This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Sunday 27 June 1999
lu and apathy reduced our numbers to three. A poor forecast and the flicker of enthusiasm for a moonlit southern crossing of the Tararuas was all but extinguished. But what about Sunday night? A window of opportunity opened up. Our numbers grew to four as Allen got wind of our plans, and Sue very kindly helped solve our transport problems. We left Otaki Forks roadend at 5.30pm, just as the plummeting, and most sensible trampers were settling down to a cosy Sunday evening safe in their houses. My brain required a little coaxing to agree it was an appropriate time to embark on a mammoth tramp, but soon I got into the rhythm as we snaked up through the bush. The moon was already shining encouragingly bright through the openings in the trees. Field Hut was reached easily and although it felt like the dead of night it was only 7.30pm and progress
Ann Kempster
was good. We munched our “morning tea” in the candlelight. After this the tops were soon reached and the magic began. Head torches were abandoned as the moon shone full and fat on the sparkling, frost-covered ground. Mist floated in the steep valleys and the lights of Wellington winked at us in the distance. Our monochromatic views were better than many a day tramp. A chill wind swept up from the icy valleys and €risp-powdery-snew-sparkled-underfeot-asheightwasgained. By 10pm we reached Kime Hut. The hut, doing its best impression of a fridge, reduced our food stop to a minimum before we re-emerged into the moonlight, so bright we could almost imagine it radiating warmth. Progress was good and before long Mt Hector was reached. Wellington harbour could clearly be seen outlined with twinkling lights. Masterton, Marlborough,
Trip Reports
Levin — all so close it seemed you could almost reach out and touch them. There was something truly exhilarating about being high amongst the frozen, shadowy hills when most folk were warm and cosy in their beds. We stood in the night's stillness a moment. We thought of Brian Hunt whose ashes rested there and of others no longer with us. From there, the icy ridge slowed us a little but axe and crampons were not missed and _the route to Alpha Hutseemed_to-stretch__ to eternity. The views began to take on a slightly surreal quality as fatigue set in. It was with great relief that Alpha Hut was finally reached and we proudly scribbled a witty reply to the Medium’s cocky comment in the logbook. I tried to disguise my disappointment as the others informed me we were just a little over half way. My sleepy body really liked the idea of curling up on one of those comfy mattresses at this point, but the biting cold soon began to set in and after a few readjustments to head torches, we plodded on into the bush towards the infamous Marchant Ridge. From here on all the magic of the moonlit night was lost. Vision was reduced to the circle of monotonous bush illuminated by the head torch, and my mind began to grumble about sleep deprivation. Time began to crawl by agonisingly slowly and as I inched along I began to realise that maybe all those horrible stories about Marchant Ridge were not exaggerations.
From 4am to 6am my memory is hazy but it has been said that more than once I nearly stumbled off the track, much to the alarm of Andrew and Allen patiently walking behind me. Phil, seemingly unaffected by sleep deprivation, did his usual “marching the troops” leadership keeping the pace and reducing rests to a minimum by prodding us into action. I thought for a while I’d been trapped in a recurring nightmare when eventually morning arrived and interestingly my body responded to the light. My pace picked up and we started on an endless descent. As the light gained intensity we could see the sky was now obscured by the grey clouds of the next front on its way in. We smugly congratulated ourselves in perfect timing. After a long 15 hours we finally staggered back to the car at Kaitoke. The magic moonlit memories seemed somewhat distant behind the stumblings amongst dark tree roots. Nevertheless, it was with some satisfaction that we joined the Monday morning traffic heading back into Wellington. Allen announced he’d not done a moonlit southern crossing for 25 years — well, Allen, it may take me 25 years to recover too, but what a magical experience I'll never forget.
The Team: Phil Kendon, Andrew McLellan, Ann Kempster, Allen Higgins Transport: Sue Higgins Inspiration: — Stuart Palmer (sadly didn’t leave his sickbed all weekend)