23 March

As I rolled out of bed barely capable to pull myself upright, I thought about our walk in the Tararua on Monday and how tough and resilient one’s body actually is. As cliched as it might sound, it always amazes me at what one can achieve if you put your mind to it. Where there’s a will, there’s a way. Okay I’ll stop with the cliches for now. 

For a long while we’ve been talking about a walk in the mountains. We haven’t done it in such a long time, and our annual week-long trip over Christmas or New Year also hasn’t happen in a few years. Mainly because of bad weather, but perhaps also just exhaustion by that time of the year. Which is exactly when one should go saunter in the mountains!

With my mum passing away last year, and our trip back to the motherland recently to sort out her things and our affairs there, we were again caught up in ‘life’ and not paying attention to what we really needed. We knew we needed a walk in the mountains, so last week we made the decision to just go do it. At first it was going to be an overnighter, but again, with other commitments and deadlines (oh, how I dread these words) we scaled down to a one-day hike. Of course then one could go anywhere, but we finally decided to do the Jumbo-Holdsworth circuit again. And just as well, as my original plan was to walk to Syme Hut and spent a night there. Unfortunately someone had died on Mt Taranaki at the weekend and a rahui was in place until Monday, meaning we would not have been able to walk there anyway, out of respect for the dead and the mountain.

The last time, we did the Jumbo-Holdsworth circuit as the trail running event, which was eight years ago. Since then, we’ve marshalled at the event a couple of times at Holdsworth peak, and once at Powell Hut, always using the Gentle Annie track to and fro. Including trips to Powell Hut with friends on other occasions, we know that part of the trail very well. 

On Saturday we went shopping for sustenance to do the whole loop on Sunday. But alas, another deadline (tax of all things) meant we were still busy late on Saturday night, and hadn’t packed yet. Fortunately Gerry had leave on Monday so this was going to be the day. Forgive me for feeling like we might ‘bail out’ again, as at that point we had given up on so many events that I would almost be surprised if we did go ahead with it. But luckily we did. Sunday morning first thing, we packed our backpacks, incase something gets in the way again. Being aware of how bad NZ weather can be in the mountains, especially on the peaks, I always pack a bit on the cautious side. Not for when you can still move, but for if something happens and you can’t move. First to go in is always the PLB and a space-blanket type bivvy. I’m also a firm believer in something hot, so our teeny tiny little camp stove with a small gasbottle is also priority. And then come the thermals and down jackets, coupled with wind and rainproof gear (does the latter even really exist?), and of course food. Sometimes I would also throw in the small tent, but according to all the weather predictions, it was going to be a lovely day; sunny, on the cool side (13 degrees at the hottest time), and almost no wind. Sounded too good to be true. Luckily the forecast was spot-on.

Monday morning at sparrow’s fart we were out of bed, Gerry prepared our yogurt, fruit, seed, and muesli breakfast, made a thermos with coffee for the road, and we were on our way. I had my reservations about walking 24km with the reasonably heavy pack over some of the highest peaks in the Tararua, but figured if things go pear-shaped, we can always just turn around and call it quits. But if we made Jumbo Hut in good time still being able to move, and the tops look good weather wise, we would dash over, and then worry about the way down at that point. We even packed headlamps incase. 

With lots of roadworks between us and Masterton, the trip took a wee bit longer than I thought. Also, we got away a bit later than planned. Nonetheless, just before 8am we had a few cups of coffee, breakfast, made a loo stop, signed the intentions book, and could finally start walking. 

Being fresh and just happy to be there, we walked at a reasonable clip. The track was easy and flattish, so we thought we could make up time. We knew that ‘Raingauge’ was an approximately 3km nightmare of an uphill to Jumbo Hut, so tried to do the first 7km to Atiwhakatu Hut in good time. I vaguely remember some of it from our trail run stint through there, but Donnolly’s Flat I wiped from my memory. It is a lovely camping area amongst the trees with fire places, the stream nearly, and longdrops, not far from the car. It would be perfect for people with young kids. 

We followed the Whakatūrākau Stream on our right, crossing numerous little side streams on foot bridges. To the tune of the rumbling water we walked in the forest hearing the song of happy birds and cicadas. A trapline was established along the path, and all the traps were sqeeky clean. The trapper servicing this trapline would have a walk in the park. 

After we reached Atiwhakatu Hut, the track splits off to the Raingauge Spur and Jumbo Hut. Although it is only 2.8km it has a stupidly steep elevation gain of about 850 metres. Each step is knee high and sometimes higher at my length. At some point I noticed to Gerry that I’m very close to the ground. Obviously because with the steepness it felt like the ground was right in front of me, and on occasion I had to drag myself up over tree roots and rocks on all fours. This was very hard on my legs and I knew that I would suffer later on. As we went higher up, the birdlife became less until I could hear no birds at all, and eventually only flies and blowflies.

We reached Jumbo Hut a bit after eleven, and stopped for elevensies – coffee with rusks (which I hastily baked on Friday and dried overnight), a handful of nuts and a liquorice toffee to chew on on our way. Something else I found surprising was the vast number of white butterflies (the kind that ruins one’s vege garden) at the tree line. 

Just before 12pm we were scaling another steep incline to Jumbo Peak. And if you have any thoughts of the ridge being ‘flat’, or even undulating, think again. It is constantly up and down. We did a tonne of steep climbs in the short (5km?) section on the tops, which took about two hours to do. My legs were jelly by then, but I was very happy to be at the Holdsworth Trig. I knew that even if the weather turned to custard, we would be okay. Powell hut was less than 2km away and the track to there is doable even in reasonably strong wind. There’s just one section next to a slip that is a bit dodgy in wind, but for the most part there is no issues.

For the first time all day we encountered some other trampers on the ridge. First two guys who were sitting on a stoney knob when we were passing just below them in a boggy area, followed by another pair of guys, and shortly afterwards a couple on our way up the final steep climb to the trig.

By then the light breeze at the top was a wee bit more than a light breeze, but still really nothing to write home about. It was still sunny and warm enough to walk with a T-shirt (two layered in my case). We made our way down to Powell hut at about 2pm, and found three ladies there, two of whom were sunbathing on the porch. We boiled our kettle for a cup-o-soup, when another solo guy arrived to stay at the hut. Together with the tomato soup we had biltong, corn cakes with Vegemite and Laughing Cow processed cheese. The latter probably being the most hideous of all snacks, but for some reason the thing we always have on hikes. Some nuts and more liquorice toffees and we were ready to start walking down the mountain. We filled half of my water bottle with an electrolyte, to have with our other in-between snacks (dates, marshmallows, Frooze balls). If there’s one thing I’ve learned the past twelve or so years, it is that any ‘endurance sport’ is in fact an eating contest. Keep feeding the beast and it will do anything you tell it to. Haha.

The first bit is a super steep downhill. In previous years, it was a bit of the scramble to get up or down. Maintenance on the track (maybe due to the running event sending hundreds of people around the loop?) has made if far easier to go down/up on stairs, and is also good for the environment. As much as I like a natural incline or decline, lots of foot traffic quickly tramples the ground. And if it happens to be a wet patch, the area being trampled just gets wider and wider. But calling it easy, is a bit generous. These steps (and there were plenty new ones) are huge, and on terribly sore jelly-legs it is tough going. At some point I thought my legs were seizing up; my locked knee would not unlock in time to take the next step! It was agony, but we made it to Mountain Shelter in good time, before following the last (always longer than expected) bit of the track on Gentle Annie, past the Rocky Lookout. The whole track was filled with course gravel, and more new stairs were built to make the trail more accessible. I listened to the crunch of the gravel under my shoes, and thought to myself that there aren’t a lot of trails where you can hear the crunch of your boots as your walk in NZ, or perhaps rather the North Island. Usually it is sloshing and suckling of shoes being swallowed by mud. The sound of my shoes made me think of my birth country where the semi-arid environment usually involved crunching boots on trails. And this made me think of my mother, wondering if she’s watching us.

Back at the car, we put on some dry clothes for the trip home. I was very sore, but very happy. Surprised and delighted at the fact that I managed to walk up and over the mountains with an elevation gain and loss of around 1500m over 24km without any incidents. So many things could have happened, but as my mother always reminded me, a miss is as good as a mile. 

Although it’s been 17 months since we last covered 20+ kilometres by foot (something that weighed heavily on my mind the night before our outing), I’m all keen to start doing this more often again. I miss the suffering – the very thing that makes me feel human and alive. And capable. Getting older is tough as it is, I want to try and postpone the ‘incapable’ part as long as possible.