This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
A group trip report by the punters of Paua Hut The nice thing about doing a local tramp is leaving on Saturday morning. Nine of us arrived at the railway station at the somewhat civilized hour of 8am and headed over to Catchpool. Much to everyone’s surprise, there was a gate across the entrance road and a posted sign indicated tree felling. It appeared that the entrance was closed - which reminds me of a joke — how many punters does it take to check to see if we can actually open the gate to get through it? More than 9 is the answer! It took a passing motorist to open the gate and tell us to enter. Perhaps it was the lack of local intellect — just 3 of 9. Three Ockers, 2 Brits and a Yank didn't bring any talent with them! We might have got through the gate ourselves if the additional 2 punters who piked could have dragged themselves out of bed into the cold on Saturday morning. Having got through the gate our next obstacle was the ford on the way to the carpark. Fortunately we negotiated this on our own although one carload got a bit excited as the water splashed onto the windscreen.
As we reached the car park the tension mounted and the temperature dropped. As everyone set about the task of putting on jackets and boots we couldn't help but feel that we were being watched. Only later would we realise just how right we were. Putting these feelings of
apprehension behind us, we set off for the long and dangerous trek into the Orongorongo valley. A trek which has been known to test even the hardiest and seasoned of tramper.
Climbing began in earnest up the aptly named Butchers Track, the air thinning with every step. Only a matter of time before altitude sickness struck. Though suffering all the symptoms (struggling for air while swearing under breath) Andrew’s request to be carried by the Sherpas was cruelly ignored. Luckily he acclimatized once on the flat again.
Nature then played the cruellest of jokes, bathing the adventures in golden sunlight while providing panoramic views. Raised hopes of a fine weekend (the last known one was in 1937) were brutally crushed with sleet and wind. Huddled within our jackets, the hairs on our necks lifted as we still felt the presence of the unseen watchers from within the ominous shifting shadows. Putting aside all thoughts of danger from rabid mad cows, we boldly set forth onto Cattle Ridge.
Cattle Ridge was taken by the horns, rounded up and branded in one easy sweep nothing could stop us we were impressive. After a wet and slippery descent we were on track with one thing in mind to get to the hut, the burning question was would we be able to cross the river to reach our sanctuary !
The river was moving swiftly and after some debate the decision was made - we would make an attempt at a 'proper' river crossing with the understanding that we would back out if the current became too strong. Leader Barbara gave us a briefing and we split into two groups of descending height. The guys upstream to break the current and protect the other members of the group. We undid our chest straps and linked up by grasping the pack straps of the people beside us and then proceeded across the river I watched expectantly as the first group made their way into the water and waded through, it was an impressive sight! They made it to the other side which meant it was our turn. I was expecting the water to be cold - but it was freezing and boy was I glad I had two people upstream protecting me from the force of the current - it was fair moving! Once we had all reached the other side, our leader decided we did so well - or maybe we needed more practice, so we crossed again ... and again ...
Whilst travelling alongside the Orongorongo River, Mike discovered that if you trip over with a full backpack on it’s impossible to stand up again and so he rolled around laughing like a flipped turtle.
Following our less than strenuous morning, we arrived at the hut quite early in the afternoon. After Mahara cleared the presents left by our little rat friends, most of the rest of the day was spent eating or preparing food whilst entertaining ourselves with games (which really made us rethink what sort of people we had gone tramping with ;-) ). Thanks to a well stocked woodpile out the front of the hut and a resident pyromaniac, our fire stayed going until well into the night. The crackling of the fire and pitter patter of the rain on the roof was our night time lullaby.....I'm convincing myself that's all it was and not the sound of little rat feet!
The morning dawned with a perfect sunrise, the day already warm from the tropical trade winds gently caressing the shore, the call of parrots in the lush bush stirring the well rested from their peaceful slumbers. The heavy air hints of exotic spices and fruits, old memories of far off Jands. Don't you love Bermuda?.
Meanwhile back in the Orongaronga valley it was cold. Damn cold. Check your boots for snow kind of cold. Luckily it did not take long for the fire bug to get the fire going. After a quick discussion we opted for a quick trip back to civilisation (the pull of real coffee too strong). With some good trail finding we cut the river crossings down to one, which while challenging (icebergs?) was handled with ease.
It was a quick trip along the 5 mile to the car park, so quick it does not warrant mention. Except that nothing unusual happened, which was unusual in itself given the weekend. Arriving back at the cars our attention was immediately drawn to the windshield. A large blood red envelope had been placed under the wiper. Barbara withdrew the sheet from within, it had been written in assorted letters cut from magazines. Brow furrowed as she concentrated on the message, her eyes lit up with wonder and understanding.
"Wow" she says " That explains everything" Showing us the letter we could not help but agree. Truly incredible ~- but it was the only thing that could make sense of this whole trip.
Barbara Keenan (leader), (punters) Andrew Mann, Stephen Hope, Diane Allardyce, Sally Pollard, Mike Engstrom, Lucy Hollister, Anna Brown, Mahara Inglis