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iews! Mud! The Easy trip to Trains Hut in Vine National Park (6-8 November) was both of these, and a very good trip it was too. Everyone was in good humour, and beaming like the sun as we started along the 4WD track hacked from the cliff high above the river. This was going to be a really cushy number! We soon found a tethered tractor hanging over the precipitous cliff to the swollen river far below. Those who planned to enjoy a jet boat ride on the Sunday looked nervously at the slope and decided “walking” down it did not seem an attractive option. After this point, the track deteriorated considerably. Clearly, the shelf on which the track was perched It became very muddy. There were also numerous very recent slips and washouts, some of which had carried down with them large trees. Mud became the flavour of the day in no time — not just any mud, mind you, but good thick suck-your-boots-off stuff. Yum! But this was far from a horror trip. The track is fairly level and quite high above the river. The track having
Hazel Roberts
been cut out of the cliff meant that we were often in pleasant sunny places, and beautiful views of the river gorge were available. The other side of the river is clothed in what looks like “original” bush, while our side was younger but still very lush and delightful. There seemed to be an abundance of New Zealand honeysuckle trees, which were just coming into flower. Occasionally, the track passed through grassy clearings which may have been old farmsteads but presently offered ideal locations for scroggin, lunch and rest stops. Birdsong was loud, vigorous and omnipresent — so different from the Tararuas. Visits from fantails and other small birds added further interest.
we explored its remains with interest. Some original hessian wallpaper caught our eyes, as did the outside bath and dunny. We later learned this farmstead has had numerous owners, all of whom had had the idea to redevelop it as a remote and exclusive retreat, and all of whom had found that the most remoteness was in the viability of the proposition. And so the place was left to fall apart and be wandered through by cattle.
Sanh Lomo emma 2 ; I _anole-farmstead-marks-a-diversion.ofthe path, and
Trip Reports
After this the track became even narrower but a little less muddy. It snuggled up to the cliff face and wound its way round gullies so deep and narrow that the bottoms could not been seen. Small muddy streams rushed across the track and leapt into space down the sheer face of the gorge. Even those of us with a head for heights did not stray close to the edge of the path lest we follow the streams into the cocoacoloured river. We’d had enough of wallowing without scrambling up-the-sheer side-of the river, thickly coated as it was with slicks about 4 metres high of mud from the recent floods.
Apart from the obvious manmade nature of the track, there was evidence of previous settlement from the abundance of mint which had escaped and liberally clothed the footpath and some of the clearings. The scent of the mint leaves bruised by our boots was delicious.
We passed two mud-wallows of particular interest(?). One appeared to be a sort of dam. A small stream to the left disappeared into the cliff. To the right, a gully or backwater led to the river. And on the path was a thick layer of mud — suck-your-boots-off variety. We later learned to our surprise that a previous owner of land in the area (perhaps a homesteader living in the cleared grassy area just uphill from the mud-wallow?) had dug a tunnel through the cliff to divert the stream, and had dammed the old streambed and built up a sturdy bank. Apparently he found this cheaper than building a bridge. The effort must have been considerable: the infilling was several metres in depth and was very wide. And it was now all covered in mud from where the river had burst its banks. The other mud-wallow was a serious challenge. The head of a gully had washed out completely. There was nothing solid to stand on and yet it was dangerous to stand still — who knows how deep a
Finally, we reached a spectacular waterfall and a 3wire bridge signalling a route to the right, the route the Medium trip would have gone if the originallyscheduled trip had proceeded. A sign usefully situated a little way down the bank, readable only from the river (if then), informed us that Trains Hut was 15 minutes’ walk uphill, the roadend was 5 hours, and the next hut (across the 3-wire) was 5 hours. We were cheered to think that we were almost there.
But not without a further hazard. Immediately we came upon the remains of a bridge. No DOC structure number on this: shades of Cave Creek, the only fragment we could see was hanging over the gully at a crazy angle. After the usual wallow, we found ourselves on a firm track leading to a grassy meadow — and the hut!
The hut was new, clean, and pleasantly sited, and is described as a 10-bunk hut. We decided that it would definitely hold ten on a cold, wet, miserable night, but that 8 was a more realistic number. Angela chose to test out her new bivw bag, and Andy slept on the floor.
There was a thought that some of us might stay in the old hut. What a place! Derelict, parts of the roof and walls missing, earth floor, mattresses torn up into fragments — it would be a desperate tramper or hunter who stayed there! If you ever wonder what your hut tickets pay for, go and look at these two huts and see which you would prefer to stay in! Everyone was much happier after visiting the nearby stream to remove some of the mud caking thighs, arms and hands. Bedrock of the stream comprised tightly compressed shells, so no danger of sinking in to the knees. A brew and a bask in the sun had us all laughing at our antics in the mud and thinking that this was just the most perfect place to be at ? Perhaps that’s why there were no trees wedged in this one to add extra interest? By now, the party had become strung out, so early arrivals at this location, taking pity on the slower, less experienced members of the party, arranged bits of punga, planking, and whatever else could be prised from the mud, to provide firmer footing for part of the crossing. Then we sat back and smiled at their antics in defeating the Mud Monster.
that moment.
Jon’s delicious vegetable curry (but no pudding?!) went down a treat, and some hardcores settled in for a night with the cards. One (granted name suppression) professing to be expert at Find the Lady, showed us tricks of the trade — passing four cards and only ‘fessing up when found out — convenient for him that it was the time he ended up with most hearts in his tricks!
—__———and-pitched_the-tentflies_It-was a relief te note that
Me Trip Reports
The next day a reasonably early departure was made, in anticipation of a jet boat trip. Morning mist in the surrounding forest soon burned off and the day became very hot and sunny. The “Cave Creek” bridge was negotiated without too much difficulty, although the remains of the structure had been dislodged even further by the weight of all of us using it as an aid to clamber up the bank. The Mud Monster washout had eaten our punga log bridge but was a little less obnoxious. The homestead’s mature horse chestnut tree provided a pleasant dappled shade in which to eat lunch and have a snooze.
It was noticeable how much easier the track was — still muddy, of course, but not so sloppy. A few hours of sunshine and drainage made such a difference. We were all amazed at how quickly the track was drying out. In fact, our journey out to Trains Hut took us about 7 hours (DOC time — 5 hours) but the return trip took only about 5% hours.
A couple of side trips to view the waterfall from the best angle, and to view the diverted stream and infilled dam (and wallow in the knee-deep mud), but otherwise, no unexpected adventures this time, just the pleasure of being out on a sunny day with good company. To cap the trip off for five trampers, a jet boat ride zoomed them up the river to the location of the infilled dam and back in less than halfan hour, which might be thought to belittle our efforts and the slowness of our speed in the past two days somewhat, but the jetboaters proclaimed themselves satisfied. The other six trampers enjoyed a brew and a bask. Our party of eleven greatly enjoyed the trip — thanks, Jon for organising things. And of the three first-timers, two at least have been seen at Club again signing up for further trips.