This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
I'd never heard anything like it. The forecast for Easter: fine for the entire North island. I knew that ! had to flee this calamity, thus explaining my presence at the Ferry terminal on Thursday night. However, others realised the implications of my company and suggested we shot back into town for a quick drink. This successfully achieved, I discovered I was now stranded at the Thistle Inn. Meanwhile the remainder of the WT&MC crew were speeding back to the ferry. I yelled out to the last departing car "You can’t do this to me - I’m the leader! ... and if you do, all the food is in my pack - take what. you need ... ° Finding a couple more stragglers, we ran back to the ferry to be met by a uniform look of disappointment. I looked skyward, uttered an incantation and that resolved Easter’s weather. It rained pretty much constantly. A pleasant few hours kip in a haystack and the heroic FE party was on its way up the Matiri River, stopping only to remove yet another rock that Anita had so thoughtfully placed in my pack. I could see the nervous look on Keith’s face as he saw the immense hill we had to climb to reach the Thousand Acres Plateau. So, I was hardly surprised to see him at the bottom of the hill running in circles, screaming and trying to rip his clothes off. He later claimed he had been attacked by a swarm of wasps (or was it the Iraqi 10th Armoured Division?). "Excuse me Eric. Could you lend me a hand?" Eric could hear Anita's voice, but he couldn't see her. The reason, it transpires, is because Anita has fallen down a hole and has wedged her leg in. Eric spends some time considering whether he should just fill in the rest of the hole and be dene with it, but concludes in the end that we haven’t eaten her Easter eggs yet. So Anita is freed, but uses this as a frequent excuse over the next few days as she disappears repeatedly into subterranean voids. Come hill top, parkas come off, and that eminently rare and endangered species, the sun, appears. The team mutiny and demand lunch, so I modestly offer them the trip treat - chocolate covered oysters. These are not a success. Raring to press on, I am astonished to find that two of my companions are snoring; the remaining three are ina similar state, but simply have more control over their nasal facilities. The FE slumibers are abruptly awoken by the militaristic tramp of the Mediums passing us. We are soon sprinting towards Larrikins Hut to find the best campsite’ before the Medium hordes beat us to it. Anita slows down to investigate some holes. Take six experienced trampers, steady rain and two tent flies.. Calculate how long it will be before flies are pitched and aforesaid six are snugly ensconced in pits. The:ariswer isan hour and a half. Somewhat embarrassing, perhaps. But not as bad as the Mediums: who decide the best place to camp is in a stream bed. Either they are very good judges of future weather patterns or very optimistic. We later learn that the water level laps within a few inches of their pits.
It’s raining harder over the hill, so over we go. I am not the only person to comment that this is very similar to the Tararua tops; we can’t see anything, it is muddy, it is wet - but to be fair - the wind has not flattened us yet. . A plunge down into wet bush lawyer follows, stopping only to hurl abuse at Lyndsay and team. He informed us of the best route down. This explains why we end up grovelling around in the bush, at least ninety degrees off target. Harry claims he knew we were wrong, but was too polite to say so. “Wouldn't say no" said Harry in explanation, pushing out his plate. Bedraggled we find a campsite in the head of the Matiri River and spend the compulsory hour or so putting up the fly. Surprise, surprise. It's raining again. This is where the true character of the FEs really comes out. To a man, they roll over and return to snoring. To a man, I repeat. I cajole, I plead, I threaten. Nothing. In disgust, I head "Off for a day walk to Hurricane Hut. En route, I learn a valuable lesson. Where there is a track, follow it. I learn this after taking a shortcut and getting fost in a swamp. I find the track after crawling back through dense scrub. Twenty metres later I see another shortcut, a sure-fire winner. Half an hour later! am ina bigger swamp, up to my knees in water with tussocks growing over my head. I calculate the chances of ever being found if I break a leg in here. 2% if there are alligators, 5% if there aren't. I sprint back from Hurricane Hut to our camp so that we can get a reasonable day walking. I am relieved to see that my team is no longer asleep. They have managed to get into a prone position and are playing cards. To provoke movement, I play my ace, "The Mediums are right behind me" I say. Ten minutes later we are gone. It would have been five minutes, but Karen has eaten so many Easter eggs that she decides regurgitating them will speed her progress. The Matiri River is very scenic. What this means in practice is that on the map it looks flat. In fact, there are a number of nasty bluffs to test your patience. Finally, we break out of the bush into a confused rabble (the Mediums again). From here It is a quick canter to the waiting bus and the Picton ferry, stopping only to be humiliated over the pool table at the Owen River Pub by the Mediums. Standing dejectedly with dripping pack and saturated parka at the ferry terminal we hear the excited chit-chat of non-tramping holiday-goers. “Great weather eh - best Easter in years”. I put my head in my hand, realising that next Easter will be even wetter. The cast: Eric “Takes an engineering degree to pitch a fiy" Evans Harry “It’s raining on my pit, oh well ..." Smith Anita “That's why I’m so tall - so people don’t notice when I fall in holes” Catchpole Karen "Everything's colder in Canada” Serjeantson Keith “What's that black and yellow swarm flying towards me?" Strode-Penny Struan ‘The Sunshine King" Little