This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
on Platform 9 as we loaded the bus with bikes, bags and bodies. A gathering of strangers heading for “somewhere north of Wanganui”. The first stop was Levin where we scrambled for the local Chinese and started our orders of 25 x $5.50 mixed specials. We ate hungrily as we tried to load on the calories that would be necessary to take us through until Sunday.
I tall started on Thursday at 6pm
At Pipiriki we stumbled in the dark, struggling with large red flys and pegs and sleeping bags and roll mats and rucksacks (?) and the cold and numb fingers until finally all were settled.
At 7am we were rudely awakened and grudgingly crawled out of our cocoons of warmth to prepare for our river ride to the Bridge to Nowhere. Donning our life jackets we climbed aboard. Alas, we did not flip or take to the air over any grade 4 rapids, but we did scare a couple of ducks as we zoomed up the river gorge. After a gentle walk we came to the bridge, which incidentally was built by DOC for the convenience of trampers! Just beyond we saw the signs “Do not proceed - Track Closed” but fearlessly we carried on ready to tackle whatever dangers lay ahead. We broke up-inte-groups to- suit our walking pace and passed in single file along narrow ledges on the cliff face, regrouping at intervals to ensure that we hadn’t lost anyone over the edge or through a gap in the many suspension bridges that we crossed. All around us the hills rolled on, draped in thick bush. .
By evening the clouds had gathered ominously and as we organised ourselves for the night, the rain started to fall. By the time our sauté chicken and rice was ready, the rain had become torrential and our meal had become saturated chicken and rice. In the dark it became apparent that at least one of the flys was sagging dangerously, gathering huge pockets of rain at an alarming rate. This called for everyone to pitch in and reset the fly before we could settle down. As we tried to sleep imaginations ran rife with everyone chipping in a few lines to make up a bedtime story — we dozed off to images of leprechauns, whirlpools, and giant red flys on Caribbean holidays while trying to remember what it was like to be warm and dry. After a cold, wet night we peeped out of our sleeping bags and saw a blue sky and eagerly peeled off our damp clothes and replaced them with yesterday's wet ones. Words cannot describe the magical beauty of such a morning in the bush. Walking along I felt that I should walk on tiptoes, afraid of disturbing the peaceful tranquillity surrounding us. I felt like an intruder in an untouched place. Trees lifted their branches like limbs stretching sleepily in the early morning sun. Cobwebs drip- -ping- with-dew- sparkled-brightly—and clouds draped themselves across the hills, slow to move away from such a beautiful and peaceful place. Robins and fantails flew along beside us as we snaked our way along the track. Also walking along the track that day was a group from Taupo which was a source of great embarrassment for me as red faced and breathless as I was, they would wave us on cheerfully they were all in their 60s and looked like they were taking a Sunday stroll in the park. At the top of the rise, we collapsed in heaps and stopped for lunch using the time and sunshine to dry clothes and bedding before starting our descent. That evening we camped next to a waterfall and prepared for our last evening in the bush. For the first time in my life I went to bed at 7.30 on a Saturday night. Then the carnage began as Michelle surveyed her bed area for unwanted creatures. Spider after spider and maggot after baby caterpillar died at her hands — or should I say with my water bottle. By the time she had done her fifth final check, we were ready to squash her with the water bottle. Next morning we set off for our last 8km. Coming out on the road we had 4 km of ankle-deep mud to wade through before finally reaching the DOC hut at Whakahoro where beyond our wildest dreams we had fresh running water and joy, a zip dispensing copious amounts of boiling water. By the time the bus came _ to pick us up we had been fed, watered, and had dry clothes on. Feelings of normality began to flood back. Once again, as three days previously, we loaded the bus with bikes, bags, and bodies and started our journey back to Wellington — this time not a gathering of strangers but a gathering of companions and friends. cS