This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Nelson Lakes National Park - 15 August 1997
t is remarkably easy and relax ing to get to St Arnaud, Nelson Lakes for a weekend; lounging on the ferry, maybe taking in a film, reading the paper or chatting over a pint rather than 25 people sitting on the bus in darkness on their way up North.
From Picton it is less than two hours to St Arnaud. We arrived at 11pm at Rotoiti lakeside and the Fits (Peggy, Daniel, Gerard, Brett, Richard and Charlie) decided to start walking for an hour to finally arrive at Bushline Shelter at 12.30am. We walked by the light of the moon reflected off the fresh snow, rarely needing to use the head torches. This was beginning to sound like a Mills & Boon novel until, to our dismay, the shelter was rather smaller than what we envisaged for six tired bodies. Charlie had to sleep under a bench four inches above his face. Gerard was gentlemanly enough to opt for the breezy porch which provided one of the few opportunities to use the snow shovel that weekend - to clear the snow from the porch floor. We all had to go to bed at the same time as there was still only just enough room ! This was definitely a Mills & Boon novel once more. It was just as well that it was cosy because the_ wooden slat floor allowed the cold air to blow up from the snow below.
There were many cold noses sticking out of the sleeping bags the next morning. The temperature was ‘zero’ and it was far below this for most of the day as a result of increasingly strong winds which tested us all on the ridge. On occasions the wind whipped up a quagmire of snow particles but there was nothing we could do as the little tornado approached us and transformed us into little snow men and women. There has never been a more accurate ‘Jim The Weatherman’s’ forecast as this weekend. The East was indeed sunny and the West was indeed rainy. And we were right in the middle. Watching from Roberts Ridge, looking across to the St Arnaud range and Rainbow ski field, they were basking in sun while there were black clouds directly above us. Wrong range, right tramp. The problem with ridges is that they are usually bone dry and exposed to the elements. We experienced both. Roberts Ridge becomes narrower and narrower and at one stage is about a metre wide at its narrowest point with one or two awkward rocks to negotiate which inevitably catches a crampon at some stage to give you a hot flush. Add to this about 60 km/h winds and it was just as well the packs were heavy enough to weigh us down. No opportunity arose to fill our water containers up with fresh water between _Friday. evening and -Sunday. morn- I. ing due to the lack of rivers and Lake Angelus being well and truly frozen over. It was just as well that Brett and Richard each pulled out a bottle of wine on the Saturday evening ! Surely a vintage. We arrived at the hut by 1pm but because of the deteriorating weather and slow going along the ridge, regularly walking up to your knees in snow drifts, it was too late to carry on over Sunset Saddle and down to Hopeless Hut. And one of the party experienced a dizzy spell on the tops, probably due to dehydration, but we were informed the dizziness was not a permanent condition ! Instead we opted for a warm fire and the chance to melt some snow for drinking followed by a walk towards Sunset Saddle. The sky was the same colour as the snow and it was true ‘flat light’ with rocks appearing to float mysteriously in the air around us. On the return journey three of us managed to walk over Lake Angelus though this was not for Biblical reasons just that it was the most direct route back to the hut. With a few blows with the ice axe to test the strength of the ice, we quickly realised this baby wasn’t going to break under our weight ! Meeting up with the Mediums that evening there were sixteen of us in the hut, which sleeps 35, and enough for a quorum committee meeting. Two extra guests also stayed at the hut that night who apparently came up for a little solitude - not to be found in that hut that weekend. One of them spent five weeks in the National Park and was making the best use out of an annual hut pass that we had ever seen. There was some friendly banter between the groups when the respective desserts came out but how can you improve on Marilyn’s chocolate fondue - so some of the Fits came with cap in hand for left-overs, was.a German who had_already which the Mediums were too stuffed and bloated to finish, and had to eat the chocolate covered marshmallows in front of all ten of the Mediums for entertainment purposes. But it was worth every moment of the embarrassment and humiliation to taste such energising, delightfully sweet food. The Sunday was a wander down Cascade Creek, regularly up to our thighs in soft snow, to the sound of running water which at that time was more welcome than a Berocca on a Sunday morning. Charlie managed to locate the snow covered stream by falling into it up to his thighs rather than using dividers. Daniel, despite his tallness, became stuck up to his shorts in snow for a few minutes even though he had use of ski poles. Even the name of the lunch stop, Cold Water Hut, sounded nice after not having any running water for one and a half days. Nelson Lakes National Park is an exquisite area and it is very difficult to go wrong there. But at the end of the day, WIMC sent two Medium trips to the region rather than a Fit and a Medium trip - due to the weather and an over optimistic route, but nevertheless a great time was had by all.
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Charlie Batho
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