This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
W hen a Tramper’s wife tells him he’s getting fat (or implies as much by saying his waistline isn’t the shape it was when she married him), at times like these a Tramper needs to resolutely turn his back on all those chores at home, find a good campsite or three, get his tent up and the billy on, and sit down to ponder the meaning of waistlines.
Easter brought, along with a full moon, the necessary conditions for such contemplation: fine weather in the Tararuas and a reading of just over 500mm on that boon to intending river travellers, the automatic water level recorder at the Waiohine Gorge. Tramper went on Campsite Duty.
Campsite One was at Totara Flats near Sayers Hut, where a north-facing alcove in the bush would have provided shelter, were any needed. T. got there some time after 7.30 pm, having been benighted and lost the track a few times on the way over from the Mangatarere.
Campsite Two was to be on Meat Safe (alias Tarahanga) Spur, the snowgrass spur that extends south from Maungahuka and beckons seductively to trampers heading for Concertina Knob. At the Neill Forks turnoff, the stout routed sign had been pulled out and a flimsy new plastic one installed in its place. Funny that, said T. to himself (there being no one else around), I thought flimsiness was no longer desired by DOC as part of its corporate image.
T. was at Neill Forks in time for an early lunch and shared a cup of tea with a chap from Levin who'd come down from Kime and was heading for Maungahuka. Hunters were in residence. Evidence outside the hut suggested that good things come in aluminium, and are (like hunters) helicoptered in. They'd scored two stags and a hind. Now for some red line. T. had prospected the first bit of the Hector River up from Neill Forks a couple of years ago and it looked user-friendly. Today an extra low river made it even better. T. had only to pass the confluence at 075276 to climb onto Meat Safe Spur; but the going was so pleasant he kept going as far as the first of the big slips in the Hector before hitting the hill at 067274. This was not the I best possible choice, as it entailed near-vertical vegetable climbing about 100 feet up. Where the slope eased, a rata flower demanded to be photographed. But a major question now began to assert itself. Namely, is there a tarn on Meat Safe Spur? Without one, brews would be severely limited and T. might even have to go on to crowded Maungahuka Hut. Memory was uncertain on this vital point. The map seemed to show a blue dot. Was it a printing error? Hedging his bets, T. was carrying a litre of Hector River.
He emerged at the bushedge, more tired than he would care to admit, and wandered along the ridge. No water in sight. To heck with it, thought T. He stopped and lit the primus to make a litre of Hector soup. While it simmered he went on a bit. A tarn! The blue dot was for real and T’s cup, both metaphorically and actually, overflowed. He snuggled down that night with the Tararua Peaks silhouetted in his tent doorway. Close to nature! Even closer, when his new Thermorest mysteriously deflated.
The location of Campsite Three was the subject of internal debate during the un-thermorested parts of night two. From Maungahuka one may go north or south along the main range. Which was it to be? If I one went north, one could descend to Mid Waiohine from Aokaparangi. Hardly original or interesting. What about Kahiwiroa? Was T. brave enough to try an untracked descent from there with nobody to hold his hand but Selwyn, on the other end of an invisible radio wave? Sleep on it, he decided. He made a slow start in the morning. Meat Safe Spur, a most desirable piece of real estate, had been on the list for a few years and was not to be hurried.
Trip Reports
Also, it was Easter Sunday. Breakfast in bed with the Listener crossword. Selwyn, though he later claimed to have been listening, could not be raised. Murray ZL2WIT at Jumbo Hut to the rescue. He promised to alert Selwyn to T’s now firm intentions. Campsite Three would be in the Waiohine at the foot of Kahiwiroa, or maybe part way up Shingle Slip Knob. Along the tops. Almost windless, cloud above. I'd really tike some-flower photos, thought T., but mid April is a bit late. He scored three: Gaultheria in berry (morning tea!), Gentiana (always dependable, with a long flowering season), and a lone but perfect late Celmisia. A white cabbage butterfly wafted past, maybe heading for Neill Forks. Aokaparangi at noon. Three people coming the other way had seen no tarns. On the long flat top of Kahiwiroa, however, passers-by had obligingly stepped over or around a puddle. Lunch, a brew, and what could “Trudge back to hospital with trendy aquatic creature” be? Seven letters, of which the second is “o”, if four down is correct. A chat with hang glider pilots having a ball at Kourarau. T. checked in with Selwyn at 2.15, just above the bushline. The spur looked a goer. However, T. has looked over enough bluffs just above rivers to know you're not down till you’re down. The map said change course at 900m, then again at 730m. T. blessed his new altimeter for telling him exactly when to turn. At 730m, last contact with Selwyn and a route change from the southern branch of the spur to the northern one, which looked simpler. A strong deer trail and even a few old blazes brought him uneventfully to the planned stream mouth (10137) at 4.30pm. This is paradise, thought T., putting aside any idea of more walking that day! Into the river for a desweat. Used the billy to level a tent site, then made a wee fire for soup, dinner and brew. Just before 6pm a single-engine fixed-wing plane came down the gorge, banking to get round the corners. This could be a scary place in rain — the rock wall was cleaned off 3-4 metres above the present river level. T’s tent was one metre above the water.
He awoke at 11pm to find a ring around the moon and his mind switched into worst case scenario mode. By the time he fell asleep again, T. was convinced of a raging flood in the morning and -enforced escape via Anderson and Waitewaewae on very little food. Morning was cloudless. He still couldn’t get 13 across. But “Aided and abetted in arranging a duel in freezing conditions” (8 letters) had to be “colluded”.
Two hundred metres up-river, cross, then climb. One hundred and fifty metres of height gained and a view well up the Waiohine showed it to be eminently walkable. Must go there! High enough now to trigger the Holdsworth repeater. Selwyn organised Heather to come in with the car. They signed off, and then an excited voice broke in. It was a ham in Dunedin, chuffed at having accessed Holdsworth. Kind of funny to be talking to Dunedin from nowhere in particular above the Waiohine Gorge. At the bushline on Shingle Slip Knob, a tarn. It was too good to pass so morning tea was declared. The brew and rest saw T. right over Angle Knob and Holdsworth. At Powell he chatted with a 73-yearold bush walker from New South Wales. Almost at Holdsworth Lodge, a head poked out of the bushes. It was a friend on hands and knees collecting miro fruit to raise the seedlings. T. helped for half an hour until bad light stopped play and Heather got back from her run to Mountain House. Back home, the Waiohine had dropped to 479mm. Well I still don’t know much about waistlines, thought T. But the campsites were pretty good.
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John Rhodes