This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
ere are many versions of this story; most will hopefully remain untold. This is the official version and as trip leader it is my privilege to record it! Our party of 10 assembled on Thursday evening and sailed to Picton. Lyndsay drove us to the take Danielroadend to camp. Next morning we were dropped at the beginning of the St. James Walkway and started walking at 9.00am. It rained most of the morning and we had lunch at Cannibal Flats Hut, then carried on to camp at Christopher Hut. The next day was hot and sunny and we camped on the other side of Ann Pass, and then on the river flats below Magdalen Hut on the last night. We had a two-hour walk to the roadend before being picked up and driven to Maruia Springs hot pools for a soak and drive back to Picton. We caught the 6.30pm ferry (which happened to be the Aratere) back to Wellington. There, that is the sanitized scaled down version. So many stories could have emerged from our Easter trip, but the most unlikely would have to be the tale of how St. James Walkway nearly became renamed, or how a Club member became cannonised. No one was more surprised than I was when Joe Fraser (yes our own Joe, the hard man of climbing and hellmission fame) agreed to come along on an Easy/ Medium Easter trip. He even paid up early (first in fact) so no one could change his or her mind. lt did indeed rain for most of the first day, and the group was alarmingly quiet as we plodded onwards and upwards through sodden but beautiful beech forest. I had been in front most of the morning, with Joe dutifully tucked in behind while the rest found their tramping legs and wondered why they had ever left sunny Wellington. After lunch at Cannibal Flats Hut (in the company of fellow Wellingtonians from that other Club) the group was beginning to mellow. Lunch break was short as we were wet and soon got
Christopher Hut by nightfall. This is where the Easy/Medium part comes in. The trip is a perfect easy tramp over the recommended 5 days, but to complete it in 3 and a bit days requires doubling up on 2 days, hence the Medium category. By the time the back markers reached Christopher Hut some had walked nearly 9 hours. Dinner of rice risotto with sausages followed by toffee pops was
Marilyn Duffy prepared on the balcony of the hut. The 20-bunk hut was full and a quick peek inside was enough to convince us it was much more pleasant outside as the fire smoked busily, trying to dry out some 20 sets of wet gear, while at least ten cookers churned out ‘dinners indoors. —_ We were most grateful to leave the fly-pitching to the hands of Joe, who had reached the hut considerably quicker than most of us. Under Joe’s direction the fly pitching committee did a superb job and the gentle rain which fell off and on through the night, and the not so gentle downpour just before dawn, had no chance of even dampening a single member of the group. By now Joe’s bushcraft skills were being commented on. As with experienced trampers, he was first packed in the morning and helped strike the flies for the rest — Good Old Joe. Day Two warmed up quickly. The scenery was superb, vast open river flats coloured every shade of gold, dotted with whikery lichen streaked matagouri. Sometimes by the river, sometimes above it, the track stretched far on into the distance. On arriving at Ann. Hut for lunch we found Joe stretched out comfortably in the sun, having had a lengthy rest already, on account of his superior fitness and pace. After a team talk we agreed on the game plan for the afternoon and evening. We would camp on the other side of Ann Pass, which was a bit of a grunt we had to cover before nightfall. Joe (great bloke) would go on and select a campsite on the far side of the pass, stopping no later than 3.30 (we had to allow for the Joe-factor here), we would all plod on and catch up before nightfall and camp. That afternoon brought one of the delightful moments of the trip. The horses for which St. James Station is renowned grazed this stretch of valley and a band of some 30 mares and foals passed us by. The foals -were~delightfal,skiteish-and- playfut-as they watched us warily from the safety of their mother’s sides. Older mares ignored us totally, and one wandered unconcernedly to a dust patch near me and lay down to roll, something which horses will not do if they feel threatened in any way, being creatures of flight. They were all in great condition, truly magnificent, and a pleasure to observe in this environment.
ceban,
Se pete RIE HMR eR A
Trip Reports
Ann Pass is not huge, but at the end of a long Day Two it was not easy, and it was with relief we reached the summit and set off down to look for Joe’s chosen campsite. I secretly hoped he had stopped at 3.30, not 4.00pm, as I too was pretty tired by this time. Good Old Joe, what a guy. He had carried TWO flies over the pass and set them up in a perfect spot with running water close by, and had the MOST inviting looking campfire crackling away. We were most grateful indeed especially. as-one-cooker had died and we were able to use the fire to cook. Dinner that night was mac cheese with variations, followed by toffee pops. It was nice and early too, since Joe’s sterling efforts had saved us all time in setting up camp. The fire committee kept an awesome fire going, keeping the frosty evening at bay as we waited in vain for the moon to rise. There can be few moments quite as satisfying as relaxing around a fire with friends knowing that you have pushed yourself physically and put in a good day’s effort. By now we were among friends, having overcome the initial stranger wariness. Of the ten punters half were Club members, one was on a first trip and several on their second or third. Nick and Harriet were the British contingent — every trip has one now! They obliged by rising to the bait frequently as they came in for some good old fashioned Pommie bashing. We enjoyed a lot of laughs at their expense, I hope they will forgive us one day. Harriet is already a member, watch out for Nick’s application, he deserves to be let in, he has earned it! Day Three was shorter — only five hours — this time sidling the Boyle River most of the day. Lunch and frequent photo stops later we arrived at Magdalen Flats where we once again sent super-Joe ahead to find a campsite. As always he found the perfect site, complete with river and firewood supply. The fire committee (and its boulder sub-committee) was soon hard at work and another campfire took shape. One of the memorable sights of the weekend would have to be Harriet emerging from the beech forest with most-of .a-large-dead.tree_in tow. to-be temporarily used as fireside furniture. I was particularly looking forward to tonight’s dinner, because I had been carrying most of it for three days. Bulk de-hy mince with veges and instant spud followed by toffee pops proved popular. As this was the last night we proceeded to eat all our goodies. The notable quote of one nameless member “don’t feed me chocolate, it makes me frisky” was not heeded and it was another lively and entertaining campfire evening as we waited for the moon to rise. Unfortunately the clouds rolled over just as the moon appeared, and Joe the weatherman predicted rain. Fortunately he was wrong, but the cloud stayed, making ideal tramping conditions for our two-hour. walk out on Easter Monday. That slight miscalculation is all that saved Joe the Great from becoming known as Saint Joe, and having the St. James Walkway renamed St. Joe’s Walkway. There are many stories to tell from this trip. Most of us were extended at some time, and for different reasons. This was the first trip I’d led in several years, and I’d forgotten lots of things about trip leading. As always, it is the people you remember most after the trip. We had travelled for 314 days through some spectacular country. I personally took pleasure in the sheer delight of those from overseas (North Islanders as well as the British contingent) at their reaction to the beauty of our surroundings. I have never been as sore from laughing so much on a trip, good humour abounded, and if anyone didn’t enjoy themselves at least some of the time they hid it well. Grateful thanks to a neat bunch of trampers who I hope will join me again one day. They were: Sue Walsh: “Sorry, it was the peanuts again” plus some other gross personal habits which took some getting used to. (More detail would be inappropriate in view of her recent election to the highest office in the Club, but we can be bribed); Ken Brooker: first time out with our Club and capable head of the milk committee, watch this tramper; Nick Mays: “I asked for that, didn’t 12” who learnt the folly of changing underwear while close to the track, especially when the undergrowth is less than a metre high — and you are tall; Harriet Rooke: second part of the British contingent and an enthusiastic new member of our Club; Mary Morgan: quietly keeping James in line; Jim Morgan: quietly keeping Mary in line; Nicky Burkitt: had to be persuaded (hard) that she could do it, then bounced around the Walkway like one of the friskyfoals who-were born to it; Andrew ‘the’ Mann: carries a bottomless supply of goodies — always an asset on a trip. Also has a handy knack of getting someone else to carry his gear: simple — just pack up alongside someone else with a similar pack and hope they don't notice! Marilyn Duffy: scribe and general whipcracker; Joe Fraser: Joe the Great, Good old Joe, nearly renamed Saint Joe, whose experience, strength, fitness and big heart were all invaluable.