This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Raymond (leader), Dave G, Gary and Angela B
he forecast for the weekend was so foul that only four punters turned up to the Railway Station on Friday night. Lyndsay (filling out his CV for an upcoming application for sainthood?) nobly sacrificed his evening to make sure that we would be delivered to Otaki Forks in time for the arrival of the southerly front. The theme for the trip was decided at the Paraparaumu Pizza Hut. Raymond and I had both forgotten our mugs, and spent half an hour bargaining unsuccessfully with hard-hearted ten-year-olds for their Jedi Knight plastic cups. Finally a kindly waitress took pity and provided a couple of discards. From then on the Force was with us. When Lyndsay told us “Don’t pike at Kime” he could hardly have guessed that his disembodied advice would be echoing in our heads for the next two days...
We walked up to Field Hut in gentle but persistent drizzle, arriving at about 10:30pm to the surprise of the lone occupant. We woke to a clear blue sky and a gentle but ominous, cold breeze — definitely coming from the south. By the time we got up to the ridgeline the breeze had turned into a gale and we were yelping in the sudden cold. Rain and hail followed, and by 11am we were huddled at Kime putting on every available piece of warm clothing. “Don’t pike” the Master had said, and we reflected on his words as we watched snow fly past the windows. The hut was so cold that we had trouble thawing out our hands enough to make sandwiches. We weren't really tempted to stay. The trip from Kime to Alpha was the first time I’ve worn those waterproof trousers I’ve been carrying around for two years; the first time my hair has frozen;
i] Trip Reports
and the first time I’ve had to tramp without glasses (luckily Raymond’s ice-axe made a good substitute for a white-tipped cane). I didn’t even know we were on Mt Hector until we got to the top. Up on the ridge, the ground dropped away on both sides into dense cloud and the famous views were non-existent. But in spite of the difficulties — treacherous mudslides disguised under gentle snowdrifts; funny stingy little rain-bullets; more mud, more wind, more mud (why didn’t the mud freeze? — everything else did!} it was exhilarating being up on the tops with the wind howling around us. We made steady progress, mainly because it was too cold. to stop. Someone observed that Lyndsay would be proud of us. My own view was that he would be safe and warm somewhere watching the All Blacks annihilate the French on TV, and if we crossed his mind at all it could only be to think “rather them than me”. We had Alpha Hut to ourselves, which was disappointing — we had been looking forward to meeting up with the Fits on their way to do a moonlight southern crossing, and telling them in gory detail just how horrible it would be. We couldn't persuade the potbelly stove to radiate heat further than about six inches, so after scoffing dinner we retreated quickly to our sleeping bags, and did intergalactic battle at Hearts and 500. The next morning — when we unfroze enough to peer out of our sleeping bags — we looked out on a Christmas card landscape with everything covered by a fine dusting of snow. The sun was shining again I and-we-had-a-magical walk down through Hell’s Gate (Worst pun: “Hell has frozen over’. Thanks Dave.) From the top of Marchant Ridge we had some great views — hard to reconcile with our memories from the day before. Those of us (two out of four) who had never done a Southern Crossing before could only imagine what we had missed at the top. Lyndsay met us at Kaitoke and shared with us a piece of Jedi folklore: it is much better to do your first four or five Southern Crossings in bad weather, as then you really appreciate it when you finally get a clear day. I’m looking forward to it.
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