This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
Norwesterly gales battered the Tararvas on Labour Weekend, forcing back the fasy/Medivrs led by Gerald breaver on the Sovthern Crossing and the Medivr/fit Tararva Crossing via Dorset Ridge led by Ruth Parnell. Ace reporter Margaret Craiqie filed this report on the Southern Crossing trip... friday night ~ My journey started at the Brown Owl Fish and Chip shop in Upper Hutt, the club bus arriving from the railway station at 6.10pm. Most of the 12 of us filled our stomachs with the greasies before being bussed on to Kaitoke carpark at the start of our Southern Crossing tramp. The first steps were taken at around 7pm. By 7.20, we were in the bush, heading toward the valley floor, and torches were required. We wandered unevenifully through the pleasant evening air toward Smiths Creek Shelter, listening to the occasional morepork or startled cricket. There was a slight difficulty on this first night with finding the track because of detours required (but marked) due to slips. There were other difficulties because the track simply disappeared on our leader twice, leaving us to flounder for around 5 minutes in the creek, getting wet feet just before the finish. Our fairy lights (torches) decided that water was not for them, and headed for the shelter (finally on the track again) and bed (my watch still saying 7.15 — an early nightl).
Saturday - At9.05am (um, 7.15 by mel) we left our abode and headed uphill. The shelter was not as comfortable as our own beds, but we were watered, fed and rested with a big day ahead. We would need the water with nothing on offer until Alpha Hut, and we set off up the track to Dobson's Shelter (which should be called Dobson's Chimney, given what's left of it). Up, up, and up until even our esteemed leader felt that lightening the load by a parsnip would help make the job easier. We helped David with his load by eating his sweets. Then, the infamous Marchant Ridge — it was what tramping was all about. Sweeping views of the Tararua hills and down the valley to Wellington. (South Island was in cloud, so no Kaikouras). Further on and Quoin Ridge still had a little snow on it, but not enough time to
really appreciate things as we were up and down, in and out of the bush watching our feet a lot of the way.
Finally, what it had all been about: Just before Hell's Gate, a view of hills, Wairarapa and, with a single turn of the head, the Hutt Valley. At this stage, we were a little spread out, and as it was coming up to six o’clock, light might soon have been an issue. However, the descent and subsequent climb associated with Hell’s Gate was windless and even enjoyable with the anticipation of a nice hot dinner and a well-earned sleep. One member of the group had run out of water and considered the little snow that was around a tasty snack. Another was.willing the hut nearer, and even sighted it, only to have it disintegrate before her eyes as the arrangement of branches and leaves created a cruel illusion. In dribs and drabs, the last of us made it through the door at 8pm.
What ensued was an amusing procedure involving rice, pasta, tuna, vegetables and two billies. Dished with a cup, some got one kind, some another, some a mixture (and the rest went wee, wee, wee all the way home...). However, everyone got something, we got to know each other a little bit and we went to bed for a good sleep. Today we took on Hell, tomorrow, Mt Hector!
Sunday - It had poured with rain all night. It was still bucketing down from somewhere. People were waiting for the last possible moment for the trek to the dunny, because it meant getting absolutely soaked, or a huge rigmarole to stay dry. (Quotation: “It’s great to be a guy!”)
We'd had our brekkie, it was time for man to do battle with the elements. Brollies open (or at least raincoats on) and off we went. After half an hour of valiant battling — the lignter ones almost getting carried away... and saying nea . : goodbye to David's pack [iii J a cover (a full service was held) — it was decided to turn back. And instead of risking life and limb, we had a hard day playing charades, reading, crosswords, scrabble etc. (Note: I will concede womble and fe, fi, fo, fum are not in the dictionary, but em, en, and xi DEFINITELY exist — I was robbed!).
Outside, the rain came a-tumbling down.
Monday - An early start, another big day. 8.15am we left Alpha Hut and headed back down Marchant Ridge. No stunning views to alleviate the view — although the curling mist has a beauty of its own, particularly when it is caught on the numerous spider webs. This time, it had been raining. What had been track was quagmire. Ninety percent ofthe way. And just as you got REALLY sick and tired of the mud — there was more. Plod, plod, slip, slide, plod, plod, slither. Tree roots, mud, more mud, mud and tree roots. Bonus for the day - it wasn’t raining. After several hours, we made it out of the clouds (about an hour before
Dobson’s Shelter). There was still the mud to contend with, and if anyone stopped for more than three minutes, the shivering started. It could not really be described as pleasant, but we did make a reasonable attempt to convince ourselves we were having fun. At 5.20pm, we made it back to Kaitoke carpark — the bus was a sight for sore eyes (and sore knees, back etc). A fairly bedraggled and motley looking lot by now, we were: Gerald, David, Darren, Michael, William, Sonya, Kyrin, Penny, Slavka, Sarah, Suzanne and Margaret.