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Icefields and Forests
A King Country Picture

(By W.R.D.)

To most railway men the words “on transfer” are a familiar term and express a feature of railway life in which some of us have all too wide an experience. It is a case of wondering “where next?” Of all the possible destinations, one of those regarded almost as a bogey by railway folk is Ohakune Junction; that little railway settlement that nestles at the foot of Mt. Ruapehu in the ceutre of the North Island. It is the home of those hardy men to whom are entrusted the watch and ward of our Main Trunk traffic through perhaps the most difficult section of our railway system. To the railway world this little town spells exile, feelingly expressed by the facetious corruption of its name into “Oh-Agony.” To the night traveller who peeps through the frosted window of the railway carriage, it gives a sense of dreariness and desolation. To me it stands for two of the happiest years of my life.

Kindly consideration on the part of the Railway Department has done much to ameliorate the life of its members stationed at Ohakune. Amongst the amenities provided is a fine dancing hall, where in the long winter evenings the community spirit finds free scope in happy gatherings. Here all branches and grades of the Service can meet and mingle with a mutual understanding that cannot be engendered amongst the distractions of the city. Those gatherings always reminded one of Kipling's lines:—

Outside—‘Sir! Salute! Salaam!’
Inside—‘Brother,’ an‘ it doesn't do no ’arm.
We met upon the level an’ we parted on the square,
An‘ I was Junior Deacon in my Mother Lodge out there!

The Railway tennis court was also a common meeting ground where sportsmanship was the only basis whereon a man or woman was judged. But, to the individual so minded, Ohakune can offer many charms. There is, above all, health and an abounding appetite for 2,000 feet of altitude. Leagues of forest and proximity of icy peaks, give a tang to the air and a zip to the blood. Winter may be severe but bitter nights give way to amethyst days. To the lover of beauty in Nature there are endless delights. One has to take but a few steps beyond that rather gloomy row of cottages that flanks the station yard and he is in a paradise of fern and shrub and forest tree. Over his head tower giant trees like pillars in a temple making wonderful vistas of light and shade and about his feet are ferns and mosses that defy description. On every hand the pungas droop their fronds in cascades of green. I know of one botanist who stayed off for a day at Ohakune and has been there four years.

To the lover of adventure Ohakune can also offer attractions for in a sense, she is the guardian of Mt. Ruapehu. She stands at the doorway to a vast region of virgin forest, of deep ravines, of rocky buttresses and dismal swamps which are flung about the base of the mountain and serve as a setting for its gleaming peaks. But it is those gleamy peaks that overtop all scenery and all other interests in Ohakune and are a constant lure to the adventurous. When in an amiable mood they afford an exhilarating climb to the summit from the mountain hut in a few hours followed by a giddy, gay snow slide of thousands of feet on the return journey.

Whipped by the elements they may at any time assume a hard and treacherous mood. This I once experienced almost to my undoing. The tale may be worth the telling.

We were a small railway party and had completed the tramp of nine miles through the bush to the mountain hut. The sun was setting in a flood of glory over Mt. Egmont, while Ruapehu was mantled in a gorgeous pink. As the twilight deepened the whole sky became a rainbow arch, passing from deep red on the western fringe to ultra violet behind Ruapehu. Later, the moon rose tipping the snow peaks with silver. The air was crystal clear. Truly, it was a glorious night.

Next morning we were early astir and started on our climb just as dawn was coming in. Looking back in the cold light, it seemed as if the ocean had swept right to the foot of the mountains in great foaming billows, in which the ranges of hills formed bays and promontories, while Egmont, in the distance, towered aloft as a solitary island.

It was only the mists of the morning and these soon flushed to pink and gold as the sun topped the horizon. We wondered why Egmont remained dull and grey in the flood of light until we discovered that it was in the shadow of Ruapehu though eighty miles away. This shadow gradually page 10 sank and drew in across the sea of mist forming a perfect outline of the mountain. Then the mist dispersed, and the whole countryside stood out in magnificent relief in the level rays of the sun.

We pushed on up the tussock slopes and rough scoria ridges but, alas, as we approached the snow line and the sun's rays began to strike on our side of the mountain we detected a steely gleam on the white slopes. It was not long before our worst fears were realised. The top of the mountain was encased in solid ice without a vestige of loose snow that could give us a foothold. The wind-blown icicles sheathing the great boulders gave an impression of flocks of grotesque sheep. It was sufficient to give us pause for we were not shod for ice and had only one ice axe and no rope amongst the four of us.

We looked at the clear summit and thought of the view awaiting us. We looked back at the long fourteen miles we had come from home, and we decided to “give it a go,” though it meant cutting ice-steps from snow line to summit.

Instead of following the usual route up the main ridge we struck right up the immense smooth ice-slope that stretches to the summit, a slope that, when snow covered, has provided climbers with many a gay glissade, but which now had death written on its glassy surface. Up step by step we went, taking turns with the axe and fearful that it might slip from our numbed fingers. The keen wind cut us to the bone and our fingers froze to the ice as we gripped it in spite of our woollen gloves.

As we saw more and more of the slope below us and thought of the slim toe grip between us and a ghastly slide to death on the rocks-thousands of feet below, it became too much for our nerves and we decided to try the main ridge. Here was our worst trail for we had to mount an almost perpendicular face of polished ice about twelve feet high. Our only hold was on icicles that threatened to break in our grasp. But for a timely grip from a staunch companion I would have gone, for my frozen fingers failed to hold.

After four hours of continuous step cutting, we gained the topmost peak. It was as if we were perched on a gigantic iceberg so heavy and so hard was the coating of ice and the wind cut like a knife. But to stand on such a supremely dominating peak as Ruapehu on such a clear day and to see the land spread out in every direction was a memorable sensation.

We could see clear away to Napier and the Mahia Peninsula beyond. The Kaimanawa Mountains seemed a mere ridge in the intervening country. To the north gleamed Lake Taupo page 11 in a setting of purple hills. To the west lowlying clouds hid the far distance except where Egmont towered and the Pacific showed blue on the horizon.

From our vantage point we gazed down a sheer face of several hundred feet into the crater of Ruapehu. The crater is one stupendous icefield surrounding a warm lake whose waters lie darkling in a wonderful setting of ice cliffs probably fifty feet high. These cliffs break away at times with a thunderous sound. Neither time nor conditions permitted of our climbing down to the lake and having the bathe we had promised ourselves.

We dared not follow our upward route on the return journey. We could not trust the nails in our boots so we “lumbered” our way downwards cutting ledge after ledge and only in the better places trusting to foothold alone. It was another weary, freezing four hours before we reached the snow line, a descent which under favourable conditions is made in a glorious glissade of a minute or so.

The sun was setting in a riot of colour behind Egmont and the intervening stratum of fleecy clouds became a sea of crimson and gold. But four miles still lay between us and the hut and woe betide the traveller benighted on those scoria slopes. We set out to race the darkness and a kindly Providence must have guided us along the ill-defined track over scoria ridges and rocky gullies down through the tussock in the starlight until the path suddenly died out in utter darkness.

Away in the distance gleamed the lights of Ohakune and beyond them again the lights of Raetihi, while the headlight of an engine could be seen on the Karioi Plains. From these we could get the general direction of the hut and after much searching and match striking for an hour amongst deep ravines, dew ponds and other pit falls we struck the trail once more and at 8:30 p.m. the hut loomed before us. We had done fifteen hours of solid going and that night the hardest bunk might have been a couch of down.

Such are the joys that Ruapehu affords, such is the foolishness of humans, but such are the things that are good to look back on as age puts its restraining hand upon us, and even “the desire faileth.”

In recognition of his material contributions to social welfare and his constructive imagination in the field of industry, Mr. Henry Ford has been granted the degree of doctor of engineering by the University of Michigan.