This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
EASY TRAMP 8 - 10 DECEMBER 1995 WALKABOUT IN THE HAURANGIS
he happy trampers gathered at the Railway Station in anticipation of a wild, wet, woolly weekend?? (no, we weren't talking about the weather).
The old Duchess was going to be full on this outbound leg with bikes, big (!) backpacks, and other bits of kit (who owns the tri-corner bookstand with leather cover?).
Some who were taking the “Easy” walkabout chose to catch up on ‘zzzzzz’ while in the Duchess for the journey to Black Rocks. Ms Green Cap awoke suddenly (the potholes were huge on.this rarely trav- . elled track) and exclaimed, ”is that the lake?” Roars of laughter from the captive crowd. What was your dream about?
We were following the seashore in the dark to the first night’s camp, and arrived at the ford across’ the Mangatoetoe Stream at about 2020. There were many hassles (and knots on many guy ropes) to overcome to erect the-tent flys-in-the dark, with winds howling down the valley towards the sea.
We were lying uncomfortably on a roadway with many stones, under the flapping tent fly as sheep on the nearby hillside offered a dawn chorus of their bleating. Early risers found that one of our group Pages had deserted us for a pit under the ‘Medium’ flysheet and TL' had rested his body on the grass verge outside the tent (there are photos for proof). “More comfortable than the stones on the roadway,” he said.
After a leisurely breakfast on a clear butcloudy morning we set off upstream towards Mangatoetoe Hut. There were a few zigzags across the stream but no one got wet feet, unless like TL, they really wanted to splash about, and we all kept cool with the midmorning rain shower.
By late morning the sight of Mangatoetoe Hut meant that we could dry off for half an hour in the hut and raid the food snacks in our packs. The rain had eased as we strolled on towards the only serious uphill part of the journey (read HUGE steps and a steep climb on the now muddy track) near Kawakawa peak (545m).
The more energetic in the team forged ahead at a rapid pace _and._were.soon lost-in the mist of yet another rain shower. The remaining trampers travelled at a leisurely pace, allowing our American visitor to exclaim, “this is much harder than the walking tracks at home”. No doubt about it, she was the best equipped to brew a pot of tea and recharge the video camera batteries while en route.
It's a pity DOC had forgotten to install power points on some of the more convenient I trees along the way! After a brief rest stop on the climb up the steep parts of the route, the rain stopped so lunch was eaten in a small clearing on the track under the forest canopy. The clouds were low and visibility poor so RP? was not busy at all.
Sidling along below the (unseen) Kawakawa peak, the lovebird pair were getting frisky as they were last in the line on the trail (something to do with fitting two heads into one Green Cap). The point leader changed a few times as slow progress was made on the steep-sided hill, slippery from the rainfall and with loose footing on the narrow edge.
Large gasps from some members of the party were heard
was reached for the downhill route on the northeastern side of the peak. This track was even steeper going down than the one we had used before lunch to ascend.
The most experienced (read in WTMC longest) team member said she would slide down on her backside, as this prevented her falling over, with the comment that ‘a bigger bum would mean an easier (less painful) slide’. Those shorts were definitely the blackest seen after the descent.
Other methods of descent were to swing from one tree trunk to the next as the pathway was blocked in parts Py fallen debris.
In the feeder streams towards the Otakaha, rock-hopping was the order of the day to make steady progress towards the late afternoon rendezvous at the Kawakawa Hut. An orientation stop at the first confluence of two of the streams allowed RP to ask for directions from Ms Green Cap. “How far is 1 metre?” Much laughter by all from the answer captured on film!
There was also talk at this stage of finding an instant hut (just add water) for a rest stop, or an inflatable bridge so lots of pairs of feet could stay dry. Yes, the “Easys” like to think of everything they may need when going walkabout.
Those intrepid trampers who had forged ahead earlier reached the hut by mid-afternoon in a wet and bedraggled state to find two new team members who had defected from the “Medium” group. Welcome to the group who put fun and laughter into boulder-hopping, hill climbing, and mudsliding!
While the forward scouts were preparing the hut for the arrival of the rearguard team and drying themselves out, Ms Talkative was heard to exclaim, “there’s no point having a dry bum if you can’t share it”. One wondered what was in store for the later arrivals? . Meanwhile, the flying book- ‘worm hadsome serious reading to catch up on in his (imaginary) Spitfire. Everyone had arrived at the hut by 1800 to find a roaring fire in the grate and the combined smells of food in the billies, old hut aroma, and wet socks drying over the fire. The evening meal was sumptuous, consisting of the usual “whatever goes in the billy is usually edible when served, and we re all so ravenous it always tastes great, if we could just slow down to taste it!”.
Does it sound like I have forgotten what was on the menu? Well, Ido know that one new pack was thoroughly broken in by a combination, yes combination, of cheesecake mix, plus tinned apricot, cherry and chocolate pre-mixing (in the bag) before we had time to prepare dessert. That dessert was yummy!
Meanwhile, those that had sensitive noses, and were outside the hut playing musical chairs with the three-legged __ bookstand, had an informal poll to find if this newest aid to easy tramps was really as comfortable to sit on as claimed by the owner. Result = strong attraction by Ms (most) but not Mr (few), must be a magnetic affinity to big posteriors. It was also established that the hut had been born in 1968, along with at least one member of our team.
Those five hardy souls who chose to sleep under the fly were (mostly) unaware of rumblings in the hut, the overnight snore chorus, before the dawn chorus, that sounded like a tune-up for the horns and bagpipes of some great nocturnal orchestra. I’m glad it was only a rehearsal withouta repeat performance. The unfortunate conductor of this ensemble (read - the one wide awake in the hut) was found fast asleep in the morning on the grass at the side of the hut. He was not snoring at the time!
After an easy breakfast (read - wake up slowly) we all departed at 1000 to walk through the Otakaha Stream or on the 4-wheel-drive track westwards towards Palliser Bay. On the river flats before the lunch stop, RP was seen to wander off at the tail end of the team line to fill his camera with more images (bad habit but unshakeable) and get himself registered before the next tramp. The place for the lunch break was chosen with infinite care, as the first grove of small trees towards the end of the river flats. Everyone could sloth out “for an extended lunchtime siesta in the warm sunshine, with the three-legged bookstand put to good use by our pilot-in-training.
We never found out if he crashed his Spitfire or his car later in the story line.
Unknown to all until a roving 4WD came by, we were only 10 minutes away from the roadside pickup point and the beach. Most of the group decided to go for a swim, not realising that the tide was out, while the others rested beneath the road bridge. The end of the trip was a time to count bruises; some, it was decided, looked like a map of NZ.
If I was to pick the superlatives to describe the whole weekend, I would say: It was a blast and a barrel of laughs. Thanks Greg, Nancy, Bruce, Kate, Rob, Sue, Pat, Helen, Leanne, and Shawn. 'TL = Trip Leader ? RP = Resident Photographer
[Photo captions and page text that interrupted the story:]
By Derek
ITL = Trip Leader RP = Resident Photographer
I when.the’top of descent’ point... -