This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
WASN’T, 26 - 28 July by Robbie Morrison
On 27 July 1991, and under the watchful guidance of Andrew McLellan, twelve of us, known as the medium party, set of from Walls Whare, over a rather tall swing bridge and toward Cone (referred to in the schedule as Mt Cone - a pitiful and transparent marketing ploy, no doubt). Our leader‘’s credentials, I believe, relied heavily on being well read in the works of A.A.Milne, certainly more so than having recently undertaken a club leadership course. After several arduous hours we arrived at Cone to find rather a lot of snow. Geoff scouted a possible camp-site, complete with frozen tarn. However, by this stage the realities of some peoples’ sleeping bags were starting to dawn upon them, with some weighing as little as 200 grams I understand, and the consensus was to stay in a hut. So with one last look over the snow covered ridges that zigzagged their way to eternity and a glance at an indecisive sky, we bid Brian Johnston farewell and started downward through the magic of moss covered beech forest.
Cone Hut is one of the oldest in the Tararuas and has already been rebuilt several times. It-has such features as a rammed dirt floor, drafty walls and a hand adzed sleeping platform to set it apart from the crass huts of today. Everyone helped prepare and consume a magnificent meal and it was in this capacity that we first glimpsed Andrew’s organizational abilities. This was only a hint of talents yet to emerge. Our leader then roused us for the final stage of the journey ahead by recounting tales of unimaginable heroism and resourcefulness in the face of adversity. Those present will know that I refer to the tale of piglet and pooh during the great flood. Gritty stuff and excellent preparation for a walk down the Tauherenikau under clear skys.
Some stayed inside that night, unsure as to whether the great flood would eventuate or not, while non-believers opted to fly camp for reasons of poverty, ideology or indifference. Andrew spent a brave night out in his Claytons pit ~ a soiled and slobbered Macpac featherless wonder ("Marathon Bag"), convinced that pooh. would, given similar circumstances, have done the same thing. i. Next day we duely arrived a at the road end to find the truck was rather ew stuck. Someone remarked NX that pooh ... but then that is another tale which some would prefer not to have retold. a ae S e* Astonishingly, and despite cae I Andrew’s leadership, no . z . party members managed to do anything to warrant ridicule, as is really the true purpose of this narrative. However the following should be recorded. Jess and Sam explained the intricacies of skate-boarding to baffled older members. Gyne made sure the pace to Smiths Creek Shelter didn’t slacken. Clare and Anne told of tramping in a land with no trees. Robbie tried to misdirect the party out via a shortcut known as Block XVI. Howard was noticeably last to finish packing on several occasions and after a muttered conversation with the leader completed the trip in isolation via Marchant Ridge. Lisa arrived with new gaiters and Janette and Brenda behaved themselves sufficiently to avoid any derisive comments to be noted here. A great trip without a great flood and I know for this I can thank our leader, co-leader and driver on behalf of us all - Good-one, Robbie