This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
eeks like this where work ends on a Wednesday are the substance of our dreams — but this one was real, and from the depths of the Wellington workforce emerged a team of 33 keen trampers merging at the crowded ferry terminal — not to mention a cheery companion from the gumboot township! Scoffing down a biscuit, and getting out of work clothes, I grabbed a ferry ticket off our trip leader and nodded to the words “Lynx not Arahura” and scuttled off to drop unwanted bits and pieces in the Car.
With the Arahura leaving at 17.30 and the Lynx at 18.00, bustling crowds of Wellingtonians hurried towards the ticket check-in and luggage check-in departments as the last call for the Arahura was made! It’s OK, I’m on the Lynx I thought, as I saw Ed (the last of the timely crew) rush towards the boarding platform! I looked down at the boarding pass which had Interislander stamped on it in brown, and looked around noticing that I was indeed the only person in the queue with a brown boarding pass rather than a pink Lynx pass — how good was that
Rachell Parkinson
short term memory — I thought as it dawned that I may have the wrong notion, or at least wrong boarding pass!
There was a small dilemma when I got up to the luggage check-in counter as the lady put my pack aside and said I need confirmation from your group leader regarding which vessel you are on. Hmm, I thought — this could be tricky — I think he’s probably well on his way to Picton, so how do you expect me to find him? The poor lady looked so hassled that I boldly said “No worries, I'll find him!” and disappeared to the gangplank for the Lynx, and rapidly explained to the ticket collectors of the confusion.
As I boarded the Lynx, the Supervisor asked me if I belonged to a tramping club. I looked at him questioningly, and he explained that there was_indeed .another stow-away on‘board, and proceeded to call him to his office via the intercom. “Edwin Fox” wasn’t quite the name on target, and I grinned as Ed unassumingly ignored the call until.we were sail- ing or zooming with 3, 000 litres per second coming from the twin rocket thrusts at the rear.
Arriving early in Picton, we spotted the new Wgtn Tramper Camper (bus) ready and waiting, and scuttled off to find food. Munching F&Cs before Ed got served was a little humorous as I ran back to notify the others of our whereabouts, and the little adventure cruise — at no extra cost!
With the tramper camper packed, the trip to the beginning of the routes was punctuated by the captain's (Roger’s) polite safety introduction speech, and tourist information gossip, and multitudes of sheep jokes, and presentations of divine culinary delights (Pepsi/ water/peanuts) prepared by lanky stewardesses to the ball guests. After about four hours’ sleep in light rain, navigational checks were performed by the alert team leader — with inquisitive discussions on NZ’s flora/fauna selections as we headed towards Anatoki-Bend_to. investigate the. potential accommodation for those traversing in the opposite direction of this unexplored wilderness...
Inventive stories as to the low numbers of South Island birds seen — other than wood pigeons, fantails and robins and wekas Pageé were generated from the discovery of the staple diet of NZ birdlife (juicy raisins) courtesy of the esteemed group leader — who _ must have thought we were alla little under nourished with generous offerings of this delightful treat to all members of the ensemble.
Photography anyone? Yes, a few cameras were spotted flashing themselves in front of some picturesque waterfalls, and streams which punctuated the track, alongside large wetas which didn’t take kindly to 120W torches shining on them in the remnants of an old mining cave, just in the early stages of giving birth to some limestone formations, another million or so years, and they’ll be sore to sit on — (the stalactites, that is) the wetas were about to do more than sit on us, as they were shocked out of their gentle slumber. Making friends with nature was pretty short lived as we scrambled back out to the safety of the sunlight. Austr”aliens” were seen at the first hut, having spent two days in direction discovery mode, as they had entered the track from a route that was slightly off the map! Keen outdoors people they were, with a few stories to tell about Australia, and they were even complementary about our countries delights! Even with the aid of a map, a slight geographical displacement occurred as one member of the party decided to retreat from a bushbash across a ridge to one of the peaks. Within earshot, lots of yelling went backwards and forwards across the valley, but it wasn’t until the troopers returned to the pit stop, that they realised that she wasn’t just replying to:the mating call of the cheery bushwhackers. Indeed, she had missed the ridge, and over-compensated on her course correction, and ended up doing more walking than the initial explorers! A few interesting acoustic characteristics of the hillside caused some confusion when brave relocation attempts were made; however, the constant chirps of some concerned crew proved to be a good beacon for homing in on, as the one discoverer decided she had had enough exploration experience for the day. The second evening presented us with a beautiful large open sunny, grassy camping spot — and a refreshing dip — soothing the weary feet — blistered for some, with an hour of luxurious basking in the sunlight before the instinctive tummy rumbles made themselves prominent in the forethoughts of the anticipating guests What was that they told me about packing lightly? 1 litre of port along with fresh cream, and chocolate chip cookies made a delightful desert, on top of the two bags of REAL potatoes in the flesh for the exquisite “curry goulash” prepared by Ruth Holst — who had every last seasoning required. No improvisations lads — only the best for the guests. It appears the sausages for the fellow members of the other group came to a less popular fate with one particular “Scum” being heavily penalised by the “Presidente” in the “intellectual Challenge — alias — “Scum” (having to give away his highest card every time a particular scent wafted through the calm night air). Social etiquette was well obeyed by the end of the evening with little scuttles into the bush on necessary occasions, needless to say, ranking changes were not explosive. Chorus snoring kept a quiet observer awake beyond starlight that night. The lake was a-fascinating formation, and in terms of the planet relatively recent, as a large and active landslide formed the perfect seal to what was once a river path through a valley of bush. It was odd seeing old thick tree stumps protruding above the lake’s surface, as though they were determined to hold their ground. A little mist, and this could well have been mistaken for “yoda’s home” but we had enough trouble aiming stones at the right tree, let alone beaming space crafts out of the depths. A delightful swim it presented for the other group, still not on the warmer side, but it’s only summer — mid-August might be more appealing. NOT! The slip sorted out the hardy trampers from the gentler day walkers who tentatively clambered over the loose rock — rather than clomping as though the objective was to create a mini landslide and a smaller lake, but there were a few places where everyone slowed down.
Discussions of the routes usage as a trekking route were confirmed as Donkey Saddles and rope were discovered on the third night camping right on the track at Skeet Creek. In the cool shade of the evening forest, a well-prepared curry (the 3rd in a row) warmed us for the evening round of “Scum” — and images of ghost donkeys trekking through the tent flies, but not much could wrestle with the minds of these weary trekkers as the chorus of snores began — one of which was the quiet observer. The final climb out seemed to last a long time, and when we finally got to the downhill, the decision to race to the end was short lived, as we realised how zig-zaggy the track was. Buggered boots and blisters didn’t add to the joy of the merry crew, but not a complaint was to be heard. A generous offer of $200 for “Passing Go” on the
Monopoly board was collected as we picked up the van, and attempted to follow the instructions for starting the diesel rented van, rested our feet, went for a bathe at the only stream that had more than dusty boulders populating its shores and went to the rendezvous point for the fellow companions of the other adventures.
I never thought trampers resembled fishermen, but the returning stories made me think I twice as the comparative merits of each trip was discussed on the return journey to Picton. Votes for swimming at Pelorus were marginally down-turned in favour of a Picton Pub-crawl (only one!) Large quantities of food were devoured in favour of the “pretty” Lynx food, and showers were a pre-requisite for some. Starship Lynx presented a rapid return to the home shores with amusement by the safety message delivery (the life jacket strings were all tied up). The majority of the well-fed trekkers dozed, played cards, or kept the fresh air coming through at times of queasiness.
Exhaustion was not a factor, but sore feet and stiffness set in after having been seated for the best part of the last six hours — the walk down the gang plank presented some amusing hobbles as we waddled away from our Waitangi weekend onto solid land to pick up our luggage, dozy but cheery and pleased to come home.