This text was read by OCR from a scanned newsletter and has not been proofread yet, so expect odd characters and mistakes.
by Sharron Came
After one postponement we managed to head off to Nelson Lakes NP with a promise of great weather. On Saturday morning we caught a water taxi across Lake Rotoiti to Coldwater Hut and headed up the Travers valley. We got lots of practice stepping over, around and through broken tree branches. Most of the storm damage looked like it had been the result of branches collapsing under the weight of loads of snow rather than avalanches tumbling down the hills. We paused for lunch at the swing bridge that marks the confluence of the Travers river and Hopeless creek.
In the afternoon we followed Hopeless creek uphill. There was less tree fall here but more snow. When we came to Hopeless hut and settled in for a pleasant afternoon of tea drinking and card playing. As there was no shortage of firewood Murray made a fire. We admired the view out the windows of Sunset Saddle and numerous avalanche chutes while plotting our summit attempt. When you go on a trip with Harry and Garry you can be sure of at least 3 things: (1) you will get thrashed at cards (2) it will be their last trip ever (3) there will be great desserts
On our first night in the bush Gary was responsible for dessert. As someone who has a two packets of scorched almonds a week habit I will probably succumb to diabetes sooner rather than later. However, if I do I intend to hold Garry’s chocolate mousse with garnish accountable. The precise procedure for Garry’s mousse making remains a closely guarded secret. Sometimes enthusiastic amateurs such as myself are permitted a minor role like assisting with garnish preparation. For each trip there is a different garnish. As with all experimental cuisine some incarnations work better than others. For example the Jaffa garnish is not for squeamish. This time the garnish was mini pinky bars coarsely chopped. In my role as third pastry chef I was permitted to undertake supervised chopping of the pinkies. This wasn’t as easy as you might think. The caramel layer kept sticking to my knife!
Next morning we left the hut at 8am and headed up some crumbly cliffs sporadically dotted with sprigs of scrub. This proved to be a good mind and body warm up. From the crumbly cliffs we traversed through snow to a bluffy looking ridge. After some more rock climbing that afforded slightly more promising hand and footholds we topped out onto a proper snow covered ridge and put on our crampons. We plodded through soft snow slowly gaining altitude. Occasionally someone would sink in the snow up to their thighs and curse as they struggled to extract themselves. The going was slow but not quite so slow that we felt the need to abandon the route. We knew we were pretty lucky as we had read in the hut book of a Vic Uni party who had come up a couple of weeks earlier only to be forced to turn back half way up the ridge because the snow was too soft.
DJ plugged steps. Later Murray plugged steps. Harry, Garry and myself paddled in the steps like drunk ducks. About six hours after leaving the hut we reached the saddle just below the summit proper. Clouds started to rollin. DJ led the way around an exposed bump up to the summit proper. The others gingerly followed while I remained at the saddle. Rather than have lunch on the saddle we decided to descend to the relative security of the basin below. We down climbed carefully. Although the snow was soft it was still slippery. I had neglected to put on waterproof gloves for this bit so got to find out what it is like to get very cold fingers (painful). Harry slid for a bit which would have been more efficient except his goggles and hat didn’t come with him so he had to climb back up to retrieve them.
We tried to walk in our uphill steps to avoid sinking. The snow wasn’t quite soft enough to make plunge stepping feasible and the terrain was not quite harmless enough to allow bum sliding. The upshot was we descended slowly, sliding when we could or when we lost patience. Eventually we slid down a gut into some trees and out the other side into the snow again till we came to the crumbly cliffs. We swung our way down like monkeys not entirely convinced that the true route follows said cliffs although the gorge to the left looked even less appealing.
Back at Hopeless hut we thought about writing something sage and meaningful in the hut book but there was no point. The entry left by Sharon Brandford and Paul Christoffel from WTMC after completing a summer ascent of Mt Hopeless — “bit of a slog but worth it” summed up the day perfectly. We did pen a plea to save Hopeless hut but then it was time for a tea break and some more cards followed by Harry’s dessert.
Harry’s signature dessert is cream filled sponge Rolly Pollys. Yep more than one. Always. Because lots of commercial outfits like the New World in house bakery and Earnest Adams to name two, have started making inferior knock offs Harry has been forced to put little pink stickers with “special” on his Rolly Polly’s. Harry’s magnificent effort always conjures up images of an Enid Blyton adventure without Timmy the dog to scoff the best of the food although, nostalgia aside, every party tends to have its Timmy equivalent. Some sweet freaks washed their dessert down with hot chocolate.
I feel duty bound to confess that we let a Tararua Tramping Club member come on the trip. Yes Murray, budding pyromaniac, proud owner of a pack and gloves from Cash Converters and the youngest and fittest in our party is a member of the TTC. He reckoned that he came on our trip as practice for his big climbing and trekking trip in Nepal. On the way back to Picton we discovered we were to share a mini van with a TTC party. This was potentially compromising for Murray but as crawling under the seats wasn’t an option he decided to brazen it out. The TTCers took his apparent betrayal with good grace. On the return ferry there was hardly anything sweet consumed but I sure sucked at cards.
Mt Hopeless - David Jewell, Murray Sutherland, Garry DeRose, Harry Smith and Sharron Came.
Left: Harry Smith approaching his final summit. (Photo: Garry DeRose)