tramping new zealand

Not much point in sticking around, and so I slowly packed up. Then went up to look at the fireplace of an older hut that had burnt down. Then I thought I should look at the state of the stream about 200 m further on, but to be honest, I really should have worn my hiking shoes rather than jandals.

I’d already packed up when the rain started, and it was after 10 am.

No worries. At least the wind would be behind me.

My Lawrence of Arabia headgear kept the rain from my glasses. The key question was the one main river braid crossing I had. I noticed that the river flats had quite a few braids that hadn’t been noticeable on the way up, but when I got there after an hour, it was just up around 150 mm.

That was enough for me to carefully plot my trajectory. Everything went into my pack, including my phone, and I had my walking pole for some support. It’s an okay place to cross, with the bottom visible showing the gravel for at least the first half. No problem, much. Other than on the shallow side, it was more bouldery of the slippery variety.

From there, I had at least half of the way to Black Mountain hut on old cattle tracks, which made it pretty cruisy.

I stopped for lunch out of the wind as the weather improved. No more rain. Blue skies ahead.

At the private hut, a tractor with a front bucket was moving down a track to the river. That hadn’t been visible on the way in, so it was not a surprise that the track was cleared of that debris cover at the large slip.

By this stage, it was around a 180 m climb up above some bluffs. My knee was slowing me down from my usual pace. Not tired, just somewhat painful.

But soon enough, I was at the top and rolling down the other side. Not at all easier.

I could see the occasional vehicle on the river flats below, driving up to the first river crossing and suddenly thought about hitchhiking. But they turned around before I was even close.

It was around 5 pm, and it seemed unlikely that any more would be venturing out late in the day.

Almost at the bottom, I heard the tractor way up the hill and hope spiked briefly. I was on the flat when it stopped for a chat. Laurie offered a ride, but it wasn’t straightforward. My pack had to go behind his seat, my hat and walking pole on the floor, and I stood in the doorway for the next half hour as we jolted our way down the bouldery four-wheel-drive track.

It took a two-metre almost ear drop slowly, with the tractor on a 45° slope, wondering if I was about to be crushed by the big tractor’s back wheel, but my good luck continued.

Laurie had been in the earlier Growler Hut when it burned down after a candle hit a straw mattress. He had a few stories about thar and how DOC were protective of them when they reached plague proportions, then there was lots of negative publicity about the slaughter once they opened a hunting lodge.

Stephen, the hunter, had said he had seen over 100 above the hut, and I used a sighting scope to spot more than 30 while sitting at the hut picnic table. I had a few hundred metres to get to the car and the relief of dropping my pack and getting into dry clothes.

6 pm, before I left, so I camped at the very sheltered Peel Forest DOC campsite. Out with my big car camping tent, and it didn’t take long before I was snoozing in a deep sleep.

To be honest, everything was soaked, and I was way tired.

Looked like I should retreat to Nelson and rest for a week or so before I had to set off for a wedding on Waiheke Island.

Time to spend some time in the North Island backcountry.