1998 - CUTC

Transcription

1998 - CUTC

Trog 1998
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Trog 1998
Contents
Reports
President’s Report - Sam Margerison
Club Captain’s Report - Darren Evans
Treasurer’s Report - Ben Franzmayer
Social Officer’s Report - Ian Buunk
TROG editor - Jeanie Hobbs
Trips
CUTC People - The Editors
Freshers 1998 - The Editors
55 Cents of Freshers - Gael Hodson
Tramping Teams of 1998 - The Editors
Craigeburn Range - Sam Margerison
Where the Waimak Go, the Wind Doth Blow - Chris Gadd
Lake Stream - Michael Reid
Mt Bealy – THE BIG SCREE RUN - Ian Buunk
A Wet Weekend on the Wild West Coast - Sam Margerison
The Three Passes Tramp - Steve Meyer
The Hunter and Hunted at Hunts Hut - Craig Russell
Back to the Earth - Elvira Muniz
Poses and Posers of 1998 - The Editors
The Inside of a Cloud - Darren Evans
The Matukituki Valley – Dart Valley - Jeanie Hobbs
Bogland - Chris Gadd
Oggily Woggily - Chris Gadd
TWALK From the Easy Side of Life - Stewart Hardie
TWALK 1998 – Lake Coleridge - Volker Kuhlman
Nelson Lakes to Lewis Pass - Phil Novis
Basic Snowcraft - Ian Buunk
The Famous Five Go on a Big Adventure - Stewart Hardie
The Two Billy Goats Gruff - Ryan Cooney
Caving - Volker Kuhlmann
A Dog’s Eye View - Wombat
Lewis Pass Night and a Day - Stewart Hardie
Mt Mueller - Darren Evans
Goat Hill - Darren Evans
Bushball - Simon Anderson
Bushball 1998 – Rock Your Universe - Ian Buunk
Cass Lagoon Saddle - Symon Holmes
Cass Lagoon - Ian Buunk
The CUTC Octathalon - Phil Novis
Two in Tongariro - Jeanie Hobbs
Tent Joke - Volker Kuhlmann
Mt Isobel - Stewart Hardie
Mt Binser - Darren Evans
Ham Triumphant - Ian Buunk
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Cedar Flats - Anna Walls
You Can Go Your Own Way - Elvira Muniz
Sunrise Lake Paringa. Elvira Muniz
(C) CUTC 1998
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President's report 1998
Soggy Sam in Sudden Valley. December 1998. Darren Evans
Well, another year's flown by and it's November (or rather, January!) again. Time for the outgoing CUTC
pres to put fingers to keyboard and say wise things. Or rabbit on for a couple of pages.
As you may or may not know, President is normally a two year position, but due to my mid year departure
to Australia to do a PhD, I've just been a one year pres. This has meant I haven't achieved all that I wanted
to do, but I've really enjoyed myself, and hope I haven't left the club any worse than I found it! The
presidency passes into the very capable hands of Darren for 1999/2000. He'll be the first CUTC president of
the new millennium (quiet, all of you who say the new millennium starts in 2001!).
Well, 1998. A lot's happened in the club this year, including a substantially higher membership than the last
few years (near the 300 mark, I believe). It's been great to see so many new people join the club, especially
first and second years. Joining the club early on in your 'university career' means that you've got longer to
make friends, tramp with the club, learn new skills (and be on the committee and lead trips!). Seriously,
though, you do probably have fewer assessment pressures, and hence more tramping time as a first or
second year than as a final year student.
This year has seen classic CUTC events flourish. Sixty-four people went on Freshers, close to half the
membership at the time. It was good to see so many of you enjoying yourselves and getting to know one
another. So tempting were the activities of swimming, sunbathing, Tyrolean traversing and pigging out on
BBQ food that even the supposedly keen trippers bound for Mt Technical piked and stayed at the campsite!
TWALK likewise saw a record number of participants, including (unlike some other years) a large number
of new members. This is a very encouraging sign as it's a lot of fun, gives you heaps of navigational practice
and is something to talk about for a long time afterwards. As Anna pointed out last year, holding the event
earlier in the year has helped boost its popularity amongst club members. All you newly baptised CUTC
TWALKers, it's time to try and dislodge the ex-CUTC teams from the hallowed Boot award. I mean, if
you're going to get lumbered with organising the damn thing next year by being the best club team, you
might as well aim for the glory of being overall winner!
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Instruction courses were well patronised, which is good to see and a credit to John. Courses for rivercrossing
(an essential skill for tramping in New Zealand), rock climbing, snowcraft and first aid were run. Running
the first aid course earlier in the year meant that people had more chance to use their skills on club trips.
Snowcraft was extremely popular this year, and went off with a bang despite a lack of the white stuff due to
the mild winter! The weather was decidedly uncooperative with the rock climbing too, although plenty of
people still came along. Ideas for new courses such as Bushcraft, which would teach people safety in the
bush, navigation, minimum impact camping, etc have been proposed. If you're keen to see new instruction
courses, see the new Instruction Officer, Rene Borsboom.
By all accounts (and the photos!) Bushball was a blast this year too. While Bruce amazed everyone with his
slick dance moves, Rene was so overcome he passed out! New unions between certain committee members
were established, thus delighting the official CUTC matchmaker, eh Anna!
Elvira, Joe and Sam having a group hug high above the Matukituki Valley. Darren Evans
It was a good year for traditional tramping too, with Arthur's Pass/Craigieburn, Lewis Pass, the Paparoas, the
Victoria Range, the foothills and the Rakaia/Rangitata area all being visited. A range of grades of trips were
run, with an emphasis on cruisy and medium trips, plus a sprinkling of keener ones. The first and third terms
seem to be establishing themselves as the most popular times for club trips, mainly as the assessment
pressures are lower at those times. The club had it's first helicopter ride since 1995 when one of the Three
Pass trippers was airlifted out with an injured knee. The club is now the proud owner of a miniature
Westpac chopper which we're looking at converting into a trophy. Ideas would be welcome!
A current 'management'-type issue in the club is: to incorporate or not to incorporate. Becoming an
incorporated society would give the club a separate legal existence, independent of the Student's
Association. This would give us more autonomy in dealing with external funding agencies such as the
Hillary Commission, confer certain tax advantages on the club's bank accounts and would mean we legally
own our assets such as the gear locker contents. At present these are technically the property of the Student's
Association. Incorporating would require the consent of at least 50% of the membership, as well as the
UCSA, and would probably involve some redrafting of the constitution. Also, we'd get a nice official stamp
called a Common Seal (not something that smells bad and lives in the sea around Fiordland!) which we
would use to sign official documents. The Canoe Club has recently become incorporated for the above
reasons.
It's been interesting comparing the CUTC with the Australian National University Mountaineering Club, of
which I'm now a member. The ANUMC is an all-embracing club which runs bushwalking (no tramping
over here), kayaking, cross country skiing, rock climbing, and mountain biking trips. It has a total
membership somewhere in the region of 350, out of a university population of around 10000 (similar to
Canterbury). Given that the CUTC is just a tramping club (although many of the members do climb,
mountain bike, ski etc), it's doing pretty well having close to 300 members this year! The ANUMC seems
very well organised, with instruction officers and trips officers for the different activities (must be a huge
committee!)..A club meeting with an organised activity, such as a guest speaker only happens once a month;
in other weeks, only pre-trip meetings for the coming weekend's trips are held. I really miss the friendly
weekly CUTC meetings which I think are a great way of getting to know people and socialising, even if
you're not going away that weekend.
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One suggestion that has been raised from time to time is to hold meetings on Tuesdays instead of
Wednesdays, which would allow people longer to organise themselves for weekend trips. The downside of
this would be that people tend to have a clearer idea later in the week about whether or not they'll have time
for tramping on the coming weekend. If you have any thoughts on this matter, talk to Darren or the trusty
new Club Captain, Rene Artz.
An issue which the club, but especially Darren and Elvira, has put real effort into this year is encouraging
more women to become active in the club. This carries on from earlier efforts by the previous CUTC
president, Anna Walls. Female trip participation remains low, around the 20% mark on average. One
initiative this year (which has also happened in the past) was the running of a women's day trip in the third
term. This was well received by the participants and it is proposed to run a similar trip earlier in the year in
1999, when more new members will be around. Big thanks are due to Elvira for leading the trip. An idea we
could maybe borrow from the ski club would be to have a women's vice president, whose role would include
increasing the number of women participating in club activities.
Before I finally wind up this collection of wise (?!) words, I would like to thank all the people who've
helped make the club a huge success this year. Particular thanks are due to this year's committee, for
keeping the club running, and to all the people who have led trips. Without them, most of the trips just
wouldn't happen. And thank you to all those who joined the club and came along on trips. Without you guys,
there just wouldn't be so many excuses for the leaders to get out into the bush!
Finally, it's time to thank Darren for a sterling effort as club captain, following an excellent job as Treasurer
in 1997. Darren has really been a great all-rounder, having skills and knowledge in a wide range of areas,
plus an excellent familiarity with, and love of the New Zealand bush. Skills learnt from his university
courses in law and accountancy have been invaluable in helping the club run smoothly, as those of you who
were on the committee will be aware. I know he's really enjoyed being involved with the club, and will
undoubtedly continue to distinguish himself as President.
Right, that's enough from me. I hope you all had a great summer and did plenty of tramping. I leave you in
the capable hands of Rene and his able fellow committee members.
Sam.
Sam and his much travelled Austin GM389, both stalwarts of CUTC trips in 1998, re-united in Fox Glacier shortly after GM389 had
been sold by Sam pending his departure to Oz. Darren Evans
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(C) CUTC 1998
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Captain's comment
1998 was an exceptionally busy year for the CUTC. Trips managed to get away virtually every weekend
during term time. This saw many people getting out and about in the mountains, which is what the Club is
all about.
Term One, as is traditionally the case with the Club, was the busiest of all and despite the best efforts of El
Nino, plenty of people made it into the hills. Destinations ranged from Freshers in the Lewis Pass, to the
West Coast and the traditional stomping ground of Canterbury trampers, Arthur’s Pass. May holidays, saw
groups scattered all over the South Island, from Mt Aspiring to the Victoria Range.
The second term began with TWALK on the first weekend; which had a record attendance. Trips in the
remainder of the second term reflected the increase in work load that the second term now brings, consisting
mainly of shorter duration trips to places as diverse as Nikau Palm gully on Banks Peninsula, to Mt Mueller
in the Lewis Pass.
Term three was defined by two of the Clubs major events, Bushball and Snowcraft. Both were very
successful, and all that participated had a good time; although in the case of the former event, some people’s
memories may be a little fuzzy.
Darren acting the fool on Mt Peel Hut - March 1998 - Sam Margerison
With exams looming, the fourth term normally keeps peoples heads down in the library, but a group still
managed to head away into the hills every weekend right up until the end.
Club meetings were well attended throughout the year, and hopefully provided you all with something that
interested you. Whether this was a talk, a social event, an excursion, a chance to network with other club
members or plan trips to the hills.
On behalf of all club members I would like to sincerely, thank all those whom voluntarily, and without hope
of reward, put time and effort into the Club. Any contribution whether this be leading a trip, instructing
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other members, organising an event, representing the club or just even putting away the chairs after a Club
meeting, is heartily appreciated. Without these voluntary contributions, the Club could not survive.
In particular I would like to thank the committee of 1998; you have been a great team to work with. Without
your contributions, 1998 would not have been as successful as it has been.
On a personal note, the highlight of the year for me was being able to get away on nine club trips, and
several other additional trips with club members. It is
always great to meet new people, hear about their experiences and listen to their views. To all of those who
have shared your adventures with me, I would like to thank you for the great times we had.
The reason I say this is that for me, there are two things which are truly great about tramping. The first is
getting out in the hills and enjoying the beautiful natural environment that is New Zealand, and the second,
is sharing this experience with other people.
It has always seemed to me that while experiencing the wilderness on ones own is great, the joy is multiplied
when one can share it with others. For every person sees different things in the wilderness, and being with
others enables one to share this, so that we are all enriched by others experiences, knowledge, views and
insights into the world around us.
On this note, I will leave you to enjoy the tales of club member’s adventures in the mountains in 1998. I
hope that if you have not participated in Club activities this year, or not even set foot in the mountains, they
will encourage you to do so in the future. For tramping is an activity which gives its greatest rewards when
you are out there doing it, not sitting on the couch thinking or talking about it. So get out there and enjoy the
unique natural beauty New Zealand has to offer.
Darren Evans
(C) CUTC 1998
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Treasurer's report
It’s been a year of change in the financial side of the club. We have placed a greater emphasis on getting
money into the club so that rather than run the club on a shoestring, we can afford to subsidise important
events and social functions and generally have more fun! It’s also important that the club has a bit of money
in the bank so that we can pay for deposits and buses and things without worrying about bouncing cheques.
The main source of income was membership, as always, but also very important was Hilary Commission
funding and Newsletter/TROG advertising which has increased hugely this year.
For 1999 this means we can focus more on important issues like social events and safety and perhaps we can
give Avoca Hut (which CUTC built) a bit of a renovation!
So this year we’ll party like it’s 1999!
Benjamin Franzmayr
CUTC 1998 Treasurer's Accounts
Account
Newsletters
Gear Locker
Expenditure Income
Profit/Loss Overall
NL#1
$334.00
$330.00
-$4.00
NL#2
$362.20
$340.00
-$22.20
NL#3
$309.89
$560.00
$250.11
NL#4
$369.07
$560.00
$190.93
$414.84
$0.00 -$4,268.47
$4,268.47
Purchases
Hire Income
$4,268.47
$5.00
$815.00
$810.00
$810.00
UCSA Adminstration
Grant
$460.00
$460.00
UCSA Special
Purpose Grant
$500.00
$500.00
$2,200.00
$2,200.00
Hillary Commission
Miscellaneous
-$541.00
Photocopying
-$89.46
-$89.46
Administration
-$57.45
-$57.45
Social Events
-$328.10
-$328.10
-$1,100.00
$1,100.00
TROG
TROG Advertising
Subscriptions
Refunds
TWALK
-$190.00
$7.91
-$533.09
-$533.09
$440.00
$440.00
$4,245.00
$4,245.00
$223.00
$1,000.00
Afiliations &
$33.00
$33.00
$1,000.00
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-$697.00
Donations
-$697.00
Total Trip Subsidy
Instruction
-$524.99
Training
$583.60
$0.00
-$583.60
Rock Climbing
$251.00
$377.00
$126.00
Rivercrossing
$201.20
$84.00
-$117.20
$1,263.18
$800.00
-$463.18
$43.75
$0.00
-$43.75
Snow-trip w.
John
$250.80
$165.00
-$85.80
Basic
Snowcraft 2
$47.40
$120.00
$72.60
$610.30
$525.00
-$85.30
Basic
Snowcraft 1
1-day Int
Snowcraft
First Aid
Course
Total Instruction
Subsidy
$1,180.23
Surplus of Income
over Expenditure
$1,324.05
View from Mt Oaken into the Wilberforce. Elvira Muniz
(C) CUTC 1998
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Social Officers report
Being social officer this year has been great. We have had a range of social events throughout the year
which have always been met with enthusiasm by members.
The first term was kicked off with Freshers which is the most important event of the year as it is where
members get their first impression of the club. I was not involved in the organisation of Freshers this year
but hope to be with the next one.
The next social event was the wine and cheese evening at the beginning of the second term, this was held at
the staff club and was a definite success (the social team was working smoothly with Elvira buying the
cheese and crackers and me eating them). The latter half of the second term was a bit slow with mid year
exams building up pressure and so the only social event was the cake competition.
The third term however reigned socially supreme with a pictionary night run by Elvira, then the event of the
year Bushball (yeah baby, rock my universe). All up 21 groovers showed their style at Boyle Flat Hut with
the funky retro theme, hip threads, and the digs all to our selves - what could go wrong? Thankfully not
much. Rene Artz won the toilet seat and was unconscious by 7:30ish (oh should I not have been serving him
at 4:30). Chris Gadd was the best dressed in his tux (although not strictly retro) and of course who could
forget Bruce "The Mover" Webster with his winning dancing.
Then toward the end of the term there was the dessert evening hmmm tasty.
Fourth term rolls around and Elvira hits us with a team building exercise-fun for all the family and it shows
how much trust we need to have in each other. And finally the end of year pissup, well I had fun: good food,
beer, music, good company and afterwards six of us piled into a Honda Civic and went to Sumner and
played on the beach for hours.
I have to send out huge thanks to my fellow social officer Elvira who did most of the hard work while I
slacked off and did silly little things like projects and field trips. Also thanks to our great leaders Darren and
Sam and the rest of the committee for all their advice, help and encouragement. But the most thanks must go
out to any one who went on a trip during the year, with out all of you the club wouldn’t happen. Till next
year.
"Remember ... the Force will be with you, Always"
Ian
(C) CUTC 1998
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The last word.....
It all started when I had a fit of enthusiasm and a conscience about putting something back into the tramping
club. One day I just said OK I’ll do it!
And then the chocolate scheme began. It is amazing what a little bribery can achieve. Suddenly reports
began to flow in like never before. Ian Buunk deserves special mention for his regular contributions. One
day he sent me an email - a longer version of this:
Personally I think this is a good one:
Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate
Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate...
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate
Chocolate Chocolate Chocolate
So the chocolate seemed to work. So did the jacket. When Gore donated a windstopper jacket we decided
that it would go to a Trog contributor. This was what spurred Ian on the most.
The original plan was for a pre-Christmas Trog but despite early valiant efforts, time ran out. Trog is a big
job.
So January came and things got moving again, but Microsoft Word is a ****** of a programme for this sort
of thing - as I had been told. An appeal for help was made to the trusty Darren and Microsoft Publisher
became the official programme.
February arrived and half of the reports were nicely arranged. Now all I had to do was get the rest of the
reports out of my co-editor. Not an easy task. Eventually advertisers were lined up, printing was organised
and everything was ready.
Thanks to everyone who has helped me along the way. Bruce gave me advice when I needed it, and Darren
deserves much of the credit for the layout and design of the final product. Thanks heaps to you guys. I hope
someone will be willing to take on the job for 1999. It is a rewarding and interesting thing to do.
So here you have it – TROG 1998.
Jeanie Hobbs
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(C) CUTC 1998
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It began as freshers does with few knowing anyone,
and those that did making enough commotion
to ensure that soon everyone would
- some better than others.
The weather forecast did not look great,
but this acted as a deterrent to few,
for hot pools are great,
so long as you’re not late,
and you manage to score a good pew.
The bus rolled away,
from UCSA,
to stop shortly, for thirsts needed to be quenched.
We later arrived at Silvia Flats,
tents were pitched, and in the hot pools people sat,
drenched.
Bright and early, people were up,
the keen a’ready to go
With bags loaded, off we set for Nina camp-site,
where a CUTe-C lil’ village did grow.
By 12pm the camp was erect,
what to do next we had to elect.
Some groups, they wandered on to the hut,
-Not for "cruisey"- (The track was cut.)
Up a ridge , that looked fun,
Cruisey - we gave it a go.
The aim the bush-line,
-but all in due time
dates and mates, they made for a snack
before down we faced, without a track.
The sign of the deer, although not yet the roar,
bush lawyer (for some) left tender parts feeling sore.
Back at the Nina, for the most of us, a swim was in store
prior to frisby & hackie galore.
From Nina hut, the traverse and elsewhere people returned.
For those chefs had done great, and a fine meal was consumed.
Darkness fell, followed by 500 and rain,
(yes please sheepy) again!!
A few, back to Silvia’s hot pool’s they walked,
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the night as their friend, along with the torch.
For others, it was Marshys they toasted under the fly
(I hear there were a few pyros among us that night)
Sunday arrived an hour ahead
a lot of cards were played before moving out of the tents.
The rain slightly eased and the sausies were cooked
-To CUTC trips a few more were hooked.
The bus trip back needed some song
Our obliging driver was happy to go along,
Hats & socks suddenly became amiss
then the guys, they were set
Maybe they’ll do a Full Monty yet?!
The dispersal of candy hearts provided a laugh,
for those at either end of the bus:
‘let’s get together" "nice boy" "smile lots" and "try me"
"only you can do it" "get it off" "B&D" "S&M" "marry me"?!!!!!!!!!
The two N’s got on well
confused? Maybe someone will tell?????
There endth freshers 98
another notch on the belt?
Come along next year
then you’ll understand what CUTe-C’s Freshers is all about.
Gael Hodson
The boys doing the full monty, well almost on the Freshers bus. Darren Evans.
(C) CUTC 1998
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Lake Stream
Three Passes
Mt Bealey
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Mt Mueller
Mt Oakden
(C) CUTC 1998
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Craigieburn Range
(29th March 1998)
Cast: Ian Buunk, Geoff Keey, Ben Franzmayr, Gina Rocco, Stuart Hardie, Camille, Catherine Low, Ruth
Korver, Gretchen Hart, Matt Pickford, Lenka Bartholome, Allye Sinclair, Grant, Sam Margerison (scribe)
Originally this trip was planned for Sudden Valley, but the rain towards Arthur's Pass spurred a change of
plan at Lake Pearson and we turned round and headed for the start of the Camp Saddle/Lyndon Saddle track,
where at least the rain was only thinking about it. Matt's car had a flattie, but we decided to put off tyre
changing and headed off on the walk.
The uphill plod towards Lyndon Saddle was enlivened by an awesome rainbow towards the Torlesse Range,
and gradually clearing skies. At the saddle, packs were dumped, and the more energetic/loopy party
members made a short side trip up Helicopter Hill. Once out of the trees, we were hit by the full force of the
norwester, and the less loopy amongst us headed back! Only Mad Geoff continued, and almost reached the
summit, I'm told before deciding that he'd rather complete the walk than be blown back to Christchurch!
Helicopter Hill was certainly aptly named that day: ie, you'd take off like a helicopter if you tried to stand up
on the summit.
Round the other side of the ridge, we were rewarded by blue skies and fine views up towards Hamilton Peak
and Nervous Knob (it would be interesting to know how that one got its name!) Wasp dodging became an
official CUTC sport, with one person injured unfortunately. Lunch was had on a wasp-free scree slope; the
same one where we had lunch on school camp in 4th form. How's that for a piece of useless trivia?
After lunch, we carried along the ridge for a while before heading up the steep grassy slope towards Camp
Saddle. Here the second official sport of the trip was born; wilding pine pulling. Nobody apart from a couple
of wilding pines was injured this time. Camp Saddle saw us meet the full fury of the norwester again and we
hastily ducked down the other side for a snack and photo stop. On the way back down, we decided to be
interesting and leave the track and make our own way through the bush instead. It made a pleasant change,
and we didn't get lost. Always a bonus.
On the walk back down the road, the wannabe weightlifters of the party (ie. everybody) tested their strength
and attempted to impress everyone else by hefting the multitudinous large branches off the road. One tree
did get the better of us, however. Having done our good deed for the mountain bikers, we continued on our
way. Back at the cars, Matt discovered that his Honda Civic's spare tyre was a space saver, which no doubt
made the drive back to Springfield interesting for him! All cars with three and a half or more tyres headed
back to the big smoke, with the exception of Camille and Gretchen who decided that Ash Vegas was the
place to be.
A good trip was had by all, despite El Nino's best efforts to the contrary. The other good things to come out
of this trip? I convinced Ian to stand for the committee, Ben created a new category on the treasurer's
distance chart (mid Lake Pearson!) and, despite this being the first trip after rivercrossing, nobody got their
feet wet.
Sam Margerison
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(C) CUTC 1998
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Date: 21-22 March 1998
Map: K33 (Otira), K34 (Wilberforce)
Cast:
Chris Gadd (scribe)
Dave Hume
Geoff Keey
Ian Dunn
Joe Hambrook
The mighty keen group. A fine bunch of people, but what is it that makes them keen? Do they tramp all day
and night? Do they climb up gigantic hills? Do they carry two packs? Why do they receive this distinction
of being "keen"? My belief is that it is based on arrogance and laziness. This story tells the tale of why this
is so.
Part 1: Arrogance
The predicted weather for the weekend was particularly horrible. 100+km/h winds and lots of rain. Our plan
was to head up the Waimakariri River from Klondyke Corner, over Waimak Col, and down the Rolleston
River to the Otira refuse tip. This would involve numerous river-crossings and much boulder-hopping, as
well as tops travel and possibly camping in the snow. Bah, bad weather indeed. We're keen! We won't let
some namby-pamby 100km/h wind stop us. Take a land yacht and tack our way up the valley. Swim across
flooded rivers if we have to. Nothing's gonna stop us keen dudes. No siree.
Friday night and we're away, camping at Klondyke shelter???? after dropping Dave's car at the Otira rail
bridge. Saturday morning, up bright and early (amazing how fast you can get up when an alarm clock is
yelling at you in Japanese) and up the Waimak we go. Five minutes in and we're already crossing rivers,
much to my dislike (darn cold, ay). The shortest path between two points is a straight line, so if that means
getting wet lots, so be it. Little wind and no rain, so we're a bit disappointed about missing the predicted
weather.
About an hours walk in we find the weather (or rather it finds us). Blowing a gale, whipping up dust and
driving it against our legs and faces. I notice that 3 of our party are wearing glasses, so Joe and I don our
sunnies to act as safety goggles.
A couple of hours in and the rain starts, but we're getting a continual blow-dry, so we get to Carrington Hut
without being too wet. And then the rain really begins. The front's coming through we figure - how about we
make it a long lunch and see if we can wait it out. An hour later we figure it isn't in any great hurry to pass
over us, so decide to make a break for it before the rivers come up.
It's blowing a gale and the rain is pretty darn heavy, but we're keen so off we go. Across the White River not too difficult - and follow the track up the Waimak. Half an hour in and we discover it really is quite
windy. Another half hour and we've been blown off our feet a couple of times each. However we've adjusted
to the conditions - hold on to a bush or some tussock, wait for the gust to stop, run a few metres, grab
another bush, hold on. Or lie down for the big gusts.
We hope we aren't walking through a puddle or stream when a gust comes ñ getting blown over on the
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ground is bad enough. The scenery around us is pretty cool. The river is looking rather gnarly. Waterfalls
aren't (falling) - they're being blown upwards. Rain seems more horizontal than vertical, and stings like
buggery. We get to Campbell's Creek after 1.5 hours (running late) and it's not looking so Creekish.
Better not to cross, so head back to the hut. Only one problem faces us - crossing the White. No worries we'll take the Clough Cableway. What a hoot! Cranking the handle to get some heavy bugger like Joe across
to the other side, while he's sitting in a cage with a raging torrent below him, and a good deal of wind and
rain around him.
It takes us about an hour to cross (including getting to and from the cableway) but no one drowned so we're
pretty happy with that. Back to the hut to dry out. It seems the weather has forced another couple of parties
to stay at Carrington. Including the two arsonists whose MSR did the explodey thing and set the bench and
window on fire. Today's lessons: check the seals, don't overprime, don't try to put out a fuel fire with water
(or polypro/fleece/bedrolls), beware the flying fuel bottle, and always carry a tent (just in case). Great night
spent in the thunder and rain, but not such a big feed as planned (rationing food in case stuck up there for a
while).
Part 2: Laziness
Early morning again - want to check river levels before decision on where to go. White looks lower than
yesterday, crossable with reasonable amounts of care. No one is feeling particularly energetic so we bail on
the Waimak Col idea. Decide a day trip up Mt. Csomething is in order.
Off we plod, some of us getting there eventually for a nice view all around. Running a little late for our
planned time back at the hut (to allow plenty of time to get back to the car before dark), but we get there and
it is such a fine day. All that food that didn't get cooked last night - must be time for a big lunch. Big lunch
it is, sitting in the sun and drying our gear. Geoff suggests that it is too nice a day to leave, and he has no
problem with staying an extra day. Some of us have work to do back in CHCH, but are convinced to laze
around for an extra hour or so, delaying our planned 1:30pm leave to 3pm. No problem we figure - just
walk faster (forgetting that perhaps our ankles/knees aren't working so well after all the boulder-hopping
we've done).
We end up motoring out to get back to the car around 6:30. Once again cram 5 people and 5 packs into my
car - drive to Arthurs and dump some people, then pick up Dave's car. Enjoyable drive out down the gravel
road by myself - I want to be a rally driver! Clip a rabbit with the back wheel - Dave finishes it off with his
front. Trip ends with a body count of two possums and one rabbit. Note (to satisfy safety officer): we had a
couple of backup trips planned had the rivers been up, and we rang DoC on the Friday to check if the
Clough Cableway was in operation. Always have a backup plan, always have spare food, and never be
afraid to turn back if rivers/weather looks doubtful.
Chris Gadd
(C) CUTC 1998
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Lake Stream (Victoria Range)
12 – 14 April.
Crew:
René Artz
Glen Borrell
Mike Carrigan
Dave Eason
Darren Evans
Jenny Hurst
Arnold Memelink
Sarah Peddie
Michael Reid (scribe.)
Michael, Dave, Mike, Glen, Arnold, Rene, Sarah & Jen. Darren Evans
What makes a good tramp? For some, it may be the challenge of pushing their strength and fitness to the
limit. For others, it may be the beauty of the scenery or the wildness of the surroundings. More than
anything, I believe that tramping is a team sport, where each participant has a unique role in encouraging or
inspiring the other players. Maybe that sounds like nonsense, but every so often a tramp comes along for
which it makes sense, and that was one of the things that made this trip memorable.
It was Easter Sunday when we set out for a lay-by on Highway 7 just out of Springs Junction, where we
kicked off by playing a Darren-game. This one required each of us to say something about ourselves that
was weird. As I recall, one to two people considered themselves fairly normal, while for some of the rest of
us, the only problem was choosing where to begin.
The rest of that Sunday took us to our base camp for the weekend, set in a horseshoe of 100-metre cliffs. It
was a spectacular setting in the setting sun, and it was just as spectacular the following morning. Hopefully
the Editor will include a photo along with this report, but don’t be fooled; I’m sure no photograph could
capture the majesty of waking up in the middle of 270 degrees of rock-face surrounding a sunless swamp.
Guess where we camped? THAT’S RIGHT! THE SWAMP! Getting around camp usually involved jumping
over several rivulets. Just as well the lake didn’t rise overnight.
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The Lake Stream team high above the alpine lake. L:R : Michael, Jenny, Dave, Sarah and Mike. Darren Evans
Monday was a foray out of base camp, and up the horseshoe by what appeared to be the easiest route,
namely a rockslide that had evened out the gradient somewhat. This looked like an easy scramble from
camp, but by a fifth of the way up, it wasn’t looking so sweet. This brings me to one of the reasons I tramp.
Things always look easy from a distance, and sitting all day in a library or laboratory all with the mountains
50 miles away, we forget that, yes, we really do all have physical limitations. We must get out there and try
in order to discover what we can and cannot do.
That said, René seemed to have no problem scrambling up the rockslide, and ate a fruitcake in the time it
took me and others to join him at the summit.
Over the other side, a lovely but chilly alpine tarn tempted some keen swimmers. The photo of five trampers
diving in was a popular choice at the photo competition, and is set to become a Club Classic.
The five keen lads, Glen, Mike, Rene, Dave & Arnold. Darren Evans
In and out in under 10 seconds; except for Anrold that is. Darren Evans
It was a beautiful spot to relax in the sun for an hour or two before heading back. In the evening, the
"Lucifer Troop" succeeded in creating a fire from damp wood on a cold ground. We sat around the fire
eating gourmet cheesecake (on a tramp? You’d better believe it!) and playing more Darren-games.
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Great view of the tarn - Darren Evans
On Tuesday it rained as we were coming out. It was a shame that the weather packed in for the last bit,
though it made the traditional soak at Maruia Hot Springs all the more welcome. In all, it was a thoroughly
enjoyable tramp that sets a model for how all tramps should be.
Michael Reid
Looking down into Lake Stream Valley. Darren Evans
(C) CUTC 1998
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Mt Bealy - The big scree run
By Ian Buunk
We’d been told it was just a wee jog
As it turned out it was a bit of a slog
We started at the bottom and headed up the path
Stopping now and then to take a photograph
Carried on up to near the bushline
Checked the watch it was definitely lunch time
Looked at the view, saw THE SCREE
Initial assessment: looked insane to me
Continued up with the wind blowing cold
We didn’t mind we were intrepid and bold
Scrambled around rocks and patches of snow
My first snowball of the year I did throw
Finally we got to the top
Two words sum it up PHOTO OP
Now the moment of truth, the epitome of fun
Our reason for coming, The Big Scree Run
Tightened our gaiters, headed on down
Pretty soon steps turned into bounds
We all wore helmets protecting our heads
Silver, yellow, blue but mostly reds
Towards the bottom the rocks got bigger
We slowed down, the way was harder to figure
Down by the river we stopped for a rest
Chocolates, mealmates, only the best
Down the river we went our helmets still on
Some took their time, others were quickly gone
Scrambling around rocks and a few small screes
Wading through water cold enough to freeze
At last we made it, we were at the bottom
An epic journey not soon forgotten
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(C) CUTC 1998
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A wet weekend on the wild west coast
The Ballroom (4th-5th April 1998)
Cast: Emily Tuffley, Natasha Buckley, Ryan Cooney, Jenny Hurst, Matt Pickford, Camille Davidson,
Gretchen Hart, Shirley Dobson, Jim Stewart, Stuart Macintosh, Sam Margerison (scribe), Kate Orwin, Mike
Rait, Chris Forne, Gina Rocco, Johnathon Kong, Lenka Bartholome, Joe Hambrook, Rose King, Anna
Buckley, Rachel Gibson, Gael Hodson, Ian Cooke
This year it was decided to give Mt Cook a rest and give the coast a try instead. Mainly due to Darren's
slides at the Wednesday meeting, 25 people were seduced into signing up. Like the Mt Cook trips, the usual
pre-trip stuff-around took place at the StudAss carpark between 7 and 8am, partly due to a certain
membership and publicity officer (who shall remain nameless) sleeping in! Eventually three minibuses and
two trailers full of happy trampers and their gear headed towards Punakaiki. The intention was to do the
Inland Pack Track.
The first rendezvous was at Springfield where we ran into a bunch of 4WDers. Here, the party nearly
reduced to two thirds its size as Dieselhead Ryan was quite keen to take his minibus on the 4WD trip. After
a failed attempt to locate Cindy in Arthur's Pass, the convoy crossed the Main Divide into steadily
worsening weather. It was noticeable that everybody in my minibus was much quieter as we descended the
Otira Gorge zig zag! In Stillwater it was decided that fuel would be needed soon, and Mike reckoned
Ikamatua was a good place to stop. At least, that's what everyone in our minibus thought he said. Anyway,
Mike's van headed off first, and up the road to Ikamatua. Chris headed straight past the turnoff (thinking
Mike had said Taylorville!) and we followed, trying to stop them by flashing our lights and beeping like a
foghorn gone mad. Eventually we both stopped and after consulting maps decided that Mike was wrong as
there was no road from Ikamatua to Punakaiki! It was pouring with rain by now andafter a quick search for
Mike's group back towards the turnoff, we headed for Punakaiki.
Once at Punakaiki, the punters dispersed to look at the Blowholes and grab some lunch while we waited for
Mike's navigationally challenged lot to show up.
The pancake rocks at Punakaiki on a sunny day.
After the party was back to full strength, the leaders held a council of war to decided what should be done
tramping-wise given the weather, the rivers and the lack of time. With the help of info from DOC, it was
decided to just head to the Ballroom, and camp as far up the Fox as river levels would allow. The rain had
eased to showers by this point, so we made tracks to the start of the track. Heading up the Fox River through
lush West Coast rainforest, the party was able to avoid getting too wet until we actually had to cross! The
water was waist-high, but still safely crossable, so the Cooney-Forne-Rait ferry service went into business.
On the other bank the track continued up past spectacular limestone cliffs and gorges to the Dilemma Creek
confluence, where we decided to camp. Tents were pitched (some on the track, as that was where many of
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the best sites were!) before the party got down to the serious business of cooking dinner. That done, we sat
round the fire and watched the stars, or the rain epending on what the weather god felt like at any particular
moment.
Next morning dawned bright and sunny! Happy, happy, joy, joy! (remember Ren and Stimpy?) Time for a
side trip. Another three quarters of an hour up the Fox saw us at the awesome rock overhang called the
Ballroom. This is really a 'must-see' for trampers in NZ. It certainly would have been great for Bushball
back in 1994! However, it was sad to see that we weren't far enough from 'civilisation' to have left the
graffiti zone.
On the way back down, Camille and Gina discussed the pros and cons of living in a small town. Camille
said that Ash Vegas was behind the times in some ways, like the parking meters only charged 5 cents an
hour! Bummer!
Back at the campsite, the party cooled off from the morning's exertions by having a refreshing leap off a
rock into the river. Or several refreshing leaps in the case of the madder party members such as myself. The
swim set Ryan's mind thinking of some warmer waters we could have a dip in, and the idea was put to the
flock. The verdict was unanimous, we were going home via Lewis Pass, and more importantly, Maruia
Springs!
Lunch eaten, the camp was dismantled and wet tents stuffed into packs. The weather was a lot more
conducive to admiring the views as we headed down the river, and cameras were retrieved from the dry
zones of packs. Emily said something about a stinging tree which sticks little silicon tubes into your skin
(sounds like something off the X-Files!) which then break up and hurt like hell for the next few months.
Luckily we didn't meet any of these trees! The river crossing entailed getting a lot less wet than Saturday,
thanks to the quick response time of coast rivers to changes in the weather.
Back at the vehicles, the party was reunited with its dry socks before proceeding up the highly scenic coastal
highway to Westport to give the vans a feed. Some of the group also opted to refuel here; others decided on
fish and chips at Reefton. At Maruia, we all hot-footed it to the hotpools, with the exception of Chris's van
who seemed to be taking a hell of a long time arriving. Just when we were all starting to fear the worst, they
turned up! It turned out that they'd gone straight ahead at Reefton, instead of turning left and had realised
their mistake when they reached....Ikamatua! The owners of the petrol station at Ikamatua must have paid
someone to plant homing devices on the minibuses! Chris blamed the navigators for falling asleep, or being
too interested in each other rather than in the map. Lets hope the driver didn't fall asleep!
After we'd steamed ourselves enough, we contacted Ben and Demelza so that they could reassure any
anxious parents about our late arrival, and headed homewards. The drive back to Christchurch was
uneventful, ie no-one got lost! Back at StudAss, the minivans became shuttles as we ferried everyone home.
Thanks are due to all the leaders: Ryan, Chris, Mike, Emily (and me!) and the punters for making it a good
trip despite the weather and navigational mishaps!
Sam Margerison
The Ballroom
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(C) CUTC 1998
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The Three Passes tramp
(A trip named by someone with the same sort of ingenious creativity as the man who named the North and
South Islands.)
4 days that became 6 days, 6 people that became 5 and then 7 people, 3 passes, 2 cars, and a German with a
sore knee.
Those implicated:
Dominick Stephens
Eric Vitre
Nico Dorenkamp
Sam Margerison
Solveig Michelsen
Stephen Meyer (scribe)
Before I started to tramp seriously, I had met one or two people who had done the 3 passes trip and from
what they’d said, I had formed the definite impression that this was some kind of mythical epic across the
heart of the island. I had no idea of where they actually went as I had no idea of the geography of the
interior ... I kind of thought maybe it involved Lewis Pass and Arthur’s and The Edge of the World, vast
distances, weeks of tramping and attaining harmony.
In reality, the Three Passes trip is one that anyone with a decent set of legs under them and a bit of
organisation can do. As it crosses the Main Divide you get the full spread of scenery and conditions and
there’s always something new just round the bend (or was it the next one?). It does require two vehicles,
hitching or some careful public transport arrangements. Also Whitehorn Pass does have permanent snow and
so either axes or crampons are necessary but the glacier is not that steep and poses no real problem if
properly equipped.
Day one – Driving and gravel
We had an early start on Good Friday and were soon cruising inland. A pleasant drive later we arrived at
Klondike Corner and dropped off all our gear and also Solveig and Nico in order that the sandflies wouldn’t
feel left out. We headed off up the road and dropped Eric and Dominick at DOC in Arthur’s Pass and then
Sam and I cruised over into the west coast. The drive was good and after filling up with petrol at Hokitika
we headed inland to Lake Kaniere. Just after the lake you turn off onto a nice shingle road where you can
play Possum Bourne through some gorgeous West Coast bush and then we were where we had to leave the
car. We bid the Volvo farewell and started the return journey to the others. It was about three in the
afternoon before we were all saddled up, took the mandatory group photo and set off up the Waimak.
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Lunch at Harman Pass. Steve Meyer
You always feel in high spirits at the start of a tramp and so I took the opportunity to see if I ran fast
enough through the first crossing of the Waimak we came to, maybe I wouldn’t get wet. The outcome was
falling over a meter from the opposite bank and soaking myself. The sun was out and there was a nice
breeze though so no harm done. Sloggity slog slog we went upriver and luckily just as we were starting to
get heartily sick of the shingle it got dark and made finding the hut much more interesting again. After
browsing along the side of the bush for a while we stumbled upon a sign pointing to Carrington Hut, our
destination, and another five minutes and we were there. I’ve been getting into a bit of a pavlova rut recently
for dessert while tramping and so I was impressed when Sam whipped out a DIY cheesecake. This item has
since been added to my list of mandatory items to take tramping. It’s right up there alongside a certain brand
of crackers.
Climbing up to Whitehorn Pass. Steve Meyer
Day two – Over the passes
Saturday dawned clear and calm as predicted and about nine we sloped off up the White River to the Clough
cableway, a sort of flying foxy thing for when the river’s in flood. We winched Solveig across, and
discovered that at the speed the cableway went we’d need most of the day to get the rest of the party across
so the rest of us got wet and crossed the White and headed up the Taipoiti. If you think that cairns are an art
form, then this bit of the track is for you. You can often see 4 or 5 of the things without shifting your feet.
We gained height quickly as we navigated the gorge and were soon out of the shade and back into the sun.
A zig and a zag and we had reached Harman Pass, the first of the three.
Whitehorn Pass. Steve Meyer
We had a lazy lunch, out of the wind just below the pass and then turned left and towards Whitehorn Pass at
1700m. After a traverse along shingle slopes we stepped gingerly onto the lower tongue of the glacier and
found that it was nice and soft in the afternoon sun. We slogged up the glacier to where the snow stopped
just short of the pass. After a bit of a rest and some gratuitous photos with our ice axes we crossed the pass
back into the east coast and in the afternoon light we dropped quickly down the far side into the Cronin
Stream valley towards its confluence with the Wilberforce. The steep scree gradually leveled off and we
continued along the side of the stream in the evening light.
It was getting dark again and after a while boulder hopping along the river bank we were lucky to find the
track high at the top of a slope as the stream entered a gorge. We made our way along and "group
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dynamics" came into play as we tried to decide on a campsite. We pressed on and presently the track
disappeared and we found ourselves on some nice soft ground. The kind of soft ground that squelches under
your feet and may or may not be stable solid ground. There were many pools dotting the mossy flats but we
could go no further and found a reasonable camp site, had some tea and took bets on which of the tents
would be the first to sink and be flooded overnight.
Solveig’s & the ice axes free ride. Steve Meyer
Day 3 – Chopper
As tends to happen, when we woke we found that Park Morpeth Hut was no more than 50m from us. We
also found that poor Eric’s slinky new tramping boots had tried to elope with a kea and were looking a little
worse for the experience. However the wet mossy ground had proved to be a good site, both soft and dry.
The hut had little flat ground around it anyway we discovered. Yet another fine day was ahead of us so we
journeyed up the Wilberforce River to the foot of Browning Pass. This when seen from a distance seems
almost vertical and it is pretty steep near the top. At the foot of the pass we found what seemed to be a built
up road a couple of meters wide and could not believe that it was a natural formation, but had to be as we
were truly in wooly country. It was only after the trip that I discovered the extent of human presence earlier
in the century. However about halfway up Dominick and I realised that the others were still at the foot of the
pass. After the usual attempts trying to communicate by waving, shouting and gesticulating we got the
message that they wanted the medical kit, which I had.
View down the Wilberforce. Steve Meyer
Dominick took it down and I stayed put. We’d thought someone wanted some blisters taped but it turned out
that Solveig had hurt her knee the day before on the steep scree above Cronin Stream and was only now
finding it really painful to bend. Had the route been flat she might have made it with the help of a crutch but
we were at the foot of a steep pass and as we still had two serious days ahead of us, the decision had been
made to go and call for a helicopter. Sam and Nico had set off back to the hut where we hadn’t stayed the
night before as it had a radio. They reported our position, relayed details and then headed back to meet us at
the foot of the pass.
It’s quite strange to be two days walk from anywhere, lying on a nice patch of tussock quietly sunning
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yourself and admiring the wilderness when a helicopter zips overhead. It popped over the pass out of sight
no doubt just to see the view (tourists) then a few seconds later reappeared and landed beside us. A nice man
in a red flightsuit hopped out, shook hands and helped Solveig into the chopper. The chopper then pirouetted
neatly, and sped off back down the valley. Quite the most dignified emergency helivac I’ve seen and thirty
minutes later she was landing in Hagley Park.
Can you believe that some of the others loaded Solveig up with their ice axes to get them choppered out? It
most certainly wasn’t my suggestion.
Looking down from the top of Browning Pass. Steve Meyer.
By this time it was after two in the afternoon and we’d lost about half a day so we made the decision to add
a day to our trip. We climbed Browning Pass and after groveling up the last few meters we were greeted at
the top by an open plateau with Lake Browning in the middle of it. It’s quite round, and quite unexpected
after coming up the pass. The view from the top back the way we’d come was far far down the Wilberforce
Valley in the glorious fading evening light, layers of mountains slowly fading towards the horizon.
There was a good campsite by the lake so we, and the resident blue duck, thought this spot was Jim
Hickey’s "place to be" for the night.
Day Four – The West Coast
Day four dawned bright and fine again and about nine we headed off down into the West Coast. We made
good time down towards Harman Hut, which had been our intended target for the night before, and the West
Coast bush started as we descended. We had lunch at the hut and after crossing a great swingbridge, set off
through the now lush bush around a bend and down the Arahura River.
Some bits of the track were excellent here, both wide and even. Its historical use as a horse packtrack was
quite apparent even where overgrown. Every so often we came upon a slip, often pretty old, and the track
would disappear for a while and we’d follow a watercourse, but progress was rapid. The Styx Saddle was
reached mid afternoon, which is the normal route out from the Three Passes trip along the Styx valley. The
Styx had been closed by DOC shortly before due to a huge slip, and so we’d left the car at an alternate place
at the end of the Arahura valley. There were notes in the hut books we’d read from trampers who’d crossed
the "impassible" slip and I suspect we’d have been fine, but the Volvo was waiting patiently at the end of
the Arahura and so we left the Styx valley turnoff and continued on.
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Crossing the Arahura. Steve Meyer.
I was feeling great at this stage, the last vestiges of the city gone. The packs were getting lighter, and the
bodies were adjusting to the exercise and we were feeling good. We reached Mudflats hut, an orderly
medium sized building, in good time (it wasn’t dark for a change). There is a swing bridge across the
Arahura to the hut at this point, which is necessary because the river has certainly become very large. Dinner
was good as we had Solveig’s portion to share around. Towards evening we met Chris and her partner
whose name I’m told is Matt (mental note: why is it that I can only ever remember the women’s names?).
They turned up having tried to go another route, but had been turned back by a scary swing bridge and we
generously gave them a bunk for the night and settled down.
Day 5 – Armageddon
Sometime during the early hours of the morning it started to rain and we awoke, had a hasty breakfast and
stepped out into the soul–drenching Armageddon of the Arahura valley. As we blitzed along the track we
started to notice that the creeks were getting bigger. Sometime after our soggy lunch in the Lower Arahura
hut we joined Chris and Matt and then encountered the first creek we had to link up for. It didn’t seem too
bad but the next one was slightly bigger. And the next. Trying to act nonchalant in crossing frothing streams
is easier for someone standing 1.9 meters as thigh deep water is not as bad as waist deep. The adrenaline
was flowing and I was having fun. However people were starting to get uneasy and then we crossed one
where Chris wasn’t touching the bottom but being completely supported by the big guys either side. The
next stream seemed bigger still and the progress came to an abrupt halt. Three of us headed upstream to see
if we could find a better place to cross but nothing seemed any easier and so we returned to the others who
had started to think about camping on the track as they now didn’t want to return the way we’d came. I was
a bit worried that the weather might not let up for several days and that we should move now and having
seven people was about as stable and safe as one could get crossing rivers. However crossing required the
whole party’s commitment and that didn’t happen so we started to set up the tents. This unfortunately was
not one of the smooth wide sections of track but one of the uneven bumpy narrow bits and we only had a
small bit at that with streams on either side.
At this stage Nico’s (who did not have a pack liner) sleeping bag would have put a Handee towel to shame
with the amount of water it had absorbed. We also decided to go easy on what food we had and the
consolation that we wouldn’t go thirsty seemed somewhat morbid. I offered around a chewy dog bone that
I’d found in my pack a day earlier. I’d bought it to give to our spaniel Milou for Easter and had forgotten to
give it to her and left it in the bag with my Easter eggs and hence lugged it halfway across the island. We
climbed into the tents to get warm and dry and surprisingly I managed to get the best night’s sleep that I’d
had all tramp.
Day six – Five come out of the bush
The front passed over during the night and we found the stream to be a very different one in the morning.
We crossed over barely wetting our feet and soon arrived at "the Cesspool" a big pool in the Arahura. The
final bit of the track was along a farm track, and we reached the car after a couple of hours. I found my
secret stash of clean clothes in the car and after a quick change we loaded seven packs and seven bodies into
the Volvo and blatted out to Hokitika. I recall saying somewhere during the trip how Hokitika was the Maori
word for "hole" but that is entirely unjust. We had a good breakfast at an outdoor cafe on the main street of
what is a clean, bustling small NZ town. Mind you, most food will do the job after a tramp. Tourism has
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done well for Hokitika. So we left Matt and Chris to catch their bus and drove back to get Sam’s car from
Klondike Corner then on home to Christchurch. There were a few relieved people back in town as we were
two days overdue. But the word had got around that we might be late, so the only remaining item of
business was to empty my pack in the middle of the living room floor and head for the shower.
Looking back I can’t be too sure, but sometime during the trip our European friends crossed that line that
you can never quite see from being foreign hikers to being real Kiwi trampers. A shared experience like this
with floods, high passes, choppers, big days and true wilderness means that you’ll never find them along a
track in jeans again. And for the record Solveig’s knee is just fine.
There is a good book called "Going for gold: the search for riches in the Wilberforce valley" by Howard
Keene in the main university library which has a great picture of Browning Pass from the air. It also has lots
of interesting stuff about the gold mining early this century at the head of the Wilberforce River.
Steve Meyer.
(C) CUTC 1998
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The hunter and the hunted at Hunts Hut
Finally 3 p.m. rolled around and I could leave Stats and this crazy place behind me. I only had to get home
and put on my pack and I was on my way for the holidays. What I did not know was that once again things
would not got quite go to plan. It took only about 30 minutes of walking until I got my first short lift, it was
by a semi local farmer, but it was enough to get me out of Christchurch and onto the only road to Arthur’s
pass. Three hours, a few kilometers of walking and 4 more lifts went by to finally get me to the starting
point of my journey.
The first night went by without incident, with the exception of it being a little damp and noisy with a couple
of thundering trains going by. The morning though was somewhat fine and I packed up and started the long
walk up to Carroll Hut. As the day wore on the weather started to get worse, but I was not expecting any
bad weather so after a short stop at the hut I carried on expecting the weather to get better. The weather did
change but only for the worse and soon the rain was horizontal and I was having trouble walking near the
edges where the wind was screaming up at a great rate of knots. The combined effect of the wind and rain
was like a jet wash turned onto high. The weather had now managed to get even my guaranteed to keep you
dry Gore-Tex jacket and salowpets plus me wet. With the distances between the markers too far I
accidentally went too low and lost the track for about 2o minutes before turning back to see if I could locate
them again. After following the markers along the ridge edge for anothr hour I came upon the last marker I
would see. That one was on the ground being blown away and thinking I was going in the right direction I
continued onwards. I soon was freezing and decided I would not make it much longer, and deciding the hut
was too far away I dropped down a snow shoot and tried to find shelter. It was warming work so I followed
a river down trying to find a way off that cold hell of a mountain.
Frost after the storm. Craig Russell
I soon discovered a large waterfall blocking my path and had to head up and out of the gorge. By now I was
exhausted and quickly found a very small, slightly sheltered, bivi site and pitched camp. But of course I had
forgotten to pack my sleeping bag into a plastic bag and it was damp through. That night was long and cool,
I was neither cold nor warm but it was damp which was quite unpleasant and I had to shiver most of the
night away. In the night it only stopped raining to go to freezing wet snow, so in the morning every thing
was frozen in a thick layer of ice.
Eventually the night passed and the view now looked more promising with clear skies and no wind. I packed
up and hopped over the ridge above me to see the gorge on this side look like easier going, and that the way
up look difficult. This moved me to decided to go down. Well I made it down but the going was tough and I
was as scared as I have ever been. One slip, one fall and I don’t think I would have been found ( not for a
long while any way). The way was difficult with patches of near impossibility, and I managed to do several
nice face plants into solid rock. It would not have been so bad except for the fact that when your pack (and
mine was nice and heavy to do the job even better) reaches a point of no return, all weight is lifted up and
then slam dunked on to the top of your head. The patches of near impossibility were where the banks closed
Trog 1998
in and steepened forming small waterfalls which took time and a lot of effort of which I was quickly
running out of to negotiate. After three to four hours of this I was almost at the point were it joined the main
river and I happened to look up and see a marker. Realizing the importance of this I crawled out of the river
and started to follow the track that I thought was leading to 7 mile hut where I could rest, eat last night’s tea,
and finally dry out.
The point where I made it onto the track had to be the most up and down part I could find, and it took me
ages to get onto more level ground. As I was resting for a moment I pulled out the map again to try and find
out were I was. Having no luck with the map I carried on hoping to make 7 mile hut in the next hour or so,
but on the way I bumped into two possum hunters going up the track. I explained my situation and they said,
"why did you not spend the night in Hunts hut". Confusion on my part occurred until I realized my mistake
and got them to show me were I was. I was 30 minutes from where I started the day before. After talking I
decided to go with them the 8-9 Km’s to Hunts hut where there would be a fire to dry off. The walk up was
slow and long and by the end of it my legs were sore, I could hardly walk and I was slurring my speech.
After drying off and having endless cups of coffee I hit the hay for a good nights sleep, and I think I fell to
sleep as quick as I ever will in the whole of my life.
Hunts Hut, Arthurs Pass National Park. Craig Russell
I spent the next day drying off the last of my things in the sun, resting up and getting the least damp fire
wood from close by into the hut. I could not crouch down on my legs and they were very sore even to the
touch but I hoped they would come right again soon. That night when we were talking we decided to try in
two days time to go over to Julia hut via the north bank of the Hunts creek. The possum hunter would try
and lay a line out as we went and collect on the way back the next day, in this way he did not lose any time
going away for the two days.
While I was there I followed the possum hunter around seeing him lay bait and traps, then skinning and
tacking out of the skins ( this being the worst part of the trip) I even had a go but had to stop because of the
sight and smell. The Fur off the possums was very nice and the hunter was starting his own business making
blankets and other items of clothing. He later told me his blankets sell for up to 2 thousand dollars. On this
trip I became a possum hunter learning quite a lot on their behaviour and habits, and when I left five days
later, the valley was 20 possums shorter but by the look of the valley it was just a drop in the pond.
When we did try to get to Julia hut it took 3 hours to get nowhere, the way was difficult and then the
weather turned nasty so we headed back to Hunts Hut and again I had to dry off. I was hoping to make it
over the pass via dry creek the next day, otherwise I would go home on Friday. Thursday came and it rained
all morning so all I could do was some rock hopping up the valley to get a view of where I would have gone
after the rain stopped in the afternoon. On the way down I had the best sun set with an almost full moon
lighting my way, so I tried to grab some photos of them. The colors were great and with the almost full
moon just above the crest of the mountain shining brightly, the view was amazing.
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Sunset on snow. Craig Russell
On Friday I reluctantly packed up and headed out taking only 3 hours and 30 minutes to get to the road,
there I was once again in the cold river cleaning up. I wanted to go home fresh and not to stink out the kind
persons car who picked me up, and within 30 minutes I had a lift and was going home. I was not going to
forget this trip in a hurry and over time all the blisters and cuts I had managed to gain would heal over. The
trip was not as I planned but there was always this summer, and with a few good friends I knew of a better
and easier way into Julia Hut. As I found out on the trip life has lots of lessons to learn, but for some of us
we keep ignoring them and have to learn them over and over again. Life could be much easier if we learnt
them first time round but what is the fun in that?
Craig Russell.
(C) CUTC 1998
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back to the earth
i have given my heart to the hills and believe that one day this long distance love affair will end.... at this
point in my life, there is a peace i am searching for that can only be found in the wilderness. sometimes we
need a new perspective on things....that was one of my main reasons for coming to new zealand. and you can
always get a new perspective on the mountain top - even if its cloudy, for journeys are not about seeking
new landscapes but in having new eyes. truth, like silence, comes to meet us when the crowd is gone.....
perhaps i can offer a different perspective to the CUTC. the hills i roam in virginia were once of a scale and
majesty to rival the himalayas. now gentle and rolling, they are tens of thousand of years old - one of the
oldest landscape features on earth. the southern alps are babes in comparison. every time i see their majesty i
am in awe and tingle with excitement - even if its from the library’s level 11 and i know i can’t join my
heart out there among their breathtaking beauty. through the tramping club i am introduced to a different
terrain but a similar remoteness.
as we start our trek to eventually stand on the summit of mt. oakden, i hardly feel as though i am in the
wilderness.... hopping a farmer’s fence and keeping an eye out for meadow muffins there is no trail - straight
up from here kids! stopping to take a breather *whew* and a look around i can’t help but be reminded of
man’s dominion over nature - dams, canals, paddocks, homes and roads. yet relative to how much can be
seen from here on a clear day with no trees to obstruct the view, human’s seem so insignificant, so
powerless. the mountains rule here and tower over those dots that once resembled homes and cars.
this is a day trip, so although we cannot expect to be miles from civilization (indeed we are not), there is
plenty of danger if one is not careful. one false move and you could be flying head first down the steep as!
rocky terrain. you might stop tumbling on your own but chances are a spaniard stops you first *ouch*! and
who could forget the mysterious flying stree - a bit "dodgy", eh? JJ of course i didn’t need to take a spill to
feel the spaniard’s’ strength! initially i was mildly insulted when i learned that these vicious plants were
named for my heritage, yet now, after seeing them growing out of rock, bouncing scree off their superior
foliage, i smile understandingly and feel a sense of pride -- yeah, baby, spaniards are tough!
some of the group cruises on up and gets ample time to chill (literally as the wind whips across the tops)
while waiting for us - me mostly - to join them. i finally catch up with the group and manage to set up my
camera for a group shot and wonder what kind of spaniard i am.... i thank everyone who was ever on a trip
with me and waited for me - group leaders especially. i can only hope no one regrets that i was on a trip
with them. although its hard to put into words, sometimes i need to get out there and find that peace, and
unfortunately that doesn’t mix with socializing or matching someone’s pace. for me it’s not all about getting
to the top as soon as possible, but a time for reflection and being dazzled by nature’s work.....
for far over all that folks hold worth,
there lives and leaps in me
a love for the lowly things on earth
and a passion to be free.
to pitch my tent with no prosy plan,
to range and change at will.
to mock at the mastership of man,
to seek adventure’s thrill.
~robert service
Elvira Muniz
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(C) CUTC 1998
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May 1998
People:
Rene Artz
Glen Borrel
Darren Evans
Our original intention had been to climb Avalanche Peak, but I was keen to go somewhere new so
convinced Glen and Rene to change our objective to Mount Philistine.
We arrived in Arthurs Pass to find clear blue skies in the East but a big bank of cloud drifting over the main
divide from the west. After stopping at DOC to fill out an intention card, we drove up to the Otira Valley
carpark hoping that the weather might improve in the interim.
Cloud shrouded the tops of the peaks, and we could not discern our goal. Knowing no more than that it was
up there somewhere. Feeling optimistic, we headed off anyway, hoping that the warm sun (which we had
experienced on the drive from Christchurch) would burn off the cloud later in the day.
A short walk brought us to the bottom of the scree that would take us up to the Warnocks bluffs, through
which we had to pass to reach the ridge and basins that lead to the summit. Three steps up, two steps
backwards, was the order of the day as we grunted our way to the top.
The bluff tops were completely lost from view in the cloud but after a bite to eat, Glen found the route
leading up through them. The climb was over quickly, as the wet snow grass and loose rock did not
encourage one to linger for long.
Having conquered the bluffs, we climbed gradually up the ridge, passing small tarns and rocky outcrops.
Our vision was restricted by the murk although we did get a great view of the inside of a cloud.
Gradually the tussock gave way to the broken rock and scree of the upper basins directly below the summit.
The sun came out to tease us for a while but soon disappeared behind a veil of cloud. Despondent we sat
down to an early lunch amongst the rock, scree and patches of snow.
Trog 1998
Lemmings Glenn and Rene on the Rolleston Glacier. Darren Evans
A bit of a grunt took us up to the ridge overlooking the Rolleston Glacier. From here to the summit, the
ridge was straight forward, but loose. With one having to take care not to dislodge rocks on those below. It
was reassuring to have a helmet on, though one does wonder whether it would have been a match for some
of the rocks should your head and they, become involved in a less than friendly encounter.
The summit was reached and bagged. Normally one would describe the breath taking view one received,
well not this time folks, for we couldn’t see a bloody thing except rocks, cloud and even more cloud.
Determined not to have the most boring summit poses ever taken, Glen decided to liven it up by doing a
handstand on the summit. Alas Glen’s gymnastic talent was not what he thought it was and he ended up
needing Rene’s help to avoid becoming vertically challenged.
Glenn and Rene having a break after ascending through the bluffs. Darren Evans.
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Slightly depressed about not getting a view we trundled carefully back down the ridge to the col. above the
Rolleston Glacier. Crampons and ice axes that had previously been getting a free ride up the hill now proved
their worth as we explored the glacier.
Then all of a sudden the big weather guy in the sky answered our request and removed the cloudy veil that
had surrounded us all day. Mt Rolleston rose before us in all its glory, with the sun bathing a golden glow on
the Otira face. Quite simply this moment made the day. Our cameras whirred as we made up for missed
photographic opportunities earlier in the day.
As quickly as the big weather guy had given us our vista to savor, he took it away. Taking this as a sign, we
headed back down the ridge to the top of the bluffs.
Descending back down through the bluffs was something that Rene and I had been sweating about all day.
Glen who seems to have a bit more mountain goat in him than us was not as fazed.
It was on descending through the bluffs that I realised that cloud has one benefit for someone such as me
who is not naturally at ease with heights; you can’t see quite how high you are! Well the big weather guy in
the sky obviously had heard this comment and proceeded to whisk the cloud away from around the bluffs.
The result was that one could see exactly what the results of slipping would be; and where ones rather
pulverized, body would end up.
To all you disaster and gore merchants I am sorry to say that we made it down safely, and I cannot regale
you with a story of a terrifying tumble down the bluffs. However, this is very, very good from a personal
point of view.
The final descent down the scree and track were over in what seemed like no time at all, and we were soon
back at the car. After a cuppa with Cindy, back to Christchurch we headed all sporting that post summitbagging grin.
Darren
(C) CUTC 1998
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Matukituki Valley - Dart Valley
February 1998
Jeanie Hobbs, Jeanie's Dad, Rene Borsboom
Anyone visiting Wanaka ought to pop away for a day trip up the Rob Roy Valley. You get there from the
Raspberry Creek Carpark. It is brilliant scenery for such a short little jaunt although you have to put up with
tour groups of (a) Japanese people with pre-packed lunch in little red boxes and (b) Americans with too
many leki poles. We did this trip on our way to the Aspiring Hut on the first day of our Matukituki
adventure.
View of Matukituki Valley from Cascade Saddle. Jeanie Hobbs
On our second day, the weather was gorgeous, so we took the opportunity to go over Cascade Saddle.
Everyone was keen to go all the way to the Dart Hut and although this took us 10 and a half hours it was
certainly worth it - although my feet didn't think so! It is a long steep climb with packs on up to the Pylon
and then it is very enjoyable over to Cascade saddle. You can see all the way up and down the Matukituki
Valley, the Dart Glacier and all the mountains around, particularly the very prominent and beautiful Mount
Aspiring.
Cascade Stream runs along a sort of large groove in the ridge and drops out spectacularly near Cascade
Saddle. The reason why you have to climb over the Pylon is that the Matukituki side of Cascade Saddle is a
sheer rock face. We were told that recently someone's pack had flown off the side in a strong wind!
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View of Mt Aspiring from Cascade Creek. Jeanie Hobbs
The next day we had to come all the way back because the weather was going to pack up. Nobody was very
impressed with this scenario. We had been looking forward to a nice rest day around the Dart Hut - even if
we were camped on some really prickly alpine plants (camping at the Dart Hut is limited). We made it back
before the weather crapped out but my feet were just about unwalkable (has anybody got any feet care tips
or boot tricks they can share with me?)
We stayed with some non-stop talking Belgian people over the whole of the next day as it really poured. A
group of English tourists charged up at lunch time, ate their fresh sandwiches and bacon and egg pies, left
their rubbish and trundled off again - remember it was still pouring! The cows got in on the action at night,
belting the sides of the hut and biffing off the bar that was covering the entrance to the hut that was meant to
stop them getting in. How rude!!
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Friendly cow. Jeanie Hobbs
We took off up the valley again and then came back again on the last day and enjoyed gourmet pizza in
Wanaka that night - oh and a shower.
Jeanie Hobbs (ed)
(C) CUTC 1998
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Bogland
Date: 10-13 April 1998
Map: B41, C41 & Pt. C40 (George), C42 (Mount Irene)
Cast:
Chris Gadd (scribe)
Bradley Wilson
Duncan Young
Synco Reynders
Thursday evening - Synco finishes work, Duncan finishes lab, Chris finishes lazing on the couch. Load car,
away just past six, dinner in Timaru, in Dunedin before 11. Nice city to drive into from the north:hills, city
lights, harbour. Christchurch has nothing on this.
Meet Brad's flatmate, grab a sandwich, load our stuff into Brad's car, leave Dunnos sometime around 11:30.
Long drive to Te Anau for those who stay awake, pull up outside DoC in the wee hours. Fill in our
intentions, and off to pitch a tent at Te Anau Downs. Light rain, asleep around 3.
Friday morning - up at 6:30. Slack buggers slow at getting ready, Vern's waiting for us when we drive over
to the boat ramp. Load up our gears and jump in the boat (wet feet already!). Cruise up the middle fiord of
Lake Te Anau, take the NW arm and unload our gear at the end. Carry lifejackets, gear and outboard motor
over saddle to Lake Hankinson. Jump in dinghy and trundle across to the other side in light rain. Glad we
decided to pay for Vern and his motor - would've taken ages rowing in wind. Unload gear at Hankinson hut,
but don't hang around long because sandflies are attacking already. Two minutes to the first 3-wire bridge haven't crossed one of these for years!
I'm stoked, Duncan's terrified. He inches across without looking down and is delighted to learn there are
another two bridges to come. The one hour plod to the head of Lake Thomson is made all the more exciting
for my efforts negotiating a large boulder. Creeping around the edge I overbalance backwards and fall down
into a hole.
A soft landing on my pack leaves me uninjured, but hanging upside down. I soon learn not to undo your
waist belt when suspended by it. Another 1.5 hrs around the lake to Thomson hut. Nice spot for lunch, so we
sit inside away from the rain and sandflies. We're all a little tired from not having enough sleep, and decide
that a quick snooze is in order.
Two and a half hours later we discover it's 4 o'clock, and not a good time to start the next 4 hour section.
Dinner is made and we're asleep before dark.
Saturday - early rise because we have a ten hour day ahead of us. However some people take 1.5 hrs to get
ready, so not such an early start to the walking. We thought it was reasonably muddy the previous day, but
were mistaken. Our record for the day - upper thigh deep mud. Pretty darn smelly. Great fun though. It
seems like really slow going, and it is, but the times in the guidebook obviously allow for lots of bog and
rain, as we reach Henry's pass a little earlier than expected.
On the way we've been looking out for campsites, but it seems there aren't many dry, flat places in
Fiordland. The guidebook suggests a spot on the pass and another 10 minutes before. We figure it would be
nice to camp up here because it's such a cool view. We can see down the valley from where we came, across
Deadwood lagoon, and out towards Lake Thomson. Over the other side of the pass we can see some real
gnarly looking cliffs and a big slip which took out the track a couple of years ago. Sure is a neat place.
Trog 1998
Downhill. Time to get on down to sea level. We've only climbed about 500m but we have to drop 830 from
the pass. 300 of this is pretty steep and makes for some good tree swinging. It flattens out lower down and
Bradley finds another of his brilliant "shortcuts", avoiding the track and following the stream instead.
Duncan returns to the track, wet up to his waist, and vowing never to follow Bradley on another shortcut
again. Sometime later we reach Lake Katherine.
Bradley and I look at the track sidling its way around, look at the lake, look at each other, and plunge on in.
Not too deep in most places, but the bottom is a little boggy if you head out towards the middle. We make
good progress for a while, but are forced back to the track by submerged trees in our way. We've been pretty
impressed with the track markers on this trip. They're everywhere. Even where the track is overgrown it's
darn easy to find your way cos there's a marker about 5m away. We figure the DoC workers were enjoying
themselves because one of the markers around the lake is partially submerged (didn't think we'd had that
much rain!). It's getting dark so we stomp on down to the hut, another hour or so away.
George Sound. What a place. I haven't seen any South Island West Coast sea for a few years now, so it feels
good to be here. A quick swim and it's up with the tent, which an exhausted Duncan crawls inside to die.
There's a rowdy party on the boat anchored just offshore, so when they shine their spotlight on our camp
Synco and I moon them. Bradley and Synco have great troubles lighting a fire, despite large quantities of
white spirits. I head off to the hut to get a burning log from the fire the hunters have lit, but on my way spot
something much more useful. The hunters are also divers, and have lots of petrol for their boat. Pretty soon
we have a good fire going, and some time later when the rocky beach has stopped burning we sit beside it
and eat our dinner. The hunters are not too impressed with the noisy gits on the boat, so they decide to have
some fun. Tuna bombs sure are loud! We go to sleep under a beautiful starlit sky to the sound of the waves
lapping on the rocks.
We wake to the sound of sandflies attacking our tent. Dress quicklyand cover all skin is the name of the
game. Bradley, Synco and I head out in the DoC dinghy for a paddle on the sound, while Duncan catches up
on sleep and protects our gear from the invading wekas. We row across to Alice falls, and have a great time
seeing how close we can row to the waterfall without getting swamped. 11 o'clock and it's time to head back
to the pass. It would have been nice to have another day or two at the sound so that we could do some
fishing or go for a walk up to the tops, but we're darn happy to have been here anyway. The uphill plod back
to the pass is done in full-on sunshine and takes us about 7hrs as expected. Camp just the other side of the
pass and cook up a good feed.
Monday the 13th. Duncan is worried that we may have bad luck and miss our boat ride back, so we try to
figure out how long it would take to walk out to the nearest road. About 20-30 days we figure. Duncan is
somewhat more worried than before. Downhill day, and back through all the lovely bog. Lunch at Thomson
hut reminds us of where we are - the sandflies are biting. I go to the toilet and leave the door open. What a
mistake! I wipe my bum faster than I ever have and run away screaming, a swarm of sandflies following
me.
After lunch it's back to Hankinson hut to wait for Vern. The sandflies are still attacking and Vern is late, but
I'm happy because I'm looking at the nice view out the window. Well, that and burning sandflies with a
candle. Vern arrives eventually and takes us on a wet (from the rain) ride back to the car.
Fish and chips at Te Anau (only one takeaway joint!), pick up Malcolm at Balclutha, speeding ticket for
Brad, back in Dunnos at 11:30pm. Load stuff back into my car, get petrol, go up Baldwin Street (steepest
street in the world), feel stoked that it makes it.
Back in Christchurch and bed by 4:30am. Great weekend. Oh so happy.
Chris Gadd
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(C) CUTC 1998
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Oggily Woggily
Date: 26 April 1998
Map : L34
The oggy ones:
Chris Gadd (scribe)
Steven Souness
Ralph Hockley
Giles Griffith
The trip began by strolling up Og,
Where we saw two people and a friendly dog.
Then down the other side - a good quick jog.
Following that, we blatted up Gog.
Atop that hill we drank some grog,
And I went off to use the bog.
Two down, one to go - another short slog,
Soon enough we were on Magog.
Fantastical view, our eyes were agog,
Trip almost done, I wrote this for Trog.
Chris Gadd
(C) CUTC 1998
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Twalk from the easy side of life
Cast:
Team Mafia Ian Buunk,
Mike Plummer,
Natasha Buckley,
Stewart Hardie (scribe),
part time actor Anna Buckley.
Having heard legendry events and stories about Twalk from previous years, I thought this had to be an event
not to be missed. Not knowing many club members so far, I randomly joined a group that proclaimed they
were going to take things at a reasonable pace. Sounded good. After due consideration for what seemed like
two hours we picked on a theme of the Mafia. Then we had to spend more time sussing out what made the
Mafia actually look like the Mafia. Having a vague idea of trying to look like something out of Dick Tracy,
I assembled my outfit.
Turning up on the day of Twalk, we found out just how many had decided to enter this year. The final count
turned out to be just over 170. Natasha outdid herself with a full pinstripe suit and matching accessories.
Everyone piled on four buses and headed inland. Arriving somewhere about an hour later, we found an
absolutely stunning day waiting for us. Next to the road everyone got a map and a list of clues of where the
markers were. With great fanfare, people started to rush across the field. After about 100 metres, Ian decided
that running the final several kilometres cross country to the Hash House was just not going to happen.
Unreluctantly, the rest of us agreed.
Getting to the far side of the field, we could already see most groups on the other side of the valley and
disappearing from sight. Unfazed by this enthusiasm, we looked for the first marker. Ian shredded his hand
on barbed wire finding it. The next several hours were spent puddling along trying to find little white tags
that were hidden up to 100 m away from where they were supposed to be on the map. It was quickly found
out that announcing to the rest of your team in a load voice that you had found a marker was not a good
policy. All the other teams promptly turned up to where you were and hurried off in the general direction of
the next tag. Removing costumes proved to be a good idea given the warm weather. An OUTC member
carried an inflatable dingy on his back for the first leg.
The hash house was an old shearers quarters near Lake Coleridge. Heaps of good food awaited anyone who
wanted it. It has to be said that the cooks did an exceptional job dishing out lasagne, casseroles, apple
crumble, muffins etc almost for 24 hours. After some munchies, we set out on the second section. We
aborted trying to find the first couple of tags due to steep terrain and that we did not act like mountain goats.
Crossing a swamp did not prove to be the quickest route to the next tag even if it was the shortest. It also
drew comparisons to the velociraptor attack scene in The Lost World.
Sizing up the next hill, Natasha, Matt and I went up while Ian skirted the base. As we headed up this pile of
rocks, we met two others that had already been right around the second leg in the other direction. We found
Ian on the other side, and thought torches would be put to good use at this time. The batteries I thought were
good weren’t, and the rechargeables I thought were charged also weren’t. Ironically the cloud hid the full
moon so I was forced to wander the countryside without a torch. This presented a problem in finding
markers. Matt insisted on climbing a ridge looking for a marker even though there were multiple torch lights
on the next ridge along. At this point we came to a unanimous decision that while night tramping is fun,
night orienteering ranked lower. So aborting most of the second half of leg two, we headed for the hash
house to eat. Matt had happy birthday sung to him at midnight and a cosy if uncomfortable night was spent
on the couch.
Trog 1998
French toast made an exceptional breakfast in the morning. Anna joined us for section three. By this time,
some of the groups were finishing section four. Sam’s group left at the same time but we left them behind
when we found the first marker before them. Ripping around as much as we could do in the time left, we
completed most of section three before time was up and headed back to the hash house. After the count of
marks, the Mafia ranked about ¾ of the way down the list. Prizes were awarded and organisers applauded.
The bus drivers arrived late so there was time left over for a spot of sunbathing.
Stewart Hardie
The 101 Dalmatians team at TWALK 1998. Sam Margerison
(C) CUTC 1998
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9 & 10 May 1998
Map: K35 Lake Coleridge
Cast: ``Die Vorletzten'': Alastair Sinton, Sigrid Speidel, Rebecca Officer, Volker Kuhlmann (scribe).
This year's TWALK (twenty four hour walk) turned out to be about 3 times as big as usual---around 170
people. Despite the size it was well organised and ran smoothly. We were dropped off and given the usual
A4 colour map, with section 1 already marked! Shock---can't do that. Ittakes the fun out of transferring
coordinates onto the map (and made the aid I had prepared rather useless), but there it was.
We learned the old truth yet again: if you can't find the checkpoint, check the map, you might be in the
wrong place. So what, we lost a bit of time but found all the points on section 1.
For section 2 we were down to 3, Rebecca's feet didn't cope with that much walking. Some check points
were better hidden than others, and we had to give up on one of them. By then it was getting dark, which
adds to the fun. The full moon did not want to play the game and often hid behind thick clouds. The wind
was cold, but of course one is always on the move so it does not matter so much. If the moon did come
through, tramping in its light is always an experience. Without moon light, it is an experience to see how
fast one can end up in the wrong place despite torch light! Some check points were a long way out and we
didn't find any of them, which was a little disappointing.
Back at the hash house Rebecca had kindly pitched the tent, and we enjoyed a short but very good 3 h sleep
before daylight. Rebecca's feet had recovered a bit and we all set out for section 3 in the sunshine. The heaps
of matagouri we had to get through were rather a pain, but of course it is also possible that our route-finding
was less than optimal.
It was the fifth TWALK for me, and we found a record 30 points! Just our team name was a little out, we
were about ninth last, never mind.
The 2 guys who started the game 34 years ago only came second, after a team of top New Zealand athletes,
which is a serious dent in the record!
It was great fun. As always, it was very quiet on the way home.
Volker.
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``Die Vorletzten''. Volker Kuhlmann.
(C) CUTC 1998
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Nelson Lakes - Lewis Pass
April 11-12.
Cast:
Adrian Monks,
Megan Waugh,
Kath Meeks,
Phil Novis (scribe).
"The other day someone asked me if I’d done any training for this trip," Adrian said. "I just laughed at him."
We were planning a "raw talent" tramp, intending to walk from St Arnaud to Arthur’s Pass without stopping
to sleep. What would determine how long we could walk for?
I imagined Adrian in a fairy tutu, and quickly decided I would prefer a hallucination.
Adrian led the way onto the Speargrass track, Nelson Lakes, at 7:30 a.m. on April 11. We left behind us
Megan and Kath (our "support crew", who would meet us again on Lewis Pass) and a pretentious intentions
card - "to Arthur’s Pass in two days". The feeling of freedom induced by light packs was offset by the
knowledge that we couldn’t comfortably spend a night anywhere. The track sidled through some glorious
beech forest. Our conversation matched the quality of the scenery. Just as we were discussing over-the-top
DOC construction and "inheriting someone else’s brain for a day", we arrived at Speargrass Hut, sited in its
picturesque speargrass clearing.
The track onward sported the sign: "Use at own risk, but may be muddy and rough". In fact it was largely
boardwalked (thank God!!). Adrian’s plastic boots (yes, that’s right) were noisy on the boards - "Stomp,
stomp, stomp - just like a little fairy." I was then asked whether I was hallucinating yet. I imagined Adrian
in a fairy tutu, and quickly decided I would prefer a hallucination.
Eventually the track took us to the edge of a still, blue Lake Rotoroa. The water taxi was moored outside
Sabine Hut. Adrian was scornful, and suggested "doing a wee-wee on the seat". After the usual biscuit break
we walked on, past a kayaker enjoying the morning sun, and headed up the Sabine valley. We soon crossed
Sabine Gorge bridge: 1 person at a time. Adrian recalled a previous trip when ten people jumped off the
bridge at once. At about this time I decided that St Arnaud should be pronounced (renamed?) St Arnold, so
there wouldn’t be three different versions. In Adrian’s words: "St Arnid, mate - when in mateville, talk like
the mates do". I further demonstrated my appreciation of geography by misidentifying Mt Travers and
probably Mt Hopeless. Characteristically, I only realised this after opening my big mouth.
At Sabine Forks Hut we had our first noodle brew. There was a strange man inside (you may find some
irony in that statement). He was tramping "with" his wife and son, who he had seen no sign of. Unusual
party management. We left him to his wait, and walked on up the West Sabine, spurred on by his shouts
telling us to walk faster. "He might be missing the point," Adrian commented.
The rest of the afternoon was a compromise: getting to Blue Lake in time to see it, but not walking so fast
that we would run out of steam too early. We arrived at 7 p.m., just in time to soak up the view.
Head chef Monks cooked us a huge pasta brew in the warm hut. Other people in the hut had just finished
eating, and were playing cards or chatting. I most definitely had the feeling I associate with getting into my
sleeping bag, not with walking further in the cold and dark. As we left the hut I gave Adrian some advice.
"Take note - if you want me to make it, don’t let me get into that situation again!"
We walked slowly up the hill towards Lake Constance, having run out of water to drink. We didn’t trust
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Blue Lake. The moon was shrouded by a mask of high cloud, so we needed our headlamps on most the time
to avoid broken ankles. A stream appeared just in time for me as we traversed over the bluffs above Lake
Constance. I drank gallons, going from dry to 2nd degree bloated in minutes. Stumbling blindly onwards, I
was lucky not to sit down into a nest of spaniards, and reminded myself to be careful.
Soon Lake Constance was past us. More fighting with spaniards - this time they were hiding in a crop of
giant tussocks - brought us to a sign saying "Waiau Pass". Unfortunately, it pointed up a steep hill. We
followed a spur up, for long enough to lose the route. "This rock is somewhat low in quality," I remarked, as
Adrian trundled some of it down the mountainside. Traversing around to the right, we were soon back on
track. Adrian said he was glad I was a "hard man"; I took his photo on top of Waiau Pass at 11:30 p.m. and
wondered why I was here instead of in my bed.
I sat on top of the pass looking at the shadowy, half-lit world of mountains. Suddenly, as I tried to eat a
Mealmate and almost brought it up again, I realised I had absolutely no appetite. My body, not adjusted to
pigging out late at night, was refusing to eat - a bad sign. (And if that hadn’t been a Mealmate, I’d have got
no tucker at all!)
Adrian found the route down into Canterbury. It was in the shade of the moon, and I was wanting to be at
the bottom long before I was there. Luckily, we stumbled onto a track through a section of thick scrub - and
it was over, "with barely a shot being fired". Then we found some tents in the first patch of bush, and no
doubt woke up lots of people.
A line of cairns led onwards down a "track". "Not a classic," said Adrian with typical understatement. From
there we followed bits of track to Caroline Bivvy. Adrian fired up the stove and we had a noodle brew out in
the frosty riverbed. I spilled quite a bit of mine, but I wouldn’t have been able to eat it anyway.
We were approaching a patch of bush. "Don’t worry," I assured my companion, "It’ll be quite thin; no
undergrowth either, ‘cause of the cattle." I found myself flailing helplessly in a thicket, at night, becoming
increasingly frustrated. At last we were back on the flats. I felt like some arboreal hominid, unused to
walking upright, emerging onto the African plains for the first time. Adrian was waiting. I announced my
arrival with the statement "I’m so &*$%ing wasted, I can’t believe it."
The lower valley opened up before us. In the dim light we could see the corner where we joined the St
James walkway, which would take us to Lewis Pass via Cannibal Gorge. "God, it’s still miles away!" We
began to realise that we would be late.
During a rest stop I managed to force down an orange, and finally felt like there was something inside me.
"An orange won’t take you far though," my friend commented sadly.
The starry night gave way to a misty dawn, and we were almost asleep on our feet. Alas we had no caffeine
pills, or even any chocolate. (All part of "The Rules", you see.) I felt numb, and wondered if someone else
had borrowed my brain. If so, the joke was on me. It can’t have been Adrian though, since he looked just as
bad. Finally we played a word game to wake us up. Then we thought about what we should say to an irate
farmer, having forgotten to ask permission to be there. In our deranged state we decided the most
appropriate greeting would be "&*$% off, #@^&head!" But there was no farmer, luckily - he probably
would have shot us. Ada Homestead was invisible in the rolling mist as we sneaked past it en route to
Christopher Hut on the St James.
We had a short holiday at Christopher Hut, where Adrian cooked us another noodle brew. I attended to my
feet. It then occurred to us how long our support team had already been waiting for us: it was already
midmorning. We left hastily. As we walked, it slowly occurred to us that we were feeling good. Some time
ago we had slipped into the almost unspoken decision that we would be stopping at the Lewis, but we
realised now that we were capable of much more than that.
Then our feet began to complain. So much for Arthur’s, I thought as three blisters burst simultaneously just
before Ada Pass. Adrian seemed to be in slightly better shape, and just after the hut I suggested he go on to
tell Megan and Kath what was happening. I sat on the ground watching his lanky frame disappear into the
trees. Feeling emotional and pathetic after lots of hours without sleep, I almost cried. It would have been
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nice to finish together. Instead, I addressed the sandflies into a rage: "It’s my blood you little bastards and
you can’t have it!" Multiple insecticide followed. Then I pulled myself together and did stuff to my feet,
slicing the blisters open and sticking them up with tape. It seemed to help a bit. I hobbled down to Cannibal
Gorge Hut, where my feet seemed to improve, so I didn’t bother stopping, and hoped Adrian wasn’t in there
waiting for me! Soon I could walk almost at normal speed. Uphill that is - a flat or downhill slope had me
gritting my teeth. Adrian’s bootprints told me he was having similar troubles.
Soon I began to notice voices. They were in the bush all around me, but just quiet enough so that I couldn’t
make out what they were saying. I kept expecting to meet someone around the next corner, but there was
never anyone there. Then I quite distinctly saw a dead tree wave to me. None of this was at all worrying - it
was quite pleasant, waiting for the next little hallucination. Although my feet had crashed first (limiting
factor #1), my brain evidently wasn’t far behind.
Going down to the Maruia Bridge I kept thinking Megan was hiding behind a tree, waiting to jump out and
surprise me. Wrong again. Then on the final climb up to Lewis Pass I saw the face of someone I know from
Dunedin, plain as day, in front of a tree.
At the Lewis carpark I checked in with Adrian, thirty-five hours after leaving Mt Robert carpark. He told me
about a mysterious invisible person whose footsteps followed him down Cannibal Gorge. I now think of
Scott Gilkison walking all day and all night in 1933 without the equipment that we enjoy today, and wonder
if he had any imaginary companions. Some people were really tough in those days. Then Megan and Kath
arrived! To celebrate, we divided and ate the orange that Adrian had carried the whole way.
I thought back over all the kilometres that orange had traversed and shook my head. Adrian summed it up
with a fitting salute: "here’s to mad trips!"
Phil Novis
(C) CUTC 1998
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Basic Snowcraft
And so it had begun, the one day snowcraft on the 23rd of August. There were those of us that met at the
prearranged time of 7am (shudder) while others felt that 7.30 was a suitable time to get out of bed let alone
be at the UCSA. After the requisite fitting of crampons we were on our way with our driver (Mr. Gadd) in
radio contact with the others:
"BREAKER, BREAKER THIS IS XENA WE ARE PRESENTLY WESTBOUND NEAR SHEFFIELD,
DO YOU COPY? OVER."
"AAH, COPY THAT XENA WE ARE AT SPRINGFIELD AWAITING RENDEVOUS, WILL TRAVEL
IN FORMATION FOR REMAINDER OF MISSION. OVER."
"ROGER THAT, ETA 5 MINUTES. OVER."
"10-4 BIG DADDY."
As you can imagine it was an interesting journey. With a wind check at Porters pass we continued on to the
Broken River turnoff at Craigieburn. After a compulsory donut break on a handy piece of grass we headed
up the access road where the chains soon became necessary.
Eventually even chains weren’t giving enough traction and it was decided more weight over the front wheels
was desirable and so this was added in the form of human bodies (Dead?? Alive?? Who really knows??).
Once we were there our intrepid leader started showing us the ropes:
How
How
How
How
How
How
How
How
How
How
to Hold An Iceaxe And The Names Of Its Parts
to Self Arrest
to Carve Steps in A Ski Field
to Glissade
to Bum Slide
to Get Asked Not To Carve Steps In A Skifield By A Skifield Guy
to Get Cold
to Use Crampons
to Walk Up Hill
to Walk Down Hill
Meanwhile other groups/people got taught:
How to Lose Someone Elses Snowboard Down A Hill
How to Lose Pack Down A Hill
Fortunately both of these items were retrieved without difficulty (at least none on my part)
All up I feel I learnt a lot and had fun
Ian Buunk
Snow
Good Place To Go
Snow
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Good Stuff To Throw
Snow
Up High Not Down Low
Snow
Warm? -- Hell No!!
(C) CUTC 1998
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The Famous Five go on a big adventure (aka
Snowcraft weekend)
Team cast: Brigid Allan (fearless leader, can I have another lolly), Elvira Muniz (we WILL rock your
universe), Miranda Brown (no, I wasn’t named after the drink), Jenny Hurst (I’m an expert
snowboarder), Stewart Hardie (to stop falling in crevasses, send your pack on ahead attached to a
rope rather than dragging it behind) (scribe). Lots of other people.
Julian, Dick, Georgina (sorry, George), Anne and Timmy the dog decided to team up to go snowcrafting.
"What’s snowcrafting?" asked Anne. "Good question" Julian replied. Its where you wear a miners hat
without the light, put spiky metal things on your feet and carry a funny looking pole. Then you roll around
in the snow. "Righto" said George. Lets go. This sounds like fun.
Xena and Hercules lead the way up to Arthurs pass. Using CB radio to keep in contact, Xena proved that the
old west coast road is faster by multiple seconds. Exactly where are you asked Xena. Your signal is really
strong. See those headlights right behind you. That’s me. Hercules powers past and then has to stop. "Who is
Hercules?" asked Anne. "You’d like him" says George, "but I prefer Xena".
After settling in and happily discovering there are hot showers and a not so state of the art loo, the Five sit
with everyone else in to listen to Phil talk about the white fluffy stuff. Photos were shown of epic trips and
gorgeous sunrises. Tests were taken based on calendar photos with route finding over a simulated mountain.
But I swear that was a tea towel draped over an old coffee cup, exclaims Dick. Spikey metal things were
handed out and adjusted on boots. Hats and poles found receptive hands. Ohhhh, look at that funny looking
alarm clock. Whats it saying? questions George. It’s ancient latin, I think. Julian tries to look
knowledgeable. Nooooooo, some beastly person has set it to 6am.
Arising sprightly and promptly the next morning, people organised themselves and headed for Temple
Basin. A slight lack of snow, that is none, at low altitudes meant it was up to the top basins in the hunt for
something deeper than 2 inches. Fortunately, up there the scenery glistened white and people romped in the
untouched snow. Teams split up and headed off to learn new skills such as how to walk straight in crampons
without stabbing your legs. Look at them, what ever on earth are doing says Dick, staring at people sliding
down hills waving their sticks in the air. I believe its called self arresting explains George and I’m sure that
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it works much better when you put your stick into the snow. Thus the Five hunted far and wide for an iced
slope that was just right. Not too shallow, not too steep and with a runout that didn’t go over a cliff. One by
one, each tried it with someone else holding them until the slider was ready to go. So it was proved that the
most difficult part was to get into position lying headfirst downhill on your back than it was to self arrest.
Not content to lie around all day, the Five headed for a peak. After a tortuous climb up a near vertical ice
cliff for two miles, the ridge was reached. Oh my, what a magnificent view shouted Julian, and indeed it
was. A superb assortment of mountains and valleys stretched as far as the eye could see. After an
investigation of a snow cave dug by other teams, a quick snowball fight, it was back to the Arthurs Pass for
showers and hot chocolate with marshmallows.
Rising sharply the next morning, people headed for Mt Rolleston. Using new found skills, dangerous
climbing routes were discussed. I say, that slope up there looks a bit dodgy. Let’s use Timmy as an
avalanche poodle said Anne. What an excellent idea said George throwing a big meaty bone onto the slope.
Fortunately Timmy, not being a poodle, could run faster than the avalanche that followed him.
After extreme exhaustion, most people got halfway up the mountain without killing themselves. At this
point, two obviously fitter strangers strolled past having just bagged several peaks that morning, or so they
said. Heading down again, it was discovered to much delight that what took multiple hours to get up only
took multiple minutes to get down. Skiing on boots or bum sliding were favourite methods. A fast walk out
to the cars rounded off the day. My, what a smashing weekend said Anne, we shall have to do it again some
time. And so everyone had beautiful dreams that night of rugged mountains and wide open snowy slopes.
Stewart Hardie
The Snowcrafters having a break from ascending the Otira Slide. Chris Gadd.
(C) CUTC 1998
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The two billy goats gruff
22/4/98-24/4/98
After a few weeks of longing, the two Billy Goats Gruff decided an attempt must be made on Mt Murchison.
Billy Goat number 1 ( THE NUMBERS ARE ARBITARY ) rushed home from work and the mission was
on.
After a brief detour to check out the hash house for Twalk they arrived at Klondyke corner. After two and a
half hours of gobbling past Turkey flat, squawking past the crow river ,they arrived at the Carrington hut.
This meant time for a feed of oats. Such a fine dine it was.
From the Carrington the goats then trotted up the White River to the Barker hut. This involved numerous
stops along the way to eat oats ( definitely not resting ). Upon arrival at Barker hut dinner was formed and
consumed in most magnificent style ( for goats that is ). Rice risotto was the flavour of the day, much was
prepared ,little was eaten.
After a good nights sleep to the tune of the Barker "whistling wind" Waltz ( Fix That Bloody Hole ), the
goats got up and had a feed (OATS and cold rice risotto ). An excursion out doors revelled a pretty sight (
or lack of it ) fifty meters of visibility was to be had. After a short scramble up some rock, the mission was
grunted at.
Returning to the hut to shake their fleeces and sort themselves out they decided to be out to the CRUISER
within 4 hours. This gave them a chance to stretch their legs and have a trot.
Stopping for another feed of oats at the Carrington. The goats then squawked past the crow river, gobbled
past Turkey flat, saying goodbye to all their close new friends. Arriving at the cruiser, they had another feed
( oats ) and headed home.
Ryan Cooney
(C) CUTC 1998
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Caving
29 May--1 June 1998
Cast: Alastair Sinton, Rebecca Officer, Volker Kuhlmann (scribe).
The Canterbury caving group (CCG) planned to celebrate its 30th birthday on the West Coast down a few
holes, so we thought it's time for an underground trip again.
The weekend started with a decent soak in the Maruia hot pools on Friday night, before heading over to
Punakaiki in the morning. The CCG newsletter had high tide at 11:00, so we timed it to be there then to
watch the blow holes. We managed to fill in the time until 14:00...and the chimney blew really well (these
things depend on the tide as well as the direction of the swell).
In the afternoon we walked through Cave Creek. The light rain made the greenery look like real West Coast.
A little pool of water couldn't stop an adventurous few get further into the cave. The big cave weta with long
tentacles was worth it (and cave waterfalls used as showers are good fun). It wasn't even bum deep to those
who whimped out.
Stalictites and stalagmites in the Babylon Cave. Volker Kuhlmann.
We had planned to go into Xanadu, a cave with a good maze in 3 levels, but the lower 2$\frac12$ were
under water at the time. Bad luck. We did go into Babylon, and after a lot of stuffing around with clothes
and CCG premiere carbide lamps we finally managed to get going, only to find the remaining party enjoying
lunch at a knee-deep river. The problem was that usually it's ankle deep, and can rise really fast---as a
previous team had found out who then got rafted out by the army after a 36 h ordeal. Never mind, the West
Coast looks good in rainy weather too. Who wants to go caving...
On the last day we picked a cave which does not easily flood, and got to see some really nice formations
after all. Actually having a map for a cave can be an interesting experience too, though some of the
landforms we marked on it this time we'd put in a different place on our previous map. Hmmm.
Volker.
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Alastair, Rebecca and Volker all kitted out. Volker Kuhlmann.
(C) CUTC 1998
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Mt Oxford (24th May 1998)
Pack: Phil Norman, Song Tan Chua, Sam Margerison and Wombat (scribe)
It all began at an indecently early hour one Sunday morning when I awoke from dreams of chasing rabbits
to the sound of Sam stuffing things in that strange green and blue bag with the black straps. Great, that
means he's going tramping and leaving me behind again! Time to sulk and do the famous hurt and
reproachful look. But wait, are those Tux biscuits I see being packed? Either Sam's changed his diet or he's
found somewhere in the back country where I'm not persona non grata (or should that be canis non grata?)
Most of the NZ bush is off limits as DOC thinks I might chase kiwis. Would I do that?!
After a while we met up with others and set off. I was banished to the back of Phil's Subaru, which meant I
had good fun steaming up the rear window and drooling over the back seat. Where are we going? Smells
like we're heading for Pines Beach to chase seagulls and roll on dead fish. Wait a minute, we've missed the
turn off! Go back! Oh well, I suppose they know what they're doing. Now my nose tells me we're bound for
somewhere out in the country.
Eventually, we stopped at the end of a long vehicle track, a place called View Hill. Everyone else stuffed
round for ages putting on boots and rearranging packs. I checked out the local scents and barked impatiently
every now and then. Honestly, people take ages to get ready! Finally we're walking. Mmm...this is a cool
place. lots of trees to sniff...and look, here's a nice muddy creek to get really dirty in. Oh, what's this, we're
going uphill! I hear Sam and Phil making jokes about using me to pull them up the hill. Not on your life,
guys! Mind you I can go faster than them most of the time. Time for a rest, good idea. And everyone's
eating...I'd better look hungry....Not a bad round, a Tux biscuit and Phil gave me a piece of banana.
After a good long drink, the pack continued onwards and upwards, stopping occasionally for the people to
shed layers of fur. Wish I could do that with my coat. Suddenly, the trees finished, and we're walking
through tussock. Everyone starts talking about 'the view'. I don't know why people are so hung up on views.
Scents are much more interesting. I run on ahead towards something called 'the summit'. Wonder what it is?
Then, all of a sudden, we're there! The conversation turns to the view again. Boring! Oh well, for the human
readers, apparently there was a fine view of the Lees Valley, the Puketeraki Range and even the Port Hills.
Time for lunch, someone says. That's much more interesting! Yum, a big bowl of Tux biscuits to keep me
'fit as a fiddle, sharp as a knife, lean and mean, in overdrive', like the ad says. In between eating and
drinking, I did a good job of barking at everyone who arrived at the summit after us. The others weren't
impressed with my guarding abilities and kept telling me to be quiet.
Now it's time to head down. Good, we're going a different way. New smells. This downhill thing is much
quicker. A bit hard on the paws though. More tussock....more trees...now a river! Let's have a splash and a
cool off. Won't the rest of you join me? Pikers! Now we're leaving the river and bushbashing up towards a
track. 4PD (four paw drive) makes things so much easier here. The highlight of the trip (for me, anyway)
came up on the track. Yes, a dead sheep to roll in! Heaven! Back in the forest again. Getting tired now. But I
keep on doggedly putting one paw in front of another. The blanket's starting to look very appealing now,
especially as there's a fence to get over.
We're back on the first piece of track. Everything still smells the same. Not long to go. Then, round a corner,
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and there's the car! More stuffing around while the people get changed. Then it's back to Christchurch and
my basket! I think I like tramping....zzzzzzzzz
Phil, Sam, Me and Song on top of Mt Oxford.
(C) CUTC 1998
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Lewis Pass night and a day
Cast: Multiple people that I can’t remember but they know who they are, Stewart Hardie (scribe).
The concept of a night and a day trip was new for this year. The idea was that people could work or study on
the first day, go camping that night, and go bush the day after. Not a bad idea, but it instantly relegates the
trip into the cruisy category. The usual array of disorder ensued as we waited for people to turn up, sort out
camping gear and decide which cars were going. Under way at last, the obligatory pub stop was fulfilled at
the Hurunui. Full of locals (as it usually is on a Sunday evening, Monday being a public holiday) presented
no problem as we took over the pool room and got the juke box earning its keep.
An hour or so of further travelling had us arrive at Maruia Springs. This has to be a classic place to camp
with the bar and hot pools next door. Trying to find the front door had me falling down some steps, grating
my hands and arms on the shingle and trying to prevent blood flow for the rest of the weekend. This was
before any consuming had been done. As usual, the flattest ground was occupied by the cars, with rocks
being cleared for the tents. A quick beer and most people were into the hot pools for a few hours of gossip,
wine and warmth.
Sam woke the next morning feeling a bit queasy, so a consensus was achieved that two different day trips
would take place. Mt Mueller and Lake Daniels the destinations chosen with Sam leading the easier (that is,
completely flat) Lake Daniels trip. Most opted for Mt Mueller, but feeling extremely relaxed, I went for the
Lake Daniels thing.
The Mt Mueller group stopped a couple of kilometres down the road opposite the large hill they were about
to climb, and promptly got their feet wet crossing the river next to the road. Our smaller group continued
down the road to the start of the Lake Daniels track. A beautifully clear river pool presented itself after a
couple of minutes walking. Despite temptations to go swimming, these urges were suppressed once
remembering that it was close to the middle of winter. The track was boggy in places, so a technique was
developed of stepping where the person in front walked. This is a variation of the avalanche poodle trial.
Avoidance of deep holes usually worked.
Continuing past the hut for a few minutes presented no suitable lunch stops, so it was enjoyed on the jetty. A
leisurely stroll back down the track followed while we tried to work out where the Mt Mueller group would
be. Search and Rescue had set up a base at the carpark, and so the standard array of jokes were swapped
about them always seeming to turn up wherever varsity trampers were.
Thinking we were far ahead of the other group, a unanimous vote was taken to return to the hot pools. This
was thwarted when passing the other cars, we saw them in a mad dash back across the river. The hot pools
idea got totally aborted when someone pointed out the effects it was going to have on the drivers. A mass
stop at Culverden for hot food before heading on to Christchurch.
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Gina, Camille and Stewart take a break on the Lake Daniels jetty. Sam Margerison.
(C) CUTC 1998
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The team. Brian, Grant, Ursula, Nic, Claire, Bruce, Darren, Matt, Joe and behind the lens was Rene.
Lunch. With fine wine for some! Eh Bruce!! Darren Evans.
Rene and Ursula climb up the last few feet to the top. Darren Evans
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Only on the way down did the sun finally put in an appearance. Brian and Joe admiring the view. Darren Evans
(C) CUTC 1998
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People:
Dredd Abdullah,
Ron Mohamed,
Roger Burgess &
Darren Evans (scribe)
Goat Hill is one of those obscure, rarely visited places in Arthur’s Pass National Park. It has developed this
obscurity for two reasons. Firstly, there is no sign marking the start of the track. Secondly, DOC does not
really encourage its use with the statement on their track guide: ‘marked route, no longer maintained’. It
does however receive a good write up in ‘Tramping in the Southern Alps- Arthur’s Pass to Mount Cook.
With this in mind Ron, Dredd, Roger and I headed off to explore this seldom-visited area.
The track to Goat Hill begins next to the last bridge across the Otira as you descend from Arthur’s Pass.
From here, the track climbs steeply all the way to the bushline.
After crossing the icy boulders of the creek draining the tops we found the start of the track marked by a
piece of blue nylon rope. Alas we lost the track 30 seconds later, but soon found it again on the ridge leading
up from the creek.
The track itself is well marked with permolat, however there are plenty of fallen trees and steep rocky
sections to climb over, to keep things interesting. This gave one frequent cause to pause and admire some of
the most interesting bush I have ever tramped through in Arthur’s Pass. Apart from a few red beech lower
down, there was hardly any northagus solandri anywhere. Instead, there was a proliferation of pepper tree,
lancewood and other sub-canopy species.
What made it unique were the changes in the forest as we climbed up. Initially it was like being a dwarf in a
forest of giants, but as we entered the alpine zone the forest became stunted and dwarven, making one feel
like a giant rather than a dwarf. With your head being nearly above the canopy of the scrub.
Ron, Dredd and Rodger at the bushline. The peaks of Mt Philistine and Armstrong are visible behind. Darren Evans
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Eventually after an hour and half we broke free of the scrub and could take in the views of the surrounding
mountains. It was one of the most spectacular winter days I have ever experienced in the mountains. With
the major peaks of Rolleston, Philistine and Armstrong standing like majestic white sentinels astride the
main divide.
An early lunch was eaten on a large rock while we soaked in this spectacular vista. After this, we made our
way up through the last of the scrub to the ridge proper.
The ridge is a jumble of fault scarps, gullies and broken rock which makes for slow, but interesting travel.
One is ever wondering what is over the next bump.
Each of us meandered along lost in our own thoughts until we met up at the agreed turn round point, bump
1523, directly above Otira. From here Goat Hill proper, looked temptingly close but given the fact that it was
getting late in the afternoon and the ridge was hard and icy we decided to turn around.
Before heading back photos were taken of the magnificent views of Mounts Alexander, Franklin and Oates.
The usual afternoon West Coast cloud had thankfully not eventuated, so we could see right down to the
Tasman Sea at the mouth of the Taramakau.
As we descended back to the bushline, the ridge took on a golden glow in the afternoon sun.
While the fault scarps made the ridge a bit of a navigational maze, we located the track back at the rock
where we had lunch; having been careful to note its location on the way up. If one did not find the track, it
would have been a bush bashing mission from hell, through some seriously thick scrub.
The descent down through the bush proved far more difficult than our ascent up though it earlier in the day.
With the passage of only our four pairs of feet, the track had turned to mud. All of us, bar Roger ended up
on our behinds at sometime, with the number of times one fell over seemingly proportional to whether one
was at the front or the back. For those at the back were faced with a muddier trail and fewer footholds
thanks to the destructive efforts of those in the front. Ron won the award for the most spectacular slip, three
metres down a steep bank, narrowly avoiding becoming skewered on a piece of scrub.
Eventually we reached the bottom, and the car. We all felt tired and warn out but with a great sense of
satisfaction for having enjoyed a great day out. Thanks to Ron, Dredd and Roger for your company in
exploring an unduly overlooked area of Arthurs Pass National Park.
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It was a dark and cold night when we left the carpark.
Late as always we made a quick pit stop at the bottle
store for the bare essentialities and some gas and we were off.
20 brave souls set out on the great trek to the unknown.
Of the 20 who set out only 24 would come out "alive".
We made our way to the historic Hurunui hotel
for some liquid refreshments, a great pool table
and an awesome jukebox.
Then we hit the road again.
It was a great night to howl at the full moon.
We all arrived at the Sylvia hot pool and set up home for the night.
Then we went to soak in the hot pools, kindly provided
courtesy of mother nature and someone with a shovel.
We lay in the pool for an hour or three.
Some people wearing only a smile.
Only one person was caught looking for the soap.
Poor Rene had his bald head stepped on - she thought it was a rock.
We dragged our bodies out of the pool at about one-ish.
In the morning you know it is cold when your water bottle
is frozen inside your tent.
And we were on our way to the scene of the festivities ,
at Boyle river hut.
A great place to have a party ! !
We started our trek up the valley at ten-ish.
The sun was shining the birds were singing.
It was a great to be out and about in the high country.
We had lunch on the river bank at 11:30 and again at 1:00
It was so good the first time that we did it again.
When we reached the hut, we fixed all the doing for the party.
Great food, good music, the work's, all dragged in for the do.
There was only Rene who crashed out early at 7:30
- not the life of the party.
People were in their glad rags, they ate, drank and partied
to the early morning.
After the large clean up job in the morning we only stopped
for lunch twice and after that to play a game
of muddy swamp frizbee.
SIMON ANDERSON
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Bushball 1998 - Rock your universe
Hurunui Pub -- Drink, pool, music
Sylvia Flats -- Drink, hot pools, frozen ground, tent, cold
Packs -- Too heavy
Track To Boyle Flat Hut -- Five hours, mud, sun, swing bridges, mostly flat, frost
Hut -- Empty, drink, dance, food, drink, music, drink, vomit (Rene), drink,
Grooving to the music (Bruce), funky threads (Chris), romance (names withheld),drink ,sleep
Day After Tired, frisbee, walk, romance, innuendo, tired, HOME
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Ian Buunk
(C) CUTC 1998
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Cass Lagoon trip
31 August - 2 September
We gathered at the UCSA carpark before sparrow fart (6:45am) to get a good start to the tramp. After we set
off we decided that two cars are better than one and returned to Uni to pick up my car. Agreeing to meet at
the start of the track at the Cass River we went our separate ways. I arrived at the rendezvous first despite
having to crawl up Porters Pass in first gear (again).
After dropping off one of the cars at the Bealey Hut, we set off up the Cass River. I soon got wet feet, while
Stewart (I thought you'd be that sort Stewart - ED Jeanie) and Dakota decided to go bush bashing to avoid
wet feet. It didn't work as they still had to cross the river later.
Once we had crossed the river several more times we headed up into the bush towards the Cass Saddle Hut.
We had lunch in a sunny clearing before we reached the hut. Continuing on we plodded our way up to the
saddle, stopping for plenty of rests and to admire the view. On reaching the saddle we had great views both
of where we had been and where we were going.
We were soon back in the bush and strolling along. We continued for a while, with several stops, before we
dropped out onto river flats and walked through grassy areas. Shortly we arrived at the Hamilton Hut where
we had tea, lit the fire and settled down to enjoy the night.
The next morning we (slowly) got organised and packed ready for the next day's jaunt. After leaving after
ten o'clock and crossing the walkwire we followed the track up the river towards the Cass Lagoon. We
stopped at the next hut, a very picturesque hut with rough sawn beams, for morning tea. Continuing up the
track which meandered through the bush we stopped for lunch at the join of two streams. It was pleasant to
just sit in the sun and relax.
Later in the afternoon we arrived at the Cass Lagoon Shelter and decided that the A-frame was better than
the hut. We left our packs there and went up to the lagoon. We tested the thickness of ice on ponds,
squelched through bogs, played in the snow, looked at the view and generally mucked around for an hour.
Back at the shelter photos were taken of the snowman, tea was cooked and packs shifted around to allow
everyone to have a seat. After playing cards for a while we organised the beds - two on the beds, sans
mattresses, and three on the floor, with legs placed under the beds or wherever they fitted.
In the morning we had a quick breakfast and packed in a hurry so that we could be out before lunch. It took
just under two hours to walk out to the car. We sat around and finished off our food before going and
collecting the other car. We then split up with some going to the nearest pub and others, myself included,
heading straight back to Christchurch. It was an enjoyable and cruisy tramp with good scenery and brilliant
weather.
Symon Holmes
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Hamilton Hut - Symon Holmes
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Cass - Lagoon Saddle
On the thirty-first of August myself (Ian) and four others (Jenny, Dakota, Simon and Stewart) went
tramping over the Cass - Lagoon saddles. We started from the Cass bridge on the way to Arthur’s Pass and
walked up the river until the track started on the true right (our left). It was a beautiful sunny day and we
were taking it fairly easy. We soon started to find little patches of snow in the shadier spots along the way
and so the requisite snowballs started to fly. We stopped for lunch on a sunny grassy bit and just soaked up
the rays until we realised it was 2pm and we still hadn’t reached Cass Saddle Hut and were nowhere near
Hamilton Hut, that nights accommodation.
So we continued and soon reached Cass Saddle Hut but didn’t even stay long enough to look inside as we
still had to get to the saddle. As we entered the alpine vegetation and left the trees behind it looked as if it
would be an easy stroll to the top. I had been almost tramp free for a few months and so although it wasn’t
steep it seemed to take forever to reach the saddle where once again the snowballs were out in force. Stewart
was far too good for most of us and the only option left was to tackle him and make him eat snow - not
entirely successful but entertaining non-the-less. Our rumble over, we strolled down the other side for a
couple of hours until we got to the hut. Which is of course the stage where I find that part of my cooker is
probably still where we had bushball. Not fancying a wee jog to Lewis Pass to retrieve the said item, a
replacement was made out of the base of a tealight candle.
Rice, plain rice, damn I’m inventive although cooking it properly may have improved it somewhat.
Anyway next day we went down the valley for 10min until we found the pretty little three wire bridge. That
obstacle out of the way we now went up another valley for a while before arriving at West Harper Hut.
Darren had described it as a rathole, Simon called it rustic, but I thought it was beautiful and the kind of
place I would like to spend the rest of my life. Continuing on we had lunch on the edge of the river before
setting off up the valley again.
A few hours I guess and we were there at our destination. Our joy was dispelled somewhat by the realisation
of our accommodation. We had a choice - Shelter or "Hut". The shelter had two beds with thin foam
mattresses, was an A frame, had a small pot belly stove, a porch, pots, a door and some windows. The ‘hut’
was the size and construction of a low grade longdrop, had a door, two beds but no mattresses, marginally
more floor space, no windows and no fire. We chose the lesser of the two evils - the shelter where a guard Bob the snowman was soon erected. We dumped our stuff and wandered up to the saddle to look at the
lagoon which was very pretty.
That night was not the most comfortable I’ve had but it was a far cry from being the least. The next day we
wandered around the hill and then down towards the road. The track went through alpine tussocks, exotic
Douglas fir and Pinus radiata plantations, and Beech forest. After about two hours we arrived at the car that
we had left at this end and headed home getting the car we had left at the start on the way.
I would highly recommend this tramp to people of almost any fitness and to any one with a passion for
Beech.
Ian Buunk
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René Borsboom & Jeanie Hobbs
Week after Easter
stuck in Hastings for an extra day was all the incentive we needed to have a good trip into the Tongariro
national park. In Hastings, the best entertainment we could muster up on Easter Monday was ‘As Good as it
Gets’ at the movies. Our trip turned out to be a reflection of this movie title.
Eventually we managed to find a seat on a bus to Taupo, stayed there for the day and then caught the bus to
the Ketetahi road end the next day.
We climbed up to the Ketetahi hotsprings which are an awesome sight. Unfortunately they are closed at the
moment because they are not properly developed to take messy human beings intent on a comfortable bath.
The Maori owners are in negotiation with the Crown over who should pay for the needed renovations. In the
meantime, trampers are not allowed access, but the sight of the steam the springs produce is spectacular
enough.
Around red crater the volcanic activity is constant. Sulphuric steam gushes out of the ground and the place is
pretty smelly. Crowds of people wander through over lunch time on the famous ‘Tongariro Crossing’ day
trip - some looking slightly inexperienced, creeping down lovely fine loose scree as if their lives were about
to end should they slide a bit.
The Emerald Lakes and Blue Lake are a beautiful sight up amongst the barren landscape, and the redness of
red crater is awesome. Mount Ngaruruhoe is a fairytale volcano and the area surrounding the mountains is
covered in the obvious signs of volcanic activity.
The Emerald Lakes. Jeanie Hobbs
On the way to Oturiri hut, piles and piles of jagged rocks amongst sand is about all you see and it is
fascinating to watch the levels of plant life lift as you move further from the volcanoes. There is a noticeable
absence of water compared with the abundance of it in most South Island valleys.
Once we were closer to Mt Ruapehu, the clouds began to shroud her, and our last day was fairly dark and
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cloudy. We visited the Tama Lakes which are old explosion craters. The climb to the upper lake is well
worth the effort even when it is cloudy. The whole trip from Whakapapa Ski Village through to the Desert
Road is very flat. A stagecoach used to use this route and the old hut is still there as an historical monument.
Whakapapa Chateau is a sight for sore eyes but we were impressed by the camping ground! Maybe this
feeling came from the lack of money in our pockets, or a real feeling that roughing it was the best way to get
around!
Jeanie and Rene on the top. Jeanie Hobbs
We had had a marvellous trip in the mountains topped off by a day at Te Papa in Wellington on the way
home. We gave it the thumbs up, even without a visit to the lady with the rubber thingy around her!
Jeanie Hobbs
Rene takes in the view of the crater. Jeanie Hobbs
(C) CUTC 1998
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Tent joke
Sherlock Holmes and Dr.Watson went on a camping trip. As they lay down for the night, Holmes said:
``Watson, look up into the sky and tell me what you see''.
Watson said, `Ì see millions and millions of stars''.
Holmes asked again, `Ànd what does that tell you?''.
Watson thought a moment and replied, `Àstronomically, it tells me that there are millions of galaxies and
potentially billions of planets. Theologically, it tells me that God is great and that we are small and
insignificant''. Another moment went by and Watson continued, `Ànd of course, meteorologically, it tells
me that we will have a beautiful day tomorrow. What does it tell you, Holmes?''.
Holmes: `Ì believe someone has stolen our tent''.
-Volker Kuhlmann
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Cast: Sam, Bruce, Tim, Sue, Stewart (scribe).
A cruisy day trip was ordered up for the weekend, so without much fuss a small group of intrepid explorers
headed up to Hanmer. A slightly misty atmosphere presented itself around the mountain in question. Not
even considering this to be a problem, except for the ‘dire’ warnings from the info centre about carrying the
right gear, boots were laced up. At this point, the wafts of hot pools made a gesture to forget about the walk
and just sit in hot water all day. Vivid flashes of looking like a prune prevented this.
The chosen route was via the Dog stream waterfall, being a bit steeper than the other way, but with better
views. Estimations by the signs of three hours walking time to the waterfall proved slightly exaggerated as
we got there in just under 45 minutes. A brief stop for photos and drinks and it was onwards to the peak.
The next small section of track consists of lots and lots of big steps. I did this track some years ago when I
was somewhat younger and shorter. I had vague memories of each of these steps being up to waist height.
This proved to be overstated.
As we got to the ridge, the sun burnt away the last of the mist. Excellent views were to be had in all
directions. A lunch stop at the summit helped drive away the pangs of having to eat breakfast way too early
in the morning. The usual array of posy photo shots were arranged. Unfortunately, no one had a camera that
had a delay on it. So much for the big group photo.
Tim, Sue, Stewart and Bruce at the top of Mt Isobel. Sam Margerison.
If getting up the mountain seemed fast, going down was only slowed up by toes starting to scrunch into the
front of my boots. A mental note was made to cut my toenails just before going on another trip. The woman
in the info centre recommended returning via the ridge route. This track was picked for a bit of variety. It led
through a strange mixture of native bush and big pine trees. A short walk along the road found the car again.
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The hot pool cravings were satisfied, with hot food from the local fish and chippy to follow. A fast trip back
to Christchurch got us home just before dark.
Stewart Hardie
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September 1998
People:
Rene Artz
Joe Hambrook
Arnold Memelink
Darren Evans (scribe)
Mt Binser is reputed to have some of the best views of any mountain in Arthurs Pass. With this in mind, and
a fine weekend on the horizon four keen lads headed off to conquer this great big mountain of gravel.
The plan was to meet Arnold & Joe at varsity at 6.40am, then pick Rene up on the way out of town.
However, we fell slightly behind schedule due to having to stop for fuel, for both us (jellybeans and
chocolate), and the car. Rene on board, we were soon leaving Christchurch behind under a cloak of low
cloud.
After a second refueling stop in Sheffield, where Rene was unable to locate the cheesecake he had planned
to have for lunch, we finally broke free of the bank of cloud that had been hanging over us since
Christchurch.
Eating was to become a central theme of this trip, with us consuming the last of Rene’s birthday cake before
we began the grunt up to Binser Saddle. An hour later we were basking in the sun on Binser Saddle,
contemplating the 650 metre grunt up to the low peak of Mt Binser.
I think the walk up the hill did something strange to my companions, for suddenly two sprouted beards,
while the nose hair of one had a growth spurt of enormous proportions. Silly poses captured for eternity, our
focus turned to the climb ahead. Though I think Rene’s mind was more focused on how he was going to
explain to his future grandkids how he came to have lichen up his nose and a stick protruding from his
shorts.
A short sidle through the bush brought us to the stream draining the face of Little Mt Binser. Up the creek
we headed climbing around small waterfalls and cascades until the creek became too small and incised to be
worth following any further. From the stream, we clambered out onto the ridge to begin the final slog to the
low peak.
On the climb up Joe came across a piece of kea. This may sound like a typo but is in fact true in that he
found a whole kea wing lying on the ground. There were no other remains, so the kea’s fate remains a
mystery. Whether it died at the hands of a stoat, human or mid-air wing failure will never be known.
However if by chance on your travels you meet a one winged kea looking for his lost wing, you may like to
point him in the direction of Mr J Hambrook esquire who grabbed the wing like a possessed body snatcher
and took the wing home with him.
The kea would be well advised to act quickly though, as there was some suggestion from the great white
hunter in the party, a Mr R. Artz, that the feathers could be put to good use making imitation insects to snare
poor unsuspecting trout with. I can inform the kea though that the law technically is on his side and that the
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possession of the wing, other than by himself or the Crown is a breach of the Wildlife Act 1953. This is
likely to be of little consequence for the poor bird, for with only one wing it is not likely to be going very
far and will be unable to lay a complaint.
The climb from the bushline to the low peak in the hot September sun was a gut buster. This long uphill was
broken only by a pause for lunch to recharge our worn out batteries.
The only snow that remained was on the very top, but this was enough to provide good opportunities for
posing and taking in the view. From the top one could gaze up to the high peaks of the Waimak, across to
the Craigieburns and down to the Canterbury plains. An awesome panorama.
Ice axes were needed for the descent to the col. between the low and middle peaks. The snow ranged from
hard ice to slush, and made traversing the narrow ridge interesting but not dangerous.
Another grunt of 200 metres saw us on top of the middle peak. Tiredness was really starting to set in so we
hurried onwards towards the high peak.
This necessitated a further 150m descent, followed by a 200m climb. Our batteries went flat at the bottom of
the dip, so we decided to have a second feed here in the snow. Chef Arnold boiled up a great concoction of
Watties tomato soup and noodles. The bowls were cleaned using the snow, leaving an interesting scene, that
may have lead anyone following our tracks the next day to ponder whether this had been the site of some
hideous axe murder.
In the interim while Chef Arnold had been busy cooking, Rene and I engaged in some aerial antics off the
edge of the col. in an attempt to get some action photos to enter into the clubs photo competition. What one
will do to pose eh?
After what seemed the longest 200-metre climb I have ever done, we hauled our knacked bodies onto the
high peak. Great views were had towards the plains, down the Waimak gorge and out over Mt White
Station. We did not linger long on the summit as a bitingly cold westerly wind had come up.
The descent down the southwest ridge was loose and rocky underfoot, with some good and not so good scree
for running. We eventually regrouped on a knoll half way down.
Joe keen to enjoy some more of the scree suggested that we deviate from the route guide, and drop down
into the creek draining the middle and high peaks. The map was perused and no waterfalls were marked;
though this did not necessarily mean, there would not be any or other unknown obstacles. Consensus was
reached, adventure would be the buzzword for the day, so we charged off down the scree.
After a few hard patches at the top, the scree became perfect for running. The result according to my watch
was that we reached a maximum descent velocity of 250 metres a minute. This is probably only a
conservative estimate for Mr Hambrook esquire, who was siting at the bottom by the time I was half way
down!
The creek, which could have harbored some nasty surprises, turned out to be relatively harmless with the
only obstacles being fallen trees and greasy rocks.
An hour later we were down on the Mt White road coaxing our sore limbs over the last few kilometres back
to the car. Finally, we reached the car, always a good feeling even after enjoying a great day out in the hills.
Darren
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One day there were four little children. There were two boys and two girls and they thought it would be fun
to go to the snow and play with their toys. So they got a map and looked at it and it said Hamilton Peak and
the children said "Lets go there, lets go there". So they met at 7 am in the morning and they got in the car
and they drove in the car until they got to where they were going and they went no further. So they stopped
the car at Broken River Skifield carpark and exited the vehicle and said "Gosh, what a beautiful day. The
sky is blue, the grass is green and the wind is blowing gently through the leaves".
Our four brave knights donned their battle helmets and took up their war axes and yelled to the wind "WE
SHALL TRIUMPH OVER THIS MIGHTY OPPONENT AND WIN OUR WAY TO THE TOP". And so
they strode up the mountain side singing songs off their forth coming glory and boldly setting one foot after
another on the treacherous path of righteousness. Following the mighty river they continued until they met
their first opponent the ‘Steep Snowy Bit’. The heroes surged forward with axes flying and gradually bet the
beast into submission with cries of "HA, TAKE THAT YOU HELLSPAWN" and "TO THE DEATH YOU
PUNY MAGGOT". They continued on their quest of accomplishment until they found duuun dunda dundaaah a
‘Snowy Scree Thing’ donning their spurs they mounted the scree and rode to the ridgeline only to be
confronted with ‘Deep Snow’ interspersed with ‘Shallow Icy Stuff’ ‘Nooooooooooooo’ they cried but still
they battled on chanting in time to their running up the near vertical face ‘To The Top and glory’. Soon they
reached the summit and consumed a feast worthy of kings but their reverie was interrupted by loud
explosions from neighbouring valleys. After a short rest (not that our saintly heroes needed one of course)
they descended the blessed mountain and upon reaching the top of the ‘Snowy Scree Thing’ met three
strangers. The strangers were but cowardly knaves although they carried with them staffs that were
obviously the creation of the evil dark wizard known to all true heroes as: ‘Leki The Poseur’. Our mighty
warriors were disgusted but held their counsel and continued on their homeward journey, practicing the
ancient art of glissading on the way. They powered down the valley singing songs of rejoicement until they
were once again at the transportation.
And then the children said "Oh that WAS fun but now we are tired and must go home" and so they packed
all their toys into the car and drove away. On the way home they stopped to refresh themselves with chips
and beer and then continued all the way back to their beds.
Our mighty paladins were Clare, Jenny, Ian and Stewart
The bard is Ian
This story is brought to you by the letters H, A, M, I, L, T, O, N, P, E, A, K and the number 1922m (the
height)
bye bye
Ian Buunk
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Cedar Flats
West Coast.
Oct/Nov 98
Lisa Winthrop, Hamish Avery, Adrian Monks, Cairn Monks (2 years 3 months), Anna Walls (scribe)
Finally made it to the farmyard road end at 3 pm after observing the tettering impossibility of the Otira
Viaduct and discussing the pancaking effects of metal falling from cranes. Cairn chased the chickens while
Hamish played with a gin trap. The track followed an old tramway. Stewart Island like mud with punga
stepping stones led us to the river bank. The roaring river was still up after a month of rain: peering over the
bank the water looked far to deep. So instead of a 500m skip beside the river we had to follow a high flood
route. The valley is filled with very deep beds of alluvial gravels or rockfall debris through which the rivers
have cut steep ravines. So the track alternates between easy tram come mining walkways and challenging
sections where it has eroded away. Does the book of responsible parenting say "no carrying children up
vertical slimey banks"? I can’t have read that bit. Getting to the hut before dark was becoming an issue. We
got tired climbing the track above the canyon. The pillow Hamish was carrying must have been on his mind
more than once. Back by the river Cairn pointed out a Whio blue duck. A long swing bridge deposited us at
the Cedar Flat Huts before dark. The main hut was very pleasant. Its features included sky lights, insect
screens and a hot stove that took ages to light. After a feeding frenzy tempered by the high temperature we
crashed. I can’t recall who won the pillow. Semolina pudding and fruit set the scene for the next days rush,
not to beat the dark this time, but to get back to Christchurch for Adrian’s bug experiments. Adrian’s early
morning stroll confirmed that the hot pools weren’t too hot. The Cedars of Cedar flat enjoy their home. They
stand very proudly. On the way out we ignored the "don’t-take-toddlers-through-chest-deep-West-Coastrivers" rule in the responsible parenting book and took the short cut to Cairn’s delight. Lisa and Adrian told
Hamish and I that the beautiful forest we were walking through had actually been logged at some stage. The
farmer appeared to be chopping down some of the trees closer to the farm for firewood. After all there are
lots of them aren’t there?
West Coast valleys are very powerful and beautiful. Hours of back-breaking work building tracks (mainly
last century) into the valleys are sobering. I wonder what remnants of these tracks will remain in 500 years
time?
Anna Walls
Waterfight! Do your worst Mum! Cairn and Anna in the Paparoas.
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Those of you who gripe about the cost of CUTC’s trips do not know how good you have it and should listen
up. Quite eager to get the heck out of Ilam flats forever and roam the hills I arranged to catch the coast-tocoast shuttle to Cass for 20 bucks and spend four days on the cass-lagoon saddle alone. This would be me
first ever expedition like this and I was excited and a tad apprehensive – rightfully so, I believe.
During the drive I learned that porter’s pass is actually 19 meters higher than Arthur’s… how many of you
didn’t know that? I was dropped off at the trailhead at 10 am. I took out my camera to take my favorite shot
of a trip: the group (in this case, me) with the track’s sign right before we head off on our journey. Realizing
I only had four exposures left, I figured I’d have to hold out for something a little more spectacular.
Cruising up the Cass river was a wee bit worrying with no markers to guide the way. I found the proper
track on the true right after getting seriously wet during a dumb fording maneuver (little did I know then that
I would have ample opportunity to practice on the Harper). 2pm brought me to the Cass hut and I was happy
to sign the intentions book here as I didn’t at the trailhead due to lack of ink. I cruised up to the saddle
loving the sunshine and blue skies deciding to head for the flats before the Hamilton hut. I headed down the
ridge and met the first people I had seen that day. They were on their way to Cass hut. This being a
Saturday, I was surprised that there were no cars parked at the Cass end and I didn’t see more people during
my jouney.
After setting up my tent and engaging in the first of many battles with the sandflies (I lost), I strolled up the
trail towards the hut smiling to myself enjoying being out amongst the mountains again. Good thing I wasn’t
so excited that I acted on my thought of running-buck-naked-through-the-fields-in-the-sunshine-justbecause-I-can, for as I turned and neared my tent two other people had just showed up (*whew*). They
carried on to the hut but I think they were going to pitch originally…I soon saw smoke rising from across
the flats. I desperately wanted to see the stars and moon for it was such a clear night, but alas, the sandflies
forced me to seek shelter in my tent.
I awoke early (6am) after a dream that seemed so real at the time. A large animal (what could it be?) woke
me as it walked by –right by – my tent, not by crunching the grass, but by causing the ground to vibrate
under its massive weight. I then heard it sniffing and hissing as it stepped on the tent. I woke with a start and
a loud yell to scare it and realised that it was a dream (or was it?). Guess that’s a taste of what being out in
the wilderness by yourself can do to you.
Unfortunately, the sandflies were not a dream – my red and itchy legs will testify. After checking out
Hamilton hotel & a morning loo I was off in search of the pinnacles. Instead of crossing the Hamilton river
near the walkwire to head towards lagoon saddle I went straight to meet the Harper river confluence and
follow it down stream. Everything started out sweet, there was even a sign (lake coleridge 5 hrs) and a track
with markers. There was no track on the map and my DOC route guide had heaps to say about the geology
of how the pinnacles were formed but two vague sentences about how to find them – apparently 2-3 hours
one way. I stayed on the true left of the river and enjoyed looking at the mountains. Then things got dodgy –
the T/L turned into a cliff as a side stream came in. Crossing over I found what I thought was the old 4WD
track the guide mentioned. No worries right? Wrong! The track was no longer yet I still found markers as I
bashed my way through the thick vines and over logs. I came out on yet another flat thinking I had to be
close now – I’d been going for a few hours. Still on the T/R it gave way to straight up mountainside. Time to
ford again. At this point I would prefer to walk in the river than battle more unyielding bush. I was on my
way. By now the sun was high in the sky & beating down on me and the gravel beds I was walking on…I
could see the heat waves rising from their surface. Further ahead down the valley appeared snow covered
peaks. Consulting the map, I figured they were part of the Rolleston range and in front of them stood Mt.
Trog 1998
Oakden. I had gotten used to the rumbling of the river and the paradise ducks squawking their protest as
kept startling them. But now, off to the left, I heard something new .. a major waterfall in two tiers –
awesome!
Elvira taking in the view from Mt Robert. Nelson Lakes National Park. Darren Evans
Avoiding the matagouri, I kept plodding along. I noticed some cliffs to the right of the river flanking what
looked to be a scree slip. Ah ha! This was no ordinary erosion – at last I had found the pinnacles!! As I
continued to walk along more spectacular rock formations appeared in the gully. They were very narrow and
tightly packed together. This deserved a photo for sure – I just hope it comes out! As marvelous as Mother
Nature is, I now had a long way to get back to the Hamilton river and set up camp (no torch on this trip).
This time I avoided the bush-bash and stuck to the river as much as possible. One ford brought the water
nearly to my waist with a serious current. Hot and weary I was again at the confluence of the two rivers.
The wind picked up as I sat down to cook up some beans and rice but I was no match for the sandflies –
persistent little buggers, they wanted their dinner too! They forced me to seek shelter in my tent again before
the stars and moon came out. Only one made it inside with me – which is quite amazing considering that
there were literally hundreds lurking under the fly. Morning came quickly & although the sun was not yet
over the ridge it looked like another fine day. However, as I packed up the clouds pack in. I headed up the
Harper towards west Harper hut wondering when the rain would come. The Norwest arches took shape and
the wind remained, but the rain never did fall – not on me anyway. I spent some time at the hut reading the
intentions book – still wondering if it would rain. I hadn’t seen anyone in over 24 hours but human presence
was clear. This place was more than a resting stop. It is part of a long heritage of these hills.
The rest of the trip was beautiful and uneventful (i.e. I managed not to injure myself). I made it to lagoon
shelter that third day so my walk out was quite leisurely, yet muddy as! I spent some time wandering around
the saddle itself and checking out the birthplace of the Harper river in the first sunrays of the day. A view of
the snowcapped peaks of Arthur’s amazed me as they always do. I could see the Bealey spur as well and
remember the women’s trip I led up there. I just wish I could have spent longer out there – it was over all
too quickly. Next thing I knew I was on the shuttle (for a mere 25 smackers) back to Christchurch where the
fast pace, loud noises, concrete and smells can tire me out much more quickly than a jaunt up a mountain. I
bet those folks on the bus just loved the smell of me!!
I ‘d like to thank Darren for the use of his leki pole on this and numerous other trips. I hope that if I’m I
good girl Santa will bring me a pair of my own.
Elvira
Trog 1998
Elvira
(C) CUTC 1998

1998 - CUTC

Transcription

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