This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
October 2005
By Amanda Wells The rain started just as I left work. Gathering on the station platform to catch a train to Upper Huit, all six of us owned up to thoughts of piking. It was the worst forecast I'd had for a tramping weekend this year: heavy rain and thunder tonight, southerly change and gales tomorrow; though Sunday was slightly more promising.
We had a choice before us: up the Marchant ridge and down the Marchant ridge, or John's Renata plan. We had to decide before 7pm, when the taxi van would pick us up from the station and deliver us to either the top of the Akatarawa Road or Kaitoke. Most of us were fence sitters, wary of the risk of a southerly on the tops tomorrow but not keen on a double Marchant experience. By the time we'd scarfed down Chinese takeways, John decided the forecast allowed sufficient window of opportunity to attempt the Renata route. As a back-up plan, we could squash into Elder biv then have an extremely early morning on Sunday...
The taxi driver could not be enticed to join us as we exited the van in torrential, horizontal rain. Plodding up the 4WD track, the downpour's volume made talking impossible. After a couple of hours, during which the rain had become more normal, we turned off onto Renata ridge, though a lack of signage made finding the track a challenge. It was pretty overgrown but reflective markers recently put in by the Catholic Tramping Club (Renata Hut's owners) were hugely helpful. Eventually we emerged from the boggy undergrowth, three and a half hours after leaving the road end, saturated.
We set the alarm for 6 (part of John's pian to beat the front) then spent an extremely cold few hours sleeping, or trying to. It hailed during breakfast but, after the joy of pulling on our wet clothes, the day started pretty well. The norwesterly was still blowing and we enjoyed climbing up the ridge, though track-finding slowed us down at times. At 11.30, we'd reached the turn off to Elder biv, though the need to beat the front meant a consensus that we wouldn't bother going down for a look.
After an extremely speedy lunch, we climbed up towards Aston, breaking through the treeline and being battered by the wind. But some of the steep climb could be done in the lee, and by the time we emerged on to the well-trodden Southern Crossing track, we were starting to relax, even if being blown over remained a hazard.
Half an hour or so later, as we regrouped beneath Alpha, the hail and snow started to come down (or at times across). It was a speedy descent towards the bushline and the empty hut, shielding our eyes from the ice needles. Although it was only 3 o'clock, we were pretty wasted. A friendly lone tramper turned up later on, having done the Southern Crossing. “I like bad weather,” he said. We wondered if the fit group would show up, hoping that they hadn't been caught in the southerly change.
Unfortunately all the wood was both wet and either rotten or alive, so fire-starting efforts proved futile. But we enjoyed our dinner and the sense of achievement in having made it somewhere that had seemed almost out of reach yesterday afternoon at the station.
It was a freezing night. All my clothes on, my sleeping bag hood done right up, and still shivering; decisions to buy a new thermarest and season-adding liner were made. At one point, I looked over at the mattress next to me, wondering if I'd heard someone come in, and saw a swirling mass of water vapour illuminated by the moonlight. It was like sleeping in a frozen swamp.
Next morning the water tap had frozen. But, John having predicted this, we had collected plenty of water last night. Pulling on those nice wet clothes again, we headed into the sun. Deciding the Tauherenikau would probably be too high to cross safely, we abandoned our preferred route in favour of the Marchant ridge.
Five of us had never been along it before, but being braced for “uphill in both directions,” it didn’t seem too bad. At least it wasn’t raining. The only drama came at lunch, as Craig's leg had a vicious encounter with a root. First aid was applied. But he bounced back to set a blistering pace (perhaps helped by giving up the fly?!). After a knee-wrenching descent, we were at the Marchant Road end and happy to see Andrew T and the bus — but not the fit group, who it turned out had also entertained thoughts of piking on Friday night... (Trampers: John Hoffeins, Victoria, Craig, Gareth, Lou, Amanda)