This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Why I wanted to fot die WMG -Margaret craig Many moons ago, in August 2004 there was a tornado that ripped through a house in Taranaki, killing a woman and her grandson. The weekend before this, the Saturday dawned clear and sunny (as it always does in the Tararuas), with no indication of the ferocious weather to come, save for a few mares’ tails floating in the blue above. Ignorance being bliss, and with the confidence of the inexperienced (I had been on fewer than 5 tramps in my life), I decided to go on an afternoon stroll.
The route was to enter at Kaitoke, go up over the Puffer Saddle to Smith's Creek Shelter and then — just to make things a little more interesting — cross the Tauherenikau River and bush-bash my way up the hill and along the ridge. I was then to test my compass skills by coming down a particular twisty spur to arrive at the footbridge fairly close to Tutuwai hut. Then being back on a marked track, it would be a doddle back to the carpark. It didn’t look that far on the map, and I'd already been as far as Smith's Creek twice, several years beforehand. I waved the map under my flatmate’s nose (no, I didn't leave her with a copy; no, I didn’t give her an estimated time of arrival back home; no, I didn't give her a panic time to ring Search and Rescue, no I didn’t take a first aid kit - not even plasters. I didn’t do this, that or the other...)
I believe in guardian angels. There is no other explanation. But I think even they had their work cut out for them that particular weekend. Fortunately for them, I am lazy. My backpack had a broken strap (still unfixed). As a result, despite the fact that I was going only for an afternoon walk, I took my tramping pack — it just so happens to have a survival bag in it - otherwise known as a glorified yellow rubbish bag. Little was I to know how useful it would be. I feel the cold, and having been up to Dobson’s hut about 15 years ago, and experience as a child, knew that hilltops could be chilly. I took a hat; gloves; scarf; polypropylenes; a light woollen jersey; polar fleece. The eternal pessimist (and growing up in the area) I took a raincoat too. I had checked the TV weather, but was expecting fo be out well before the start of the bad weather forecast for the following day. (Anyway, the weather forecast is always wrong. Everyone knows that.) I proceeded to pack my lunch. Again, my laziness came into play and instead of opening the packet and counting out a couple of muesli bars, I took the whole packet of eight. And a whole packet of barley sugars. And a whole packet of nuts. A bag of mandarins, some bread rolls, a few passionfruit, ham, yoghurt. (I like my food.) I had originally planned to leave home between 9 and 10 o'clock and I didn’t succeed in doing so until well after 11. Just as I was literally about to step out the door, I spotted my new foy sitting atop the table - my brand new head-torch. Knowing I wouldn't need it, I put it in the pack to admire, for when and where I felt the desire. Off I started, and had a most enjoyable trek to Smith's Creek. A few slips had been added since I last had been through, but in the daylight, it was clear to see the new path marked out. I looked at the bush, smelled the smells, and knew I was home. I had thoughts of a newspaper article of a person going up Mt Ruapehu in jandals and with shopping bags. I decided that it was only foreigners unused to our weather or the incredibly stupid that got killed in the outdoors.| had a most delightful, leisurely feed at Smith's Creek Shelter and then wandered down to the mighty Tauherenikau river. It was a river I had never crossed before. I dredged up long forgotten ghosts of good and bad places to cross, and where to aim for etc. I noted the top of the rapids (actually leading into a gorge) just visible, and decided that it would not be nice to get this wrong. I loosened my waist-band (I figured that if any straps got caught underwater, I didn't want to be dragged under) and started across. The water was deeper than I hoped, coming up fo my hips. It was also rather cold. Having made it across safely, I was now at the point of no return. There was no way back across the river - my adventure was about to begin. Feeling like a Great Explorer, heading into the Unknown, I set off up the hill. I'd been “bush-bashing” before, once. in pig country. (meaning no undergrowth, the Tararuas, however, have a fair bit of undergrowth).. This was damn hard work for an afternoon wander and it was Uphill. Realising that it was taking a lot longer than I originally thought, I could see a big day ahead of me and I'd only just started. I persevered. I had little choice. I reached the top of Tauherenikau several times. Or at least, when heading uphill, it seems fo be the case and then you find that it goes up some more. It can get rather demoralising, particularly when you are not with a group to distract you from these false hopes. I was beginning to get a taste of what the mental game is about. Often it is the mental game that defeats people in any challenge. The physical challenge is frequently secondary. Just after 5.30pm, darkness fell and I took out my torch and continued. By 7.30pm, I couldn't maintain my way in any set direction unless it was going to be by compass, the tree roots seemed to have a life of their own — tripping me at every step, and the wind was beginning to howl. The weather man was obviously going to be on the money for once, I dropped down the leeward side of the ridge line, and found a decent beech tree. I pulled everything out of my pack (all in plastic bags) put all my clothing on, stowed the food under a convenient root, and climbed into my survival bag. There was a brief glimpse in the torch light on the bag as to how to avoid such situations, such as joining a tramping club and not travelling alone. I glared at it briefly, then pointedly ignored it. I then had a few munchies and looked at the pretty lights of Featherston. I remembered a Chinese story I had read as a child about a chap in a similar situation who used the thought of a nice warm fire to get himself through the night. To an extent, it works. The night was a little uncomfortable, but not too bad. I looked forward to the next day. I shouldn't have. Sunday arrived, and the wind had died down. It was easier to see where to go in the daylight, but it was raining. Heavily. Continuously. After around 30 mins to an hour of following the ridge line, and still intending to come out at the footbridge, I calculated that if I were to actually stay on course, it would take me a week (well, more than another day anyway) to get out. I needed to find the exit. I had work in the morning. It was disappointing to abandon the entire point of the trip (navigation skills), but the hills would be there another day for me to come back to if I felt so inclined. I decided to take the next creek down, follow the Tauherenikau upstream to the footbridge, cross over and get the hell out of there. It sounded so easy. The next physical partis the most boring to describe, but the head-space is quite something to experience. I think I was coming down Bates Creek. First comes the temper tantrum at getting yourself into this in the first place. Then comes the despair that no-one in the world knows (or cares) what hardships you are going through and isn’t life terrible. Why me? It was meant to be a pleasant bloody afternoon doddle for goodness sake! Then the hugely embarrassing thought of being rescued and held up in front of the media as an example of what not to do (and I'd planned it so carefully!). Finally comes the resignation that the situation is the consequence of your own actions, noone else and it is now up to you, no-one else, to deal with it. Success or failure. Life or death. Get with the programme, woman! I kept going. The rain continued to rain, I got more and more wet. I was no longer using my map as it was beginning to falt apart from the dampness. (I had the creek to guide me anyway.) The side-creeks were getting bigger and deeper and swifter. I scrambled across steep banks which could not be retraced. I balanced and Tarzaned my way through not one, but two groves of kehi-kehi (spelling?) That may have been when I sprained my ankle. I trusted my life (or at least my limbs) and crossed rising streams on rotten logs and shallow rooted tree-ferns growing partway across. I slipped and slithered and cursed and cried and then... I heard the chopper! My flatmate had raised the alarm and someone was looking for me! Bugger the embarrassment, I was hugely grateful knowing that my self-inflicted nightmare would soon be over. WAHOOO! I was under trees and couldn't possibly be seen from above, The tree trunks were all too big for me to consider trying to wave one around. They were all too tall for me to get something brightly coloured to the top. I somehow had to get to a clearing and took a few steps. The helicopter faded. Too quickly, it somehow didn't seem right. And then, the devastating truth hit me. There was no chopper, my flatmate hadn't called SAR. What I had heard was the boulders at the bottom of the creek bouncing along. This happened several times. Indeed, I later found out that my parents had rung to talk to me on the Sat night, and my dear roomie told them that I often stayed over at friends overnight. No-one knew, no-one was looking. I kept walking. When there is nothing more to do than put one foot in front of the other, I find that my mind keeps itself busy. But it has two sides. The first, my best friend, is more loyal than anyone I know; will fight to the bitter end against the most ridiculous odds and can always be trusted to have my best interests at heart, doing its best to balance reason and emotion. The second part of my mind is self-doubt. It forever queries my judgement (Follow the ridge or the creek? safety or adventure? over or under? and so on...) Both sides are equally as strong. I can never win an argument, I can't escape, and can see how it can easily drive a person insane. In the form of panic serious self doubt, it can kill.
Fortunately, reality would impose itself on my thought patterns and distract me from going mad. Following a creek of any description is not always that easy. There are side creeks to negotiate, sometimes having to head upstream a way to do so. There are steep parts, there are big, slippery, moss-covered boulders, there is dense bush. You occasionally have to leave both sight and sound of your guide for what can seem great lengths of time so as to Negotiate an obstacle. And then there are the side-spurs off the (main) side-spurs. Because it had only taken me a couple of hours to get into the mess I was in, I guessed it would be much faster getting out (downhill), albeit via a different route. Therefore, every hillock I came to, I expected to be the last one and with a view of the river. Itis incredibly discouraging to struggle your way to the top and discover your journey is not yet over. And still it rained. Slowly, a primitive part of the brain kicked in and told me that there was a parallel ridge line. It had taken several hours for this psychologically important fact to register. It was quite likely that when I got to the end of the parallel ridge, I would be fairly close to the end of the creek. My map agreed, and with renewed hope and energy, I resumed my hike. Time ticked by, and eventually, I glimpsed my goal through the trees. The Tauherenikau River. I had made it! Any helicopters would soon be able see me from the air, and I wouldn't be battling through the bush. My ordeal was over! Splat! I stepped straight into a swamp. I felt a few expletives were in order. My feet were already soaked from the first drops of rain (there were holes in both boots), but now there was mud too. Right over the top (no gaiters). Grateful there are no crocodiles in NZ, I had lost sight of the river again and had to squelch my way to a tree I was using as a marker and then out to the riverside proper. The Tauherenikau River is an impressive sight, particularly when it is carrying a lot of water. It looked nothing like the calm, beautiful jewel I had crossed 24 hours previously. It was now an angry brown, furiously fast, and much wider. It was still raining too. The going was now much easier. I was not yet on a proper track, and my main worry was that I had a number of side streams fo cross, but at least I could see my immediate path, and indeed the track on the opposite side of the river. Having never seen the footbridge before, I wondered if it had been swept away. After about an hour's walking and scrambling across a few worrisome creeks, I discovered my luck was in. At 3 o'clock, I was finally back on a marked track AND the footbridge was still there, having been built very high above the water. What more could I ask for?
I stopped on the bridge to admire the sheer awesome power of the river, and finally crossed. It was an incredible feeling to know that I was genuinely heading home. Hot showers, a warm soft bed, a cup of tea. Oooh yes. I hadn't done any preparation for work in the morning, but I didn’t care. I had made it out. In fact, I could put my mind into daydream mode and just follow the yellow brick road home... Except that the elation was short-lived though, because on the other side of the bridge, some maintenance work had been done, including the creation of a wee clearing and it was difficult to see the start of the track proper. I just wanted to get moving, not to have to stop and think. But there was nothing for it, and after a few minutes of map pondering and scouting around, I was on my way again. I thought about staying at Tutuwai hut and waiting for the rain to stop, but I had work in the morning, and anyway, I was practically home and hosed. (Well, home and thoroughly rained upon.) I turned a corner, and the path disappeared under a forty foot long puddle! ! was soaked through and it made little difference, but it was insult to injury. Who the hang would deliberately put a track through the wettest piece of bush they could find (apart from West Coasters)? I splashed my way through, grumbling about DoC authorities all the way. (I'm actually happy when I'm grumbling, my spirits were actually in very good shape.) Then I met another creek. It did not took agreeable. !t was still raining. I thought about Tutuwai hut, I thought about home. I worked outa path through the creek and took it. Then I met another creek. It did not look agreeable. It was still raining. I thought about Tutuwai hut, I thought about home. I worked out a path through this second creek and took it. I eventually came upon a creek which didn’t just look unfriendly, it looked outright nasty. I thought about all the creeks that I would have to recross to get back to Tutuwai and I looked at this nasty one. The major difference was that there was a cable to hang on to. I looked at the entry point for the cable. Once in, I was pretty much committed. I had the energy to keep going for a long time, but spurts of high energy to drag myself out of difficult situations were another matter, I was getting tired. I let my mind do battle, while the rain came tumbling down. I eventually put self-doubt and fear in its place and attempted the crossing. The water again came up to my hips, and I had fo have faith that my feet would find a place beneath the water somewhere with the ability to keep me upright. With hindsight, it was probably one of the safer crossings I did that day. I climbed out, looked at what I had achieved and hoped it wouldn't have to do it again. I plodded on. And still it rained. Finally, around 5 to 5.30ish, I made it to Smith’s Creek Shelter. This was another boost in spirits as I was now on a track of which I had some (if only a little) experience. I briefly considered staying the night at the shelter, and dismissed it. A nice warm bed was too tempting. I also dismissed going up Block XVI Although the Marchant Ridge may have been very wide and easy to follow even at night, I did not know the route to get there having travelled it only once in the opposite direction. My memories of it were of tree-roots. On| went. It got dark, I pulled out my torch and kept walking. Finally, I got to what I knew to be the last creek crossing at the bottom of the hill just before Puffer Saddle. I was only about an hour from the carpark. Yeehah! This creek was not dangerous, in fact it was only about ankle deep. I crossed the creek but there was no visible track on the other side... I back-tracked and crossed again. Still no visible trail. I clambered up the bank on the far side and had a look around in my torch light. I criss-crossed that darn stream about 15 times with no success. Yup! I was on the path and still geographically embarrassed. I spent a short time debating about bush-bashing in the direction that I thought the track ought to be. I knew exactly where I was, knowledge that would be lost as soon as I moved. I had discovered a reasonably intense dislike of bushbashing at night. I was warm while I kept moving, but would get cold if! stopped. The carpark was only an hour away. The deciding factor was not, ultimately, that I still knew where I was if I stayed put (although it did contribute majorly). It was simply that I couldn’t be bothered going any further. I'd had a hard day, (12 hours),.and stopping was So easy. I was going to be spending my second night in the bush. This time, I couldn't find a decent beech tree for shelter, just some kidney ferns. The pretty lights of Featherston had changed to become a few glow-worms for company (and I wasn't in the mood for appreciating their perfect design for the weather, either). The day concluded, I did an assessment of my situation. I had plenty of food, I would be late for work, but more immediately, I was wet (and it was still raining). I now had hypothermia to worry about. I could feel my fingers and my toes and so it wasn't going to happen in the next few minutes. 8pm at night, I climbed into my survival bag again (noting in the torchlight the suggestion to join a tramping club) had some munchies and hoped I would wake up in the morning. Waking was not the problem. Getting fo sleep was. I was wet, cold and really miserable. Thinking of warm fires were not at all successful in stopping my shivering. It is not a night I wish to repeat. Then, at some stage trying to get comfortable (although perhaps it happened during a creek crossing) I sprained my groin. Like the sprained ankle, I didn’t notice for a day or two. I suppose there was enough adrenalin pumping through me to act as a pain killer.
Monday morning. I wasn’t dead. I thought again of creature comforts. I hadn't had a hot meal since Saturday morning. Nobody was looking for me yet, but I judged that work would be the first to notice my absence. I looked around and my mistake of the previous night became apparent. I had walked 20metres too far upstream. The track was not on the other side at that point, and that was why I couldn't find it. After some breakfast, I began the final assault. I promptly warmed up as I was now travelling uphill. Even so, the frost about 40 feet above where I'd been sleeping hinted at why I'd been so cold. And then a revelation. It wasn't frost, it was SNOW! Despite my wretched state, it was amazing. Just like a wonderland. Work and woes temporarily forgotten, I stopped to build a snowman. It almost made it worth it.
Written by Margaret Craigie