This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
he beginning was ominous. After the normal rigmarole of the ferry crossing we linked up with the bus. We, being Roger, Raymond S.C., Michele, Matt, Jim, Eva, Eugene and Emile (me). I made the mistake of sitting next to Garry de Rose on the bus trip and was enraptured by his profound one-way discussion — which I could only respond to with nodding off (at least I tried, although Garry saw this and spoke louder!). “If only you had let me know you were coming here I could have opened the hut”, said Derek the driver as we strung up our fly (thinking of Garry) under the pine trees. As we woke in the morning to a cold, crusty, crystalline coating, waiting for the dawn sun to reach us we admired the luxurious facilities of the hut through the frosted up windows. Having ritually burnt an effigy of Struan, the day dawned sunny & clear! Our first obstacle was a river crossing. With one cable car and Roger chomping at the bit he suggested a barefoot crossing (keeping socks and boots dry). Some were enticed. Roger leading the way walked ahead through the river even though there was still frost nearby. “Mmm quite warm”, said Roger in an extremely convincing tone. Well it took probably half an hour to feel our feet again! After 3¥2 hours of pleasant meandering we arrived at the 4 star log cabin which turned out to be Griggs Hut — our home for the next 2 nights. Like any good leader Jim decided that division of the ranks was called for — therefore Raymond SC began the 500 cards obsession. A brew was made and one party had to escape from the explicit “Ribald” magazines to the top of Mt Morris. Thirteen hundred metres and two hours later we summitted, 30 minutes before sunset. The views sublime; the feeling euphoric. ry ¥
Mat & Emile
reach deep snow higher up. The party regrouped, and wading through thigh-deep powder snow the tireless trampers pressed on towards the summit. Rigidly sticking to the 1 hour/30 minute turnaround rule, most of the tirelss trampers tired-and turned towards home. Three frenzied souls summitted at 2.30 to views in perfect conditions: cloudless blue skies and snowcapped peaks stretching to infinity in all directions. We skied, slid, scrambled and sped homewards. That evening Tigerbalm was massaged into aching limbs and joints beside the roaring potbelly, while endless brews were drunk, tales told and dog-eared sticky magazines were surreptitiously leafed through by candlelight. Back at the hut the 500 continued. Raymond SC was running out of partners (he continuously called 8 and went down). Monday morning and the roles were reversed. The veteran guide, Roger, his war wounds eased by copious amounts of Tigerbalm applied to the groin (so he said) volunteered to lead the rest of the party up Mt Morris. Mat and I played hacky sack in the frost and had a gentle wander up the valley.
Epilogue With a comfortable hut as a base, a stove that never went out, light packs and day walks, a trip lead by dim shows that M/F trips needn't be hell. While waiting for the pickup to the ferry we were entranced by the full moon that rose over the hills. We sang, played leapfrog and exhausted our joke supply. Our long weekend tally was 56kms walking and 3000m climbing!
down was mystified by a rock wall across the path. But even this could not stop us reaching the warm welcoming hut before dark. Sunday morning and lethargy was shaken off with a dawn start. Scotts Knob was beckoning! A winter wonderland of ice formations, crystals and sculptures in the lower valley led onto steepening, snowclad slopes. Raymond SC sniffed out the SC route, while the others floundered fearfully up a frozen waterfall to