Reflections

Text taken from the club newsletter.

REFLECTIONS by TONY GAZLEY

I had it all planned. The weather outlook was perfect and the trip was definitely

I started up Bealey Spur with the sun shining from a clear blue sky above and the mist gradually clearing from the Waimakariri Valley below. It was a couple of easy hours through the delightful beech forest to the snug Bealey Hut where I took a short break. Then on upwards to leave the bush behind and to the start of a problem that took me a bit by surprise. The snow I had hoped would be reasonably compacted was instead deep and soft and with a wind crust that broke every second or third step. This was frustratin as I was constantly struggling to get out of a deep hole, only to crash back down within a couple of steps. I continued on hop- ing that things would get better higher up and I could start to make some reasonable headway.

possible...

But it didn’t really improve much at all. There would be short stretches where the snow was firm and the walking easy only to have the dreaded crust return and the pace slow again to a pathetic crawl. And while the ridge ahead, to the skyline and around to the Mottram Peaks where I was heading, still looked a long way I was determined not to give up too quickly.

Finally I stopped for a late lunch and took stock of where I was. And I had to admit to myself progress had been piti- fully slow and I was nowhere near where I needed to be to finish the trip in the time I had, even with the extra half day - I would need an extra half week at the speed I was going.

I had been along parts of the ridges before so now it was simply a matter of joining them all up. I had even al- lowed an extra half day in case things turned out to be a bit more difficult than expected, given that it was mid- winter.

Reluctantly I decided going on was not an option. I had to go back and think of something else to do in the next couple of days. Slowly making my way back down I mulled over the possibili- ties until it suddenly became clear - I wouldn’t do anything else. I would sim- ply take two days to get back the short distance I had already covered. I would just camp wherever, and do whatever I felt like at the time. The view was won- derful where I was and I was in no hurry to get down too far, so when I passed a small area where the ridge had been blown clear of snow I pitched my tent.

There was still a few hours of warm late-afternoon sunshine so I wandered to the tops of some of the nearby bumps on the ridge and took a few photos before just sitting and taking in the wonderful views in all directions. Later I watched the sun dip below the distant peaks and felt the temperature suddenly drop. As the first few stars appeared I crept into my sleeping bag and cooked my tea in the open doorway of the tent. I slept for a few hours then got up, struggled into frozen boots and wandered along the ridge to a high point. The sky was inky black and there were myriad stars. The view was enchanting - snowy peaks shone eerily against the blackness, and it was utterly still and quiet. I stayed for an hour or so unable to leave such a magical scene, but eventually the cold got the better of me and I

Wonderful views from the tops shone snowy-white against a clear The perfect campsite slowly made my way back down. I slept well in the tent which didn’t give the smallest flap during the night it was so completely calm.

In the morning, I was out of the tent well before day- light and climbed back to my viewpoint to watch the sky lighten from black, to delicate pastel shades of lilac then crimson, before the sun appeared over the furthest hills in a blazing golden light. Again the view was enchanting. I thought how the disappointment of turning back yes- terday from my planned adventure had now turned into something like a perfect mountain experience.

Once the sun had risen higher the day felt warm and I could comfort- ably sit on a rock while I had break- fast. With nothing planned except to walk down to the flat area in the tussock below, where there were some pleasant looking tarns, I could take just as long as I liked to do whatever I liked.

Later in the morning, I packed and headed down to below the snowline and then across the tussock to the tarns. I dropped my pack and searched around for a campsite - not just any campsite but the perfect one. And it was under a single lonely beech tree that promised to be just what I was looking for. At the head of the valley were the Mottram Peaks blue sky. In other directions were the tranquil tarns with- out the slightest ripple to disturb the surface, and behind them were high hills with a touch of snow remaining from the last storm.

I pitched my tent while a bellbird quartet sung from the branches just above me. It was warm in the sunshine and I scattered my gear around to dry without any worry of it blowing away - there wasn’t even the slightest puff of air. Then a kea joined me. It tried to land on my sleep- ing bag which had been thrown over a large tussock, but missed its footing and slid to the ground in a flurry of wings and legs. It picked itself up then did it again - it seemed like fun. But twice was enough and it flew away in answer to its mate calling from somewhere high above. I thought of all the other wonderful camps I’d had and decided that this was certainly up with the best.

I filled in the afternoon without any cares just wan- dering wherever - around the tarns both big and small, through the open beech forest surrounding the open golden tussock, and then just sitting listening to the songs of more bellbirds. Again I watched the sun dip below the high peaks and felt the air instantly chill, and as on the previous evening I cooked tea from my sleeping bag. Later the frogs in the tarns started croaking - first from one pond then answering from another. Then moreporks began calling from each side of the valley. It was all rather like a wonderful dream that you hoped would will never end.

I had a few hours sleep and then once again struggled into frozen boots for a walk around the tarns. The views were even more entrancing than the previous night with the mirror calm water reflecting a thousand bright stars. I stayed a few hours transfixed by the scene, the dim snowy peaks and the countless stars above, and the sounds of the forest, the calls of the frogs and the moreporks and the soft murmurings of some ducks as they glided slowly across the tarn. But eventually the cold became too uncomfortable and I retreated to my tent.

It was colder than the previous night and the tent had a layer of ice on the inside by early morning so it was easy enough to get out before dawn to watch the changing light as the sun rose. Each tarn reflected a different view, high snow covered mountains, glowing golden tussock covered hillsides, forests of beech, and all with a bright blue sky. Some of the smaller tarns were quite thickly frozen and small plants were coated with delicate feathers of frost. Each reflection seemed better than the last and I spent until late morning just walking from one to another and back again not wanting the magic kaleidoscope to ever end. But all dreams do end and eventually I had to drag myself away early afternoon and head back to the road and eventually home.

I had not spent such enjoyable days in the mountains for a long time - and even if the trip really was a total failure in terms of my original plans, I can’t wait for the next one.