This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
29 MAY -1 JUNE 1992 Itis the object of any self-respecting bird of pray to abtain the ultimate in flying To "fly true" Is an art that is mastered by few such birds, but thase that do are revered amongqst the flock. So tao, any self-respecting tramper aims to tramp a true Course up spur, along ridge. down gut and through river. So rarely is this achieved to a degree that reflects the majestic beauty of the tramper's environs. This trip was to be such a rare occasion. A chilly, damp morning greeted our crew of 7, all of whom (except one who shall rernain nameless) had braved the unfavourable night conditions at Mokai roac-end Unperturbed by early stirrings of neighbouring parties our magnificent 7 prepared themselves for the first challenge of the day. Sticking strictly to road access marked on the topa map we forged aur way through uncharted land towards Mokai Hut. At paints on the journey, strange echoes could be heard - something about "a track" "dogs". "off" Still in unfriendly territory we pushed on in light drizzle. and at one stage. light sleet (ors Lyndsay would say. "It's trying to snow") until the welcoming arms of the Ruahine Forest Park were reached. From here a sidle through bush with various stands ot Podocarp and a drop to lran Bark Hut An early lunch taken, a river crossing that wet the boots (amangst other things). thoughts of brass monkeys and our course was once again set for Lake Colenso Knowing the Lake could not be truely appreciated from its immediate surrounds and knowing that a small group af snivelling, miserable. so-called Fits were doing some pitbashing at Colenso Hut, we decided to press on to Unknown Campsite. Atrue course was taken up @ razorback ridge with views of Colenso and up surrounding velleys to the claqshrouded Ruahine Corner. Unknown Campsite is a misnomer as it is far fram unknown going by the amount of rubbish and hunting paraphernalia surrounding it. Camp was struck and Mr Lucifer himself set about getting a raging fire going in damp conditions. With clearing skies. rosey cheeks and stretched stamachs, pits were crawled inta knowing tomorrow was to be a different story. (For the record, 200gms of down is more than adequate to maintain the body's metabolism of a person in a deep slumber, under a fly. in below zero conditions, on a slope ridden with tree roots. . . II!) Next maming dawned with a degree of crispness in the air. The sun soon beckoned us up the next spur as we headed towards Wakelings Hut. In Crystal clear conditions our trudging took us up, first through recently cut slippery track and then through snaw-clad bush. Recent firm snow made for quick travel up to the highest point of the ridge tor lunch Basking in the sun, Mts. Taranaki, Ruapehu, Tongariro and Ngauruhoe never looked this good with great visibility. Several of us mused over the intricate wind-blown icicles around us while others looked hungrily at the snow covered Mokai Patea Range ta the south.
This splendid scene was only interupted by the dark pessimism of the "pit bashing, this is abysmal, let's turn back” Fit trip led by the man of eternal optimism, Struan. “Not wishing to spoil their misery with our. wide-eyed enthusiasm, we pushed on back along the ridge playing in the snow, dodging giant rats and making the most of an easy ‘descent to Maropea Forks Hut. A quick grunt up and over the next-ridge to Wakelings Hut. Needless to say there was rampant enthusiasm to go further but it was felt that something should be left for Monday! , The hut was resorted to only because of a lack of good camping spots (my 200gm pit had nothing to do with if. While Robbie "I'll show you how to chop wood" Morrison carried out in his own words, a sort of esoterism, the rast of us. relaxed inside, reminiscing about fires that actually throw out heat. A satisfying feed soon followed. Monday moming, that heady day of Monarchial worship, brought a hoar-frost outside, and it seemed,. inside the hut as well. Weetbix and ice are a fine combination but I do not recommend frozen boots. Someone mulled over the dangers of relieving oneself in such conditions. An early start was called for with an 800m meander up to the Mokai . Patea Range. Throwing all caution to the wind, one of the hairier of our party bared his masculinity to the elements (I mean his: chest). However he soon learnt that fresh snowballs are enough to quash anyone's ego. The uninterupted views and.no wind on top of Rongotea Peak made it well worth it. It is here that our party learnt the meaning ‘of. “tue flight" in the tramping sense. The welding of a group into one body; uniform, determined and supportive. The secret of course, is to walk in single file, the front person taking short Steps (to accommodate the physically challenged amongst the parly) with a high leg lift followed by a strong kick for the next step. The object of course being to find the deepest snow with the most hidden, frozen tarns. . ,
Some may question the need for such a purist approach when the snow at its deepest was shin-deep. Some may draw analogies with a certain woolly mammal. But for the tramper this was ecstacy with a long snow draped ridge seemingly continuing tc Mt Ruapehu in the distance As we neared the end of the Mokai Patea Range one more pleasure awaited us To the south in the distance, clearly visible against the azure sky were the Tararuas! As we approached less-friendly territory it dawned on me what being a tramper was all about. But if you want to find out the answer (no; it's not 42) I can only suggest that you get out there and tramp!
Punters: Lyndsay Fletcher (Leader), Kirsty Woods, Robbie Morrison, Andrew McLellan, Jo McKenzie, Chris ‘Young and Robert (from the Parawai's).