This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
by Bruce Warden By the time boots and pack were found, the fit group had vanished into the night. So had Lyndsay and the Duchess, some excuse about driver training the next day or was it a warm bed?
It was then agreed the youngies could walk into the Catchpole’s hut, later followed by the two buck rats who had mountain biked out from town. We camped at the Catchpool. It was windy, dark, but not raining at that stage. As a novice I was introduced to a new ritual, staggering up from the river bed with the biggest stone you could carry. Something else I also learnt was don’t overtighten the guy
ropes as this can cause "problems" with the poles (sorry Pete, they were straightened). Other tricks learnt were - stake claim to a middle berth under the fly early, or, if unfortunate and banished to the outside, take the upper end of the slope if you don’t want to Sleep in the rain with a pile of bodies against you. I heard a story of another novice whose offer to sleep on the outside because he had an entrant bag was gladly accepted, only to find those sleeping inside of him had bivy bags! They didn’t tell us about these things on bushcraft!
An offered and accepted chocolate biscuit entree, prior to wriggling out in the morning was my first insight into the life of a chocoholic. What a diverse group these trampers are. After a leisurely start with a brew (three minutes on the boil) prepared by co-leader David (our "Giardian"), we walked into Paua Hut, wet fly and all. I must remember which gear to opt for in future!
The hut refurbishment is coming up: nicely, a real credit to those who have done the planning and given of their time. On the way in we found out that the chocoholic was also an artist. Well, she painted the outside of the hut anyway. The intent was to go for a gentle walk in the afternoon. However the Oldies (over 21’s) all sat around like sloths in the sun while the youthful group entertained themselves.
As the sun beat its early retreat over Cattle Ridge it was warm clothes on and off wood gathering. Four o’clock seemed a little early to light the fire and cook dinner so it was nibbles again (some on chocolate) and chat.
As the evening progressed, on went more layers of clothing and the grouping around the fire got tighter. The rice was a close call - as Richard said, "Look at the fumaroles". This was followed by cheesecake and cream. Just desserts after an inquisition by David as to the whereabouts of the fourth cheesecake, found after dire threats. Replete, as a novice I also learnt that a Chinese edition of English songs is on the essential equipment list for any tramper. In fact the expertise and seemingly inexhaustible memory of songs by the core of the Ladies Social Committee questions whether the next trip for me should be to a local choir group rather than the ranges, I felt woefully inadequate. The early morning view through the trees of the sun glistening on the river really made me feel good to be out. The group again split, some of us headed up Brown’s Track while the others retraced the main track back. There was a severe case of chocolate withdrawal at the top of Brown’s Track from one of our party (veB). Being sensitive to feelings and to preserve the anonymity of this person, I have spelt her name backwards. We stopped for lunch along Cattle Ridge and again the variety of lunches amazes. From those who coat the end of a loaf and then just gnaw at it, to the avocado and filled rolls from the Clare Pack Bar. ,
We dropped our packs and went to the top of Bakers to take in the magnificent panorama, from the coast to the harbour and beyond. From here it was a quick trip down the Butcher (with knees protesting) to the Catchpool. Good weather, good company, good conversation, in all a good weekend for the 18 of us. Thanks David and Clare. PS. While a gourmet trip sounds pretty good, I would rue the fact of coming out heavier than going in. It must be time to chance my legs with the mediums. ,