17 September, 2013. Early evening outside Sunrise hut in the Ruahine.
The snow has been falling now for at least as long as it takes to boil the billy for several cups of tea. It is cold! Yet the wind is gentle, a quiet frigid southerly that bodes well for us passing over the exposed and most often windy saddle in the morning. We arrived late in the afternoon, and finding the relative luxury of Sunrise hut empty, and being the only car in the lot far below, are taking our chances of enjoying our solitude here. In particular the newly installed wood stove and choppered in wood supply replacing the problematic old gas heater. I am not sure what to make of that, but as John is inside the hut getting that fire going in this moment all is well.
It is a pleasure to be back in these mountains with John. It has been well over a year since we have hoisted swags together, our lives busy and complicated with other matters. To find these moments means a great deal to me. And we have 5 days to just be here in the Ruahine. It was good to begin our climb and quickly regain the old camaraderie of old tramps. Heavy packs, legs and backs straining a bit under the unfamiliar loads. Yet we soon settle in to our old ways and pace. John much faster than I, yet waiting at key spots to make sure all is well. Words spoken, and words unspoken. It has already been a good mountain trip..
Evening settles in over Te Atuaoparapara.....
I awoke to my own steaming breath, and going outside in the emerging light checked the thermometer to find it was -10 below Celsius! Had to forgo my normally very strong early morning solo coffee as the tap and water tank were frozen, and we had neglected to fill the billies before retiring for the evening. We will have to try and pry the top off the water tank, but that will keep for later. Going to wake up John to watch the soon to be revealed sunrise. It is frigid, but still and quiet, and the promise of a fine day to travel in the Ruahine lies ahead I sense. I tingle with anticipation - and thoughts of the sunrise ahead, and a cup of coffee soon after...
Morning tea at Top Maropea. The water tank was frozen here as well, but we soon had the billies full and sat in the warmth of the sun and enjoyed our cup of tea before heading down to the stream and river. It was far colder in the hut......
There is an old flood ravaged tawhairauriki log along the Maropea where, on good days like this, I have made it a habit to stop for lunch. It has become a marker for me, a sign of an earned rest and work done, and also a sign of work ahead. The log is smooth and worn, both seats and table, and the spot on the river a fine quiet straight. On not so nice days I pass by this place wistfully.....
Evening: Maropea Forks
John stirs the wood stove, the momentary glow from the coals accentuates the candle lit hut with a golden glow. Though it was a flawless day on the river with not a cloud in the sky, and gentlest of breezes, the river was very cold and rocks slippery, so as always it is a pleasure to arrive here at the empty hut and change into dry warm clothes while the billy boils. There has been no one here since July, at least according to the hut book, a thought that also adds to the charms of the hut and the remoteness of this place. The reward for travel down the wild cold early spring river. We saw 4 whio on the way down, two pairs. One much higher up than I have observed before, hopefully meaning a new pair establishing a new territory. In any case it always moves me deeply to interact with the whio in their place, and I am still smiling. Soon I will put my pen down and pick up the tools to prepare our tea. Tonight we have fresh broccoli, green beans, mushrooms, tomatoes, stir fried with red onion, garlic and ginger, served over rice. To be followed by a few wee drams of Glen Morangie. Ultra light trampers we are not.....
Morning: Before sunrise - on the porch of Maropea Forks....
John sleeps soundly in the hut. I crept out quietly with the cooker, billy, and the makings of my large early morning coffee. I am dressed warmly against the early morning chill, and there is frost all around the hut and river flat. I love these quiet moments of early morning mountain solitude...the day yet to unfold, and the whole day ahead to do as much or as little as we wish, to think, to dream, to just be part of these mountains. I am currently thinking of the very future of this hut. Over 16 years ago, when I first came here, the river was 25 metres away with a large shingle bed between the hut and the river, and another 10 metres of tawhairauriki between the hut and river. Now the river has changed course, has eaten away the entire shingle bed and 5 more metres of the tawahairauriki. I can look off the porch and see the river below me. The fallen trees like dead warriors lying in the water. Part of me wants a solution to this, the hut moved, a new hut, a cement barrier protecting the remaining land. The reality is our government has chosen to not value places like this for what they are. The other reality is the river has chosen her course and that is that. Claiming back what is her own. In here the river decides. And then my mind moves to what is happening to these very rivers when they leave the sanctuary of the Ruahine. Where man does decide where, and how she shall flow, where she becomes beholden to the needs of man rather than just being what she is on the way to the sea. The dam which will lie less than 8 kilometres from this very spot as the crow flies in particular gnaws at my guts. That we continue to "value" wilderness, our rivers, and the sea, only in terms of what they give us economically, instead of relishing the very wealth they offer our hearts and souls. So it is with a certain sense of irony I sip my coffee this morning.....
Out of the forest and up into the open tussock. Maropea Forks far below.
John nearing Pt. 1450 with Remutopo and Te Atua Mahuru behind...
In the forest above Maropea Forks and not far below the open tops of the main Ruahine range. I have climbed up here three times now in the last 5 years. Once with my friends John and Jeff, a day that should have been filled with light heart... and joy, except my damaged arthritic hip hurt so bad I was near tears. In this spot here on the way down the mountain I found my friend Jeff waiting for me, playing his harmonica. That meant more to me than words I can write. The second time was the afternoon my son Taylor became lost after not appearing at Maropea Forks far below. I could not be in tears as I had to focus. I climbed up high in the growing darkness trying to get phone reception which I did not and so spent a very lonely and sleepless night at the hut. The next day I found him. The third time was on this day, with John. We climbed unburdened by loads all the way to the tops and a place he and I had climbed down from many years before. The memories of the pain of my hip and heart still there, yet also a realization I could release that pain and these mountains would absorb that burden for me. My tears on the way down on this day were of thanks for the gifts brought through trial and tribulation. The mountains are not always about moments of joy and happiness. Sometimes that comes much later.
