tramping new zealand

Didn’t feel like summer.

With the two young guys in the hut, I stayed in my tent to get some extra sleep. I felt tired despite it not having been a particularly hard day. In fact, it was still light when I went to sleep.

In the morning, it was, let’s say, chilly. Big plumes of fog emerged from my mouth.

With very little fuel left, the canister had to come into my sleeping bag to warm up. No hurry, so I stayed warm as I made my morning coffee.

The feature of camping at Ben Moore is the black amoeba dripping mountain beach saplings, standing out against the bright green leaves. It was like an abstract landscape painting.

The matching Rescue Orange of the hut and my tent added to the scene. I was just up the hill in the forest.

The question of why there were no mature trees around and why they were all similar-aged, less than 40 years old, wasn’t resolved. Okay, fewer than 100 trees were scattered around, sometimes as rotten stumps, but that didn’t help with any explanation.

When I was packing up, I dragged a few saplings that had been ripped out of the ground with their immediate roots intact, down to the woodshed and went inside to chat with the guys.

Last night, they experimented, not too successfully, with making bread. In the end, they wrapped the congealed mess on a stick and roasted it like marshmallows.

They had just finished school and were full of optimism for the future. They were curious and seeking adventure. I wasn’t sure Benmore Hut was exactly the centre for that, but at least they were out there trying.

I rolled back down the hill, which I found to have been somewhat of a climb, maybe 300 m. The downhill made me realise I should avoid steep tracks for the foreseeable future.

Having neglected to include any oats in my overnighter rations, I spent time in the car park munching some lunch, and the lone hunter returned having retrieved some venison for his Christmas table. Looked happy.

I was too, as I headed off to Methven for a couple of nights.