tramping

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It rained cats and dogs – Jumbo-Holdsworth trail run, Powell Hut volunteers

27-28 January 2023

As we were packing the car for the trip to Holdsworth carpark, it started to drizzle. The weather forecast for the weekend looked horrendous, and I thought the event might be cancelled before we even leave Palmy.

Ross and Kati decided to join us for the trip to Powell Hut, and we arranged to meet at the carpark. Our plan was to leave at about 12pm, meet them at 13:30, and walk the three odd hours to the hut.

The drizzle persisted on the drive there and as we started walking it just got worse. There was no wind and things started off reasonably hot, despite the drizzle. My sweat did not evaporate and after a few kilometres of walking uphill, I was soaking wet, both from being rained on and sweat. By the time we reached the Mountain House Shelter, we had to don rain jackets. The higher up we went, the thicker the mist (clag), and the bigger the raindrops.

As always, I’m surprised at how steep the last couple of kilometres are to the hut. After about 3:20 hours we reached the hut, wet and chilled. We went for one of bigger rooms, and changed into dry clothes before having some nibbles and drinks. As last time, Kati and Ross had a spread of note, to be washed down with some red wine. Unfortunately we only had olives and corn chips to add to the snacks.

Steve and Carol were already there as the other pair based at the hut, as well as Tony who was the lucky winner of the trig marshal spot, where we were based previously.

We poured a tipple just as Suzanne arrived. She volunteered as the first aider on the ridge between Powell Hut and part of the ridge, while another medic would be handling the other half of the ridge towards Jumbo Hut.

A few other people were also based at the hut: a pair of older friends, a mum with kids, and young hikers. We were all safe and warm inside the hut, while it was cold and super wet outside. No respite in the rain and every time you had to make a dash for the longdrop, you cussed a little.

Our party became more rowdy as the others all started going to bed. At some point Kati checked her phone, when the news arrived of a totally flooded Auckland Airport. In fact the whole of Auckland was flooded. The rain pelted down at 71mm per hour, more than ever before, and caused widespread carnage: cars were floating down the road, slips wiped out houses and left others teetering over the edge, numerous houses and businesses flooded, and thousands were left without power. Four people had died (drowned), and the forecast did not look favourable for the coming days.

I was almost certain the race would be cancelled. But having said that, two years ago we marshalled in similar wet, poor visibility and windy (less than this time) conditions on the ridge, except the temperatures were below zero from the snow the days before the event. It was one of the coldest outings of my life, and yet the race went ahead and everyone arrived safe back at the bottom where the weather was infinitely more favourable.

During the night it kept on raining. Not super hard, but consistent and at times a little bit harder. Little streams started to form on the path to the loo, and the wind started to pick up a bit.

At about 2am, another mum and daughter arrived. I was mostly still awake (couldn’t sleep for some reason), and contemplating the fact that I have to get up and make a dash for the longdrop in the dark, cold and wet weather to go pee. We were sleeping on the top bunkbed, and getting out of the sleeping bag and putting on extra layers was noisy. Suzanne, Kati, Ross and us shared the one room, and I thought we’d wake them all up.

But out and back in my cosy sleeping bag, after some more noise, I felt infinitely better. Finally I could sleep.

In the morning, Gerry made some tea to have with rusks, while we were all nervously waiting for the radio to crackle into action informing us that the race was called off. But still the call didn’t come.

Getting ready for the first arrivals, we put on thermals and puffers, beanies, buffs, rain jackets and rain pants. We sorted the camera, and I took shelter in the wood shed, ready to shoot some runners. With the clag, rain and generally poor conditions for photos, I wasn’t hopeful, but figured I might at least capture something of the action and drama as it was unfolding on the porch of the hut.

Kati and Ross decided to pack up, have breakfast, and head down. They had heaps to do before moving back to South Africa later that week.

Like wet chickens the first runners started to arrive. Using a stopwatch, Gerry was taking their times while Carol recorded their numbers. Some put on more layers, others filled up their water flasks, before heading further up the mountain to the ridge where Suzanne and Tony were. By now they had some time on the top to evaluate the situation. And taking a walk in the gale and sleet, Suzanne opted to make the call that the race be called off. It was dangerous in the super wet conditions to traipse along the ridge in gale force winds.

Quite a few runners had gone past us already, but all the new arrivals were informed to turn around. While some seemed relieved, others were disappointed. A few decided to hand over their race numbers and carry on at their own risk. The ones that had gone past the hut, were turned around by Suzanne and Tony. The runners going the other way around were turned back at Jumbo Hut.

It was over. The year that wasn’t meant to be.

We made a last cup of coffee, packed up and started heading down the mountain. Suzanne followed suit, and caught up with us within the first couple hundred metres. With everything being wet, puddles of water and some mud, we took the first very steep section slowly. Back at the Mountain House Shelter, we had a quick break and a bite to eat, before continuing down the mountain.

By the time we reached the event finish line (surprised that it took me 2:30) we were soaked to the bone. Gerry bought coffee at the cart, we had some event food, and walked the final few hundred metres back to the car. Gerry drove up to the toilet, we chatted to Salome and her friend Matt, swapped our wet clothes for dry ones, and drove back home.

Our cat, which I was worried about was of course perfectly fine and happy to be high and dry inside the house the past 28 hours, instead of fending for food and shelter in the wet stormy weather.

I started this post with a long report on our stray cat, but thought I’d rather stick to the mountain and event itself. But for the record, the story of the cat is as follows.

We have a stray cat. Actually we were feeding several in the first half of 2022 as I thought that might keep them from catching birds. Not sure if it helps, but that was my theory. Occasionally there would be a cat fight on the porch in the middle of the night, and before we could get out of bed and turn on the light to inspect what was going on, they would be gone.

At the time I was working as a trapper and we had just bought new field cameras for work. Doing some trials and testing them out was a great opportunity to see what was going on. We saw possums (multiple!) hang out around our Good Nature trap, every night, but they would avoid it like the plague. We’ve had that trap for about 8 years, locked and loaded, and it is yet to kill any pests.

After a few nights of watching possums, we decided to see what was going on on the porch at night. Turns out we were feeding three stray cats, and occasionally more than one would come for a feed at the same time causing a fight. But one of them outplayed the others and decided to move in.

I was worried about it being a girl and pregnant as it had huge boobs, and at other times I worried about a boy going chasing after girls and making more babies, worsening the cat problem. But then a vet friend came to visit and put our minds at ease – it was a boy and it had been neutered.

This stray cat is a rather big grey cat. It chose us, and started getting friendly with only us. When it hears an unfamiliar voice, it would run and hide under our bed. It spent most days on our couch or on the bed, and at around 8pm it would usually go outside for a galavant. Between two and four am it would meow outside, wanting to come back in. It felt like having a baby in the house – we would take turns to let it out and get back in again, often more than once during the night.

This has been going on for about nine months. Sometimes we might have to go away, having to lock it out. Early on we had to go away for a month, but after our return, Mr Cat returned on the second night, hovering by the door. The last time we had to go away for only one night, kitty got all anxious, following us around the house, looking nervous and not wanting to go outside. Eventually we had to boot him out and close the door. Poor bugger.

This time, he again detected that something was up, and decided to sneakily hide in the far corner under the bed. I checked under the bed and called minutes before, when Gerry had one last look, only to find kitty hiding. Perhaps he knew what was coming weather wise, but I felt sorry for him and decided to let him be. With enough food and water to last him a few days, we locked him inside and were off on our marshalling trip. We were only away for a bit more than a day, and he probably hardly noticed we were gone. However, we need to put in a cat flap or something, so that Mr can come and go as he pleases.

Another item on the never-ending to-do list.

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Familiarity in unfamiliar area – Rangiwahia hut

Date: 27-28 December 2022

Distance: 15km

Usually Gerry and I would go on a hike (tramp) for Christmas and/or New Year’s. The days rounding the old and the new years are when we prefer to be in the mountains, to be in nature, a change from the usual day-in-day-out. This became even more important, a necessity almost, the past 13 years since we moved to a different country without any family with whom one might normally spend Christmas and/or New Year’s. Nature and the mountains is a way to get closer – to something, to everything.

But for some reason we didn’t make any plans this year. Gerry was meant to work until the 20th, but then got COVID, which ultimately threw a spanner in the works. Suddenly we had to isolate, catchups with friends were cancelled and a damper was placed on everything. The focus turned from making holiday plans and celebrating Christmas in the mountains, to being by ourselves and getting better.

At a dinner party with friends at the beginning of December we got invited to go along on a tramp to a Ruahine hut on a well trodden path, a hut we’ve been meaning to visit for the past few years. It was a little bit north from where I used to work as a trapper in the Ruahine mountain in the first half of 2022. The hut is known to be frequented by families with kids, so an easy walk. Yet, Gerry was just a few days past his self-isolation phase and still quite short of breath, and our training over the past few months had been nearly non-existent. But knowing that it is an easy walk, we figured it should be doable.

I made some stir-fried rice with onion, green pepper and zucchini on the morning, which we carried along for dinner at the hut that night, just to make things a bit simpler. Supplemented with biltong (and a host of snacks), we were definitely not going to go hungry. 

From our house to the trail head is about an hour and a half’s drive. We had a late start and met up with Ross and Kati in Ashhurst, meaning we only reached the carpark around 2pm.

The walk is not very technical, but like most other tracks on the eastern side of the mountain, when you set foot out of the car you start going straight up. A few sections with stairs made it easier than many Ruahine tracks as there are at least no step-ups the height of my hip to get over rocks, or spots where I needed to hang onto grass or trees while sliding down or clambering up little muddy sections – this was everyday fare while servicing traps. And for a change we also didn’t start the walk by crossing a river or stream resulting in wet feet for the whole hike, as was the case with almost all the traplines I worked on.

Walking through the forest, shaded by the trees on a sunny warm day, the track looks like any other track in the Ruahine. After passing a massive slip via a detour above it, shortly after halfway, we reached the Rangiwahia bridge which crosses the Rangiwahia gorge/river. The bridge is very high above the river and one can only hope it is still sturdy after 35 years.

It took us 1:45 to reach the hut a bit before 4pm. It is a 13 bunk (very small rooms), bookable hut, with a wood burner, long-drops, and rainwater running to an enclosed sink basin area on the side of the hut.

We met up with another couple, Gabi and Brendan, at the hut, and the six of us immediately started laying out a spread of note on one of the picnic benches outside in the sun. Pickles, olives, cheeses, sundried tomatoes, hummus, liver pate, sausages, chicken and crackers. Even Swiss Roll (apparently known as Waikato cake in NZ) and Ferrero Rocher for dessert. And this was just pre-dinner snacks!

Afterwards Gerry and I went for a little stroll around the area to check out the lay of the land. We went past the two longdrops and two more small sheds, past the woodhouse, and then bundu-bashed our way through the vegetation to get onto the Deadmans Track a few metres above the hut. We were keen to follow Deadmans Track on day two back to the car, so wanted to see how rough the track underfoot might be. It looked well frequented, so the only thing potentially holding us back, would be bad weather.

On the way back, we passed two lookout points with benches facing west with views over Mt Ruapehu, Mt Ngaurahoe and Mt Taranaki. Back at the hut we poured a tipple and had a yarn while the sun started to set, and the temperature dropped. Although we had clear views over the mountains the wind was unpleasantly strong and cold. Gerry heated our rice dish and we had dinner outside regardless, followed by some Christmas cake, tea and chocolate.

Afterwards we made fire inside the hut for some much needed warmth. It was 6 or 7 degrees, so nothing extreme, but a warm hut is infinitely more cozy than a cold one. After a few cups of tea, and some more chocolate, we retired to bed at about 10pm.

Ross and Kati decided to camp outside in a tent, while we shared a room with Gabi and Brendan. In the other room were two families with children, and one of the men also slept outside on the porch. He had a tent up earlier in the evening, but it wasn’t the type that could withstand strong winds, so it would probably not have made it through the night.

The hut was warm from the fire. I was almost too hot early on and had to take off some layers. The drips and drabs of clothing I chucked under my head to serve as a cushion, was uncomfortable. I couldn’t find sleep, and was tossing and turning, watching the flickering of the fire against the wall, while the wind got progressively worse. I listened as it plucked at the roof and tugged at the windows, trying to find a way in. The chimney was rattling and the noise from the howling wind was unbearable, which didn’t help to induce any sweet dreams.

Wind has always been my nemesis. I can handle most types of bad weather, but I have a particular issue with wind. Perhaps a bad childhood memory aids this phobia, but wind always makes me very anxious and uneasy.

After what felt like an entire night, I finally must have fallen asleep only to wake with a start from a nightmare that I was suffocating. After many more hours listening to the wind and other’s breathing it started to get light, which is when I finally fell asleep properly, and slept like a baby for a couple of hours.

As the hut came to life, Gerry also got up to make some tea to have with our rusks. The weather looked promising, the wind calmed down somewhat, and so we decided to walk via Deadmans Track back to the car, about a ten and a half kilometre trip.

While Gabi and Brendan headed straight back the way they came, Kati, Ross and us took the long way home. It is a lovely walk on the ridges with beautiful views of the mountains east and west, surrounding farms and the plato’s. On a bad weather day, I can imagine it would be a challenging walk. It is very exposed and in a whiteout you might even get lost.

All around Deadmans Loop there are DOC200 box traps placed roughly every 100 metres or so. I’ve always noticed them on tramps, but after my stint as a trapper, I now also have to check them. A new habit. On the way up to the hut a couple of traps were set off, or killed some pest, but along Deadmans Track we saw quite a few stoats in traps. One was reasonably fresh and looked like it was killed just before we arrived. If I had my wrench, I would have cleared and reset them all. A trap at the ready is worth far more than one sitting with a pest rotting away.

Before getting back below the treeline we stopped for a bite to eat. It was still windy, but nothing compared to the night before. The sun was hot, while the easterly kept us cool.

Back in the forest, the track looks just like Shorts and Knights Tracks, and just as quad-bustingly steep a downhill with similar vegetation.

We saw a few other people on the loop (a hunter with two kids, two couples, and a party of four women on various spots along the loop). Towards the bottom of the mountain, I was well aware of my bruised toes against the front of my shoes, and my aching quads from the relentless steep downhill, as well as the sun beating down on us. Sheltered from the wind, it was very hot.

After a bit over four hours we were back at the car park. The weather was typical maritime climate I guess; the kind you need to grow up with to appreciate or handle – in the sun it is too hot, and in the shade it is too cold, and constant wind. So kiwi’s who are used to this, will don short sleeves and shorts. Bit of a toss up for an African camel to decide which way to go, though.

It was a lovely short break away from the usual. And thankfully no mud or wet feat to deal with.

On the way back to Palmy, we were hoping to have lunch at the Apiti Tavern and Eatery. It was unfortunately closed, but the owner was around as a delivery van was dropping off supplies. Another large party who was also hoping to get lunch at the tavern stepped closer to hear the disappointing news, and judged by our long faces the owner kindly offered to open up for drinks (but not food though). After a round of beers with Ross and Kati, we went our separate ways.

Back home I was quite tired. Partly from exposure (not used to it anymore, spending my days indoors), but no doubt also from lack of sleep.

Even though it was just a quick in and out, I’m still glad we managed to get into the mountain. Here’s to more mountain outings in 2023!

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To Herepai peak and back

Date: 23 October
Distance: 12.7k
Time: 4:22

Just when I think we are back on track, running regularly, slowly building up the kms, something happens (in my head, I guess) and the enthusiasm dwindles. Perhaps the knowledge that my body is out of alignment, causing all sorts of semipermanent issues, is resting heavily in the back of my mind. The surgeon’s words keep repeating in my head; ‘better find yourself another sport’ and ‘forget about running’. A small part of me still thinks it is fixable, but that would involve a knowledgeable person/s (in terms of bone, muscle and fascia) who can work with me to iron out the wrinkles: lateral pelvic tilt, hip dysplasia, femoroacetabular impingement, weakness and knee pain, fused vertebrae, mild scoliosis, and the list goes on. None of it is life-threatening or so bad that normal life has to come to a halt. Pelvic instability is probably a fair name for my ailments. But I firmly believe that with the right help in terms of strength and flexibility in the right places, the ball of my femur will stay put and not fumble about in the socket causing pain. I do not see FAI as a death sentence or nearly as bad as surgeons make it out to be. When you have a hammer, everything looks like a nail. Surgeons want to cut – that is their bread and butter.

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Pouakai hut, Holly hut and back, with a twist

For some time now we’ve been keen to walk this stretch in the Egmont National Park with friends who live in New Plymouth. Gerry and I have walked this twice before, but each time coming from the mountain side, walking out to the carpark. As we know, doing the same route in the opposite direction often proves to be a different experience. But, as it turns out, the mountain looks exactly the same as the previous times – rainy, windy, cloudy and cold! Again, we did not see the mountain’s reflexion in the tarn on the way in, or out two days later.

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Kaitoke to Holdsworth campsite via the valleys

Date: 20-21 February

Distance: 40.5km (or 36km according to the guide books)

Tramping or running or fast-packing parts of the Tararua Ranges means you often need someone else to help with transport. There are various loop options, but a lot of the better known routes, like the Southern Crossing, Northern Crossing or the S-K (Schormann to Kaitoke) are all point-to-point. With these point-to-point routes you can potentially arrange with mates where each of you park at the trail head on either side, and meet somewhere along the route for a key swop, or you can leave a car at each end and walk together. Or simply get someone to drop you off, and/or pick you up. Either way, it is a bit of a performance to get it all sorted and means you often have to allow extra time for travelling.

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