This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
|“: had a limited tramping experience and so approaching my first Club trip, I didn’t really know what to expect. On reflection the Queen’s Birthday Easy trip to Mangatainoka Hot Springs was definitely a memorable experience and lived up to all the expectations that I didn’t have. Memorable: firstly there was the scenic attractions (and I don’t just mean the rivers and trees); there was the post-tramp fracas (will elaborate on this), and of course there were the people and personalities, the characters that shine through. And this tramp had its share of characters. Max the scouser, for example, the stand up comic who undoubtedly only came on the tramp to seek out fresh lines. Dressed in his seethrough ‘dirty-old-mans’ jacket and polished yellow boots Max had a yarn for all occasions. Although telling how he nearly got picked up ata local bar by Adrian was possibly a mistake; a lot of mileage was made at Max’s expense. Needless to say drinking Green Chautrese will never be the same for many of us.
There was a definite international flavour to the tramp: American, French, Bulgarian, and of course, there was Mr A. He was definitely _ one of the characters from the
Queens Birthday Weekend
peccable knowledge of the local flora and fauna, and most importantly for his carrots — all 1.5 kgs. The sheer grit and determination he showed in carrying out his ‘Paldog-roll’ shaped pack was an inspiration and an indication of the man’s constitution.
On arrival at the roadend we proceeded with the three-or-so-hour stroll into the campsite which was followed by a quick dip in the hotpools and an exquisite chicken satay and pud. After the meal half the group sifted back down the track to spend a luxurious night at the hut snuggled up with the hunters, their dogs and other assorted bogans.
Meanwhile, I was destined to spend the remainder of the night soaking beneath the stars, supping on wine with the three aunties. The three aunties: Auntie Marilyn, Auntie Jo and trip leader Auntie Helen — these three experienced sets of eyes oversaw the smooth running of the trip and generally kept everyone in order. Needless to say, however, with this unfortunate gender ratio the conversation soon descended into what amounted to a good old natter. The evening was set to get a little
Kelvin Watt and Helen McDermott Now, I’m not sure if it’s standard practice for the tramping club to arrange such exhibitions for new members, but I’d suggest that it definitely does add a memorable quality to a tramp. The following day we basked in sunshine as we trekked on a day walk up the ridge to Makino Hut. We feasted there with the Medium trip (who were coming the other way), and following a quiet round of ‘catch’ with Marilyn’s raisin loaf (the part the possum hadn’t eaten the night before), we returned back down the slope for a further dip in the hotpools. Sunday night in the pools was substantially busier than the previous; word had apparently spread of the previous-night’s entertainment and every tramping party within a 20 km radius had descended on the pools. It was all very cosy. That night it began raining and it continued for our walk out the following day. This brings to mind a memorable quote that became etched in my head over the course of the weekend. It came from Jo, and if I ever make it to the Onga Onga Pub (something that was promised several times but never eventuated), I’ll feel obliged to tramp (whether he realised it or not) and things would not have been the same without him. On secondment from the LA tramping club (where they do things a little differently) we were all indebted to Mr A’s bushcraft skills (taught to him by the greenkeeper when he was only seven), his immore interesting, however. Before too long there was a rustling in the bushes and from out of the scrub appeared four fair maidens who, by flickering candlelight proceeded to undress, exposing... (edited by the WTMC chief censor) ...and soak their nubile bodies.
scrawl it on the bathroom wall; “Harden up, what’s the worst thing that could happen, you'll only get wet”. So blatantly simple, yet so powerful, so profound. On making it back to the bus, all at various degrees of saturation, we set a course for home, back to civilisation. Unfortunately, a rickety old bridge stood in our path and although the three billy goats gruff had long been swept away, the WTMC wagon dared not set an axle upon it. And this is where the fairytale (what my boss probably thought of my reason for my day off work) or more aptly, where the ‘comedy of errors’, begins. Take it away Helen... Things were looking good. The rain and wind were plentiful but all three groups had made it out to the bus before the departure time (not the norm these days) and the vehicle heaters soon started the thawing process. But one look at the ‘stream’ between us and civilisation told another story. Gone was the babbling brook, replaced by a raging torrent. There was a bridge further up-stream but after comparing its width with the Orient Express, we crossed that option off the list. No problem — we had a mini-van as well that could cross the bridge so the van plus two drivers were dispatched to Napier Airport to pick up two more vans. Meanwhile, up at the farmhouse, the kettle was boiling. Jack and Agnes invited all 20 of us in for a cuppa. It got later and colder — finally a phone call from our two drivers proved we had lost the battle and were not going home that night. They were stuck in snow up the road. Agnes immediately set to with food and wine for our tea while some of the girls took over the kitchen to make scones. The party continued with the decibel level rising and the jokes getting worse. The power going off only brought roars of laughter as we wondered what would go wrong next!
I think we were all dreading trudging through the snow to the bus for the night but it was not to be as Jack organised for us to spend the night in the shearers’ quarters. A cosy night in bunks with real mattresses was followed by pancakes and apricots (thanks Agnes) the next morning and we were off to the big smoke ... only 24 hours late. What could have been a horrible night had turned into one of the highlights of the trip thanks to Jack and Agnes. They were very brave inviting 20 trampers into their house after 3 days in the bush but in the end I don’t know who had more fun — us or them. My thanks to all those on the trip, particularly Wayne, Mike and Lyndsay who tried so hard to get us out only to be beaten by a greater force.
n May 1991 I did a trip in the Eastern Aorangi with three other SWIC members. It was so good I clicked on “save as” and created a new file under the heading BARTON TOPS. Recently I had the opportunity to reopen this existing file and make some amendments to it. In 1991 we went up Stonewall (Waitetuna) Stream, climbed the spur from the forks at 031578 and reached point 906 just on dusk. We survived our camp there thanks only to a billy-carrying descent in the dark to a trickling headwater of the Whawanui.
The plan had been to continue
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Pages WI&MC Aug/Sept 1997
Trip Reports