This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Walls Whare - Tutuwai - Walls Whare
he would-be observers of flightless avians were: Rob Tindall (leader), Karen Tindall, Chris Mellor, Héléne Closon, Susan Button and Rob Cruickshank.
The bus isn’t all that bad to ride in (it’s got cup holders and everything!) but for obvious reasons you can’t sleep in it. Fortunately, the first showers of the weekend arrived well after we'd pitched fly. (The next dose arrived just as we were striking ‘em!)
According to Karen, someone claiming to be the Chief Guide had informed Tindall Our Glorious Leader (a.k.a. TOGL) that crossing over Reeves (899m) was the easiest way to get to Tutuwai. For those of you navigating by Park Map, when you cross the bridge and turn left for Cone you'll come to a signpost. Heading past it will—if you can get down to it— put you on a track leading to a cableway and walkwire which crosses a feeder stream. (Said walkwire was only traversed by myself and Helene; the others only stepped on it for photos!)
8 - 10 November 1996
It took us about 114 hours just to reach the Reeves track (at 11.15); we could still see the bridge. It took some time, a few false turns and several showers, but we finally knocked Reeves off by 4pm. About % of an hour was spent enjoying the view, which included a large mass of evil-looking cloud over Martinborough. A few minutes later, we were certain: it was heading our way! I hate hours-long downs. My feet protested by blistering. Which was a pity, as Tutuwai Hut—which was right alongside where the Reeves track finishes (at a small sign saying simply, “Roadend”)— was full of what appeared to be a youth group. Another hour and Cone Hut could have been ours.
So flys were pitched on the riverbank, a dinner of fiery Rogan Josh was cooked and consumed, and so to bed.
Now is as good a time as any to admit that we saw no weka. Not one. This despite the birds being released into the wild in this area, and a feeding station close by. (Actually, what is the plural of weka? Wekas? Or just weka?) The next day started out claggy. Horrid, depressing rain. We slogged along through the bog to reach Cone Hut. It’s a cute, small, 50-year-old six-bunker. Deciding that it was going to be cold on the tops (we were right!) we had a very long morning tea. Another track not visible on yer Park Map: a shortcut track to the top of Cone. Hang a right past the hut. We finally hit the top about 12.30 and lunched in the cold a bit later. Over the next two hours of descent a strange directional glow appeared briefly. Some said it was the sun. About 3pm I finally emerged from the bush. They were right. It was the sun. And in that lovely warm carcinogenic radiation, we waited for the other crowd/s to return, so we could get back in the bus and hare off home, stopping only for ice cream in Featherston on the way.
[Photo captions and page text that interrupted the story:]
By Rob Cruickshank