This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
(@7 lasting memory of this trip has just got to be farmland, farmland and more farmland! We left the roadend at about 8.30am after having had an excellent night’s sleep at the bungy base. Great spot but we've all promised ourselves that we'll bring a mallet next time. (Though Matt from the Mediums did well with his handy rock.) The trip leader’s helpful hints about the whereabouts of the longdrop went right over the heads of some people (not knowing the local dialect and ail that) and they were left looking wonderingly at the long drop to the river below. We were ready long before the mediums — something that was to be a theme of sorts throughout the weekend. Anyway back to the farmland... following a grunt up a steep fenceline (some of it electrified as one hand over hand artiste found out), we did a double-take when we finally saw the steep approach to Mokai Patea. Matt helpfully suggested an alternate route that would take us nearer the track to lron Bark Hut — and so followed a two-hour grovel through very wet and muddy farmland... followed by another muddy grovel, slide, fall, slide along the track to Iron Bark Hut. Carol discovered that her boots were too short — every downhill step is not supposed to inspire a wince and a tear to the eye. The party was polite enough not to be too openly protesting against her singing. Overall the trip went well even if we were thinking, “surely the hut is just around this bend” most of the way. Tired and muddy, we were absolutely rapt to see the hut, and the river was soon busy with bodies, packs, clothing and anything else with Ruahine mud on it. (loo much mud in the Tararuas, eh Matt?) Our intended lunch spot became our night spot — especially since the river was now racing along (though not too high), but more importantly, when we found that the Mediums: had been-this-way-and.were intending to spend the night at Colenso Hut. I think the mud and vertical track must have got to the female members of the party. After supper at Iron Bark Hut they started bemoaning the lack of beefcake in WIMC. Having heard them going on about this for some time, I feel I ought to start working out at the gym and wearing Armani polypros in order to achieve “hunky guy” status.
By The Group We settled down to head and neck massages, a great dinner and continued discussion about the “prisoners’ dilemma” — ask Simon about that one.
Follow that sheep track! Right ‘O. Suz had no idea which sheep track! The party split in two. Four went one way and 4 the other way, aiming for that gate. If you go down you only have to go up. Which way was um, down then up! I was on hands and knees for the last stretch to the gate! Now everything was fine (including the weather) on the way back, and we hit the tops just in time for the cloud to clear from most of Ruapehu. We found a great spot for lunch under the only tree around and then wandered over toward where we knew the Mediums had come up. They came up that?! So we did some more grovelling through farmland, trying to keep the poles in sight. I never thought I would get tired of downhill slopes, sore feet and waiting for the Mediums. But it did happen. Good to get back to the roadend, after what seemed like endless tramping over vast areas of open farmland and heaps of sheep and cows.
Now the leader of the Mediums had asked us to be back at the bus at 3 pm. We hadn’t seen the other group on the tops and had debated all the way down the hill if we would see them waiting for us. But surprise, surprise — no mediums. 4 o'clock... 5 o’clock ... 6 o'clock... What can I say? Mud, mud glorious mud! By the end of Saturday we were covered in the stuff, very wet and very tired. Which made us appreciate the great food even more. Sunday consisted of yet more mud, hills and downward slopes, and very sore feet. BUT we had SUN! Ifnothing else! The Group: Simon Coates (stream watcher), Belinda Henderson (hey I can’t smell this polyprop anymore), Kara Lipski (ah, excuse me, but that paddock’s got big black cows in it), Andrew Mann (now when I finish this book the mediums will appear ...), Kathryn Moor, Kim Parkin, Caroline Spencer (nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety nine bottles of beer on the wall), and Suzanne Toon.