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Alpine I Medium — Lake Angelus by Sarah Day
Crew (from left): Sarah Day, Nicola Jackson, Michael Lightbourne, Paul Jeffries, Lindsay Fletcher, Martin Dren, and Justin Parker
Photo: Lyndsay Fletcher
Route: Robert Ridge, up Mt Angelus, out via Speargrass Valley.
trip log, day o
trip started finally, after much delay but little fanfare, with piles of ice axes and sharp spiky feet being bundled up for our over-sea crossing. beer and small talk made way for a midnight bus ride and fitful sleep in a shelter overflowing with other likemindeds at lake rotoiti.
trip log, day 1
up and at em, shuttle once more to the start of the track, picked up our guru then off on our lonesome way up the hill. meandering and much cursing of pack weight and computer lifestyles gave way to smiles and stretched legs. distance was eaten by long strides and deep breaths, and snacks with the extra spice of exertion. footprints, rock piles, shards of metal and old ski tracks led us up up up and over and around into a ski-tourer filled hut encircled by snow ice and mountains. blue skies and bright sun kissed us all the way, and one lone kea sang greetings.
trip log, day 2
late late start, intrepid leader recovered vigour and abandoned monster pack. then off we went through sharp clear air over and up up up to the top of the noble mt a. notable on the way were a familiar set of snowball-pelting howlers perched in rock shade and the careful instruction of our leader part 2. feast on the top missing one, with a view of blue hills fading away on all sides, the wind breathless the sun content. bum slides down and then over and up to the ridge around our ice covered angel pool. knee deep, thigh deep, fluffy slushy snow and air warm enough to bath in resulted in much pink skin and smiling eyes. down for another hut-feast and hot drinks, to bed almost before dark.
trip log, day 3
early up this time, sun rise crisp and fresh and clean. crunchy snow led to happy inclinebounding cramponeers and the most jarring bum slide yet to avoid a thigh burning descent. then down (alas) through to the tussock and bush, jumping water now instead of climbing, with frequent accidental sliding on tawny grasses and damp moss. sun-dawdling and nut-bar pushing whiled away the hours, then into the beech dancing over roots and mischievous bogs. down down up down to the river, so tempting and clear that secret splashing occurred. then up again up up to the car park, to the shuttles, to the home of the sandflies and icecreams, and other packs of likeminded happy chatterers. then beer, tea, ferry, ridiculous reality and a return to a dark illuminated skyline, clean socks and a nontransportable bed.
Left: Angelus Hut, and Right: walking out into the Speargrass Valley on Monday. Both photos by M. Lightbourne