This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
» HAMILTON RIVER - ST ARNAUD
V hia Over to Picton on the Lynx we quickly pass Woody and others chugging along on the slow boat, setting the pace for the rest of the trip.
Some disorientated Ms, E’s or MTBers got lost at the Fish ‘n Chippie (or at least according to the taxi drivers!). Jim, our trusty cabbie soon rounded themall up and we were able to head west knowing that all the punters were safely ensconced in vehicles. We were driven as far up the Rainbow Valley as Jim was able to take us (without totally taking out his muffler!, stopping just before a river crossing. Some punters, keen to keep their booties dry, braved the waters barefoot. A very pleasant walk to the start of the Hamilton track to bivvy out under the trees (avoiding all cow pats) and catching some 2zzz’s before morning.
The next day we toddle up the Hamilton Valley, the scribe bravely offers her flesh for the hungry wasps so that the rest of the party can escape unscathed. At the top of the valley we have a choice of two passes; Harry is keen to take the left saddle, “as itis 3 metres lower”, so we go up the slightly less steep right saddle. We have a stop in the sun before we tackle our chosen pass for a spot of kite flying and a few egg jokes.
By the time we get to the top for luncha chilly wind forces us to cut our lunchbreak short and opt for a bit of scree sliding instead, making for a quick descent to the start of the Begley River. Time for some river I bashing, until we arrive at some track markers that head straight up the hillside. Of course we know better than to waste energy climbing uphill when going downstream, so we continue on down the river until we hit a bluff and bash through very thick, young beech trees to find the track again. So we decide to stick to the track for a while. We reach the Rainbow Valley junction with time to spare to search for the most sheltered campsite.
And soit was that 18 hard boiled eggs were consumed, while sitting around a toasty fire. But one must ask - does Alastair have an egg fetish?? - time only will tell!
A misty morning as we travel swiftly up the Rainbow Valley, not keen to take the easy option over the Rainbow Pass (this is an “FE” after all), we turn left and wander up an unnamed side valley. The mist vanishes to reward us withsome awesome views of hanging valleys and peaks. Ahead ~ we spy another party. We let out the usual welcoming bellow, only to receive a silent reply. Our immediate thoughts are, “must be the Tararuas”. We continue up, a lot of rock hopping (the soles of my asolos are semidetached, making things alittle tricky!)
A series of moraine-strewn basins mark our route; some of our party manage to overtake the tailend of the other party sighted, but when one of those tailenders is 6 months preg-__Once_past_the Travers Saddle_tum:._ nant this achievement pales. Lunch is a staggered affair as some prefer to have their snack in the solitude of a basin, somewhat short of the saddle. Not a bad idea considering the cold breeze and cramped conditions on the saddle as interclub communication reached new heights. (For the record, two snowballs were thrown, an attempt at a snowslide was made, and snow was walked upon. All reinforcing the need to always carry an ice axe!)
Original plans to cruise around ridge tops, eventually dropping to Blue Lake, are quickly reworked upon viewing the broken peaks that might provide impediments to quick progress. Harry grumbled about popping up over Wairau Pass, but after some shingle scree and a lot of tussock and spaniard-hopping, it soon became apparent that the East Branch of the Sabine would be our home for the night. Mind you, it had to beat the Tararuas’ choice of site beside a tarn to the east of McKay. Dinner’s an improvement, although eggs are everpresent, of both the chocolate and fowl variety.
A chilly moming isn’t enough to put off a big-eared egg-bearing bunny with a striking resemblance to a certain Chief Guide visiting our tents. Did I mention the tents? Stood up well to the testing alpine conditions!? A long doddle down the river following hunters’ tracks down the true left (or true right if you’reindependently minded). A very pleasant valley with large sunny flats, the odd waterfall, and interesting crags on the surrounding mountains.
off, after a quick ogle at the gorge, it’s all very cruisey to Sabine Forks and a sunsoak beside the river. The afternoon is a leisurely cruise down the Sabine. Our leader, an incredibly enthusiastic, driven man, fails to enthuse us into a devious way of spending the evening. Rather than a relaxing evening around the fire, why not WT8&MC JUNE 1995 grab a quick feed then romp up to Lake Angelus for the night. The finer points of this plan were pointed out several times.
Our first egg-free dinner; just enough rice and a rice-come-bread pudding to sink the most empty of stomachs. Courtesy calls to neighbouring Mediums before tucking in amongst the toadstools.
Anearly start, believe it was still dark. Another courtesy call on the Mediums with a friendly wake-up call for their leader. Freed of the shackles of those useful tents, heart monitors in place, the route up to Angelus is quickly dealt to, inan attempt to keep us close to our maximum heart rates. A rather vocal kea also pops in to encourage our upwards motion. Unfortunately the douding visionisn’t just from beads of sweat running into our eyes; it’s the clag closing in which obscures views until we reach the ridge opposite Angelus Peak. Kindly, the sun sticks around for lunch, but even that’s not enough to encourage some of our members to relax for a while. Robert Ridge is monotonous in its clagginess; a regroup in the skifield shelter before dropping down to the carpark.
Another kea, or is it the same one, keeps us amused as it remodels several vehicles. Jim arrives on time and hurtles us back towards Picton in time to dine with the physically-challenged members of the WT&MC Easter contingent, the cyclists that is. Thanks for a great trip Don.
Punters: Don Goodhue, Harry Smith, Alastair Booth, Edward Cox, Peggy Christianson, Sue Higgins, Eric Blumhardt, and Pooh & CR. (scribes).
SOMEWHERE IN THE
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13 - 17 APRIL 1995