This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
There's something special about standing atop a mountain on a gloriously clear day and gazing seemingly forever to the distant horizon. There's a certain risk involved in attempting to increase the carbohydrate load by eating Railway's pies and lamingtons on yet another ferry crossing. And there's something intensely satisfying about forcing someone to eat their words!!! Queen's Birthday Weekend '92 provided such opportunities and it was with a combination of trepidation and enthusiasm that I found myself boarding the Picton ferry on a wet and blustery Friday evening in late May. My attempts at maintaining a low profile lest I be spotted heading south with a rival club were fruitless and I resigned myself to being the topic of some inevitable gossip!! A pre-boarding chat with one of my fellow trip-mates laid the foundation for my determination to make him eat his words when he commented that he was pleased that I was coming along on the trip because "it would slow the boys down a bit’. Keeping my expression blank...... maybe a wee sparkle in my eyes....... I decided to treat this remark as a challenge and set about mentally preparing myself for 3 days of systematically grinding any disbelievers into the dust!! The drive to Top Valley roadend passed in a blur of idle chatter and soon we were climbing down from the truck to some very crunchy frost underfoot and a blanket of bright stars. With tent-erecting noises ringing in our ears, the 5 Real Blokes and I set off for the trees and found a suitable bivvy-site on a thoughtfully constructed section of granny track. Last to hit the sack as usual, there was already a chorus of snoring and snuffling and I was pleased to note that the Hutt Valleys appear to have their fair share of chainsaw and diesel locomotive soundalikes.
The noise-of a nearby primus roused me from the sleepy depths of a pleasant dream and I extracted my head from my pit to gaze upwards at a still starry sky. A vicious plot appeared to be unfolding - an alpine start on a tramping trip. Perhaps, I feared, I'm out of my depth!! Fumbling frantically, I located my watch and discovered to my dismay that it was in fact 6.30am. I pulled my bivvy-bag hood back over my head and feigned sleep until Murray's cheery good morning and offer of a brew reached my ears. After breakfast and a brew I decided that the inevitable could no longer be avoided and the packing began in earnest. I was still applying preventive measures to my feet when the Real Blokes completed their packing and headed back to the truck. A short time later I reached the truck and was somewhat disappointed to find that they hadn't left without me. A jovial goodbye saw us on our way! Within two minutes we were confronted with the first obstacle - an icy cold river!! The 5 Real Blokes sat down to remove their boots in order to keep their socks toasty-warm and with the expression "when in Rome do as the Romans do" leaping around in my mind I followed suit. The icy stream was soon behind us as we bashed through reasonably open bush up to the ridge. Progress was steady, punctuated by the occasional stop to admire the spectacular views that lay before us and to restore energy levels with a chocolate pig-out. We eventually emerged from the bush at Richmond Saddle Hut and after a rest in the sun we continued on upwards, feasting our eyes on the stunning views and revelling in the fact that there was not a breath of wind nor a cloud in sight. Gaining height steadily and attempting to close the gap on Gary who was as usual blasting away in front and barely raising a sweat, I cast the occasional glance downward and noted with some satisfaction the remaining 4 Real Blokes straggling along behind. Inspired by magnificent views and with the comment of the previous night echoing in my ears I trundied on upward, increasing the pace once I realized that Gary had stopped to take some photos. Steaming past and intent on making the most of the opportunity to gain the lead, I stopped briefly to take a photo of the 5 Real Blokes in my wake. Gary was soon in hot pursuit and gaining on me but with the summit now in sight (and Gary jovially playing the game) I poured on the pace and ran the last few steps to the trig making a lot of noise about getting there first. ” I stood atop Mt Richmond declaring in an uncharacteristically loud voice that "I was upholding the proud traditions of Tongue & Meat women"! Calls of encouragement to the boys were met with somewhat "chilly" expressions but unperturbed I rubbed salt into the wounds well into our lunch break. With time marching on we noted with some apprehension the distance still be covered. No matter which way we approached the equation, there was no avoiding the realization that we would be tramping in the dark! Dropping off Mt Richmond, the 5 Real Blokes opened up a bit of a gap on me as I balanced precariously on loose rocks and soft snow, attempting to treat my knees with the respect they deserve! But upon reaching the rolling, gently undulating tops I cranked the short legs up a gear and closed the distance in no time. A short rest stop along the tops saw 4 of the Real Blokes and me standing around in amusement watching Tim's display of misplaced boyhood as he slid around a frozen tarn on his back! A glance cast skywards brought us back to the reality of the sinking sun and the fact that we still had a long way to go. As we started the drop to the bushline, Tim spotted a strearn in a gut off the side of the track. Unable to resist the temptation, Gary slipped a rock in his open pack and set off grinning wickedly. As we reached the bushline the sun began to set in a pallet of spectacular oranges and reds and we stopped momentarily to admire the colours. The onset of darkness hampered progress somewhat since nobody wanted to admit to being a whimp by using a torch. I spy with my little eye......another marker....... which were becoming increasingly difficult to spot! The Real Blokes continued to massage their egos until, fed up with tripping, stumbling and sliding down the track I muttered, "This is bloody ridiculous"!! I was stunned at the speed that 5 torches were retrieved from the depths of packs!!! The Hutt Valley's are definitely tough but they can't see in the dark!! Progress improved markedly but a quick look at the map confirmed that my present discomfort would continue for at least another hour so I slipped into cruise-mode, my mind a million miles away from my tired legs and sore feet. Roebuck Hut eventually materialised out of the darkness and we soon had a fire roaring and a large billy of Mac Cheese cooking. Gary still had a grin on his face over the rock in Tim's pack but was dismayed to learn that Tim's suspicious and ever-vigilant gaze had smelled a rat and removed the offending article before continuing on his way. The dawn was welcomed in with a chorus of alarms at some unearthly hour and there was-a general reluctance to put toasty warm feet on the icy cold floor!!The Real Blokes were keen to get an early start to prevent a repeat of the previous day's late finish and I was still applying sleek to my heels as they disappeared across the swingbridge. This set the scene for the day with all the troops reluctant to tramp in the dark so rest stops were kept short and we were continually pushing the pace. The uphill hit us with a vengeance and continued seemingly all day. I managed to entertain the Real Blokes with a submarine impersonation in the crown fern which would have gone unnoticed but for the Trip Leader's eagle eyes: The bushbash up on to the Bryant Range provided the opportunity for several more embarrassing headplants and I was quietly relieved when we emerged in a clearing at Weka Saddle and stopped for a short lunch. . ;
Mt Gale, the Hackett Peaks, Lowther Saddle all passed in a blur and after puffing and grunting up on to Mt Starveall we ditched our packs and raced for the highest point. Standing atop a cluster of boulders declaring yet another WT&MC victory (over the Hutt Valleys), my glory was shattered by the HVTC spoilers who pointed to a cairn in the distance and announced that that was in fact the highest point. Some disparaging remarks about WT&MC piking noises ensured that I crumbied to the pressure and set out at a quick trot for the true summit. The troops regrouped on the true summit, joined eventually by Tim who dawdled over, a self-satisfied smurk on his face which by and large went unnoticed. Conscious of the time, we wandered back to retrieve our packs, located the track and slipped and slid our way down to the saddle on the last leg to Slaty Hut. Gary was soon just a blur through the trees and Murray and I cruised along chatting amiably until we reached a rather vicious section of uphill. This provided the ideal opportunity for me to lay to rest any lingering doubts about my "slowing the boys down". Soon his voice was but a dim murmur behind me and I! lengthened my stride and piled on the pace for the final grunt then sidie round to Slaty Hut. I spotted the hut and Gary approaching it simultaneously and was highly amused at his stunned surprise as I waiked through the door less than 2 minutes behind him. Gary immediately started ripping into his pack and extracted a sizeable rock, saying he knew it was there but didn't want to stop to remove it!! A spectacular sunrise heralded the start of our last day and our illustrious leader generously granted us the luxury of a sleep-in......till 6.30am. The cruise around the tops to Old Man was made all the more pleasant by the views and an easy Stroll through the bush back to the roadend gave me the opportunity to reflect on a thoroughly enjoyable tramp even if it was with the rivals!!!
The Real Blokes: Gary, Fred, Tim, Murray and Alwyn. And Claire Siicock (Scribe)