This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
ur leader, Dave, arrived late with the tickets, ut what followed was a perfect calm and sunny crossing to Picton. We found our relevant buses after some confusion and-droeve-to- Hapuku roadend for a clear and starlit night under the fly — a new experience for Mary (who got the outside patch, but had the best night’s sleep of the trip). We awoke early to beautiful crisp clear... orders to “get up”, then watched the Fit group head off with Will anxiously scurrying along the obligatory four paces behind. Mary fell at the first hurdle into six inches of raging torrent and turtle-like stayed there until valiantly rescued by Glynn and Dave. Ray, true to form, rocketed ahead thus saving us from attack by the killer hawks. Meanwhile, at the lunch stop, Reb and Sara chatted up that nice engine fitter from Palmy. The group trudged upwards, spread between two beacons — a bright orange shirt at the rear and a bright red scalp at the front. What followed next was a desperate scramble up a vertical rock face, covered by approximately 1.52mm of thin dust, to Kowhai Saddle. While we struggled with our faces in the ground a jogger, with two lovely brown dogs, ran past annoyingly easily. The came the “walk from hell” down a frightening descent of large boulders. Thank goodness for those dear little orange arrows guiding us — how helpful they were (not)! We camped (after a full and frank exchange of views about where to put the fly — Glynn was later proved right about the wind) on a spongy, comfy carpet of
Rebecca & Mary
moss-like substance; except for “night owls” Reb and Mary, who braved wild bees to stay in the hut. But they were rudely awakened by two old farts (yes — —they -did!) who-insisted-on showing them a good _ __ example of how to get up before sunrise and make the maximum amount of irritating noise possible. However, this was surpassed by Reb’s angry door slamming — a real Oscar performance. What a great day’s walk (just a stroll up Mt Fyffe) we had though, with fantastic views from near the hut — yes, not all of us made it to the summit (unlike a group of frisky pensioners) due to our earlier efforts at a vertical ascent. Evening saw us eating another great feast in the light of a fiery sunset, before gathering round a well-prepared campfire to share nice tasting liquids and some idle chat. After another fitful night’s sleep (for some) in the hot and rusty beehive, we had a leisurely wade through a few streams, carefully skirting the edge of those nasty big hill things. It just left an uneventful ride to catch the ferry in plenty of time... No of course not. Thanks to a temperamental engine there was a slight delay in leaving Kaikoura so the Medium trip passed the time in a group foot massage session. Sara went walkabout and we found her just in time to sprint back and run onto the ferry. Ray (again) saving the group from having to suffer three hours in the pub at Picton by his award winning driving. Just one more chance to chat up the engine fitter and his mates on the ferry and then we were home.