This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
The Drambui went down a treat that evening, I can tell you. Being the only person stupid enough not to bring gaiters on the trip, I was feeling the effects of the snow grovelling (against bare skin it is more like ice, and my legs were scratched and bruised by the day’s end). Drambui wasn’t the only treat in store at MacKinnon Hut. After a gourmet main of chicken and vegetables, we tucked into a decidedly decadent dessert made of Kahlua-soaked chocolate chip biscuits stuck together with whipped cream, which had taken no small amount of beating. Though the hut had six bunks and room on the floor to spare, five people chose to bivvy (or tent) outside, while the rest of us wimps stayed indoors on soft mattresses. Day Two dawned just as brilliantly as the first, but Struan was predicting the worst. In fact, to help create for himself a miserable Sunday morning, he chose to go down into the dark, damp, frost-bitten valleys, then walk up again to meet us at a point along our descending route. Somehow he managed to persuade Roger to go with him. Madness really is contagious.
The descent to Kawhatau roadend was a doddle, with enough time for sled competitions, snow fights, and a lazy two-hour lunch and a siesta. We didn’t reckon, however, on finding-that the cable-car, which-wassupposed to take us (in style) over a river at the tramp’s end, was out of order. So, down through thick bush we grovelled and across the river. More — bushbashing, some contortionist straddling of fallen trees, and we were there. It was, you might say, a memorable tramp. cA
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WI&MC July 1997