tramping new zealand

A rest day in Methven, hand washing tramping clothes. Check.

Shower on arrival. Another the next morning. Check.

Some fresh food. Check.

Dealing with the skin rubbed off the top of one of my toes. Maybe, check.

Let’s say, fingers crossed.

The tiny pharmacy in Methven had a couple of possible products. One was a straight blister Band-Aid, so I put that on first, and overlaid it with a thick felt pad that I cut to size. That might work if it stays in place.

With the war in Iran, petrol is now almost $1/litre more than when I left Nelson two weeks ago. Unintended consequences. I put $50 in, but it scarcely moved the fuel gauge needle. That should be sufficient to get me to Geraldine after I’ve driven up the Rangitata River Valley, my next destination.

I had lunch in the Mount Somers car park, waiting for the rain to stop. Let’s call it drizzle.

Hikers came and went. I lingered.

Eventually, it was only dense cloud, and my excuses had evaporated.

There are two options to get to the hut. 2.5 hours with the direct route, and three hours going via Bus Stop, which involves 300 m more climbing.

Easy guess which route I found myself on, starting with a 400 m climb. Fewer people, of course.

Also, a different view. I’d take the cruisey route when I had a big day tomorrow.

The landscape transported me back to Australia in my mind. Climbing St Marys Peak in the Flinders Range, probably due to the scarcity of woody vegetation and the similar geology. Not as many reptiles, however.

There is a decent plateau at the midpoint, where I cracked out some distance at a more rapid pace, but otherwise it’s mostly up or down. There’s a brief glimpse of the hut way below, but after Bus Stop, a curving rock overhang, the highest point, you can make out the hut even further below.

What is not immediately apparent is the two chasms in between, which are negotiated by a short, steep descent and ascent for the first, and a high suspension bridge for the second.

I spotted a mown campsite 100 m from the hut, and that was the obvious place to perch for the night. Actually, it’s one of the best official DOC campsites around: close to the creek, flat, and not lumpy. A rock configuration to protect the burner flame from the wind. Even with a flat rock to sit on.

Perfect, as they say about everything these days. Except, this time it was true.

It was the first time in my small tent for a while. Sure felt like home.