most of the knobs which poked themselves up out of the bush. Blazed track, followed by bush-bash, then a short blazed spur led us on to Venison Top, where we dined
in luxurious comfort on the bush edge. This area was aptly named - there were remains of several deer scattered over it. In fact, the entire trip was punctuated by many sightings of deer, their signs and skeletons. Dropping off to a bush saddle, followed by a steady grind up to the flat open top of Ahurua took up most of the afternoon. A short canter to Mangaturutu hut without packs was rewarded by a magnificent view from its heli-pad situated at the top of a bluff. Looking north we could see the Panekiri Range in the distance, and on all sides a silent, dark green expanse of rugged intersecting ridges and watersheds; truly a superlative hut site.
Back to the packs and over the alpine scrub to a snow poled route leading down a gentle swampy slope into the bush. The philosophy of camping out whenever possible - even when huts were available - was by this time firmly entrenched. And why not? The conditions were ideal. A reasonable campsite in mossy undergrowth was finally decided on and tea was eaten round a smouldering fire in the gathering gloom.
5.30 a.m. and it's Kaweka Blow-Fly time again! 'Undreds of 'em, attracted, if you please, by the smoke of the fire. The newly cut track soon peters out into a deer trail, but nobody's worried - most of the party want to get lost. I distinctly remember loud oaths coming from the vanguard when they came across discs in several apparently overgrown regions. 10.30 at Te Pukeohikarua hut, reading some culler's poems in the hut poetry book, which resides in a tin similar to that of the log book.
The Insta-fiz tablets established themselves as the coin of the realm in the hot humid weather. Our parched throats would hardly let them dissolve in the water which some slave had lugged two or three hundred feet up from the nearest trickle to the ridge, once or twice a day.
Some careful navigating through bush to a lunch stop at the saddle, reached just after inspecting a 60 foot high boulder on the ridge-top, followed by a short climb, then a rather sticky romp down through the manuka to the stream outside Harkness Hut. Glorious cool water. A general rest was proclaimed, setting the pattern for the rest of the trip -sun bathe and swim in the hot part of the day. The two cullers at the hut were sceptical of our reasons for tramping: "It's a mug's game", they said. Sometimes it's hard to refute that argument.
We casually ambled down to the junction at the creek with the Harkness stream, bathing in sun and water at the pool at the confluence. Jules' belated arrival prolonged the ecstasy. As the sun dipped lower we plugged up through the tussock valley of the Harkness, whose forested tops were an unusual feature. Tussock Hut, nestled in the bush edge,
At 8.30 we pay our respects and trudge up into the bush and over into the Ngaruroro - a vast expanse of waist-high tussock covering high pumice terraces and bogs.
Six hours at leisure in the sun was passed by drying gear, swimming, melting butter, cursing at melting butter, photographing a Canberra bomber etc. etc. Only at 4.00 p.m. did the party potter up-river. At the Mangamingi confluence 3 horses were sighted. Our gallant little band executed a strategic evasion policy over a nearby terrace when the afore-mentioned beasties came trotting swiftly through the tussock towards us. Camp was established in a pleasant wee site on the bush edge about half an hour upstream in the Mangamingi. 40 minutes walk the next morning on a bridle track brought us to a festering pile of firewood and tar-paper known as Mangamingi hut - a rather shambolic musterers hut. We wasted no time in pressing on up this bridle track through the bush onto Pawerawera ridge, thence down another ridge into the fabulous emerald waters of the Mangamaire. By now salubing in glorious rivers had become a way of life. But we had our sights on Makorako, the highest and most impressive peak in these ranges. A quick drink, grab cameras and scrog and we're away. In a little over one hour from the creek bed we were standing on the rocky summit, surveying the Rangitikei headwaters and the rest of the Kaimanawas, cursing the haze and the flies. That night was spent next to our chosen swimming pool, occasionally hearing the bark of a nearby stag.
A lethargic start followed by lethargic progress, wading up delicious pools, stopping for a dip every few minutes in the headwaters of the Mangamaire, occupied the next morning Up on to the butterfly-covered summit of Prominent Cone, where thoughts of a side-trip to Ngapuketurua faded quietly. Then galoop galoop thrash crash down into the Rangatitkei, where we established camp just above the 3550' forks. All of a sudden, several frightening apparitions were seen in the sky. The party's meteorologist assured us that they were known as clouds, and that as such, could bring to mind the possibility of rain. A motion of no confidence in Huey was passed, so we actually sited tent poles so that a tent could be pitched
Next day was voted a rest day, during which the climbing of Ngapuketurua was twice postponed, then cancelled.
Next day, was bloody well not a rest day. We left our campsite at 6 a.m. and left the lovely forested headwaters of the Rangitikei not long after that. Ignimbrite Saddle was reached after some toughish bush-bashing by 10 a.m. or so and by 11 the low cloud had cleared and we were standing on High Cone, all prepared to stroll down Middle Range. Until this range was reached, we had often halved the times taken by Norman Elder in his travels. It was only in the blazing sun on top of Thunderbolt that we realised that some smartish footwork would be needed in order to get to Kari-karinga with enough time to camp. On the way down Middle Range it became obvious that this route would be nearly impossible in mist without some form of route marking. The sun was setting as we pitched camp about 200 feet below the 5552' summit of Karikaringa in a dry mossy creek bed close to running water. A really beautiful sunset and silhouette of Ruapehu ended a long day.
Early on the morrow breakfast was under way, with the party's pyromaniac busy feeding the highest fire on the trip with small, dead hebe twigs. This was just to show that primi don't necessarily reign supreme above the bush line. 7 a.m. and we are back on to Karikaringa, sidle easily some fearsome looking pinnacles, motor over the golden tussock, alert a mob of about eleven deer and stagger up to Patutu. Damn this stop-watch tramping. Down into a big tussock basin, whose creek runs close to the main ridge. Anti-tramping food sentiment begins to run high now. No more (yech) pog for breakfast anyway. A casual sanity-restoring lunch stop. No more (yech) Tararua bickies. A final climb to the last peak of the trip - Waipahihi and we look back in wonder - a long way. We can take it easy now, we're back in civilisation really. Pitter-patter down to bush. That river will taste good. Oh, yes, I forgot -a small matter of bushlawyer. We sneak carefully down to a beautiful sidestream, pause, and walk down to the Waipakiki-Waikato junction, camp and swim and sunbathe. One last dehy stew, one last fire, one last night under the stars, one last revolting "breakfast" - and away to the Desert Road and home.
King :
Sidekick :
Speed king :
Man with best camera :
Botanist :
Pyromaniac/Scribe :
The party left Wellington in a howling northerly, passed thru' Blenheim in very hot sunshine, Kaikoura in torrential rain and arrived in Christchurch in a freezing wet southerly, all in the same day. Next day people started converging on Otira, which was unusually attractive with clear blue skies, and rata in full flower on the hillsides. The last arrived by railcar at 1.20 on Monday afternoon whereupon we set off down the main road, crossing the Otira river to the Deception after about an hour. The narrow flats near the mouth of the Deception soon peter out and the route follows the riverbed. The river is never really gorgy but one person was impressed enough to stop and pack all his gear inside his sleeping bag cover. Two hours up we came to a nice little forestry hut, and settled in as a light drizzle began in the evening.
We continued upriver for four hours in the rain next morning, past Upper Deception hut, until Goat Pass was sighted about 300' up on the true left. A few minutes up a small sidestream followed by a short scrub-bash took us to the top of the broad, flat pass. By this time we had a gale force northerly and driving rain at our backs so we pressed on without stopping. A wee creek draining from the pass was followed until it became rather gorgy where we climbed out on the right side which was actually the wrong side (i.e. the left side was the right side) for we had a split gorge between us and Mingha bivvy. The bivvy was found (eventually) to be dry and cosy and the ideal size for a four man party, so we decided to stay. The bivvy is sited to catch the best part of all the foul weather which funnels thru' the pass, but it was still there next morning. By the time we left the storm was virtually over, further east a clear blue sky could be seen.
The head of the Mingha river is broad and tussocky but becomes very gorgy at the bushline where a good sidle track starts. This track climbs high above the river and in one place (Dudley Knob) gives a good view of the upper valley and surrounding mountains. The weather was now partly cloudy with thick storm clouds pouring over from the west. At the bottom of the gorge we left the river and bush-bashed up a steep slope for no less than three hours before the bushline was reached. To cross Williams saddle between Mts Oates (6900') and Williams (5700') one has to climb so high on Williams that it was an easy 10 minutes along a wide rocky ridge to the summit, beyond which the ridge becomes a jumbled maze of bluffs down to the Edwards river 3000' below. We strolled down to Williams saddle from which an 800' steep scrub bash took us down to a hut at the bushline in the Edwards river.
Two wet windy days followed. On the second day, three of the party left on an energetic day trip, down the Edwards track, bush-bashing along the banks of the Bealey River (which annoyingly flowed next to the left bank the whole way), then across the railway bridge and down the main road to the Bealey Pub. This took 3 1/2 hours nonstop in continuous heavy rain. After a few refreshments we set off back to the hut. By this time all rivers were in high flood but the only one we had to cross (East Edwards) was sufficiently braided to be crossed easily. A waterfall in the main Edwards was most impressive, a mighty torrent of pog-coloured water roaring thru' a slit, then dropping out of sight into a cloud of spray. As we neared the hut the temperature took a sudden plunge, making us glad we had brought some liquid to keep us warm that evening.
We shivered away from the hut painfully early next morning intending to cross Amber Col then Walker Pass into the Hawdon. Tramping smartly up the open grassy valley of the Upper Edwards we met the first sunshine at the foot of a spur leading up to Falling Mountain. A steep climb up this grassy then rock and scree spur warmed us up desite the thin layer of snow which had fallen last night. We soon reached the top of a knob on the main divide. From there it was an easy scramble up coarse scree (average rock diameter 10 ft) to the top of Falling Mountain (6000'). This was the epi-centre of an earthquake in 1929, which is responsible for the heap of rubble on Taruahuna Pass 2000 ft below. In fact, the whole area has suffered tremendous rock shattering by this and other earthquakes. Back at our packs we dropped off the western side into a tiny headwater of the Otehake river, and followed it down to Walker Pass (3615'). This is one of the few N.Z. rivers which has no waterfalls between 5500' and 3500'. We had lunch on the top of Walker Pass where there is a surprisingly large lake. We were reminded of the rain we had had before when we saw the non-aquatic plants growing 3 feet under water at the edge of the lake.
A creek draining from the lake runs into the West Hawdon river but we chose to sidle at a higher level to drop into the West Hawdon further upstream. We went up to the bushline to camp under the impossible looking Trudge Col we intended to cross the next day. After a little rain overnight we set off upwards in fair weather. We made an about turn soon afterwards after a bit of inadvertent rock chundering. We salubed down river to Hawdon Forks hut, which was found to be dead, so we camped out again. It rained again. The next morning was fine enough for an exploratory trip up the east
More snow fell higher up overnight but it was a fine morning when we walked the remaining 5 miles to the main road at Mt. White bridge.
This area of the Arthurs Pass National Park is not as well known as the Waimak region (in fact, the Mingha and Edwards valleys were unexplored until 1930); and there are no high peaks and permanent snowfields - but it is no less interesting. Well mapped (now) and easily accessible by rail or thumb, it has plenty of scope for trampers.
Party:
or How to climb Tappy on a bottle of lime gin and half or quarter bottle of rum
Four of us, Ross, Peter,
Daylight on Saturday put a different light on matters (so to speak) and one Christchurch member piked, proffering imminent exams (finals no less).
So the 3 remaining members of the party then headed up stream under high cloud and heavy packs and two rustic tent poles. With expectant looks we turned each corner in the river (now once more gorgeous) expecting to run smack into a waterfall each time. After an hour or more of this in a somewhat disheartened state and more or less exhausted we arrived at a place which we thought was just down stream of the waterfall - although we couldn't hear it. A high sidle was embarked upon which was moderately successful and got us back to the river at Totara camp - above the offending waterfall. The river was by this time branded as disgusting but different.
A further hour took us to a point near the top of a large scree slope at the last Hodder fork. Excellent chundering was indulged in for some time. Then a descent was made to the river and a campsite was found and operated on. In a cosy tent surrounded by a 2' wall (Peter is now a qualified stone mason) we sack-bashed from about 3.00 p.m. The weather was cloudy and we only had a vague idea of where the mountains were. With discussions, recitations, cards, occasional swigs of nauseating green liquor and a huge stew (by Ross) the afternoon was spent. We went to sleep with little hope for the morrow but set the alarm for 3.00.
A clear morning - I could hardly believe it (nor wanted to). Ross cooked once again and we streaked away at 5.15 a.m. -ridiculously early start for a South Island peasant such as me.
We took a fairly fundamental route - i.e. straight out the tent door and up! Progress was swift and well before we saw the sun we were on the ridge just under Pinnacle. Here in a freezing wind we changed into parkas and longs. On crampons we traversed to the col between Pinnacle and Tappy, then sneaked round the back and up a couloir on the Clarence side to an easy ridge leading to the summit. In strong winds we crawled on to the summit in various stages of exhaustion at about 10 a.m. Great battalions of hogs-backs were seen trooping over Mitre but those disappeared, so in a strong, cold westerly we traversed towards Alarm. A pinnacle about half way was sidled rather than traversed (just as well since its back side was rather steep), and we arrived at the col about 1500' under Alarm at about mid-day, I suppose. By this time Tappy had disappeared in westerly yick and Alarm was about to. We climbed on the sheltered side of the ridge to about 200', from the top of Alarm where a move to the windward side was indicated.
After roping up the mighty Sissons stepped out only to
A rearrangement of bedding gave me an unwanted opportunity to delight my fellow twits with an exhibition of my culinary ability (how about that). This demonstration however was delayed till 5.30 because we all fell asleep.
We woke up to find the tent flapping round our ears and for one terrible minute I thought the back tent pole had failed due to buckling instability (how about that one, Peter?).
After tea we had a mighty if slightly disturbing (slightly? - I had visions of the river rising several feet) electrical storm which lasted till well into the night. With the last of the lime gin and some Captain Morgan inside us we hit the sack talking of Alarm-Mitre traverses for the morrow. (Secretly, I was hoping that we could still get down the river).
Monday - an early breakfast again and it was still raining. We decided to go out. Everything was packed inside the tent and I donned two parkas. We climbed out, packed the tent and were away.
The river wasn't even slightly coloured and the rain stopped about a minute after we left (it was only drizzling anyway). 4½ hours and we were back at the little white VW all having once fallen into the Hodder (such a delightful little river with nice greasy boulders and only about 80 crossings. Two hours and we were in Blenheim where I callously chucked Peter and Ross out into the side of the road and headed home.
Misery is eating pog for every breakfast on a three week trip.
Only 1 person in the whole of the tramping club thought that it was possible to conquer all the Tararua Peaks beginning with A in a weekend, so it was rather a surprise for all, that 4 names appeared on his trip list. However 2 of those were seen in the common room on Friday morning, earnestly discussing prospective trips for that weekend, just about everywhere in the Tararuas from B to Z.
The first blow came when the Ohau was not in flood despite heavy rain all day, so all had to go up to Te Matawai on Friday night in wet and miserable conditions. Next morning the rain was still pounding on the roof. By the time we realised that it was only drips from the trees under a clear sky even Tom thought it was too late to get to mid-Waiohine that night. Everyone wanted to go to some different place so we democratically decided to go somewhere nobody wanted to go - and set out at 11.30 for Tarn Ridge. Conditions were pleasant at first, with good snow conditions over 4000' but it was rather bleak and misty when we got to Tarn Ridge at 4. Saturday - 1½hours shorter than Friday night.
Sunday dawned with sleet and a gusty southerly. Another 11 a.m. start had us heading for the nearest low level hut - Arete Forks. Sunday - 2½ hours shorter than Saturday.
We settled down into a nice hut with a fire, foam rubber mattresses, no draughts, and no rattles - until about 5 p.m. when the peace was shattered as 5 noisy, filthy, dripping wet individuals clattered into the hut. They kept saying something which sounded like "Anybody here seen Harry" so we weren't surprised to see a sixth arrive later. Only one person slept well that night - and he was a very loud snorer, and also managed to whistle in his sleep all night as well.
Monday morning was murky at river level but on setting out up Table Ridge we climbed above the cloud just below the top of the ridge. Here was a fantastic view of high snow-covered peaks surrounded by a sea of mist which stretched out over the whole of the Wairarapa. A rather cold wind made sitting down unpleasant, so we trudged across the snow on to the top of Brockett, then finally up the steep icy face onto the Mitre. After a last look at the views we dropped back into the mist and hurried down to the peasant-ridden Mitre flats hut for lunch. A speedy journey down to the road end followed by no roadwalking had us back in Wellington by nightfall.
- N.K.W.
Party:
I will begin by stating a Vuwtc maxim "He who goeth upon a Queen's Birthday weekend F.E. trip is, by definition, a masochist." This trip ran in accordance with this maxim. The suffering began with a sweaty bash from Poad's to Waiopehu (for once, the term "bash" is applicable. There are many unforeseen, overhanging, eternally damned branches on this track on Friday nights). It (the suffering) recommenced in a mild form on the way to Oriwa the next day. N.B. - between Waiopehu and Oriwa lies a festering thicket of pedigree leatherwood. 10.30 and yes, it's the lake hollow. 5 minutes more and, yes, it's Oriwa. No more need be said about this neck-of-the-woods. Suffice it to say that our gallant band suffered on down an easy spur to the Otaki River. Ten minutes more, and we drew up in front of the mid-Otaki wharf, a glorious, majestic structure, resplendent with indigenous beech piles, giving a subtle hint of the wondrous luxuries of the palace that lay behind it - that opulent mansion, that dignified oriental edifice - Mid-Otaki hut. The mind boggles ...
I digress. A snap decision at top level in the party hierarchy decreed that this would be our resting place that night. As it was just after 2 p.m. an afternoon'-s boating on the river was deemed a fitting occupation for all. Despite coolish conditions, three hardy twits managed to execute some slick manoeuvres in the only craft available - a "tin tippy" commandeered from the underbrush close by, their tricks culminating in shooting a rapid at great speed whilst facing upstream - no mean feat for this self-scuttling apparatus. 5.30 and it's dark again. The usual stew burbling over a too-big-for-cooking-with-fire. Five mattresses were laid across the floor of the hut, providing a comfortable basis for two schools of pontoon and a massive brawl, conducted in sleeping bags to the tune of "God save the Queen" - the singer being savagely assailed at the time.
Sunday. Rain. 7.30 getaway. Where did all that great murky floody river come from? Answer: Just look upwards with your mouth open. Downstream. Bushbash. Kelliher Creek - Ross goes down Otaki, minus parka. We go up to Crawford, minus brains, via easy spur and freezing tops. One hour in exposure conditions and Anderson's shows up. Nearly everyone is food-bonked.
1st tramper [shouting above the roar of the primus]: Nickle-ass, are you suffering? Voice from behind a loaf of Bermaline [shouting above the clatter of shivering teeth]: "Y-e-e-e-s." Off to Kahiwiroa. Better weather, but Nkw route-finding service is used, and yes, (right first time, said the king), down to Mid-Waiohine, with river big and brown. Nick and I sneak across and shout directions to the others, who follow cautiously in the gathering gloom. No brawls tonight.
Monday. Fine and high cloud. 7.30 getaway. Three go out via Isobel and Holdsworth. The remaining five forge upstream (twenty midwinter Waiohine crossings and you are a pretty cold gerkhin). The map says we are now in a gorge. I now think I know why they run gorge trips in a downstream direction - and why they generally operate best in summer. One hectic moment floating in a scrabbling mess down to some horrible rapids. No more of them, please. Francis Creek appears - truly beautiful sight. The walls of the gorges in both Waiohine and Francis Creek entail a three hundred foot climb vertically upwards. Cor, wot larx. I mean, kicking steps in overhanging moss. 11 a.m. and we are at the Devon Crash, sniffing about in freezing mist. (Memories here of one Whitten, menacing the remains with a tin opener). A hurried repast and we are sightseeing again - mist, graves, mist, pinnacles,
- P.K.R.
Party:
Last Christmas,
We arrived at Glenfalloch Homestead on the evening of 23rd Dec. By Christmas Day we had struggled manfully up to Banfield Hut where we proceeded to spend Christmas Day appropriately.
The weather improved next day, so we decided to climb something up Jagged Stream. By 7 a.m. we were heading in the direction of North Pk. (8658') via the Assault Glacier when a large globule of ice discharged itself with a loud bang from a hanging glacier above it. The psychological barrier thus created led us to attempt the less exposed approaches to Bastion Peaks. We didn't know much about this peak, but had gleaned from Banfield Hut log book the information that one goes up a "central couloir".
Sidling across from the Assault Glacier under Bastion's Face I encountered a couloir which I presumed to be the couloir. We plugged up this till the soft snow became tiresome, then moved out the left onto rock. From here we followed a rib-like excrescence on the face, composed of steepish, usually loose rock and soft snow, which though exposed was fairly safe from avalanches or rock fall. The top was reached at 11 a.m. and after descending dangerous soft snow in the main couloir (correct route) we arrived back at the "hockey field" to meet Arthur and Philip.
Next day (or the next?) we travelled on up the Rakaia to Washbourne Hut where a split decision had us en route to Louper Stream and Whitcombe Pass.
That evening we camped just above the Barron Glacier in the Whitcombe River. Thanks to Hughie, the morrow was fine and four heavily laden twits scraped and slogged their way up the Barron moraine and Glacier to Barron Col to be met by the massive bulk of Mt. Evans (86l2') and sex in the form of a "dinkum Aussie sheila' who soothed our parched throats with a jube each. She was with another party who had their snow cave just on the Bracken Snowfield side of Erewhon Col. The other four of her party were climbing Evans that day, now shrouded in ominous billowing clouds. We spent the rest of the day digging our cave next to theirs in a rain storm which cleared up in the evening.
Next day was fine. Clive woke at 3 a.m. and we discussed our designs on Evans' spiky North East Ridge. We decided against it because of our poor condition due to the exertions of the previous day and general lack of fitness. Louper Pk. instead was to be our baby. We left the cave at a gentlemanly hour while Arthur who had suffered sunstroke the day before and Philip remained dormant.
By midday we were on top after an interesting mixed climb up the North Ridge. We returned the same way to be back at the cave by early afternoon, rendezvousing with the derision.
We went to bed early intending to attempt Evans via Red Lion Col the next day. At 4 a.m. the next day I went outside. A fresh cold wind was blowing, with ominous high, ragged cloud. The weather was obviously breaking - it was a matter of how long it took, but we decided against attempting Evans. Instead we clomped up to the Amazon's Breasts to photograph the eerie lighting effects of the stormy dawn.
We had a few days left, so we decided to wait and see if the storm would blow itself out after a couple of days. It didn't. We spent four days snowbound in the other party's cave, who had gone out the morning of the storm, while an A.U.T.C. party who had come up the Wanganui River occupied our cave. By the third day of the storm about six feet of snow
On the fourth day, however, we decided to leave. We couldn't find the Auckland party's cave and it was still pretty stormy outside, so we roped up, put on storm clothing and headed for Barron Col vaguely discernible between snow showers across the Bracken.
Two hours or so later we arrived, somewhat relieved, down in the Whitcombe and crossed back over Whitcombe Pass into the Rakaia. Next day we travelled down the Rakaia to Glenfalloch while the nor'wester still raged on the Divide.
I met the other five members of the party near Lindis Pass, not as planned, and we continued to the Matukituki Valley in Phil's mother's
The weather was bad for the next eight days. Nevertheless, we were neither idle nor dry for much of that time. We spent two nights in Scott's Bivvy, a big rock not far above the bush line in the Matukituki Valley. There was snow on the ground with more falling. Scott's Bivvy would probably be a good shelter provided that there is no wind, rain or snow. After two moist nights I was reluctant to retreat, but it was pointed out to me that my sleeping bag was the only one with a dry patch. Anyway, the route to Bevan Col, when we could see it, was being avalanched on frequently.
Back to commodious Aspiring Hut to dry out. Then, as the weather appeared to be improving, up to French Ridge Bivvy. After one night at the bivvy we ventured to the top of French (7800'), descending by a fairly steep direct route through icy bluffs. The mist had discouraged a preliminary walk on the Bonar Glacier.
Soon after this, Phil, Arthur and John (Carlo) had to leave for the comforts of office jobs in Wellington. Then there were three. A snow storm raged for a few days. The storm stopped on the afternoon of our fifth day at the bivvy.
By this time our permit for the use of French Ridge Bivvy had expired and since four Otago bods and two Japanese arrived with the improving weather we were obliged to move out. We slept out under the stars on the snow about a
Up at one o'clock for breakfast. Past French Ridge Bivvy at three, in the light of a beautiful full moon. Ploughed up to the Bonar Glacier in knee deep snow. On the quarterdeck at five thirty. Roped up, crampons on. The snow on the glacier was windpacked, ideal for fast travelling. All the slots were covered.
The climb onto the northwest ridge of Aspiring was hard work. The snow was hard enough for front painting. Progress was slow, moving one at a time with three on a rope. We were pleased to get into the sun on the ridge at about ten-thirty. The view was already tremendous. We looked down over the whole of the glacier region of the Otago Alps. Close, there were the Bonar, Therma and Volta Glaciers, the Haast Range, and the Waipara and Waiototo valleys. Further away, the Arawata Glaciers and the Olivine Peaks.
The climb to the summit about 1800' higher, was easy, but would have been easier on a slightly cooler day. We dined on the top. Not a cloud in the sky (photos to prove it) and calm. If I could have found the candle at the bottom of my pack the peak would certainly have passed the candle test (Candle must stay alight one minute in most exposed position possible. Can anyone beat Ruapehu (9175'), 6.12.64?). It was just like the pictures in the Weekly News.
About two-thirty we went back down to our camp on the bush line. (Well, it wasn't quite as easy as that - it took eight hours). Brew and collapse into pits.
The following day was also fine but windy. We went down to Aspiring Hut. Clive and I had a touch of frostbite on our toes, which slowed us down a bit. My frostbite could probably be attributed to 1) getting wet socks leading through soft snow in the morning and 2) constricting my feet by having tight crampon straps over my boots for too long (about 13 hours continuously).
We understand that the next fifteen days were stormy and the Japanese expedition was unsuccessful in climbing Aspiring.
It appears, from my experience especially, that one of the techniques and skills to be mastered before attempting to climb this mountain is waiting.
- T.C.
Party:
Happiness is a warm river to swim in at night.
Often thought of, but rarely enacted. A moonlight Southern crossing on snow. The thinking consisted of compiling a list of the dates when the moon was full; and wistfully noting perfect conditions on June 10th; June 11th was full moon. We must go, cloudy day or not.
8 a.m. and the trio left its hired transport at Otaki Forks, under an overcast sky.
10 past 10 and we arrive at Fields - still cloudy. Tang and biscuits and on. Snow and mud. And cloud. A burning hatred of cloud, which shrouds Dennan.
And then we climbed above it. Two hundred feet onto West Peak, into a fantastic panorama of luminous peaks, an ethereal moonscape of perfect stillness. We stop, in silence.
Dropping packs at Vosseler, we waded through flour to Kime, Field Peak, then Hector. 2.30 a.m. Photograph. A few words of appreciation at the sight, which were as superfluous as a blowfly'z buzz. A retracing of footsteps, and a burst of jubilant singing. Sleep at Vosseler until greeted by the dawn at 7.30. More photographs and even more superfluous superlatives. Then home.
- P.K.R.
Party:
Misery is a wet pit.
How often on trips do you complain about foul breakfasts? How often do you find yourself suffering from the dreaded hunger bug about an hour after breakfast? Too often. As a result, "Heels" this year is bringing you a list of tramping breakfasts, shown below in order of chunderability.
1. Fried Eggs and Sausages. "The finest of them all". This is the Only breakfast to be used on a weekend trip. It is produced in minimum time and gives maximum energy. Recently, I was able to plough through soft snow from Field's to Alpha on five sausages alone. This should demonstrate the calorific value of sausages amply.
2. Last Night's Stew. "Waste not, Want not". Should your bloat of the night before be such that your stew remains unfinished then this should be your breakfast next morning. This breakfast also contains large numbers of calories and goodness.
3. Rice and Raisins. "Ye speak of rice and raisins and great shall be your dissension, for on its preparation no two of you shall agree". A breakfast which contains both calories and nutrition in reasonable quantities, this is the best breakfast for use on long trips. Everyone uses a different method for preparing rice and raisins.
4. Macaroni Cheese. "Feed them this and great shall be their hunger". This is a breakfast which gives you little nutrition, contains practically no calories, and tastes like rubber soaked in glue. If you tramp after a meal of this you can be sure to get the hunger bug any time after an hour after breakfast. Should you get sick of (or from) this breakfast, as you undoubtedly will, it can be varied by adding tomato soup or honey instead of cheese.
5. Porridge. "Le grand pog, le grand bog". There is absolutely no truth in the Scottish theory that a good plate of porridge each morning is good for you. [A good plate of porridge is a contradiction in terms - porridge being an evil substance - Ed.] Porridge is a food which contains little goodness, few calories and tastes foul. For these reasons, don't eat it.
Misery is socks frozen irrevocably into your boots.
6. * The recipe for this breakfast was first developed on the Kaweka-Kaimanawa trip, Feb. 1968.End of Christmas Trip Breakfast
- K.G.J.
Extract from "The Dominion", Friday 13th October, 1984:
"A spokesman for the Hydro Department said today that the proposed dam in the upper Waiohine had been given "the green light" by the Government. The dam would be one of the highest in the country, rising to a height of 2000' between Cone Ridge and High Ridge. It was stated that this move was to begin early next year, and would transform a hitherto valueless area into a place of beauty, as well as supply the North Island grid with almost 400 more kilowatts of power. The spokesman, Mr. Snurd, added that, because the timber in the area was "not worth milling", it was not proposed to cut the trees below the waterline. In order to facilitate the construction, all persons except the Arabian workmen would be barred from the district.
From an article in "The Evening Post", 1st April, 1994:
"... According to a recent geological survey, the three Tararua peaks known as Mts. Hector, Mitre and Arete, have all risen in altitude by about 20feet over the last two years. This is apparently due to the increasing size of the heaps of beer cans, broken bottles and other trash in the locality, which, it is believed, emanates from the hotels erected for the Tourist Hotel Corporation on these peaks
Happiness is a dry trog.
A note from the editor -
Other tramping club annuals have editors who moralize about safety in the mountains; or why you should pull your weight in the club. This editor moralizes enough at other times, and as he can't think of anything else to say, will cut his editorial short.