This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Our mission: to seize contro! of Hapuku bridge on the Kaikoura coast and gain it for the force of pitbashing and sioth. Our resull: very tired and very wet. This is a story of sacrifice, of individual endeavour and heroism. Our party boards the ferry, armed with ice axe and crampons ready to do battie with a disgustingly refurbished Arahura and hide from the full fength, green, fibreglass gargoyles in the bar. Soon we are fleeing toward the South in a Budget rental van and by midnight are planning strategy from the tuxurlous shelter of a bridge. Dawn brings forth muesii, crunchy clusters and the order to march. "Up there" says the Chief Guide pointing vaguely inland. (in truth he actually said "Punters up punters there punters" but no-one could understand that.) So within two minutes we faced our first river crossing and within two minutes ten seconds, Andrew went for a nice cooling swim. It soon transpired that our objective was at the 8500 foot level which was an approximate climb of 8450 feet. Fortunately Andrew didn't get washed all the way to the sea as that would have added the remaining 50 feet. Some hours and many fords later (where is that bridge?), we face the serious grunt. Sensible people change to plastic boots and leave the other pair at the foot of the climb; less sensible people claim that they won't get cold feet in wet leather boots in snow; and senseless Delmar carries an extra pair of boots to the top of the mountain because .. because... Weill I did ask him. But what is this blow to our military machismo? It is Julia surging uphill, showing up her more venerable and masculine colleagues. Roger patiently explains to her that women aren't allowed to be out in front. It just isn't done. And besides, if she tries it again, she will get snow down her back and be pushed down hill. Another thousand fetid feet passes and then another. Julia gets snow down her back, but is too far ahead to be pushed down the hill. The Chief Guide appears to be about two hours behind. Finally at about 6500 feet our campsite is reached. Not a bridge in sight, just some scuzzy old mountain. We elect not to climb anything with a name as stupid as Manakau. Debbie elects not to climb anything again, ever. As Roger
balances on the snow for his fourth crap of the day, he sees our bridge, thousands of feet below. In fact 6500 teet below. We had slept under it the previous night. Disasters and miscalculations like this only get worse, and soon it began to rain and blow. The retreat was sounded the next morning and we stumbied blindly back down the mountain, Delmar proudly holding his extra boots aloft. What a vile little day it was. Roger was getting us lost every couple of kilometres. Rain, rising rivers and an inane grin on Stuart's face. "Isn't this great” he would utter from time to time. "isn't this abject" would chorus the response. The thought of a dry bridge kept us stumbling and cursing on. And then it happened. If you desert a bridge, it will desert you. The river became uncrossabie. A nasty litle grovel back into the bush ensued to seek a more passable campsite. Nine bodies standing morosely in the downpour arid Sfuart reflecting on how great it all was. What had been wet now became sodden. We even dreamt of the delights of the Arahura. Monday's dawn brought a new torrent of water. Pre-soaked muesli for breakfast. Your tea couldn't stay hot, as it was filling up with rain before you could drink it. And Stuart was cheertul. Enough was enough. We decided to toss Stuart in the river. But he fought well and held tight and soon our whole party had struggled across the river. Stuart smiled gleefully “I've still got dry undies”. Heads down we sloshed our way to the bridge. But as despicable luck would have it, we found our Budget van, piked on our stated bridgeous objective and drove to the Picton pub. Allin all, an utterly abject trip saved only by wit and abjective adjectives.
Punters: Andrew {| got wet first), Debbie (That's it, never again, I'm taking up embroidery), Delmar (Next time I'll bring three pairs), Eric (Chief Punter), Julia (Vegetarians are interesting people, take slugs for instance), Keith (You don't need a Karrimat on snow), Kevin (Tea tastes better out of a Christmas pudding bowl}, Roger (That's four today, I think i's the muesh), Stuart (Great rain, guys) and Struan (Abject).