This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
hile contemplating the finer things in life
\Jeers and tramping) I realised I’d only eaten beef on two tramping trips organised by the club in 3 years. Appropriately one was beef stroganoff on Cattle Ridge. Something had to be done about this. It seems trip leaders are single-handedly trying to wipe out the chicken population. I blame it on Vegetarian Sect infiltrators myself. Don’t worry brothers, come the revolution they will be the first against the wall (closely followed by country & western musicians). I knew I wasn’t leading any more trips on the Tongue & Meat menu for a while and I could see that radical action had to be taken. There ~was-ar Egmont trip-coming up (mytavourite spot in the North Island to tramp). The trips were all going to places I’d been so a Transport Only trip seemed to be the answer. The previous weekend I’d been on the Angelus trip in the South Island. Struan and I had been talking about the delights of BBQ and steak for the length of the Travers Valley to Lakehead Hut. I figured if anybody was better inclined to do a steak trip, I hadn’t met them yet. After massive amounts of planning — 3
David Garratt
minutes involving, I’ve got the hot plate, you bring the cooker; we've got bivwyy bags and sad dessert. We both had maps and had both decided on Kahui Hut being the best candidate. So when Struan rolled out the map and proposed his idea, I grinned and said snap. Struan had another candidate for the trip, a mate of his called Craig, who also loved the finer things in life. : Friday September 17" arrived; 5.45pm platform 9 I show up at the Tongue mobile armed with my quadruple ristrette and Afghan from the fuel trailer (1 recommend them) ready to rock ‘n roll. Our captains for this weekend were Steve and Don, without whose assistance we would ‘be watking from the railway station. Unfortunately, I think one of the requirements for your coach driving licence seems to be the ability to enjoy music found in the special bins of second hand shops. Don had found some Comanche rain dance chants and a pack of Hungarians doing unspeakable things to a violin to entertain us with. Waking up early enough to see the sunrise, I decided to get some photos of Mr T as the sun lit up his slopes. Seeing as I was up, Struan joined me and we fired up the coffee pot. After our assorted breakfasts of hard core muesli haters, we were packed and on our way by 7.30am — the same time the Fits decided to leave for their alpine start. These guys are definitely a new breed of Fits. Simon Ward was Der Fuhrer for the weekend and had booked four bunks in the Camphouse for the Fits. I had been invited but declined because I’d rather spend $15 on steak than a mattress. Off up-the razorback welurched. After about 10. minutes of uphill Craig tried being profound and explained that lunch was not a time but more of a place that shifts in relationship to each individual’s desires. Luckily I had Struan with me to explain the deeper meaning of it all. Craig is a slack bugger who will find any excuse to avoid hard work, and that we would not be stopping for lunch at 7.40am. Welcome aboard Craig, I like your style. After wandering around the mountain with various subjects of conversation we got to the shingle slide bit where as usual we did not loiter, kick stones, or travel in groups exceeding one as the official DOC sign advised us. Struan then educated us on a 3handed card game we could play called Scent from southern Germany. It has similarities to 500 but is a bit more complicated, hence the reason Struan started with the rules at the slip and was summing up by Holly Hut where the coffee pot was fired up again. Putting Craig’s theory to the test, I started to make my lunch and was a bit surprised to find out it was only 9.30am. It seems lunch is a state of mind. I had lunch there last year on the Pouakai trip and assumed it would be the same this time too. We must have buggered around a lot last time! Here’s a handy tip for anyone foolish enough to be reading this. I have been informed that the elastic straps on the back of your pack for carrying baguettes can also be used for carrying crampons — the only problem being, where do you put the baguettes when the crampons are there? Maybe mountaineer types carry croissants instead. After lunch.we.evacuated..Café Holly before a plague of Easies and Mediums descended on it. (1 think we were fairly safe, as they would still be reading the instructions on how to prepare their muesli.) Onwards to Kahui Hut and glory. I finally got a chance to check out the western side of the mountain. It was really nice — a bit of bush, some tussock and great views of the peak and the coastline. Magic! After “lunch” we set off for Kahui Hut. Seeing as it was clear, the high route was chosen for the view.
Walking down the track we went past an impressive mound which I’d noticed on the map when I’d been scouting and thought it would be quite distinctive. After the turn-off I had a couple of bits of bush lawyer lunge for me and I was wondering how scungey this part of the trip was going to be. But there were only three weedy clumps at the beginning. The track got narrower which was a good sign —- we weren’t on the motorway any more. 4 hadn't been around the western side of the mountain before so I was looking forward to it. I’d tried earlier in the year on a Club trip to Waiau Gorge Hut but it was so poxy that DOC had told us to avoid streams and we wandered along the eastern side instead. We crossed over an ugly clay-coloured stream and followed a track marked by pink tape, which had been attached to branches and rocks at 4-metre intervals all the way to the hut. Either DOC has used up 10 years supply of the stuff they didn’t have a use for or it clags in really badly around there. There was a bit of a grunt around a small gorge that’s eroding its way up the mountain. It took about a third of the time I expected to get above it, which was a nice surprise. After that it was a wander along tussock to a photo stop. The mountain was doing a good job of looking photogenic. While I was playing with my camera, Struan was having a crisis. His pack smelt of whiskey. That could mean only one thing — his flask was leaking. Luckily it was only a minor seepage and a major catastrophe had been averted. I did suggest we drank it before it leaked again. I’ve never tramped under the influence — it might be fun. After our pulses were back to normal after the nasty shock, we strolled on to Kahui Hut, which was in a fairly sheltered spot in bush. I thought it would be more exposed, with views. Our day was over and it was only one o'clock. It was meant to get worse in the afternoon and rain, and we all hoped it would start chucking it down now we were at a hut, so that it would clear up for Sunday. Unfortunately it was an overcast afternoon — not sunny enough to lounge on the grass; not filthy enough to feel snug in the hut. The afternoon was spent playing cards and we had a few drams of whiskey. About 5pm our stomachs unanimously decided it was dinnertime. We prepared the token vegetables — eggplant, some mushrooms and potatoes. We dosed in Struan’s steak marinade, so they weren't too bad for vegetables. We fried the onions and moved on to the main event.
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Trip Reports
The steak was done to perfection; we ate some off the hot plate while it was still cooking. I didn’t think we’d have enough steak, but it took three batches to cook it all. Dinner was served just as it was getting dark. A magnificent feast was had by all. Finally a meal not organised by a lentil lunatic! Dessert was served later while we played more cards. A selection of single malts were blind tested. The learning curve dropped off later in the night when we started talking Swedish, but it was.a tonne of fun. We changed to Happy Families or Go Fish later that night and Craig and I only asked Struan for cards. It had to be done just to see Struan’s expression. There was an inch of whiskey left in a bottle and there was some loose talk of carrying it back out again. There was no way a little bit of whiskey was going to beat me. As Hillary said — we knocked the bugger off! Kahui Hut is an excellent little hut. It’s the size of a six-bunk Forest Service hut with a 4-bunk room attached. There’ no fireplace there so we didn’t collect any firewood that afternoon. Somebody whinged about this fact in the logbook and wanted the hut demolished, so we left a note of praise in the book to cancel out the whiner (probably a vegetarian to boot). Struan and Craig had a bunk each and I slept on the floor of the main hut with the comfy squabs from the benches, which turned out to be the best place to sleep that night. Around 2 or 3am Ma Nature let rip with the moisture and we were greeted in the morning to a deluge. Our original plan was to drop down to the lower circuit on the way back which drops into a river for a bit. It was far too wet to be playing in rivers and we had a deadline, so we doubled back. Not my favourite option as it’s the same scenery backwards. Testing Craig’s theory again I had lunch for breakfast because preparing food when you’re soaked through is a bad joke. So a ham, tomato and avocado baguette with coffee was a pretty good breakfast. At this rate ll be having “lunch” 3 hours before I wake up! After lunch we dressed up, dived off the porch and_dog-naddled_our way around. to Holly Hut. It wasn’t as bad as it seemed. The mountain was sheltering us from the wind and it wasn’t raining as heavily as before, but the track was flowing with water and we walked under a waterfall on the way back that hadn’t been there the previous day. We stopped at Holly Hut for a coffee and counselled the family that had shared the hut with the Easies. After “afternoon tea” we set off again. I told Craig and Struan that half an hour before Holly
Hut I noticed that there was a song going in my head — Monty Python's “Always look on the bright side of life”. It seemed appropriate for the weather. It had been going on in my sub-conscious for a while because I noticed it half way through the song. Craig told me about a dream that he had had last night. He had some bogans with a V8 move in next door to his house and they got it stuck in the mud on their front lawn. They slammed it into first gear, floored it, and the wheels spun in the-mud, so they.slammed it into reverse — same result — first, reverse, first, reverse etc etc. Then Craig woke up and the V8 stuck in the mud was Struan snoring! The father in the hut came out to see what all the laughing was about. This made the uphill part after Holly Hut extremely hard for me as I was bored going up, so my mind wondered and I kept thinking of the V8 and found it hard to breathe properly while I was laughing. It was a pretty poxy trip back. Lots of flowing water, icy winds, hail — pretty much a head down and move trip. The waterfalls coming off the rocks were really impressive in places and there was the occasional gap in the clouds. I knew the Fits would have been in the Camphouse all day waiting for everyone else to sail in. It’s the first time I’ve ever really wanted to be ona Fit trip. I arrived at the Camphouse and managed to pour a litre of water out of my boots despite having gaiters on top. I went to get my dry clothes from the coach and found that Don had the anti-theft device armed. He had his Bulgarian bugle music wailing away on the stereo. Nobody would be brave enough to break into a bus with that noise inside. After changing into clothes that weren’t 95% water, the Easies were going to drive down to the information centre (2 minutes walk away) and I decided to train for a Fit trip and flogged the comfy couch off the Fits. Craig joined me — obviously being made of Fit material too. Later on the Easies came back; they didn’t seem to be any better informed than before. They still had the same blank looks as usual. Better luck next time guys. That’s_pretty much-it,.except forthe waitforthe Mediums who had a raging river screw up their plans, giving them an extremely long trip. We finally left at 7pm after squashing a couple of ducklings with the coach. A mother duck crossed the road as the coach came around a corner. It must have been a blonde because it just sped up and must have forgotten about the 7 ducklings following along behind. Maybe because I didn’t slaughter a chicken for this trip the gods had to make an example for us.
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Trip Reports