“I was born lost and take no pleasure in being found.”
― John Steinbeck..Travels with Charley
14 October..evening Sunrise hut
Here at Sunrise hut once again waiting as gales blow over. A difference is I am here with my youngest son Charlie. We are on a week long trip into the Ruahine to get into and return from Maropea Forks. I think Charlie is more excited by the fact he gets an extra week off school rather than the prospect of the crossing the windy saddle and then onto Maropea Forks. I think these mountains have as much to teach him in a week as does school. We shall see. First things first though and crossing the exposed saddle is our next endeavour after climbing up here. A few years ago Charlie and I had a very scary experience crossing back from Top Maropea to here. By the time we got to within a few hundred metres of here the winds were severe gales and we had to crawl on hands and knees, and I was finally able to get us into the lee side of the gales into the tupare and safety by dragging Charlie behind me. He was very brave and I was very relieved. I sense now a few years later that experience is playing a bit on his mind as the wind blows over. The wind is meant to drop a bit overnight, but I have played that waiting game many times in the past. In the meantime I get ready to prepare our evening meal of venison tenderloin and broccoli. And just enjoy being with with my son..
15 October Top Maropea morning tea....
The winds did indeed die down a bit over night and we left not long after sunrise. By the time we reached the highest reaches just before Camel Back spur we started getting hit by a few gusty gales which unnerved Charlie a bit. I talked to him about how he was feeling and he said his tummy hurt. Then I got him down through the spur into the forest and down to here. We sat on the bench in the hut and I snuggled Charlie close to me and told him we could do one of two things, stay here and rest a bit then head down to the river and either camp or head all the way to the hut, or simply stay here. He went outside for a bit then came in to tell me he wanted to go on to Maropea Forks. I felt good about talking it through with him and letting him come to his decision. Then I felt bad for my older son Taylor. I would have just ignored his fear and been impatient with him. I owe him an apology and a hug....
It is only early morning, the day is beautiful and we have all day to climb down to the river then down it to the Forks. We are in no hurry at all...
The main Ruahine range
15 October, late afternoon at Maropea Forks...
How does one explain the art of river walking to anyone, much less my own 11 year old son? On a day walk with a small pack, or no pack, it is easy. Just get wet and have fun. On a longer walk, for many hours with a bigger and heavier pack, and the destination far off, it is a slightly different proposition. The mountain river has many moods, at times slow and easy, the places to cross and walk apparent. In other places she bunches up into white water doing the timeless work of Nature and more care must taken in where and how to cross. My advice to Charlie was to try and empty himself, to Listen to the river and let it guide you. He looked at me a bit funny but I could see him chewing on that and watching me as I went along. We had a beautiful day, the river was in fine condition, and we just took our time. After a few hours I saw Charlie get it. He understood the rhythm. Just get wet and have fun...
Evening Maropea Forks hut...
Charlie is nestled into his sleeping bag reading an old deer hunting magazine left behind from the old hut. The glow from my small lantern over head and a few candles provide the light. We can hear the river muttering by outside. I look upon these new walls of the new hut at Maropea Forks with mixed feelings. The old hut had great character, a great wood stove in The Corker, and of course, also a place I had so many memories. The gamut of emotions as it were. A quality I would use to describe myself would be loyal. So I find myself not entirely at home here in this new shiny hut. There are no scars here yet. Though setting my pen down and pondering a bit, having a wee sip of Glen Morangie, and looking again at my beautiful son lying in his bunk, I realise it is not about the timber and boards that make this place what it is. It is us, the people I have been here with, including my other beautiful son, and the mountains and river muttering by, and the effort it takes to get here that make this place so special. Those memories are not confined to the location of that old hut. They drift like wispy wood smoke from the fire all around me. Maybe I am home..
Maropea Forks...Charlie and I had a fine hut day today. Chopping and sawing up ample wood for the hut bins and wood shed, then a "swim" in the river - which really means diving in and staying as long as the cold can be withstood, a few cups of tea and milo, lunch, a wee nap, another swim, and just hanging out and talking. For us to be disconnected from the outside world, from the devices and distractions, brings us a connection here I relish and enjoy as the slowness and timelessness of the day unfolds. I see Charlie in a different light. Through out our conversations today I felt his continued anxiety about having to cross the saddle in a few days time. I realized how much he is like me that way. My first years here learning about the mountains I would worry constantly about rain and rivers flooding, cloudy misty tops, wind and gales. Until I gained a connection and understanding of the mountains, and myself. And it still evolves. So I tried to share that with Charlie. That just as in life, most things we worry the most about never actually happen. That we are well equipped and provisioned, and that there is so much indeed we cannot control here we can only focus on what we can and simply enjoy the moments. It is natural to fear those uncontrollable variables, even harder to comes to terms with them. When we do accept them and understand them there comes a great sense of freedom. I can't write that the Chomper understood what I was trying to get at, but I could sense he was glad that at least I tried...
Whio on the river...
17 October Top Maropea...
We left Maropea Forks early this morning. The clouds looked swollen and a few times we walked in slight drizzle. I love the early morning hours in the mountains. It seems to me that is when the wairua, or soul, of the mountains is most apparent. The emerging ambiance of the day ahead still in the air, the quietness of the morning enhances the colours coming to life. Travel becomes light and easy, an obstacle ahead that may look like trouble is suddenly past and behind. I could have tried to explain all that to Charlie, but best to just experience it and let it unfold. A whio frolicked ahead of us for some time, a pair of fat trout cruised lazily in a pool, and a large shag flew slowly upriver, fresh deer sign was all around, and the river rolled on. It is alive...
Now we are ensconced in the cozy confines of Top Maropea hut. The sun beats down over head, our boots, socks and other wet gear scattered about drying in the warmth of the sun. Charlie and I have gathered, sawed and prepared our evenings fire for it will get chilly higher up here towards the tops. We gaze out upon the valley and the now far off peaks from where we came this morning. Charlie thinks it is pretty cool we have walked so far. It is cool...
8 October, morning Sunrise hut...
"When Charlie and I arrived at Top Maropea early yesterday afternoon the day had turned beautiful. Blue skies, a slight nor'west wind, and warm. Charlie kept hinting that perhaps we should climb and cross the saddle while the getting was good. Again, I could sense his nervousness about the wind and our experience with the gales a few years ago. A lesson learned from these mountains with my oldest son has been not to trivialize, not to acknowledge that anxiety. I owe Taylor a big hug and an apology for how I was then. Now, with Charlie, I gently discussed our options. That little inner voice kept whispering to stay here, that the unfolding of an intimate experience between just us was far more likely here than over at Sunrise. And so we stayed at Top Maropea.
During the night I awoke to the sound of a freight train. The wind howling over and shaking the hut in a noisy rattle. I heard Charlie's wee voice from the depths of his down bag shakily ask if the hut was going to blow away. I assured him the hut has been here for over 50 years and seen many a storm, and I myself had seen it much worse. That if we had to stay another day we would be just fine. And then mentally kicked myself for not heading over the saddle the prior afternoon. Then the rain began bouncing off the tin roof. I drifted back into an uneasy sleep.
When I awoke at sunrise, except for a persistent patter on the roof, all was quiet. The wind had died down. I had a coffee and packed my gear. Then woke up Charlie with a cup of milo and a bar while we packed up and cleaned the hut. Then we climbed up and crossed the exposed saddle in the rain and mist. Actually enjoyable conditions. Less than two hours later we arrived here at Sunrise. And found a group of 14 school girls and instructors whom had stayed last night as part of a school trip. Nice peeps to be sure, but Charlie would have been mortified sharing even the ample confines here in such company. I can only smile now writing this, and content I pay attention to that inner voice. So now, a cup of tea and the final few hours back down to the car and home. I love these mountains, I love this boy. Kia Ora!"
During the night I awoke to the sound of a freight train. The wind howling over and shaking the hut in a noisy rattle. I heard Charlie's wee voice from the depths of his down bag shakily ask if the hut was going to blow away. I assured him the hut has been here for over 50 years and seen many a storm, and I myself had seen it much worse. That if we had to stay another day we would be just fine. And then mentally kicked myself for not heading over the saddle the prior afternoon. Then the rain began bouncing off the tin roof. I drifted back into an uneasy sleep.
When I awoke at sunrise, except for a persistent patter on the roof, all was quiet. The wind had died down. I had a coffee and packed my gear. Then woke up Charlie with a cup of milo and a bar while we packed up and cleaned the hut. Then we climbed up and crossed the exposed saddle in the rain and mist. Actually enjoyable conditions. Less than two hours later we arrived here at Sunrise. And found a group of 14 school girls and instructors whom had stayed last night as part of a school trip. Nice peeps to be sure, but Charlie would have been mortified sharing even the ample confines here in such company. I can only smile now writing this, and content I pay attention to that inner voice. So now, a cup of tea and the final few hours back down to the car and home. I love these mountains, I love this boy. Kia Ora!"
