Wisconsin : Reflections from October 2006

It occurred to me recently that I should perhaps address my original Turangawaewae in this blog. Both as a reminder to myself of those original stirrings so long ago which culminated in my discovery of the Ruahines, and also to share it as part of this experience. I was born in Wisconsin, and it is a place, much like the Ruahines, I think about on a daily basis. Similar to New Zealand, during the spring and summer, in its lush green lustre out on the plains and rolling hills. Of course, many generations ago these farm fields in New Zealand would have been thick bush running all the way to the sea on one side, and the mountain foothills on the interior, cleared in the madness of colonialism. Though one could no doubt make the same argument for the equally vast forests of my native land being cleared for the very same reasons. However, this forum is not, as of yet, one to vent or expound my views of history and politics - though I imagine it will eventually get around to that! So, aside from that, Wisconsin has no real mountains, though it once did until they were obliterated by massive glaciers in the last ice age, leaving behind old worn down hills and moraines, replete with rich soils in which sprouted huge mainly coniferous forests. I can almost smell the aroma of pine needles, feel the sticky resin left on my hands from climbing amongst the branches. It was a wonderful place to grow up.


Wisconsin also has many wonderful deciduous, or leaf bearing trees, and in the fall, when the cycle of life ends, these leaves empty themselves of their last life giving chlorophyll. And depending on the type of tree, elm, birch, hickory, and especially the maples, the leaves turn simply an amazing and stunning array of colours. The fall was always my favourite time of year growing up in Wisconsin. The approaching icy and snowy winter, football, basketball, deer hunting, Thanksgiving and Christmas all not far away. But until I returned there after over 10 years a year ago last October, I never really knew deep in my soul why it really was my favourite time of year. It was the leaves. I returned and was lucky enough to be able to take two separate tramps amongst the peak colours, and it was stunning and emotional for me to come to that connection with my original Turangawaewae.

The above photo, and the next three as well, were all taken on a beautiful fall day at Kettle Moraine Forest Park. It is a geologically unique area as it was the termination point, more or less, of two different great glaciers which rolled over Wisconsin and so left the area buckled and dented from its massive size and pressure exerted. While the forest above looks relatively flat, this is very deceiving, as it actually full of moraines, or deep crater like depressions left behind by melting snow and ice. So that walking along in the forest is very much like walking on top of a ridge looking down into the steep moraines. The photo above was taken from a tower built on a highpoint and climbs high above the forest for an amazing vantage point. The leaves were turned and it was a glorious day. This is looking from west to east and in the very back ground of the photo is Lake Michigan, 42 miles away and one of the 5 Great Lakes along with Superior, Huron, Erie, and Ontario. My thanks to Jeff, Rick, and Gyro for their fine company.


We had walked over 3 hours in the forest, both on track and quite often off, and then emerged upon this plowed under corn field with the forest along the edges. This is typical of Wisconsin farmland. We arrived here at this spot perhaps a week or so early for the full array of colour but it was still very impressive.

I am looking up from inside a moraine at Jeff, Rick and Gyro, and I was still a long way from the bottom. John Muir proved that moraines were also created by plant life and trees actually sprouting forth in the remnants of old ice and thus creating the moraine as the ice melted away leaving behind these forested depressions.

Walking along the tops of the moraines, which are connected like ridges is quite pleasant. A bountiful mixture of deciduous trees along the way, all in various stages of fall splendour. It was a very cool 6 hour walk we did, the weather was perfect and I felt very much at home. We then drove to West Bend and Gyro's big rambling old farm house for a big Wisconsin grill fest and a reunion with more old friends. A very special day in my life.

This is another fall walk I did with my mate, Karl, a few weeks later, as can be seen by the even richer colours in the brush behind me. This was much further north, near Oconto, Wisconsin. It is a large section of land owned by family friends. I can trace my initial stirrings for a real love of Nature to this very Wisconsin land. My dad took me here as a young boy when he was helping our friends cut Christmas trees they grew here, and later on to learn how to hunt rabbit, quail, and finally deer. I spent a lot of time here and got to know it intimately. I introduced Karl to it over 25 years ago during deer hunting season and he still hunts here to this day, bow hunting during the fall, and with a rifle during Wisconsin's 10 day deer season. He knows it far better than I now do, yet it is still a special place for us both and it was fantastic to walk it with him once again. As can be seen by my attire it was much colder this day, and by the time we finished snow flurries had begun. Awesome!

A brilliant small maple set off against the pines. This section of pines was originally planted as future Christmas trees, but have remained unharvested due to market decline and so reverted back to a wild state, which the deer love. The branches, no longer trimmed, intertwine, and become Wisconsin's version of leatherwood, though it doesn't seem to bother the deer.

Small Norway pine trees. In the stunning array of colour I found the muted pale green needles to have a very calming appearance in this "garden".


Another colourful shot. To the right is the now wild section of Christmas pines and to the left wild pines which then run into a sloping hardwood forest which terminates in a swampy bog. Once again loved by the Whitetail deer whom sneak out to the nearby corn fields for a feed and take refuge in the swamp. We have taken a few deer right in this spot, which is an old track which circles around the border of the tree farm area.

My friend Karl amongst a large stand of open pines where he frequently bow hunts. When over 25 years ago I brought Karl here to hunt and he found the same qualities to the land as I did, it cemented a fine friendship that has stood up over time. We have hunted here together often, other times, such as above, simply enjoying a walk in nature, and a few memorable adventures cutting our own Christmas trees - with the owner Mike's blessing I might add! Karl is a keen outdoors man, a fine hunter and fisherman, and a man who simply appreciates being out amongst Nature's Gifts. A fine friend.

Another Wisconsin city and area which holds much meaning in my life is Madison. I went to university at, and graduated from, the University of Wisconsin. It was an interesting time in my life and I formed many important and vital friendships which are relevant in my life to this day. I was fortunate to be able to visit Madison last October and roam around its huge campus and outlying woods along Lake Mendota with 3 old cronies from my Madison days, Jeff, Rick and Aaron. Jeff still lives in Madison, as does Aaron, and we enjoyed his hospitality along with his wife Sarah and beautiful daughter Zoe. I have known Jeff since 1980 when we met while both attending Ripon College, both of us eventually ending up in Madison. Jeff is pictured above in his garden on campus property at the edge of campus where there is a large area of garden plots. He had a very bountiful harvest!

From Jeff's garden it is about a 2 hour stroll along the lake side path back to the main campus. Jeff, Robb, and Rick are pictured beside Lake Mendota, enjoying a libation, and the fine company. The campus, and the main part of Madison, are located on a large isthmus between this lake and Lake Monona. Incidentally, Lake Monona is where Otis Redding died in a plane crash back in 1967.

The original part of the campus is Bascomb Hill, which dates back to the mid 1800's and is still the nerve center of this lovely campus. Rick and I are in front of North Hall, one of the original buildings and was a building I spent a lot of time in as it is now the political science building which I majored in. More importantly, in its early days as a dormitory it housed John Muir during his under graduate days. Muir left Wisconsin after a few years at the university to roam the natural world. So did I in a much more insignificant way.

Rick, Aaron, and Jeff, high up on Bascomb Hill looking back at State Street, which culminates in the state capital, which can be clearly seen in far back ground. Just to the right of Jeff is Sterling Hall, which in 1972 was blown up by a huge bomb during the height of the anti war movement, and this part of the campus was the focal point of the many student riots during the 1960's and early 70's. Even during my time in the early 1980's the mall area below us was always alive with political activity and activism. You can almost sense the pulse of history beating here. I love it!


As I started going through my memories of this first visit home since late 1995, I realized that for my own benefit, and anyone who cares to read this, or know me, that there was far more I needed to share about this trip than just my interactions with nature. All the people pictured in these photos are part of me, part of who I am, and I love them all very much. The above photos are my beautiful mother and sisters, June, Kathy, and Trish. My older brother Steve died in 1993, and my father in 1987. I miss them too.

I took this through a glass frame in my old house, now my sister Kathy's place. It is my dad coaching his Green Bay West basketball team in 1967 and me next to him on the bench, pretty heady stuff for a 7 year old! Next to my dad is Jerry Tagge, who was my personal hero at the time, and went on to play at Nebraska, winning 2 National Championships, and later for the Packers and in the Canadian league where he had a lot of success. He was the most amazing high school athlete I have ever seen. Great memories from my childhood. I have no idea what has become of Jerry Tagge. This was my true quality time with my father. The sound of a leather basketball bouncing on a hard wood floor, the echoes of my dads shouts and whistle blowing across the empty gymnasium. Sneakers squeaking, Converse Chuck Taylors. The smell of sweat and boys, the sound of showers and my dad and his assistant coach discussing the merits of the practice. He was paid next to nothing! He coached because he loved it. He was a better coach than he was a dad. He is in the Wisconsin Basketball Coaches Hall of Fame, which means as a coach he was exceptional. As a father he was average. Sometimes I miss him most of all. I always swell with pride thinking of him with my boys. He would have loved these boys, they would have adored him as well. None of what I put with in loving him. At least physically, but am I any better any way else? I wonder, as I also remember so many cool moments with my father. I love you dad, I understand so much more now I wear some of the same shoes.

In front is my cousin Roger, without question my oldest friend in the world. We don't see much of one another anymore but he is always in my thoughts, and even after more than 10 years we picked it right up. It was like that with all the people in the photos, and to me, that is a true measure of quality in my life.In back are my brother in laws Don, Kathy's husband, and Steve, Trish's husband. A look at the clock will tell you how we were feeling, it was night, not afternoon!




Above is my Aunt Jean, always and still a beautiful woman, along with my her daughter, my cousin Nanci in the middle picture, and just above is Nanci's husband Jim. We have shared so many happy times, and so many sad ones as well. Jim and Nanci had not long before lost their son Adam, a young fireman at age 23. To share this evening with them up in Green Bay, and the memory of so many shared in Chicago, the warm and embracing hospitality, is the essence of family.






The next generation of my sister's side of the family are pictured above, my nephews Ben and Tony, 14 and 16 now, Trish and Kath's sons. In the middle is my niece, lovely Kristin, now 18 and a freshman at UW Stevens Point. Last we have Max and Rufus, Max, about to be 5, is on the left and was a little shy about what Rufus was up to on his porch, but he made friends soon enough. And last is Max again getting one of the many cuddles I gave him while away from my own 4 year old Charlie.


The Warner brothers, Craig, Quinn, and Mitchell, my oldest and dearest friends going back over perhaps 35 years. Craig flew up from his home in Texas as a surprise and just blew me away. One of many magical evenings, far too short, far too quick, but each second relished.
Tony Maio and I go back to 1978 as freshman at Wisconsin La Crosse, he was a cross country runner and I played football and we became fast and true friends, and have been through the years. Doing a little walleye fishing on the Fox River above, no luck, but we had an enjoyable afternoon and evening! Tony Maio and I often do not even have to say much at all but we understand each other perfectly, and man, we have had some laughs!

Another fantastic evening in West Bend at Gyro's old farm house. Gyro on left, Rick, myself, Todd Pollesch, Jeff and in front is Phils. Gyro, Rick and I got back to West Bend for a cook out and libations when up out of nowhere came Todd, Phils and another old friend Mike Revane. It was very emotional for me as I had not seen any of those three in over 15 years, and at one time we were all very close. In addition, not long before Mike had lost his wife Sylvia to a tragic and sudden death. Amazing what trivialities can be put aside when true friends are in need. Mike and I go back to 1980 as well, we have camped, canoed, run a marathon together, amongst other things, and to reunite with him, as well as Todd and Phils was superb. What a night!

This is Mike and I at Lambeau Field. As a conclusion to this now lengthy entry, another thing I love about Wisconsin is the mighty Green Bay Packers. I was fortunate enough to land 50 yard line seats through Trish's husband Steve, and seats for Rick and Gyro as well! It was a perfect day, as if it was meant to be, eventhough the Packers lost. Mike, Todd, and Phils also joined us, and along with Trish and friends and their fantastic tail gate party, all I can write is WOW!!

That Rick is everywhere! New Zealand RTC Member, Madison, Kettle Moraine, West Bend, Green Bay, Alaska, Tasmania, out west, one never knows when the retired accountant will appear, and he is always welcome at my door. We were having a bloody mary prior to the game when up rode Mitch, who is a paramedic and rides a bike around the parking lot keeping an eye on the early morning boozers - like us.

Not many words need to be written here. Just look. Those dark circles under my eyes are not from sun glare! Virtually three straight days and nights of reunions, laughter, and even a few tears, takes a toll. It was a hell of a run and all those people pictured above made it happen. I thank them, and I love them all.

Mountain Views

As I have alluded to in prior writings, there are two ways to view the mountains, macro, such as above, and micro, a much smaller and contained view of the mountain world. A wide view is obviously beholden to the weather, cloud and mist commonly swirl about the tops and ridges constantly changing the look of the landscape, or blocking it out entirely. In which case the view is now enclosed, limited to my immediate gaze. Yet limited is a rather poor word to describe what one can see when the eyes are opened to the infinite beauty contained within that small area. This has perhaps been the most hard earned and lingering lesson the mountains have revealed to me. From time to time I could not help but stop and look at something so beautiful as to literally stop me in my tracks. On one of my first crossings with Nigel, a day tramp over the ranges via Maharahara, I recall us gaining altitude in the forest, so much so we were in snow, and coming around a corner on the track where a fallen beech tree was leaning over the track, high enough for us to walk under it. And as we emerged on the other side of it we were stunned by a brilliant burst of sunlight, reflecting itself on the melting water droplets and the greens of the ferns all around. It was magical and alive. We tried to photograph it, but alas, that moment did not translate to film, still, it is alive within me.

Over the first years of my mountain travels the common method was to explore, discover, and move on, never spending more than one night in any particular place. And because schedules were tight we never had time to truly linger and enjoy - not that did not have fun but rather this is just what we did. Over time, and particularly solo, I began to change that approach, out of both necessity and enjoyment. Spending more time in any one place allows more time to enjoy getting there, or at least that is my theory, and I have noticed a learned ability to view my micro world with a vigour and appreciation I continue to develop.

The above photo is a sunset I took on a solo journey to Top Maropea, one of my favourite Ruahine places. I have watched this canvass being painted there 23 sunsets now, though not all I could actually see, and each one is special and unique. This one I had been watching the sun set on the western tops, and just turned at this moment back to the north east and saw this lovely sight. The rounded top is Orupu and the far classic mountain shaped peak is Remutopo, both part of the main Ruahine range, and both climbed over or upon on the high route to Maropea Forks.

Mosses, ferns, and podocarp trees predominate the lowland rain forests of the Ruahines. This particular stretch of forest is near Awatere hut on the Makaretu river, and very unique in its relative flat and easy walking to the hut after the obligatory steep climb and descent over a small saddle. We came across this forest after 6 days of steep climbs and drops, and along with naturally being in tune with our surroundings, I found it somewhat surreal to be walking on such flat ground.

Moving higher up in the forest, above 1100 meters or so, we begin to encounter first the big beech trees, as per below John in the above photo which also indicates how steep the spurs can be, and above this altitude arrives the stunted mountain beech and leatherwood. On a sunny day there are fewer nicer places to rest than on a beech spur after working hard to gain that altitude. The sound of a summer breeze gently stirring the beech leaves is like sweet music. Unfortunately there is, most often, much climbing yet to be done. There are some who say that trees in forests contain their own energy and life force and I am inclined to agree. Stunted beech and leatherwood are tough hearty customers, and dead give aways for the areas prevailing winds. In misty conditions, the high stunted beech forests can take on a very ethereal appearance, one very suited to Aotearoa's Lord of the Rings reputation - see my very first post for a look at what I mean. In particular I find the Parks Peak area to be sublime in this effect. A very long and up and down ridge, with areas of boggy flats, where the micro world, in my opinion, is second to none in the Ruahines, or anywhere. Pictured below is a macro view of Parks Peak ridge, or some of it, as it is possible to walk for over two days to cover its length. This photo was taken from the main Ruahine range just above Totara spur and the headwaters of the Makaroro river looking from west to east.








The second photo is the "backyard" of Parks Peak hut. It took me many visits to actually learn to "see" this area with slightly wizened eyes. It is, in reality, a wondrous garden of a broad array of sub alpine plant life. Someone such as John Muir or William Colenso would have delighted in this little paradise on discovering the place. I, however, am not in their league, so it took me many visits to finally realize what I was amongst. While Muir or Colenso would happily frolic in this wild alpine garden and know what they are looking at, there are very few I personally can identify amongst the myriad of tussock grasses, flowers, mosses and lichen. In the back of the photo can be seen the big round leatherwood bushes - indicating high altitude, as well as stunted beech in back of those. This is one my favourite spots, on a reasonably good day, as they are rare here, to enjoy a Ruahine 'libations hour", and tin cup in hand roam about here and the immediate forest. On my last visit with John, we stood perfectly still and silent in the forest on a misty afternoon. After a few minutes the forest began to settle back into its own rhythms, absorbing us into its flow. The birds resumed their songs, the winds blew over head and sent down breezes and gusts which sent the leaves of the beeches and leatherwood fluttering with their own particular melodies, the moss covered beech branches accompanying them as they rolled and swayed in the wind. I would like to spend an entire day being part of that scene, and I will.

The next two photos are examples of the dripping moss and lichens which occurs in the wetter boggier beech areas. These, again, were taken within minutes of Parks Peak hut. Unfortunately I am only equipped with my inadequate, but useful, digital camera, as the true magnificence and beauty must really be seen in person. It can be clearly seen though, that the mosses have a somewhat translucent quality to them, and I think to spend an evening in this forest during a full moon lit period would be sheer magic, granted it was clear over head. Worth a trip to find out.

The second to last photo are of mountain butter cups in bloom, taken right outside the hut in early January. And the last photo is a close up of a leatherwood bush, also right by the hut. Personally, in the right place and particularly when in bloom, it is a lovely shrub, one perfectly adapted to its harsh environment. In the wrong place, and in its inevitable multitudes, it is the bane of the unwary tramper whom has wandered off a track or is in unmarked terrain. Virtually impossible to walk through, due to its resilient and unyielding nature, I have spent hours making little headway through it, and have found the easiest route, other than avoiding the battle completely, is to simply find an area thick enough with the stuff to just walk on top of it! With my bulk and a pack that would seem no easy task for the poor shrub, but leatherwood is tough and hearty stuff and I present little problem for its weight bearing capabilities.

While there are many areas of the Ruahines I find unique and stunning, the one I find most invigorating to my soul is around water, the rivers, streams, water falls, tarns, and the mysterious Lake Colenso. I do not why this is exactly, perhaps the answer lies in my roots as a Wisconsin native. predominantly farm land once flattened by massive glaciers. My familiarity with water ways was mostly brown muddy rivers, and of course the plethora of great glacial lakes left behind. My experience with clear running streams was limited to the far and few encounters I had with the odd one in the huge coniferous state forests while camping or hunting, and it always stirred something inside of me. To see clear water running over the rocks, to hear the sound of its burbling journey making its way to one or another of these huge lakes, most likely Superior or Michigan, always was a joyous moment. I also enjoyed a fine relationship with the Boundary Waters, the massive, again glacial, area of lakes and streams between Lake Superior, Minnesota, and Canada. Numberless lakes connected by streams or simply carrying one's canoe and gear to the next lake, it was a memorable way for me commune with nature. The ancient granite bones of the earth this country lies upon, and the black glacial lakes instilled in me a sense of awe and humility.

My first foray into the Ruahines was back in 1993, a climb up Gold Crown ridge with John and Nigel. A memorable day in that it taught me the true nature of mountains and how little I knew. It was a hot summer day and after a long steep climb to the ridge we quickly ran out of water and had little hope of finding any at our altitude. Retreating back down, very hot and thirsty, I distinctly recall John and I hearing the sound of rushing water, then seeing from high above a water fall with an amazingly clear pool beneath it. I stood transfixed, both by its beauty and also the potential quenching of my thirst, though we had little hope of climbing down to the stream and carried on still thirsty. My thirst was eventually quenched by an ice cold beer back at the car, but my thirst for these clear mountain rivers and streams still remains thus far unquenchable.

The sound of a river far below, muttering in the distance, is always a good sign after a long tramp, though also indicative of some hard downward slog yet remaining. And when it first comes into view, though no time to yet relax, generally means sanctuary lies not far away. I love the feeling of finally arriving down at a river, sweaty, tired and hot, and slaking my thirst with cold pure fresh mountain water. I have tramped in the Ruahines for almost 15 years now, always drinking straight from the rivers and streams with no ill effects as of yet. Being able to do that staggered my senses back then, and still does to this day. A moment of pure interaction with nature.

The first two photos above were taken on a perfect summer day on the Makaroro river this past year. A day John and I roamed up towards the head waters finding suitable pools to swim in, and there were many, and just enjoying the ambiance of a beautiful mountain river. See the clarity of the water in that second shot, hear it calling it out for you to dive into its chilly embrace!

Next we have a little stream which joins with the east branch of the Maropea river just across from Maropea Forks hut. Notice the slightly opaque tinge to the pool, indicating depth as well as clarity. Gustav and I have, at different times, dove into this pool when it was ice cold in July - winter here in New Zealand. We did not stay in very long. I have seen Blue Ducks land in this pool, and also have seen a trout cruising about looking for a feed before moving on to the bigger pools beyond the forks. The hut is on a fairly long river flat and I have roamed their often as well, just listening to the different sounds made by different parts of the river. From a gentle lullaby on the upper end of the flat, to a faster paced melody further on, and finally the crescendo as it rolls through this small pool , joined by the creek singing its own song in perfect harmony. Sorry for the over the top writing, but I love the sound of the river, everything about it, and this is one of my favourite spots to enjoy the constant symphony of water.

The Ruahines are also inundated with numerous water falls, not surprising given its steep and erosion prone nature. They, again, never fail to stop me from my toil and pause to absorb their energy, each one unique in some way. This particular fall Nigel and I are standing below is on the Pohangina river, located on a creek running into the main river, not far from the headwaters. We could see it from the tops the day prior and on our journey down the river shunned our packs at the confluence of what we thought was the creek running into the river, and climbed up the creek till we could climb no more. What an excellent day!

The last photo is Lake Colenso, which I have written about before in this forum. I love this photo for the remote calmness it portrays, the mist across the lake reminding us of the tempestuous nature of the surroundings, and mostly for the excellent display of the Lancewood tree, the branch with the leaves hanging down just to the rear of the foreground. A unique and gorgeous native Aotearoa tree. A very special place in the Ruahines.

On the Porch at Maropea Forks

The rain patters on the tin roof

Drumming its Song

along with the Endless Symphony

of the river

The Echoes

have called me Often

So I Listen

to the Music again

Alone

Yet Fulfilled

It is Intense

The Fear I felt

in my Solitude was Real

Knowing Your Path is filled

With Potential Woe

Yet I Come to You

I am in Your Bosom

I am Home

More Huts and Thoughts........

I must preface this continuation of showing the huts of the Ruahines with a thank you to RTC member Nigel Robson for the many photos he has sent to me of huts we have visited. Friendship is another topic I will address at some point, and it can certainly be said that Nigel and I formed the basis of an important friendship, at least writing for myself and in my life, through our discovery of a mutual love of the mountains, amongst other things, and that it was on many a Ruahine journey where a strong bond was cemented. Nigel is pictured above overlooking the Pohangina river and Leon Kingvig hut, already pictured previously. I put this shot in for two reasons, one being I love the photo, and two, it properly captures the true environment, and beauty, the river huts are located in. Most always in a river flat area which is the only possible location for a structure in this rugged country. And as can be seen by how high Nigel is above the river, in a relative short distance above the hut, how steep the country is in the mountain valleys. Descending down to, or climbing up from, any Ruahine river is a daunting prospect.




This is Triangle hut, located at around 800 meters near the headwaters of the Oroua river, between the Whanahuia range and the main Ruahine range beneath Te Hekenga. One of my personal favourite spots on a beautiful river, but also because of the very diverse nature of the walk to arrive at the hut, which involves a western side forest walk to the open tops of the Whanahuias and Rangiwhahia hut, then a stunning open tops walk of 3 hours before the descent to the river. Just an enjoyable tramp to a very cool spot. I have done it 7 times now, and will no doubt be there again. I have seen many Blue Ducks in this area, and heard the call of the even more rare Kiwi bird on a few occasions as well. 3 hours down from this spot is Iron Gates hut, with another 5 hours out to Heritage Lodge and the road end. A great 2 night tramp.



This is Barlow hut on the Makaroro river, 3-4 hours down from Upper Makaroro - though the day this photo above was taken of Taylor and his mate Jake, it took us 7, and we stayed an extra night at the hut. The picture does not do the hut justice, and it has since had a wood room and porch added to it. A large hut, with Maori bunks for 12, and a separate kitchen area on the other side, it is about another 2-3 hours down the river to the road end. As a matter of fact, as the river from here down is wide open and braided, it is possible to get a 4 wheel drive vehicle to within 45 minutes of the hut.





Pourangaki hut sits above the Pourangaki river in some very rugged Ruahine country, between the Whanahuia's to the south, and the Hikurangi's to the north. Waterfall hut is accessible via the tops from this point. Coming down from the Whanahuia's to here involves one of the steepest drops down a spur that I know of in the Ruahines, and equally daunting going back up! A very cool spot located on perhaps the only flat area around in a little hollow with a wide open "back yard", and an excellent spot to sit in and listen to the bountiful bird life and river muttering far below. I have been here twice,the first time being on my own and an amazing solo experience, and again with John where we stayed here two nights doing a day trip up to the Hikurangi tops on one day and exploring the lovely Pourangaki river. A long way to get here from any direction and mostly used by hunters,




Taylor pictured at Sunrise hut, the most visited hut in the Ruahines. A veritable highway to get here, compared to just beyond the hut, it is still a steep 2 hour walk to here, but offers quick access to the waiting interior. Top Maropea is an hour away via Armstrong saddle. Very few make the trip beyond the safety of Sunrise. Since this photo the hut has again been enlarged to sleep 24 and another kitchen room added. With gas cookers and gas heater not really my cup of tea in terms of a true mountain experience, yet I have stayed here a number of times. Some because of weather, gale force winds, preventing me from crossing the saddle, and a number of times walking up late in the afternoon or at night so as to get an early start in the morning. Aptly named Sunrise, on a clear morning, for its stunning view of the sun rising in the east over Hawkes Bay and the ocean.

Both photos above are of Longview hut on the main Ruahine range. A three hour walk up from the road end. We, John, Nigel, and myself, arrived from Daphne hut after a thwarted attempt at Sawtooth ridge. A pretty stunning location, hence the name, it sits not far from Pohangina saddle and the very headwaters of the Pohangina. It sleeps 15 and has a gas heater, but the location makes up for the lack of true back country ambiance in terms of accommodation.





John, Nigel, and Robb at Top Gorge hut. Perhaps one the most remote and least visited huts in the Ruahines. The hut book when we visited in 2003 went back to the 1980's and was still far from full. This hut is scheduled for removal in the next 10 years, or will simply be left to deteriorate. It is only a rough two bunk shelter, with an open fire, but a very cool spot. The day this photo was taken brings back many memories of a superior day, we climbed down from Longview and traversed the Pohangina from its source to the hut on an exceptionally fine day - in all ways. Notice the boots and socks drying in the sun on the wood shelter, a dead give away of a river walk! This hut is hard to get to, and I cannot honestly say I will return here again, though should I do a complete traverse of the valley I will. Even when this hut is gone, or not worth staying in, it is still an excellent camp site. What I recall most about the hut book was reading of 4 generations of the same family who often hunt in this area, and with great success. As I have said I find the Pohangina valley to be a very spiritual place, with many finding a strange, yet compelling, connection to it.




Above is Mid Pohangina hut. The last hut on the Pohangina river, 2-3 hours down from Ngamoko, and 5 hours out to the road end. The Pohangina by this point is a fairly substantial river, big pools and good swimming! Not to mention ample trout as well. A six bunk hut with an open fire. I have been here twice, once with Nigel, and once I stopped here en route from Ngamoko after an enforced weather stay there. As the weather had not improved and I was overdue I decided to come out via the river so as to alert Tara. I stopped here to dry out a bit and fire up the billy. No sooner had I left the hut when I heard a helicopter coming down river from Ngamoko looking for me! I was a bit flabbergasted but took up their offer of a ride back to my car, saving me quite a bit of hassle as coming out the river would have left me a long ways from my vehicle. It was a fantastic perspective from which to view the Ruahines, though a bit deflating to arrive back at my car in 15 minutes from a spot it had taken me 4 days to walk.




Iron Bark hut is located on the Whakaurekou river, which is the confluence of the Maropea, Waikamaka, and Mangatera rivers as they roll out of the ranges. Beneath the Mokai Patea and about 3 hours or so from Lake Colenso it is mostly visited by hunters helicoptered into the hut.

I have been here once, but Nigel has been here, I believe, on 3 separate occasions and the hut has been virtually rebuilt from the above photo.




No one gets to Lake Colenso hut, above, unless in a helicopter, with out earning the right to put one's feet on it's lovely porch. The day I arrived with John and Nigel from Maropea Forks was another long and memorable day. The hut sits not on the lake, but rather the Mangatera river, or a branch of it anyway, as this area is really a natural bowl with various streams and creeks all draining into the Mangatera or being held in Lake Colenso, a very unique area. The lake itself is about a 15 minute walk from the hut and down to the lake. Surrounded by bluffs it is a remote and mysterious place. The hut is just a lovely spot and just reward for the effort expended to get to it. If I ever do get back to it, you may rest assured I will be spending more than one night in it's charms.












Around 4 hours along a ridge of the main range and descent to and up the Tuki Tuki river is Daphne hut. A big spacious hut, sleeping 15 Maori bunk style, with a grunty Fat Boy wood stove and plenty of bench space for billy boils and cooking, a popular destination for tramping club large groups and other bigger parties. Though I have encountered no soul at all in my 3 visits there. Just across the river is Daphne spur, an extremely steep route up to the main range and Howlett's hut, noted previously. I was here with Taylor when he was fairly little, and with Nigel and John on our epic 6 night adventure. However the most memorable trip was with John, when we went on a winter trip to scout out the routes for the summer trip with Nigel. We arrived at Daphne in fine sunny weather, but when sitting out by the river enjoying the evenings libations it began to rain and got very cold. No problem with fire master John and the Fat Boy. We awoke to discover over night the rain had turned to snow, and we were amongst a winter wonderland. The walk up that day to Howlett's hut and the ensuing beautiful day spent up there frolicking amongst the Himalayan looking snow covered peaks was a very much spiritual type experience for me. And the next day, on more fresh snow, we literally "skied" down to the forest and made it back down to Daphne in less than an hour.



I remember arriving at this hut above, Otukota hut, with Gustav in July 2000. We came over from Maropea Forks via Puketaramea ridge and the drop down to a very high Whakaurekou river, and crossed to climb up to the hut. We were a bit disappointed in the hut, 6 bunks, open fire, very tidy, simply because we had come from Maropea Forks and its special charm and allure. Yet by the end of that night I appreciated this place for its own special ambiance. By the light of Gustav's hard earned fire it looked cozy and welcoming to our tired Souls. And to compare Maropea Forks to anyplace, particularly after our struggles to get there, was just blatantly unfair. Somewhere in my mind then was planted a seed that eventually sprouted saying to me all these places are special and unique and I am simply lucky and blessed to have been put in a position to discover the mountains. It occurred to me that to get these precious gems is such hard work, why just pack up and leave such a spot after only, really, a few hours. It impacted my entire philosophy of mountain travel, especially as I grow older, and the aches and pains of age begin to emerge. Stay! Enjoy! You have Earned This!! So I do, and I will.


I cannot say I will return here, unless I come down, and go back via the Maropea river to Maropea Forks, or the the ridge. But to go out via Mokai Patea is a long, and now dangerous walk, as huge slips have wiped out portions of the anyway brutal track out of the steep forest to the Mokai. It was hard enough when Gustav and I did it. Writing this though, thinking it would be cool to come down from the forks, spend a night and go back to the forks, would be an interesting way to expand our horizons. I wonder what John thinks?????????????????????????







Finally, we have Waikamaka hut, pictured above. Just above the headwaters of the Waikamaka river and some brutal country heading up to the main range and Waterfall hut. John and I came up river from Wakelings hut, spending a night camped on the river due to an impassable gorge - at least then because of high water which dropped over night, allowing us to carry on to the hut. We dropped some gear here and carried on to Waterfall, returning here the next day in a huge deluge which got all the water courses raging. John and I literally witnessed a river born high on the tops turn from a gentle little brook into a muddy torrent within minutes. A very humbling experience. John and I spent an excellent afternoon listening to the rain pound on the tin roof, the wood stove cranked under John's expert tutelage, talking, firing up the billy, reading old Reader's Digests, napping, and enjoying our last day in these special mountains. Later, as the sun began to set, the rain stopped and we went outside, tin cups in hand, to watch the muddy river now, literally again, clearing and dropping before our eyes as the fading light painted the tussock tops in purple and golden hues.


This is another hut actually owned by the Heretaunga Tramping Club. So the HTC maintain it, again for a bit of Koha, and I distinctly recall member Nash sending them a cheque for 50 bucks, so the RTC is in good graces. Again, Maori bunks for 12, excellent wood fire stove, with bags of coal stocked by the club, and far enough away from any where to make it a crowded destination. The most straight forward route would be right up the Waipawa valley and over Waipawa saddle and drop down to the stream which is followed to the hut. Or over Te Atua Para Para, via Armstrong saddle and then to the stream. Either way the drop to the stream is not for the faint hearted, as it follows an ever eroding narrow tussock mini spur from the saddle to the creek. Best to not look down!!

Thus ends this portion of the huts of the Ruahines. No doubt I will update the hut page from time to time, as there are many huts I have visited and have no photos available, and new ones to visit. Gold Creek, Sparrowhawk biv, Kylie biv, Awatere, Iron Gates, and Wakelings are the ones which I must find photos of, or return to, which jump to mind. No matter, these are all VERY COOL spots. Some which I will return to many times, for my own personal reasons, some perhaps not. I must choose my Ruahine destinations wisely as time possibly grows short in terms of physical and mental ability to deal with Her ever changing Nature. No matter what I shall consider each Journey there a True Blessing and appreciate it for each second.

The following poem was written in 1962, by a deer culler working in the Kaweka range, separated from the Ruahines only by the Taruarau river, and I believe totally sums up the feeling of seeing a hut come into view. When I first came to the mountains I disdained huts, in my know it all American superiority favouring camp sites and tents. I knew little of the volatile nature of southern hemisphere mountains. I have learned to love each hut as its own special sanctuary.


"Kiwi Saddle Hut"

This here shack might be about the roughest

In the whole of the Kaweka range

Strictly designed only for the toughest

The architecture is rugged and strange


Obviously built by someone desperate

For shelter away from the storm
With facilities only barely adequate

And cuisine of a curious form

The plumbing is a little faulty

There's little chance of too much ventilation

Chances of service are definitely slim

And the wall linings need renovation

But when I come here staggering over your ridge

Exhausted and half dehydrated

This hut looks to me like a publicans fridge

And my belly will soon be inflated

Written by Harvey McCullough, Kiwi Saddle hut book 1962. * Note, a Publican in New Zealand is the same in the states as a bar tender, or bar owner, the serving of beer, as it were.

Well so what, ol' Harvey was no Wordsworth, but then again, Wordsworth was no deer culler. So who is the better man?

Huts in the Ruahines

Those who love mountain travel in New Zealand are blessed not only by the large number of mountain ranges, National and State Parks, both in the North and South Islands, from which to act upon our chosen pursuits, but also by the large number of huts within those areas to take shelter in, or to just enjoy the relative luxury of a hut compared to a tent in weather tempermental areas. By luxury I mean catering to the basic and simplistic needs one requires, a tin roof and walls, between 4 and 6 bunks, as a general rule, which vary greatly in degrees of comfort, either an open fire or a firebox for heat, and if high up on the tops, a water tank capturing water from the roof, or if by a river one simply gets water from it. There are higher use huts located within a few hours of road ends which are larger, 12 -30 bunks, which also have gas heating and cookers, and in many of the higher use parks and ranges these would be the norm. The Ruahines, however, are not a high use area, only two huts, Sunrise, and Rangiwahia, are in the class of the latter hut description, both being 2-3 hours from their respective road ends and fairly often used by school groups and other larger parties. Almost every other hut inside the interior of the park, if not all of them, are the very basic shelters I have described. Yet each has its own flavour and character, most located in sublime spots, either close to or on a river, or high up on the ranges or ridges. Most were not put in the beautiful spots they are in for aesthetic reasons, but rather the rugged nature of the mountains dictating the only possible places for them to be built.

The Ruahine huts were originally built as places for men to stay in who were part of government efforts to control exploding deer populations. Deer were an introduced animal to Aotearoa, and with no natural predators to keep herds in check, they flourished in the mountains and soon grew into huge herds, destroying the forest undergrowth, enhancing natural erosion, and seriously altering the natural balance of the forest. Thus, these men, or deer cullers, were sent into the oceans of New Zealand mountains and forests for months on end, to kill as many deer as possible. They lived, at first, in tent camps, set up at various places so as to cover their huge territories, and eventually as a system of tracks grew, huts were put in to make their meagre existence more "comfortable". These were hard men and this chapter in the mountains history an interesting and colourful one. These huts and tracks are now left to those who travel in the mountains, and kept up and maintained by the Department of Conservation, who charge a small fee for the use of them. The Ruahines have over 60 huts interspersed along its open tops, ridges, and rivers, indicating the rugged nature of the country - the cullers always wanted a safe refuge within reasonable reach in the volatile mountains. I have personally been to over 40 now, some I revisit often, others only once, but one thing they have in common is that I have been damn glad to see them all come into view after a hard slog to get there! So I thought I would share some photos of some of the huts I have visited and a few thoughts about them. This will be an ongoing post, as many of the huts I have visited I do not have postable photos of, and, of course, there are always new ones to be added!

The first photo above is Top Maropea, overlooking the Maropea valley, and one of my personal favourite Ruahine spots. I have spent 23 nights at Top Maropea, sometimes in passing through, sometimes as a destination on its own. It was built in the mid 1950's as culler hut and is still the original structure, and now an historical sight. Though it is only 3-4 hours from the road end, and an hour from Sunrise over Armstrong saddle, it is relatively rarely visited. A lovely place at 1242 metres, on a nice day simply stunning, on the more often windy, rainy or snowy day, still cool. I have had to stay here twice longer than expected because of bad weather. Being as it offers both a special connection for me personally, and a route deeper into the wonderful interior it will not be too long till I return here once again.

About 4 hours below Top Maropea, via the river, is the above hut pictured, Maropea Forks, which is, simply put, the overwhelming favourite Ruahine spot of most RTC members, and certainly mine. Located in a truly sublime spot, just above the confluence of the east and west branches of the Maropea river, hence Maropea Forks, and situated perfectly to the path of the sun moving across the valley, if you are lucky, it is just a wonderful place to be. Pretty much in the heart of the Ruahines, or at least on a veritable highway of tramping options, I have arrived via the river, over the tops, and left in every direction. It has also become just a favoured spot on its own, either on my own or in the company of others. One I have stayed at up to 3 days simply enjoying its beauty.

It is a 6 bunk hut, with a Corker wood stove, ample room inside for ones gear, and as one can see, has a roofed in porch to while away the hours should it be raining. The river runs close by, as a matter of fact it has dramatically changed course and is now cutting severely into the very bank the hut is sited upon. This will be a major concern should it continue. Again, built as a culler hut, the current structure was rebuilt in the 1980's and was recently refurbished again from the above photo. Many of the old cullers who worked out of here have written of this place and a special appreciation they hold for this area. They are not wrong.

I have made 13 trips to this hut, the first were merely passing through on crossings for a night, yet it made such an impression on me I began to return again and again, and will continue to do so. The walk down from Top Maropea would be one of the finest mountain river walks in the world.

Another area in the Ruahines which has become a personal favourite is the Makaroro valley and Parks Peak ridge. Offering excellent access to the main Ruahine range, and multiple tramping options, or, again, as a destination in itself. Above is Parks Peak hut, situated high on Parks Peak ridge, around 1300 meters, in a very unique and mysterious stunted beech forest. It is a long tough climb and walk to this hut, commonly taking me anywhere from 5-7 hours. And while the hut itself is fairly unimposing and basic, 4 bunks with a temperamental Corker, in an often boggy and wet location, it has also become a personal favourite. Perhaps because seeing it come into view is always such a relief, but more so it is such an amazing place both micro and macro, with awesome views across the ridge to the main range, and yet often misty and closed in revealing the tussock grasses, mountain flowers, leatherwood, and incredibly stunning looking dripping mosses on the stunted beech. One of my favourite spots to wander tin cup in hand.

This is a classic example of the first deer culler huts built in the 50's. Basic and simple, meant to provide shelter. It has for me 8 times now, and will again. Also located on the cusp of other great tramping routes, particularly the sublime Upper Makaroro a few hours away.

This is Upper Makaroro hut, a few steep hours down a spur off Parks Peak ridge and across the Makaroro river. Another two hour equally steep climb up will bring one to the main Ruahine range, or 3-4 hours downriver is Barlow hut. I have had some beautiful summer days here, the river is full of crystal clear pools for swimming, and also trout. It took me 3 attempts to finally get to this hut, and I have now been there 4 times. Very short days in winter as the valley is very narrow and the sun moves over it quickly, but the hut, although the basic Forest Service design, is comfortable and has a great wood stove with ample wood available at this altitude, 800 meters or so. Another favoured river spot, and not often visited.

Above is Waterfall hut, an extremely remote location in the Kawhatau headwaters, and a long way to get to from any direction, any of which is tough and challenging. It is at least a two day walk to get to this hut, which lies on the confluence of Waterfall creek and the Kawhatau river up on a natural terrace above a unique horse shoe bend in the creek. A very wild and stunning location underneath Mangaweka and the Hikurangi's to the west, and the main Ruahine range to the east. Mangaweka is the highest point in the Ruahines at 1733 meters, and this hut is in some of the most rugged Ruahine terrain. I have been here twice with John, once coming over from the eastern side and Waikamaka, and once coming directly down from Mangaweka. A basic 6 bunk hut with a fireplace. Always glad to be here.


Five hours or so down the Kawhatau river from Waterfall hut lies this little gem, Crow hut. A few years ago John and I walked a few hours down from Waterfall, then camped on the river, and carried onto Crow the next day. The Kawhatau is a bigger river and comes up quite quickly, and with two nasty gorges to negotiate it pays to keep an eye on the weather. Notice the swing bridge is high over the river, this is for a reason! Crow hut is also 6 bunks and recently been refurbished, new walls and lining, fireplace replaced with a new wood stove, all good. The hut, as one can see, sits above the river with ample room to pitch a tent or just lounge away, and the river below offers excellent swimming and trout fishing. I have been here 3 times, once with RTC members Steve and Rick, once on my own, and once with John. An exceptionally cool spot with excellent views of Rongotea on the Mokai Patea's, the Hikurangi's to the south, and once again, the main Ruahine range to the east. An amazing place to watch the sun set on the eastern tops, the colours which emerge never fail to stir my very soul. With ample wood about I am keen to return here for a winter tramp.

High above Crow hut, and to the west, on the Hikurangi's, is Mc Kinnon hut pictured above. Perhaps the finest upper alpine located hut in the entire Ruahines. Fantastic views in every direction, the Kawhatau valley far below, and the Mokai Patea across the valley, and the main range literally across the way from the hut door. I believe this is the highest hut in the Ruahines at over 1400 meters, just slightly higher altitude than Howlett's hut. A long day to get here over the Hikurangi's but a stunning walk through rolling tussock and tarns, ( natural depressions in the tussock which collect water), one actually the size of a small lake. Just when one reaches a main turn in the Hikurangi range to the south, there is a near vertical long drop to the hut, which can be seen high above, but still seems to take ages to get to it. From here it is 4 hours or so to to the Ruahines highest point, and another 2-3 hours to get down to Waterfall hut. Or one can drop down to the river and find Crow hut in a short 2 hour jaunt. I have been here twice, once solo, and once with John. Again would like to spend some time in winter here, with a comfy 6 bunk hut and stove, combined with the astounding views, how could I go wrong?

Howlett's hut, on the main range. Perhaps an even more dramatic setting than Mc Kinnon, due to its proximity to the main range, and the view out onto the east coast of the North Island. A larger hut, with room for up to 15 on platform, or Maori bunks, and a coal burner. This hut is actually owned and maintained by the Heretaunga Tramping Club, who require a bit of koha, or donation, for its use. Situated just off where Daphne spur meets the main range above 1300 meters, it is a dauntingly steep 2 hour climb from Daphne hut on the Tuki Tuki river.

The hut has a long history in the Ruahines, originally built in the 1930's with hut material carried up on the backs of the original HTC members, and the hut contains many of the old hut books copied and left to be read, along with some amazing photos.

It is also the gateway to Sawtooth ridge, which lies just to the north, an hour or two beyond the hut and accessed via Tiraha. I have been here twice, once with John in winter when this photo was taken, and once with Nigel and John waiting for the weather to clear so we could get to Sawtooth. It didn't and we retreated back to Daphne. I will return again.

One of the more interesting valleys in the Ruahines, to me, is Pohangina valley. I have spent a bit of time exploring it, with Nigel and John, and mostly on my own. I find it to be a very haunting place, and I do not mean that in a scary or fearful sense, rather, to me, in a spiritual sort of way, that I am not the first, nor last, to feel the connection between man and Nature in this place. The valley has 4 huts situated in it, I have visited them all, Top Gorge, pictured above is Leon Kinvig, Ngamoko, and Mid Pohangina. To do a proper trip either up or down the valley would take 3 days.
Leon Kinvig, above, is the second hut on the river coming down from its source. Named after a deer culler who drowned in the 1950's - perhaps part of the reason for never actually feeling alone in this valley, it is another sublime location on the river. It has Maori bunks for 6, and an open fire, a roofed in porch, and is another relatively rarely visited hut. My last trip there a few years ago I was only the 8th party through in more than a year. I was also there with Nigel in 1998 on the very first overnight RTC crossing, when we came over from the eastern side on a very long and hard tramp. It is equally hard, if not more so, from the western side as it involves another long and steep climb up to the Ngamoko range, and then a long meandering, but enjoyable, stroll along the tops before the normal steep drop to the river. Coming up river, or down would involve a few days as well, so it is not often visited. Yet, for those who do take the time the rewards are many, and the hut book is full of return visits from ex cullers coming to take a last look at a place they obviously were impacted by greatly. It is a hut I look forward to returning to one day.



Approximately 3 hours down river from Leon Kingvig is Ngamoko hut, pictured above. It had just had extensive renovations done when I came across it in November 2005, and I was the first tramper to enjoy its relative luxurious amenities. 6 bunks and a new wood stove, new walls, floor and tables, I happily ensconced myself. Which proved a good thing, as the next day trying to get out via the tops I was forced back here by high winds and white out conditions, and had to spend an extra night.
The hut sits high above the river and is 2-3 hours upstream from Mid Pohangina, then another 5 hours from there to the road end. Again, not a high use hut, I was the 9th party in a year to visit, and only the 4th that tramped to it. The rest were hunting parties helicoptered in, and the work parties who rebuilt it, also helicoptered in. I will return again to do an entire traverse of the valley, taking my time. I sat out in front of the hut down by the river when there by myself and a Blue Duck flew by, then he turned around and flew back, landing 20 meters away from me and jumped up on a rock in the river, seemingly as inquisitive about me as I was about him. A cool moment.
I will, as I wrote, update this entry as more photos become available, which might be boring to some, but so be it. It is a cool way to track the huts visited, and also to remember them. Not to mention it is probably me who is the only one to read this anyway. Ka ki te!

Your Boots Never Do Quite Dry

One of the most memorable, though all my Ruahine tramps are memorable for one reason or other, was a trip with members Parduhn and Davidson, back in December of 2001. Not just for the fine company in a period where my mountain experience and skill was still being honed, but rather for the wild and wet weather we experienced for fifty six continuous hours. As we crossed Armstrong saddle on the way to Top Maropea it suddenly became very still and grey as a huge slow moving south easterly system engulfed the ranges. It started raining not long after we got to Top Maropea and literally did not stop for over 2 plus days late in the afternoon at Wakelings hut. In the interim we battled flooded rivers, wet and rain soaked forests which drenched us as we walked and climbed and descended through the murky mist. It was a true back country mountain trip done the hard way. Yet Steve and Rick both came through in good cheer and got a real adult portion of the Ruahines.
Above is a photo of the Maropea in flood on our way down from Top Maropea. It started out a bit discoloured when we got to it, and within an hour was the raging torrent above. Yet we were also too far down to turn back, and had a reasonable distance yet to go. So we kept moving very carefully down to Maropea Forks. Had we made the seemingly prudent decision to stop and wait, we would have been there for two days. Fortunately, having been down the river 3 times at that stage, 13 now, I felt I knew the river well enough to get us through. The Maropea is generally not a deep river, with only a few areas of deep pools and rapids, and so we made it down. Usually this stretch would be a quiet crystal clear mountain setting. Had I been with Taylor, or alone, and not known the river, I would not have attempted to traverse down to Maropea Forks.

Inside Maropea Forks hut, preparing a large and bountiful feast of Hopple Popple for the boys after gratefully arriving at the hut, wet, tired, cold, and very hungry. If I recall, this batch had 8 eggs, 4 large potatoes, onion, garlic, 6 rashers of bacon, and generous dollops of salt, pepper, thyme, a dash of chili, and cheese. We ate the lot, easily.
Steve and Robb on the spur between the Waikamaka and Maropea valleys. Sitting in the rain in a little hollow filled with ferns, a lovely place. Not typical of the up and down nature of the spur, and of course, the extremely steep drop to the Waikamaka river which awaits us.

Steve crossing the Waikamaka river, a bigger river in general than the Maropea, but still quite discolored as one can clearly see. The rain finally started to let up a bit that afternoon at Wakelings hut, where we fortified ourselves with a good fire, reading the writings of Mike Mc Gee in the hut book, and a few generous drams of Jameson's Irish whiskey.

Rick and Robb crossing the Kawhatau river, our third swollen river to be dealt with, and a huge climb out of Wakelings, over Rongotea, then down again to this river and Crow hut. We discovered two cans of Tui beer at the trig on top of Rongotea just as the sun appeared for the first time in over 3 days, so we drank them down and toasted the Ruahine Goddess. Only to have the clouds immediately roll back in with the wind and we got lost trying to find the route down to the river. It took us a fair while to sort ourselves out, but eventually Steve noticed a rudimentary track down through the tussock and the diabolical maze of razor sharp Spainards which got us back in the game. We are crossing the river at the confluence of the stream coming into the main river, then crossed the stream to a "wet weather" track just above the photo. Not that we couldn't get any wetter than we were anyway, but it leads to very long swing bridge high over the river, and on the other side, the beautiful sight of Crow hut.

RTC Members Kloss, Parduhn, and Davidson, at the finish line. Don't believe those times on the sign! Took us a bit longer than 3 hours from Crow hut over the Hikurangis. Tara met us near here with cold beers, a Ruahine Goddess in her own right!

Fatherhood and the Mountains

My son Taylor is now 14 years old. He was 7 when I first took him into the Ruahines accompanied by Nigel Robson. We guided him to Top Maropea for a one night stay, and it was a proud moment for me as a father, as not many kids that young have made the journey, judging by the hut book, prior to and after that time. Nigel and I also took Taylor to Maropea Forks and Parks Peak, both places I returned with him, and he has done the Triangle loop trip, and probably one of the youngest people to ever be at Gold Creek hut as well. He more than earned his RTC badge at such a young age.

Yet now, as I write this, it has been almost 2 years since Taylor and I have traversed the Ruahines together, the last being a visit to Maropea Forks along with his mate Ethan on a 3 night trip. Part of the reason for that has been my own reluctance to push him, and part, I suppose, his growing into his own interests, teenage hood, and wanting to do ANYTHING but hang out in the mountains with his old man.

I must push through my own limitations and laziness, and his, and be a better father to him. I must force myself into his life a bit more, even if only by insisting he accompany me on a Ruahine journey. Tara and I just had a talk about whether or not I should have a chat to him about the perils of drugs and such. Not because we suspect he is using them, but rather because, at 14, it is time. There are probably many things I should talk to Taylor about, and I feel the best place for me to even approach these things would be him and I alone in the mountains, and me applying the principles I have been writing about in this forum.

I personally think the best thing, as a father, I have done for Taylor is to have exposed him to the mountains at such a tender age. My hope is that he will discover a Gift I have given to him, one he forgot to Open. Truthfully, I perhaps pushed him too hard, too soon, on those then little legs. He was a tough hard trooper and he went to places deep in the Ruahines not many kids will ever see.

But it could be those very experiences I now treasure may have put him off a bit, I hope not. We shall soon see. Taylor and I used to be so close, both emotionally and physically, and I cannot blame his natural growth as a young man for our recent icy interactions. It is natural for him to separate himself from me, yet I sense he is still there waiting for me. He also has his younger brother Charlie, who at 4, now has, in his eyes, usurped his place as the apple of my eye.

And so it is time to use this place I love so much, and where I have learned so much, to use the supposed wisdom I gather there, and reconnect with my son. The years I have left with him grow short, and though I feel like he has no need of me, or what I have to offer him, the reality is I still have to try and perhaps he needs me more than I might think. Although Taylor is on the bridge to becoming a man, he will always be my little boy.

I have another son, Charlie, who at 4 is a wee bit too young to be tramping in the Ruahines, though he has been there - see photo below. In a way, he will benefit from my mountain experiences with Taylor. The tough lessons Taylor and I learned will make things easier for Charlie, particularly in taking it slow and easy. In retrospect I pushed Taylor too hard, and it would be cool, for me, if Charlie truly enjoys the experience and will want to continue with it.

When Charlie was born I took his placenta up to Top Maropea, frozen and wrapped in plastic. And in the Maori tradition of Whenua, or connecting to the earth, I buried it there beside a young beech tree. I built a small cairn over it,and through the intervening years that cairn has grown to be fairly substantial as people add rocks to it. I think that is cool for Charlie and I hope Top Maropea does become a special place for him, as it has for me.

To go there one day with both my sons. To stand in a spot I stood in many years ago, looking out upon these majestic mountains and yearning to travel amongst them and know them, which I have done, to stand there with my boys will be a defining moment in my life.

Challenge and Fear

I would never presume my mountain explorations as being anything more than what I take from them. The Ruahines themselves would perhaps by some be laughed at in terms of difficulty, or in presenting any real technical mountaineering problems. Although to offer a quick aside, George Lowe, who was with Edmond Hillary on the 1953 first climb of Mt. Everest, was an accomplished mountaineer in his own right, and crucial in opening up the Lhotse face which ultimately opened the way to success, was a Hawkes Bay lad who learned the basics of mountain craft in the Ruahines before moving onto bigger challenges. A very much unsung Kiwi hero in my humble opinion. Also in the 1930's, during winters of extremely heavy snowfalls many of these early modern pioneering Kiwi mountaineers practiced their soon to be world class ice work skills on the sheer bluffs and drops of Sawtooth ridge.

That aside, the Ruahines would by no means be considered lofty classic peaks, with difficult technical routes, or challenging peaks yet to be climbed, or vast areas of unexplored terrain left to yet be explored. I have tramped there many times in winter over the past 13 years without crampons or ice axe and rope. There is a plethora of huts to stay in, most located in sublime spots, and if one has good gear, plenty of food, and some sort of shelter, and is reasonably experienced, chances are one's tramp would be completed without any strife at all. It is really a place for trampers, not mountaineers.

Yet in my time there I have been late getting out 3 times, once with my son Taylor when we ran out of time and daylight on the Makaroro river and decided to stay at Barlow hut, and twice solo due to weather, once in Pohangina valley at Ngamoko hut, once this past winter in a blizzard at Top Maropea. All three times making the decision was pretty straight forward, with Taylor a long way to go and a tired 9 year old boy, at Ngamoko simply trying to wait out gale force winds up on unfamiliar tops, and at Top Maropea knowing I would probably die if I carried on from the hut in a gale force blizzard. There was no real fear involved, perhaps a bit of unease at putting Tara on edge being overdue - but we have worked out a pretty good system over the years. Learning that time and the elements always hold the upper hand in any mountains is just one the basic lessons to be learned.

Fear, however, is a different kettle of fish. My original thoughts in this writing were simply to indicate that most mountaineers, or even trampers, would perhaps never experience fear in the Ruahines, blazing on through flooded rivers, sheer spurs and ridges, and climbing down water falls with out a care in the world. Had I been born here in Palmerston North and discovered the mountains at a young age - which I have little doubt I would have - then I might put myself in that class. I might have moved on beyond the Ruahines, as most do, to look for other challenges. But I was not born here, I came to the mountains late, in my mid thirties, with much to learn and no reference to build upon except to get out and try. Somewhere in that learning process the Ruahines took on a much deeper meaning to me than just a place to tramp and so I return there again and again, for both practical and spiritual purposes. The challenges I find there are enough for me, I missed those years elsewhere. They certainly were not wasted, exploring the brooding beauty and immenseness of the Boundary Waters in Minnesota and Canada, camping in the wonderful coniferous forests and bountiful lakes of Wisconsin, and the huge National Parks of the western states. Yet my soul is home in the Ruahines. Why I do not know, part of the reason of this blog is to find that out if I can.

So I do find learning about the mountains, traveling in them, discovering

new aspects of them, to be a challenge. Learning to navigate in open untracked country was a challenge, to trust my growing experience was a challenge, to head down unknown, to me, rivers was a challenge. To extend my rudimentary bush craft skills was a challenge. Learning to venture out solo was perhaps my biggest challenge, and a topic I will at some stage address on its own merits. None of these involved fear, apprehension, yes, but not gut wrenching, adrenaline producing, shaking fear. I have experienced that sort of fear 3 times in the Ruahines, and have, obviously, survived all 3, and came out the other side thrilled and enthused. Yet all 3, with out doubt, involved that moment, or moments, when any mistake could have resulted in serious injury or death. I do not seek out such moments, as some might, and at my age, could happily get along not having them happen, yet such is the nature of mountain travel. Particularly when off the beaten path. I understand the allure of seeking out such thrills, as one does tend to feel very alive and aware when they happen, but I feel like that almost all the time in Nature so it is not something I need to purposefully expose myself to for some sort of reaffirmation.

I felt the most fear a few years ago, climbing down to the Kawhatau river from Mangaweka, the Ruahine's highest point. John Nash and I had climbed to it along the Hikurangis on a stunning day from Crow hut. There is a series of three creeks running off the tops to the valley below, and I suppose John and I were feeling a bit giddy, or over confident, or both, and we opted to simply climb down to the nearest creek and head down to the river. Which was not a wise choice, as looking at the map and aerial photos later on, we had picked a subsidiary creek to one of the three streams, but not the stream itself. It involved an extremely steep drop to even get to the stream, and having gained that we ran into a series of water falls, a few perhaps 10-15 meters which involved picking the best side to sidle out into the sheer leatherwood till we could slide and climb down past the falls and regain the stream. One in particular I had to let go of the relative comfort of the leatherwood bush I was clinging onto and slide almost vertically back down to rocky stream below the falls. That was a fear filled moment, amongst others in about two hours of bush bashing and vertical downward slow descending. Eventually the grade lessened, the boulders became smaller, less slippery, and easier to negotiate as we got below the bush line. When we arrived at where this nasty little water way met with Iron Peg Creek - the one we thought we were on, we both flopped down at the confluence and didn't say much at all. We knew we had put ourselves in that situation, just as we had extracted ourselves from it as well.

I will admittedly state I was scared during that descent, a few times my knees were shaking, and I probably questioned my reasons for being there. Yet as John and I straggled down the Kawhatau to Waterfall hut, all that had already begun to fade, and I felt alive and privileged to be amongst such a place. And later on that evening, down by the river, tin cup in hand containing a generous dollop of good whiskey, all was well. I had learned more lessons that day about these ranges, myself, and the very fine line between challenge and fear, and the necessity of both.

Changes

Back in 2003 I was on a trip through the ranges with my brother in law Steve, who lives in Wisconsin, which encompassed a traverse of the Whanahuias to Triangle hut, then down the Oroua river to Iron Gates hut, then out to the road end via Heritage lodge, a 2 night, 3 day affair. An excellent tramp I have also done with Gustav, and Taylor as well.
Triangle hut is a beautiful spot, up in the headwaters of the Oroua, in the shadow of Te Hekenga high above, a fine place to linger and enjoy. Many times there I have been treated to the sight of a Mountain Blue Duck flying by the hut on its unerring path down river. Perhaps the sight I enjoy most in the Ruahines, one indicating you are in relative remote and pristine back country as that is a requirement of the native Blue Duck. These places are growing all too rare.

In any case, on this trip with Steve, we climbed out of the river and over a steep spur to by pass a gorge, then dropped back down to a side creek to the main river, and not far away, Iron Gates hut. My hopes of settling in alone for a fine afternoon and evening were dashed by the sight of a small pack on the porch, and the emergence of a very fit looking blond haired bearded man. I must say at this point in my Ruahine ventures I found the sight of other people at places I wanted to be as an annoyance and intrusion. I no longer feel that way, and while I would rather have my own solitude, I find that in true back country most of the people encountered are both like minded and interesting. Most of my trips I see no one, part of the allure of the Ruahines in comparison to other high use areas. Part of my own growth in the mountains was to begin to look at such encounters through a positive eye rather than negative, as perhaps an opportunity for growth rather than an affront to my personal desire for solitude.

This man introduced himself as Pete, and from the moment he spoke I sensed a certain gentleness and calmness emanating from him, again, not an uncommon feature amongst people I meet in the Ruahines. In talking with him it became apparent he had great experience not only in these ranges but all over New Zealand as well, yet spoke of these experiences with a great sense of humility. We had a few cups of tea and as he packed up to leave - he was in on a day walk - he mentioned a new wet weather track had been put in above the river a ways down from the hut, but was rather difficult to find. I asked if I could walk along with him to see where it emerged from the river and he had no objections. As he started into the bush, then down to the river, I immediately knew his pace was far faster than mine, and even with no pack I had difficulty keeping up with him, and on the river I watched him leap from rock to rock with far more speed, confidence, and skill than I will ever possess. I followed him till he headed back up to the bush where the track began and waved goodbye and I headed back to the hut. Steve and I walked out in a pouring rain storm the next day so the knowledge of where that track was located proved invaluable as the river was flooded and the side creeks growing angry. A lucky encounter? Who knows?

Over the next few years I was in the Ruahines fairly often, both with other people and more often during this period alone. I often came across hut books with Pete's name inscribed inside, and also saw his name mentioned, and photographs of him, in the New Zealand Wilderness magazine on rather difficult South Island trips requiring true mountaineering skills so I knew my impressions of him were accurate. I also came across a blog called Pohangina Pete which I began to read from time to time and always found insightful and thought provoking. I hadn't checked in with it for some time, and had last left Pete in the midst of an epic journey for him to India and Africa over the course of almost a year. Just yesterday I checked in with his blog out of curiosity to find he has returned recently to Pohangina valley, and in many ways his journey has probably still just begun, that the valley and this area may not be able to contain his soul for too much longer, at least that is how I read it. In the entry he quoted a book named " A Field Guide to Getting Lost", by Rebecca Solnit, a book I must obtain. The quote perhaps perfectly summed up Pete's feeling of change and the potential result of moving to find something else. Yet I found it perfectly summed up, in some ways, the reasons and feelings inside myself for ending up in the very same place, and a journey that continues. Indeed, I might apply that statement to quite a few, if not all, RTC members, all for their own various reasons and where they are at in their own lives. So cheers to Pete, a man I have only briefly met, yet felt a bond with through the Ruahines, and also the same message of change for perhaps entirely different reasons, both valid and true.
"Without noticing it you have traversed a great distance; the strange has become familiar and the familiar if not strange at least awkward or uncomfortable, an outgrown garment. And some people travel far more than others. There are those who receive as birthright an adequate or at least unquestioned sense of self and those who set out to reinvent themselves, for survival or satisfaction and travel far. Some people inherit values and practices as a house they inhabit; some of us have to burn down that house, find our own ground, build from scratch, even as a psychological metamorphosis". Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost.

The Journey continues.............................................................................................

Simplicity

Perhaps the biggest allure of the mountains to me is the opportunity to live simply, thus finding myself capable of taking so much more on board, to observe, learn, and grow. How can I not appreciate the warmth from a cup of tea after walking in an ice cold river for 3 or 4 hours, or the feeling of putting on warm, dry socks after battling wind, rain, and possibly snow, on exposed open tops, boots wet and muddy, body cold and tired. How can I not appreciate the metallic clanging of the Corker wood stove door, knowing the hut will soon be as warm as I desire. To learn through experience the simple skills of navigation, using a map and compass, recognizing physical features, learning to read what the mountains are saying by the wind and clouds. Surely the ancient Maori learned the same way, and history tells us they treated the mountains with great reverence and respect - perhaps even a certain amount of healthy fear.
Any man, or woman, will surely benefit in some way, by being able to carry all the gear one needs on one's back and travel amongst the mountains living simply, yet relatively few seem to actually do so. Which from a selfish point of view is a good thing. The crux of which is this, simplicity has opened other doors for me in Nature. The relative luxury of traveling in a remote range I know now fairly well has allowed me to start viewing the ranges from a micro point of view as well as macro. Traveling over well known areas allows me to lose myself in thought and suddenly I have arrived at my destination, particularly when solo.
To live simply is to live slower. Time, particularly after a few days in the mountains, takes on less importance except in terms of that days travel, and with little in the way of interference our days are full and complete.
The hardest part, for me, is to apply these moments to my life outside the ranges - which Nigel once pointed out to me is a far greater portion of my time - and become a better person, father, husband and friend. What the mountains have given me is a tool to battle the demons I carry within, and slowly become a better man. I use to wonder if this was not me putting my expectations or projections on the Ruahines, as when I am emotionally together out here it is easy to approach the mountains, just as it is to cross a saddle or open tops on a beautiful wind free day, or travel a river when it is quiet and the pools clear and sweet. Crossing open tops when the wind is howling and it is snowing, or the river now flooded and raging does, I suppose, offer a certain synchronicity to traveling the mountains when life out here is not so easy. I have found that Connection in the Ruahines both ways. Either way the endless continuity of Nature points out the Truth to me. There is something very reassuring in that sort of Simplicity.

The following poem was written by the late Mike McGee, a North Island hunter, fisherman, writer, a man who lived simply and loved the mountains. He spent a lot of time in the Ruahines, and in the year 2000 on a rugged crossing with RTC members Parduhn and Davidson we straggled into Wakelings hut after batting two flooded rivers and a very wet and cold ridge, as Steve wrote in my notebook, quoting Taylor, "getting your boots wet will be the least of your problems", we found that not long before our arrival Mike himself had spent 3 days holed up at Wakelings waiting for the rain to stop and the river to settle. Needless to say, he spent a great deal of time writing in the not often used hut book, and we amused ourselves in front of the fire reading his poems out loud. The following was particularly meaningful for me, and I was surprised a few years later to find a book written by Mike with this poem and a few photos of Wakelings as well. The book is called, For Those Who Understand, and is a treasured possession. Mike passed away a few years ago after a battle with cancer. I am sure his spirit travels on the beech ridge summer breeze.

For Those Who Know, by Mike McGee

When you leave me can you leave me
Where the big trees bend and sigh
Where theres birdsong in the morning
And a river running by
I'll find a big rock overhang
Enough to keep me dry
With a gap or two amongst the trees
So I can see the sky
When you leave me can you leave me
With a breeze upon my cheek
Where the crystal clear bush water
Murmurs gently in the creek
I'll hope the place you leave me
Will have leaves to make my bed
And if I'm in luck there'll be
A mossy bank to lay my head
When you leave me can you leave me
A billy can or two
And a heap of dry red totara chips
So I can make a brew
I'll live in hope a Robin
just might visit now and then
With maybe just a verse or two
still flowing from my pen
I'll hope that when you leave me
My mind is crystal clear
So I can picture faces
of the ones that I hold dear
Then I'll settle down and make the most
of everything I've got
And you can rest contented
I'll be happy with my lot
- Wakelings hut book, 23 March 2000 -

Overlooking the Pohangina Headwaters

I recall a significant Ruahine moment, back in Jan. of 2003, on the second of what has now become an annual RTC Summer Tour. Nigel, John, and I spent 6 nights and 7 days, my longest trip, meaning to climb to Tiraha, then cross the ever elusive Sawtooth ridge, and carry on from there to Waterfall hut and beyond. All new terrain for us, over difficult country, at least in terms of our experience and skill level, yet also a welcome challenge in fine company. We ended up spending two nights at Howletts hut, high on the main range, waiting for the weather to clear. It didn't. We did climb to Tiraha, in windy and white out conditions, and though Sawtooth ridge would have been right below us, we never even saw it and thus retreated back to Howletts. The next morning was no better and we finally admitted defeat and retreated down to Daphne hut, spending the day listening to the rain fall on the tin roof, napping, and as I recall, fairly subdued at the change in plans. I know I was, and I realize now I had much to learn in terms of mountain travel, patience and acceptance, and realization the Ruahines care little for my plans. Yet my own arrogance as a man felt anger that my plans were thwarted, that somehow the weather was this way simply to piss me off. Later that day I walked alone up the Tukituki river, the blue green pools of water set against the mountain back drop, and I thought this wasn't such a bad place to be in. The next day the weather had cleared bit, though still windy, and we proceeded in a southerly direction, climbing to the main range and carrying on to Longview hut. It is a big hut with gas cookers and heaters, about 3 hours from a road end, and though no one was there I again felt this sense of anger and intrusion, as if being denied the true remoteness I sought. In the late afternoon the weather cleared and John and I took a walk along the ridge dividing Pohangina valley from the main Ruahine range, virtually the headwaters at Pohangina saddle separating the Pohangina from the Tukituki, a magnificent panorama of open tops and green bush clad hillsides far below. We stopped at a spot in the sun, and just sat in the silence for a long time as the sun began to fade in the west. As the sun faded the mountains took on a hue of unbelievable beauty. I sat in awe and was filled with an overwhelming sense of fulfillment, almost euphoric joy. I knew we had made the right decisions regarding the weather, we had managed to put together alternative plans - we were building skills and experience for future trips, and yet, for me, in that moment, it was also deeper than that, a very real spiritual connection, a fullness in my Soul that said this is the place you should be, do not fight it. I have learned since then to let myself go to that connection very quickly, to empty myself of other worries, issues, and concerns, and simply be in the mountains, in the moment, for all to quickly those burdens will be waiting - most often not so heavy. I realize this might sound a bit precious but I can truly say I have experienced the mountains in very good times in my life when it is easy to find such observations, yet also in some very emotionally heavy and challenging moments when Peaceful Bliss is much harder to connect with. Yet I have, and so it is my Truth, nothing more and nothing less.
The next day we dropped down into the headwaters of the Pohangina, on a perfect still day, warm and not a cloud to be seen. We traveled down to Top Gorge hut, a place so remote and unvisited the hut book went back to the 1980's. One of the most memorable, and simply perfect days I have spent in the Ruahines. A reward for my acceptance.

Sunset on a Ruahine Ridge

Purple and Opaque clouds drift by slowly
They mimic my own thoughts in this moment
Standing on a mountain ridge
Watching the sunset
On higher mountains still
The rich hues of green on their flanks
dark and mysterious
as smoky clouds break off and probe
the guts and gullies
and then move on
It has taken me four days to walk here
And will take much longer to Understand
What all this means
Not that the Mountains care
In this Quiet Moment
It only seems they do