This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
DA vlt John: Rhodes : Whati brings a colourstripper, a banker, a concrete analyst, an accountant, an economist, a trainee electronics technician and two. teachers together. atthe end of Access Road 15, at 11:30 pm on a Friday night? i Apswer: Rohan Harrigan"s Kaimanawas trip, in celebration-of Her Majesty's birthday. It bears the label "fit" Up at 0700, away at: 08503 hardly the stuff that epics are maderof. Still, this Revised- Version of thei scheduled journey (a marathan. from. the Access Corridor: to: the upper Waipakihi) involves only a toddle up-river followed by. a gentle stroll to a sunny campsite on the topso- Five. hours should do it. But there are ominous-eigns: high cloud moves in from the west, and the mediums get awày first, We clamber to avoid the-f first crossing of the'Waipakihi, then bow to the inevitable immersion of feet, ankles, calves, knees, thighs and more delicate and vulnerable parts. Linked for mutual support, we watch in horror as a medium overtakes us, crossing alone. Has he no sense.of propriety? Gathering our last shreds of-dignity as the rain unfolds we press on, eight against the river, spurred and united by! Harrigan hype. Some famous names are tramping medium this weekend, providing us with the necessity, real orf imagined, to prove ourselves their equals, or at least.noti too much. less. The crossings are not difficult, but each drags warmth from our bodies, and invariably the next wetting comes before we have renewed the lost heat by exercise. I have never worn so many clothes in a valley without wind.
Lunch is joyless and not prolonged, enlivened only by another moraleboosting team talk from our leader. The tops, still dimly visible but probably even colder than our present surroundings, are rapidly losing their appeal: while Waipakihi hut is acquiring an increasingly irresistible magnetism. Though it is rumoured to be an FE day away, the thought of warmth and dryness outweighs all else. The scenery en route is excellent, but a proper appreciation of it would require less rain, legs cloud, and more degrees Celsius. We have become preoccupied with time-distance calculations. At the joining of each side stream we rejoice in the lessening of the Waipakihi's flow. Our navigator calculates that half an hour of torchlight tramping will be needed. . But the navigator has it right, and at 6:00 pm. the light in the hut window appears. How many occupants, and are they friendly? Close approach reveals them to be of our own kind, including one patriarchal Tongue and Meat who, from the verandah, addresses the bedraggled arrivals on the subject of camping skills, and directs us to tent sites behind the hut. We are gently chided for not having made camp earlier. Diplomacy prevents us from observing aloud that the quality of warmth and dryness inside a hut with a Shacklock 501 is at least one order of magnituie better than that of a tent in the rain. Which is why we kept walking, The patriarch relents a little. He lends us a fly, and we are allowed : inside to cooke Then (oh joy of joys!) we are offered a brew. It is passed from Aids-free mouth to mouth sealing, with generous additions of the batriarch's sugar: the brotherhood of Tongue and Meat' We dine listenirg to the patriarch, an inexhaustible repository of tramping icre; then retire, variously under nylon or before the blessed radiation of the Shacklock. There are 12 bunks, 22 bodies in the hut and 4 outaije, What is six feet long, made of feathers or Hollowf ill and (most importantly) rhymes with fit? This, it is decreed, is our destination for Day m2o. The other parties are all leaving, and the hut is ours! An unscheduled lifting of the cloud in mid-morning pricks some consciances. We are, after ali, supposediy fit, but in danger of doing a mere medium trip with minor alterations of timetable. To rectify matters, a party is sent to Junction top and another toward Umukarikari. These forays aside, we spend the day in earnest cultivation of sloth, lassitude and inertia. The afternoon is punctuated by the arrival of mediums with wet sleepingbags, Eresh from a night of the kind recommended by our bearded fatherfigure, ICT doubtless practising his own advice on some saturated river flat. This time the mattresses are ours, and the mediums lodge where they can. A southerly comes through at midnight striking fear into the hearts of chose who would traverse the Umukarikari. Day Three is ushered in by the roaring of a host of medium primuses. With commendable efficiency, they have all disappeared by 0830. We clean the hut and follow. The southerly is losing its sting, and the Unukarikari in sunshine provides a truly delightful walk - the rooftop of the North Island, it seems. Too quickly it is over, and bushline approaches. But where are the mediums? And what of our credibility? Runners are sent ahead to catch the first, thereby restoring the second. Missicn accomplished, we finish with an icy bath at the road-end, and a brew. Thank you team: Rohan Harrigan, Andrew Brown, Bruce Taylor, Struhan Little, Murray Middleton, Tony Cross, Colin and John Rhodes.
Comments
Comments are not open yet.