This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Grant Newton
Day would link to Easter again — no hanging about in the North Island, it was time to head into the Southern Alps and the region of Super 12 champions, the Canterbury Crusaders. Stepping up in the transportation stakes, the Club made the journey south by plane. With a bad weather forecast hanging over the trip, we considered the effect that 25 smelly and soaked trampers would have on the return journey. Would those oxygen masks we see on every flight safety demonstration finally be put to use? Friday dawned a pleasant day for the journey up the Waimakariri River. The group consisting of Andrew McLellan, Stuart Palmer, Jenny Cossey, John Rhodes, Harry Smith, Simon Wakeman, Ramon Strong, yours truly was also joined by Andrew Chinn and Nicola Noble. Our progress was delayed at the Anti Crow Hut due to the sole of Harry’s boot coming adrift. In fine “Harry-form”, out came an old bootlace, (was this the same bootlace that secured those push button showers in France in the ‘on’ position, the very same bootlace that was used unsuccessfully to replace a broken brake cable while cycle touring?) which was threaded through in a bid to secure the sole and boot. Carrington Hut was reached in the early afternoon, and shortly afterwards the casualty list began to mount as Ramon’s ankle which
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-had-beerr causing hint problems onthe riverbed-rock-—+ hopping forced him to turn back. We had also bid our farewells to Andrew and Nicola who were heading off on their 10-day journey in the national park. The seven remaining trampers continued up the valley to Harman Pass and a search for a suitable campsite. To have started the day as ten and ended as seven, one would have concluded that Harry’s retirement comments were serious and that he was missing, but not so.
Low hanging mist in the early morning of the first day as we strode towards Carrington Hut (Grant Newton)
A good campsite was found just over the pass ina -sheltered-saddle; the feeling of-altitude-strengthened by the swirling mist. But Easter is always fine, so say trampers (even including a pessimistic Harry). A chilly evening, especially as John’s longjohns were back in Greytown, giving Harry (armed, or is that legged, with both longjohns and fleece pants) the chance to tease with a sense of humour that the two had become accustomed to over the many Christmas trips they have done together. The evening meal was overseen by one or two keas, an omen of things to come.
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Trip Reports
(Grant Newton)
A night of little sleep followed as 7 punters attempted to defend their tents against the pecking beaks of keas; even rocks failed to deter their enthusiasm and by morning we awoke to no less than 20 keas and three of the four tents with holes. Jenny had managed a direct hit with a rock, but they still kept coming back. The defensive efforts were frustrating as we wondered if there was a candid camera hidden, or was this the location of another insurance ad? : It was then onwards and upwards as we set off for Whitehorn Pass. Although a late start (well, late for an Andrew McLellan trip), we made steady progress until a section of ice blocking the valley delayed us. After surveying many dodgy options, it was time to look at going straight up the inside, an option that offered interesting and easy travel as we waltzed 80
Attempting to find the best route off Mt Harman, Andrew and John seek a bearing to Popes Pass (Grant Newton)
metres through the snow cave and found a large opening to burrow out. It had looked too easy an option to be considered in reality — after all heading straight up a valley can’t be classified as a Fit trip... can it? Carrying crampons and an ice axe may have led to smart comments from the lazy brigade located elsewhere in the park, but they were briefly put to use, crossing a short section of ice (this ensured our egos were not completely dented — it even started to feel like a Fit trip), before more rocky scrambling up onto Whitehorn Pass. We were greeted with a good cold southerly and the signs of poor weather ahead. Descending into Cronin Stream, we ate lunch before the wet stuff fell and upon reaching the 6-bunk Park Morepath Hut, chose this as a camping site. We had been beaten by a group of 6, so the tents were required. Another 21 trampers arrived, including 10 and snow dusted tops?” (Grant Newton) from the TTC. Thankfully no keas were in attendance. Even the new Powell Hut would not have had enough bunks for this crowd. The light rain the next morning never let up as we headed for the third pass, Browning Pass — a long climb _on a well graded route with a short rocky scramble to the mist-clad pass, but a break in the clouds gave us views into Lake Browning.The temperature was a little low and as we headed higher in a bid to find a ledge to Popes Pass, the wet stuff became white stuff. With erosion having removed the ledge it was up to 1800-and-something metres and almost the summit of Mt Harman before we found a way to Popes Pass and a scramble down the river.
ment” Smith contemplates his last tramping meal. “Why the hell am I giving up these clear skies
It was a chilly stop for lunch and while Harry’s age was weakening him towards retirement, Andrew was weakening towards the tea drinkers — an unheard of lunchtime brew ensured a bounce in the step. We broke from the river too early and encountered some scrub bashing (well, it damn well felt like a Fit trip through this rubbish!) before finally finding an old overgrown route that led down to Julia Hut. Nearby hot pools had provided the incentive to reach here and surprisingly Harry was out of the pools at a reasonable hour. The hut was already full, but provided some space to cook dinner. The light rain never let up and after an alpine start at 9.30am, we finally got a break and headed downstream to arrive at mid-Taipo Hut for an early lunch. A decent shower of rain delayed the resumption of play, before we made tracks to Seven-Mile Hut, which we had to ourselves. Harry’s exercise level reached new heights as he set about ensuring a good fire to keep warm. After a hearty main course, Harry (who'd been claiming all along he’d forgotten dessert) produced an amazing effort, especially after 4 days’ walk — sponge cake, fruit salad and whipped cream! The clouds parted on day five in time for our journey over the Kelly Tops after more repairs to Harry’s boots. A long haul straight up a spur led to great views towards the West Coast and then up on the snowy Kelly Tops we encountered spectacular views with tarns and fault scarps providing many interesting features to the landscape. We rested for lunch surrounded by a stunning panorama and the rays of sunlight, which had been sadly lacking over the prior 3 days, helped dry the soaking tents and lift the sodden spirits. It was certainly a pleasant place for Harry to spend his last I day of tramping — his umpteenth retirement treated as seriously as every other. Our final afternoon was spent making our way across the tops and down through the bush to Kellys shelter. A three-quarter-hour walk up the main road led us to the Otira Pub and our bus. All John had to worry about was accommodation in Wellington that night — Harry kindly offering directions to a Tinakori Hill pine tree to bivvy under!
2k EAE suER gre sen Ee wae
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Trip Reports
“The Last Supper” — Harry “Retire