This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
by Karen O'Byrne If the incidence of wool on this trip was representative of tramping in general, it's fair to say that wool's day is done. Fleece, and ail its derivatives, appears to rule supreme among the sartorial accessories necessary for the nineties tramnper. ; ; The idea for this trip was hatched many months ago when I was having a clean out of my closet. There in the corner, buried under a pile of purple, jade, and pink jumpers, was my bushshirt. It had accompanied me many places in the days when I used to go tramping regularly. The question was what to do with it now. It was still in relatively good condition, even if totally surplus to my present requirements. (In case you're wondering, these consist of knitting, TV, slippers, and remotes for both the TV and the video.) Some time later the idea carne. Why not have a trip in which everyone rummages in their closets to find their old bushshirts and gives them an outing. And to make it even more authentic, why not reproduce some of the other aspects that used to be typical of tramping. You know, morning brews where you had a choice of tea or tea. Sleeping under flies; when domes were either the top part of churches or snap fasteners used to keep clothes strategically done ‘up. And stew, where the principal ingredient started life on four legs, and flour and water was only used for thickening purposes. Etc,etc. Such was tramping in the days when mountains were places that featured in scenic calendars and bikes were something that generally only kids rode, and it would have taken a creative genius to be able to string both words together in one sentence, and even then it would probably have needed to be a very very long sentence. Who could have forseen the day when these two disparate words would become inextricably linked. If I was the °M" in WT&MC I'd probably be feeling very insecure right now. After all there's probably one or two newer members around who think M stands for mountainbiking - as in the Wellington Tramping and Mountainbiking Ciub. Is mountaineering about to follow the sare route into oblivion as the once proud bushshirt? I deviate. Bact to the trip. So this was to be a trip down memory lane. What better trio to choose that the Holdsworth - Kaitoke classic. Well, it was in its time. Time passes........ Holdsworth - Kaitoke proved too difficult logisticatly to organise so we went to the Haurangis instead. ! must confess that when I was at home packing for the weekend, I did retrieve my bushshirt from the depths of the Closet. But then I thought that pile jackets cio make superior pillows, and being of an age where sleep is all important, I put the bushshirt back in its corner and grabbed my pile jacket instead. Such commitment to the concept! On Friday night we drove around to Cape Palliser and camped exactly where the van stopped. On Saturday we had a pleasant walk up the Mangatoetoe Stream to Mangatoetoe Hut, then to Kawalawa Hut and eventually onto Pararaki Hut where we spent the night. There was a big hill that separated Kawakawa and Pararaki Huts which proved a challenge to those in the group who were participating in their first tramp of the year.
Part way up this big hill, the other Karen, with Mike in tow, blasted past me. Karen's comment as she passed: "I guess this wouldn't be a good time to extol the benefits of light packs!" No it wouldn't have been a good time. The significance of this comment was that Karen and Mike were basically carrying daypacks - I'd probably feel nervous going down to the local shops with as little gear as they had. Or apparently had. On closer inspection, they seemed to have everything you could ever need for a weekend in the hills. Included were big loaves of bread, a few kilos of bananas, biscuits, tomatoes, etc etc. The one concession that they had made was to leave the third lettuce behind.
We arrived at Pararaki Hut around 3.30pm. Grassy flats across the river from the hut provided us with an ideal place to camp the night, and a rather comfortable spot to enjoy a late afternoon sleep in the sun. Next morning there was another big hill to climb. About 750 metres of big hill if you're interested in precision. The redeeming feature of this hill was at least it went straight up; it knew what it was about. Having climbed up, we then went directly down to the Washpool Stream where we spent an hour wandering upstream looking for the hut before finding it 200 metres downstream of the place where the track met the stream. (If you're reading this DOC, please take note and change the map. Ta.) After lunch there was another big hill. The contour lines on the map suggested this hill should onty have been 500 metres high. Personally I think it went as high as the moon. It went on,'and on, and on. And unlike previous hills that went straight up and then straight down, this one went straight up forever, and then a bit more, and then up some more as it meandered along the ridge. I am firmly of the belief that Sunday afternoons should be reserved for strolling. The interminable slog from Washpool Hut to the Pinnacles did not constitute my idea of a stroll. Eventually, many many hours later we arrived at the road. By this stage, we had split into three groups. Sue and I were the sensible ones and sat in the sun waiting for Allen to come and pick us up. Allen had jumped on his mountainbike to ride the 20kms around to Cape Palliser to get the van. And Karen and Mike, having not done enough exercise on the weekend as a consequence of carrying feather-light packs, had departed for a two hour road run. Those on the trip: Allen and Sue Higgins, Karen Serjentson, Mike Sheridan, and me, Karen O'Byrne.
This is a great trip. It's on the next trip schedule and I'd highly recommend it. Don't let my descriptions of the size of the hills put you off - I'm so fit at the moment that I'd probably need time-out during a game of tiddlywinks! And what about the wool? Karen and Mike were travelling light so there was no chance they'd take wool. I needed a soft pillow so I took pile. Congratulations go to Sue and Allen who subscribed to the theme of the trip and took all their woollen finery.
KAIMANAWAG...............URCHIN - WAIPAKAH! AND RETURN
‘Weil as usual on Friday evening there were a group of punters ready and willing to take on the wilds of the bush for the