tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-26994367453234363032024-03-14T01:30:55.756+13:00Musings from AotearoaThoughts, observations and photos, mainly of my interaction in the Ruahine ranges in the North Island of Aotearoa. A place I have been wandering for 20 some years now. Still learning...Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.comBlogger143125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-62839123423980849582021-09-07T08:22:00.003+12:002021-09-07T08:22:37.786+12:00The Last Photo<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DUkj9MkHDhI/YTZ4aNL-3QI/AAAAAAAAGGc/QZJ3G6B3LE4SqTLnlToQ7Nc0nMU8fxvDwCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/3B79FB3C-0010-43D5-A182-8A013D9289DB.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DUkj9MkHDhI/YTZ4aNL-3QI/AAAAAAAAGGc/QZJ3G6B3LE4SqTLnlToQ7Nc0nMU8fxvDwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/3B79FB3C-0010-43D5-A182-8A013D9289DB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 28px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">The Last Photo…</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Friday Reflections: </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Photo: The last moment in a photo observed with Jeff. I prefer not to refer to this photo as one “taken” but rather one that will always live as a real moment in my life. Door County, Peninsula State Park. November 2019. From left... <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>Rick Parduhn (BH), Mike Gatenbein (Gyro), Jeff Kjos (Roaster), and Robb Kloss (Dobber). I am proud and honoured to have such Top Shelf men as my friends. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">In the summer of 2018, I had returned home to Wisconsin after not being back since the fall of 2015 when I came back with my youngest son Charlie for a month. So, this trip Charlie and Tara came as well. Tara and I drove to Milwaukee where we spent a night with friends there. Tara was going to stay in Milwaukee for a few days and so I drove out to Madison to spend that time with Jeff and Sara. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Jeff, of course, had organized a litany of activities, highlighted by a long tramp we did in Devil’s State Park culminating in the final walk through Parfrey’s Glen. A long day, with much of it off trail bashing about and I expected no less. The next day Tara took the bus to Madison and joined us, and other friends, for an evening at the La Fete de Marquette Summer Festival not far from Jeff and Sara’s home. It was a long hot day leading into evening where the headline act was Los Lobos. We had commandeered fine positions in front of the stage, and took turns doing beer runs. It was a fine evening and a lovely few days, as always, being hosted by Jeff and Sara. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Normally another 2-3 years would pass until I would feel the need and pull to return to Wisconsin again. Although blessed here with 5 plus weeks annual holidays the cost of flights, insurances and arranging such things can be prohibitive. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Yet sometime very early in 2019 something began quietly yet incessantly nagging at me. Being that my mother was turning 91 that June, and noticing her growing fragility and forgetfulness, I put it down to the need to see her as it might be the last opportunity I might get. Thankfully Tara agreed, and so arrangements were made. I would return home in late October and Tara would join me for a final two weeks.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I’m not quite sure how it all came about but I was contacted by another friend, Rick, to inform me that Jeff had arranged a three day fall camping trip up in Door County and I was told the dates and that Jeff had arranged all the tentage, sleeping bag, food and other essentials I would require so I was not to worry. All that was required was my attendance. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I was picked up by Jeff and Rick at my brother in law’s cabin outside of Sturgeon Bay and we proceeded into the wilds of Door County where we met another friend, Mike and then drove to and arranged a campsite in the Peninsula State Park. It was virtually empty. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">The weather was cold but in due course we had erected our tents and a shelter in which to cook, store our food and drink, and retreat to in case of inclement weather. We had plenty of firewood and were soon gathered around it with hot home-made pea soup and big chunks of bread. And of course, cold beers and warmer spirits. We spent the evening talking, laughing and even a bit of sombre pondering, a perfect balance of old memories and where our lives had taken us. I kept reflecting that each one of these men, Jeff, Rick, and Mike, had visited New Zealand and each had also spent a week, respectively, with me tramping in the Ruahine. It made this campfire and camaraderie in Door County feel even more unique and special.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">The next morning Jeff cooked up a huge breakfast of bacon, eggs, pancakes, and his always ultra-strong camp coffee. We then proceeded on a massive hike pretty much all around the park, on trail and off, along the lake shore, climbing up the cliffs overlooking the lake, and through the forest still with the burnt orange and brown leaves of fall clinging precariously to the trees. At the time my other hip was now bothering me - it was replaced in March of 2020, and once again my friends exhibited the grace of not making a big deal of it but slowing the pace and allowing for much stopping to observe and converse so I could gather myself. I was filled with silent gratitude.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">We returned to our camp late in the afternoon, just in time to light the fire and tune in the battery powered radio to the late start Packer game in San Diego. With cold Pabst Blue Ribbon and other beers, salami, cheese, crackers, and chips. It was and felt like real old school stuff. The Packers got thrashed. Not that it mattered. And once again Jeff produced a wonderful meal and cooked up brats and provided potato salad for dinner. Then it began to drizzle so we rushed to tie down our tarpage to accommodate us near the fire. The drizzle turned to sleet; the sleet turned to snow. It was magical. Soon Jeff and I had out our harmonica’s and Rick and Mike found drums. We made up Blues tunes in honour of our tarpage and fire. It may have sounded like a pack of wolves gnawing on live chickens but on the night I thought we were pretty good. Another fantastic day and evening.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">The next day we packed up in the morning and with a melancholic sadness broke our camp. Rick, heading back to Milwaukee, Mike taking me back to Green Bay, and Jeff driving along the lake to investigate kayaking a few rivers he had marked on his map. We all stopped together at a diner outside Sturgeon Bay for breakfast. It was crowded and once seated Jeff started explaining how perfect scrambled eggs are done, which he also explained to the waiter. I had to smile at Jeff’s pedantic and stubborn requirements and though sadly the eggs were not to his standard he ate them anyway. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">In the parking lot we said goodbye and I stood with Jeff for a few minutes by his car chatting and making plans for Tara and me to visit Madison for a night or two in a few weeks’ time after she arrived. I gave him a big hug as always and we drove away. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Living in New Zealand for the last 28 years and only returning home to Wisconsin 6 times in those years, I have come to value and appreciate the moments we spend with the people we most love. Yet even in that awareness I could never have imagined that the prior evening around that fire in the snow of Door County would be the last evening I would ever spend with Jeff. . Or that it would be the last time I would smile watching him order scrambled <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>eggs. And mostly that the large hug in the parking lot of a diner outside of Sturgeon Bay would be our last. These are very difficult truths to write.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I came back to Wisconsin in 2019 out of what I thought was an urgent calling to visit my mom. Turns out the whole time that it was really to see my friend.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I love you Jeff.</span></p><p><br /></p>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-31832979071120690522021-09-04T08:50:00.002+12:002021-09-04T08:50:50.984+12:00Forty Years <p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hqfnF_i1faY/YTKKQZiNLYI/AAAAAAAAGFo/LZ6AxmL8Sx08fG-MLxWkCS3oEXfhw6FoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/0BC6E8B5-4527-491A-BA94-41075F1BD606.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hqfnF_i1faY/YTKKQZiNLYI/AAAAAAAAGFo/LZ6AxmL8Sx08fG-MLxWkCS3oEXfhw6FoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/0BC6E8B5-4527-491A-BA94-41075F1BD606.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Jeff the fire builder. Door County 2019. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w1iqu48Qev8/YTKKQuhsDdI/AAAAAAAAGFs/0Rdorr3ar68TTVi9yHSAdbqPSemYxKEvACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/D2A9E264-F8F5-4D34-BF56-97A24AECB457.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="518" data-original-width="2048" height="81" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-w1iqu48Qev8/YTKKQuhsDdI/AAAAAAAAGFs/0Rdorr3ar68TTVi9yHSAdbqPSemYxKEvACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/D2A9E264-F8F5-4D34-BF56-97A24AECB457.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">Devil’s Lake 2018. </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yhLo_lt9pb0/YTGIj_TXBsI/AAAAAAAAGBQ/gwsyOob8fDgj9njyUVPh8_QncEcLn1sUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/0A81F7E2-5795-4503-99EF-C588206DA89B.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="279" data-original-width="400" height="223" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-yhLo_lt9pb0/YTGIj_TXBsI/AAAAAAAAGBQ/gwsyOob8fDgj9njyUVPh8_QncEcLn1sUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/0A81F7E2-5795-4503-99EF-C588206DA89B.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Boundary Waters 1990…An week long trip where Jeff paddled solo. He and I did a few day trips together that were amazing. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cPfOxDm_btw/YTGIjr0PdsI/AAAAAAAAGBM/D0t7MkPe9DwEaVG5OCDyueYyIEwnX_XqACLcBGAsYHQ/s920/000D0FD9-CB13-4875-B77F-3D69DA1FE65F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="920" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-cPfOxDm_btw/YTGIjr0PdsI/AAAAAAAAGBM/D0t7MkPe9DwEaVG5OCDyueYyIEwnX_XqACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/000D0FD9-CB13-4875-B77F-3D69DA1FE65F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff, Sara, and Luca. Madison 2012. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V5N5ApXB6bU/YTGIlbGcYzI/AAAAAAAAGBg/uavXBx7UMoUro-PsjRZA40lCdEmv6ywmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/1C16D872-A9EC-455F-9583-6D58FB2CF512.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-V5N5ApXB6bU/YTGIlbGcYzI/AAAAAAAAGBg/uavXBx7UMoUro-PsjRZA40lCdEmv6ywmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/1C16D872-A9EC-455F-9583-6D58FB2CF512.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff and John Nash. Ruahine ranges. New Zealand. Maropea Forks hut, a week long trip. I was so happy to show these mountains to Jeff. In spite of a painful hip that was replaced later that year. Jeff’s patience, caring and understanding of my condition while on that trip still can bring me to tears. His words from this very blog below…</div><dt id="c6963363280849711688" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; caret-color: rgb(32, 32, 32); color: #202020; cursor: pointer; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; margin: 10px 0px 0px; padding: 0px 0px 0.25em; white-space: nowrap;"><img alt="Anonymous" class="comment-icon anon-comment" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" style="border: 0px;" /> <span dir="ltr">Anonymous</span> said...</dt><dd style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; border-bottom-color: rgb(204, 204, 204); border-bottom-style: solid; border-bottom-width: 1px; caret-color: rgb(32, 32, 32); color: #202020; font-family: arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18.200000762939453px; margin: 0px 0px 0.75em; padding: 0px;"><p style="margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">yo Dobber! I have many things to say, nay, expound,nay, philosophize upon my trip into the Ruahines and indeed New Zealand as a whole. As I sit in the middle of the north american continent in the middle of winter, many thoughts of our trip burst into being. But first I have to say,nay,demand, it is fricking cold here! Sub zero cold! So cold that if I dipped one toe into a river with this cold I would not only lose my foot to gangrene within 3 hours, I would be at the mercy of fate from that point on. Please Dobber you must understand, when the temperature never gets above zero degrees F. it is way colder than anything you get on the north island. Please understand this, my sanity depends on it. We just had a week where the high was -2 degrees F. I went out x-country skiing and brrrrrrr. No comparison. None. Sorry. So I feel better now, wether you acknowedge or not, I have had my say. Now onto more important items. I loved hiking into the mountains with you. My only regret is that your hip kept us from the high country, because the glimpse that I did see looked and felt tremendous. I truly appreciate that you powered into the mountains anyway, I sensed a profound struggle, mentally and physically with the hip and I cannot imagine the pounding you endured. Thank you Brother. Though you write that my highlight of the trip must have been the beautiful Rainbow Trout, 26 inches and 8 pounds, that was only the icing on the cake, the exclamation point on a whole month of travels in New Zealand. Now do not get me wrong, I love icing, and I love Trout for breakfast, talk about powering up for the hike out! But there is much more to the wilderness than a trout, a riverwalk, a shot of whiskey or tequila with salt and lime. There is peace and tranquility, a purpose of being beyond the mundane of culture and other piffles and trifles. There are individual river riffles and songs of the mountains to consider. There are pools of hope and valleys unexplored, there are skies full of stars and wonders around every turn. These are the true prizes we seek when we go deep, and as long as we go unencumbered by preconceptions, and stay open to possibilities,we will achieve our own glory, huge in our own immediacy, knowingly minor in the scheme of the universe.<br />So Dobber the highlights of my Ruahines are:the night at top maopea hut under the stars with no dew dropping on me all night long, what a star show, a once in a decade no Moon, no cloouds, full on star show; arriving at maropea forks hut and realizing what a glorious spot to camp at despite the protestations of my bank manager(and cracking a can of Fosters in celebration); checking out the confluence of the forks after the all day rain; latching onto the the huge Trout and the epic battle that ensued, man versus beast in a thrilling match of wits and endurance and..............;and then a couple of brewkis in oopaloolangaloongalong or some town on the way back to Palmy. Yowser! More Thoughts will come later as they flood in somnambulatorally.Yowser!</p><p class="comment-timestamp" style="display: inline-block; margin: 0px 0px 15px; padding: 0px;">January 30, 2009 at 3:51 PM</p> <span class="item-control"><a href="https://www.blogger.com/delete-comment.g?blogID=2699436745323436303&postID=6963363280849711688" style="border: none; color: #00838f; text-decoration: none;" title="Delete Comment"><img alt="Delete" class="icon_delete" src="https://www.blogger.com/img/blank.gif" style="background-image: url("https://www.blogger.com/img/cmt/comment_sprite.gif"); background-position: -32px -101px; background-repeat: no-repeat no-repeat; border: none; height: 13px; width: 13px;" /></a></span></dd><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q6nyGSLPyXY/YTGIo0seAMI/AAAAAAAAGCA/kX7d3WE0bbk1dJpGjC9y7Ot9Q8JZJU1ZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/3E1C032A-2A27-48EA-AF1F-5589310E1AD8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Q6nyGSLPyXY/YTGIo0seAMI/AAAAAAAAGCA/kX7d3WE0bbk1dJpGjC9y7Ot9Q8JZJU1ZwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/3E1C032A-2A27-48EA-AF1F-5589310E1AD8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>2018 Devils Lake…with Gyro on a long day trip led, of course, by Jeff. It involved many detours. Such a cool day! And evening. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kb9O-CKxJSo/YTGIpAaWlHI/AAAAAAAAGCE/EsdPtjlI9WMzbugS6mMBi5u-SogMHNA6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/3E6784BE-4B21-4730-9D43-DA5032E59E6F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="280" data-original-width="400" height="224" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Kb9O-CKxJSo/YTGIpAaWlHI/AAAAAAAAGCE/EsdPtjlI9WMzbugS6mMBi5u-SogMHNA6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/3E6784BE-4B21-4730-9D43-DA5032E59E6F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Boundary Waters. Food bag hung from bears. A persistent black bear came anyway. We won. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Za5Zwn_-3Pc/YTGIpS0BVLI/AAAAAAAAGCI/ANEtiZ9MbQcBB41yXoSKYFkioSPQOW90ACLcBGAsYHQ/s1620/4F977706-D4A5-4BCF-9952-4FA3F1931E96.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1620" data-original-width="1453" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Za5Zwn_-3Pc/YTGIpS0BVLI/AAAAAAAAGCI/ANEtiZ9MbQcBB41yXoSKYFkioSPQOW90ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/4F977706-D4A5-4BCF-9952-4FA3F1931E96.jpeg" width="287" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The Ford LTD. San Francisco. Thanksgiving 1987, </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DT0ex8i2zzM/YTGItMzEURI/AAAAAAAAGCk/SPDFtBoFqvIB3tdXhSlLExJMtzMy4qPPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5A6D1679-563C-49C5-963B-D42D4C39EC6A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DT0ex8i2zzM/YTGItMzEURI/AAAAAAAAGCk/SPDFtBoFqvIB3tdXhSlLExJMtzMy4qPPQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5A6D1679-563C-49C5-963B-D42D4C39EC6A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Door County 2019. Our last trip. I treasure each memory and moment. And my self enforced distance always made me appreciate such times. Jeff, in a very familiar position with a map. Rick in agreement. I just did what I was told. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oU4MM8n3DbQ/YTGItI0xgxI/AAAAAAAAGCo/n9jIJt95LV00CuBx7bT_UwfYOkAgCYjmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5A66B537-8169-406E-8809-FB8B8728819F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oU4MM8n3DbQ/YTGItI0xgxI/AAAAAAAAGCo/n9jIJt95LV00CuBx7bT_UwfYOkAgCYjmQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5A66B537-8169-406E-8809-FB8B8728819F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff, Sara, Gyro, and Larry Hale. Madison 2018. I wrote earlier on what a cool day it was. The evening was as well. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ig-YDyLZA-E/YTGItUB9lZI/AAAAAAAAGCs/ZuYio0Ivg6Q95MCZnv5N80F1F0mL-_-xQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5CBB953F-1EE8-48DD-8A4A-682E137A1A1A.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1443" data-original-width="2048" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ig-YDyLZA-E/YTGItUB9lZI/AAAAAAAAGCs/ZuYio0Ivg6Q95MCZnv5N80F1F0mL-_-xQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5CBB953F-1EE8-48DD-8A4A-682E137A1A1A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Milwaukee summer 1981. The earliest photo I have found with Jeff, and Mike Revan aka Iron Mike - so named because he so solid and dependable . I had left Ripon and moved to Madison here. I was in town for a wedding. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eeje0xpZ9T4/YTGIvLlUNTI/AAAAAAAAGC8/DKTKvF6Gmh4fNFrZAExDW34MH6VaDKzwwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/6C9B625A-1F8E-4DA1-A976-8E47DD654448.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eeje0xpZ9T4/YTGIvLlUNTI/AAAAAAAAGC8/DKTKvF6Gmh4fNFrZAExDW34MH6VaDKzwwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/6C9B625A-1F8E-4DA1-A976-8E47DD654448.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>John Nash, me, and Jeff inside Maropea Forks hut. John is my finest NZ friend and to spend a week with both these men was a treasure. Both with the dry, witty, and observant quips I just sat back and watched. Mostly. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ogM2yFET1o0/YTGIvOCsLAI/AAAAAAAAGDA/74x_KnM_iNMvRm64IgH8lQXXP6ryuHq5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s400/6D013180-602E-448F-B92D-9009857B3FC8.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="268" data-original-width="400" height="214" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ogM2yFET1o0/YTGIvOCsLAI/AAAAAAAAGDA/74x_KnM_iNMvRm64IgH8lQXXP6ryuHq5ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/6D013180-602E-448F-B92D-9009857B3FC8.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>My 30th birthday. Milwaukee. East side. Phils, Bob Revane, Jeff, me, Tim Revane, Todd Pollesch, abd Iron Mike eyeing up his shot. Bob, Tim, and now Jeff, are passed from our presence.</div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzzQdMGlWf4/YTGIwLtLq-I/AAAAAAAAGDI/nVRM7lhMIZ8RhMPmYGJ7rV3wXGgstO11ACLcBGAsYHQ/s960/6F37568F-15AE-4EAB-85BA-752BC0756C4E.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZzzQdMGlWf4/YTGIwLtLq-I/AAAAAAAAGDI/nVRM7lhMIZ8RhMPmYGJ7rV3wXGgstO11ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/6F37568F-15AE-4EAB-85BA-752BC0756C4E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff and Gyro. The Arboretum walk along Lake Monona. 2012. A stormy cold day. The company made all that trivial. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZPCuJT7PfUM/YTGIx0mH8TI/AAAAAAAAGDY/0ZoKPfCfTbAyF_QiXaABHk1MmeB5LnrGACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/7A49C701-F074-466D-985C-960F900801FB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ZPCuJT7PfUM/YTGIx0mH8TI/AAAAAAAAGDY/0ZoKPfCfTbAyF_QiXaABHk1MmeB5LnrGACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/7A49C701-F074-466D-985C-960F900801FB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Rick Parduhn, me, Jeff. Door County November 2019. As it turns out the last walk I ever did with Jeff. It was another fantastic day in the Peninsula State Park, we had the place to ourselves. My other hip was now in bad shape. I walked 10 miles that day. Led by Jeff. As aware of my pain this day as he had been in New Zealand 10 years prior. I love him for that. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JdtZo8t1Wis/YTGIx5LHIKI/AAAAAAAAGDc/Rqky0r1BqXoQCvNYjij2K9zzGllbNMULwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/7A073826-6BF2-4B1D-B605-A36C83CB6514.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-JdtZo8t1Wis/YTGIx5LHIKI/AAAAAAAAGDc/Rqky0r1BqXoQCvNYjij2K9zzGllbNMULwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/7A073826-6BF2-4B1D-B605-A36C83CB6514.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Madison 2018. Jeff, me, Larry Hale, and Gyro. Jeff soon put on Trampled by Turtles and the evening turned. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0EmiUmRgvL4/YTGIy9I2D_I/AAAAAAAAGDo/nPBSeTDOPW47wu81ofDwGb38Z-orohCLwCLcBGAsYHQ/s729/8D555959-7E16-48C1-8178-9D6B1679E3EB.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="729" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0EmiUmRgvL4/YTGIy9I2D_I/AAAAAAAAGDo/nPBSeTDOPW47wu81ofDwGb38Z-orohCLwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/8D555959-7E16-48C1-8178-9D6B1679E3EB.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Jeff, Gyro, me. West Bend Wisconsin 2012, Gyro’s 125 year old farmhouse he was living in and restoring at the time. Our spirits joined with the many that seemed to be around the place. After another cool day in the hills around Devil’s Lake. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xkoy82MMtw0/YTGI0PxP_1I/AAAAAAAAGDs/-0ie9Gxd3sM3x6al6RTwynkBGkb9ug7ggCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/8E364421-A926-44D8-9C8E-94BB60613E74.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xkoy82MMtw0/YTGI0PxP_1I/AAAAAAAAGDs/-0ie9Gxd3sM3x6al6RTwynkBGkb9ug7ggCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/8E364421-A926-44D8-9C8E-94BB60613E74.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff - Boundary Waters 1989. I learned so much just observing him that trip. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tWbJ2QrwB-k/YTGI1TtIMvI/AAAAAAAAGD8/B4AGkQ1-m3Y0YGaL-kaD06kdocQcdBZJgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9D4EC53C-F921-4FE7-9EC7-9167F6063FF4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tWbJ2QrwB-k/YTGI1TtIMvI/AAAAAAAAGD8/B4AGkQ1-m3Y0YGaL-kaD06kdocQcdBZJgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/9D4EC53C-F921-4FE7-9EC7-9167F6063FF4.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Rick, Jeff, Gyro, Peninsula State Park, 2019. Our final walk. I lingered behind often to see moments like this. Almost as if I knew something. Really though, living in a country so far away, just trying to be cognizant of how special these moments can be. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0PBr4SCbq6Y/YTGI1UudDcI/AAAAAAAAGD4/SU8OsCDTz9Q7yL69lkeBEiDjD-bulSC4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9D35ED5E-9AE4-4272-BBAB-9571568EE6BD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-0PBr4SCbq6Y/YTGI1UudDcI/AAAAAAAAGD4/SU8OsCDTz9Q7yL69lkeBEiDjD-bulSC4wCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/9D35ED5E-9AE4-4272-BBAB-9571568EE6BD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Gyro and Jeff walking ahead on a fall walk. On our way to Parfreys Glen. 2018. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KeuH2ujnVBc/YTGI10jbJVI/AAAAAAAAGEA/4VHG70ZVqZczh37FT26iT-NtNrkY7WmuACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9D831770-E749-4EAA-BC71-7CD4CCA3BA0D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1960" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KeuH2ujnVBc/YTGI10jbJVI/AAAAAAAAGEA/4VHG70ZVqZczh37FT26iT-NtNrkY7WmuACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/9D831770-E749-4EAA-BC71-7CD4CCA3BA0D.jpeg" width="306" /></a></div><div>San Francisco Thanksgiving 1987. The Ford LTD Jeff had driven from Portland to San Fran. We were all glad to see one another. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ctxaxh5fiag/YTGIltWgEhI/AAAAAAAAGBk/RiOvAo6-pC4I3Wm6XnqkWm70nblLgPWlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/22F192D2-87C9-4D7C-BE1F-B29089F235D4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Ctxaxh5fiag/YTGIltWgEhI/AAAAAAAAGBk/RiOvAo6-pC4I3Wm6XnqkWm70nblLgPWlQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/22F192D2-87C9-4D7C-BE1F-B29089F235D4.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Devils Lake, fall 2018. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-67Y7vVJvxm8/YTGImOvrXqI/AAAAAAAAGBo/MJIxI9SRpPIeUXBoR2Fz6-R61H7DDytvACLcBGAsYHQ/s1682/30DE86E6-BA51-41DC-851B-3A64C118EEA4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1682" data-original-width="1441" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-67Y7vVJvxm8/YTGImOvrXqI/AAAAAAAAGBo/MJIxI9SRpPIeUXBoR2Fz6-R61H7DDytvACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/30DE86E6-BA51-41DC-851B-3A64C118EEA4.jpeg" width="274" /></a></div><div>Phil’s, Jeff, and me. My 30th birthday. Milwaukee. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_dfJWGOozEU/YTGIm9hyYqI/AAAAAAAAGB0/PUXdBdkQ9UkZSWnJOjBnMTtgOJlpFo18gCLcBGAsYHQ/s729/34C68DBA-7A3E-4D60-B2EF-190340D09B14.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="729" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_dfJWGOozEU/YTGIm9hyYqI/AAAAAAAAGB0/PUXdBdkQ9UkZSWnJOjBnMTtgOJlpFo18gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/34C68DBA-7A3E-4D60-B2EF-190340D09B14.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Jeff. In New Zealand. Along the Maropea river deep in the Ruahine mountains making us bagels. So at home. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W6r3qiJ0ihU/YTGIpzjmjXI/AAAAAAAAGCM/s0TZkWdIJCERPDa7aW0-9-z3c7X7VT2iwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2007/52D43C6D-6A2D-4781-A24B-15C0BFCB7748.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1855" data-original-width="2007" height="296" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W6r3qiJ0ihU/YTGIpzjmjXI/AAAAAAAAGCM/s0TZkWdIJCERPDa7aW0-9-z3c7X7VT2iwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/52D43C6D-6A2D-4781-A24B-15C0BFCB7748.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Cooper. Best dog. Ever. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BD7plcubZYE/YTGIqRNyyTI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/i_hmj4uQLe4_SIp9WO1ASPbWI0_3YIueQCLcBGAsYHQ/s960/52FA629B-BC3D-4326-9EFE-7E5DD9B0733F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="540" data-original-width="960" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BD7plcubZYE/YTGIqRNyyTI/AAAAAAAAGCQ/i_hmj4uQLe4_SIp9WO1ASPbWI0_3YIueQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/52FA629B-BC3D-4326-9EFE-7E5DD9B0733F.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Rick and Jeff. Ice Age Walk 2015. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DEUdbxBiFs8/YTGIuJG7PeI/AAAAAAAAGCw/6rO1OQCx6GUewPF6ph64NkddrMFsupMngCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/62FBA5C4-92FD-4405-8C23-9E1CD5CE8743.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DEUdbxBiFs8/YTGIuJG7PeI/AAAAAAAAGCw/6rO1OQCx6GUewPF6ph64NkddrMFsupMngCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/62FBA5C4-92FD-4405-8C23-9E1CD5CE8743.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Sunset. Door County. 2019. Who knew! </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wAhDlBoLVIg/YTGIwvMq0SI/AAAAAAAAGDQ/6jMk81tsGE4-3gOZNg3mRQJdAzbP9cIHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s729/74F25051-2B81-46E7-8E05-78A7C5A68BDD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="729" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-wAhDlBoLVIg/YTGIwvMq0SI/AAAAAAAAGDQ/6jMk81tsGE4-3gOZNg3mRQJdAzbP9cIHwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/74F25051-2B81-46E7-8E05-78A7C5A68BDD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Fishing for trout in the pool outside Maropea Forks hut. One was tempted but didn’t bite. Jeff was in Avery happy place. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I89QdLwkUS4/YTGIxsvAc7I/AAAAAAAAGDU/exHeVPMNwN0gRxa0W1zYoi9PZYI6egrGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/79FBF0ED-4C7C-45D3-A6E8-75FDEFA0A109.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1716" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I89QdLwkUS4/YTGIxsvAc7I/AAAAAAAAGDU/exHeVPMNwN0gRxa0W1zYoi9PZYI6egrGwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/79FBF0ED-4C7C-45D3-A6E8-75FDEFA0A109.jpeg" width="268" /></a></div><div>Milwaukee 1980. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qixg9r0aHl4/YTGIy_fEaqI/AAAAAAAAGDk/ZPvXDtaEul4xPJ36V4O8LPHUBqYnzNE_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/83A8D16D-3CC6-45A5-96B9-A69722D86749.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Qixg9r0aHl4/YTGIy_fEaqI/AAAAAAAAGDk/ZPvXDtaEul4xPJ36V4O8LPHUBqYnzNE_gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/83A8D16D-3CC6-45A5-96B9-A69722D86749.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>A long slow day hike in Peninsula State Park. Fall 2019. Had the place to ourselves. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P8nC-K4unk8/YTGI0lS9IDI/AAAAAAAAGD0/z7A-GWdH5DMs8x1yyxsF4yhd5w9I_MfgACLcBGAsYHQ/s920/97E1BD15-820A-4311-B9DF-645B3D3CF21E.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="690" data-original-width="920" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-P8nC-K4unk8/YTGI0lS9IDI/AAAAAAAAGD0/z7A-GWdH5DMs8x1yyxsF4yhd5w9I_MfgACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/97E1BD15-820A-4311-B9DF-645B3D3CF21E.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Madison. The Terrace. A visit was always required. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OAeCd4vmPuQ/YTGIlL8cbpI/AAAAAAAAGBc/Z63yGARIoagQW2-HOdCCxIhLiMYC2sI1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s729/168C6983-FD0D-44BC-A40C-A48837C466DD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="729" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OAeCd4vmPuQ/YTGIlL8cbpI/AAAAAAAAGBc/Z63yGARIoagQW2-HOdCCxIhLiMYC2sI1gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/168C6983-FD0D-44BC-A40C-A48837C466DD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Maropea river. Ruahine New Zealand. 2009. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xKHCRsp2CGQ/YTGIoGpfs1I/AAAAAAAAGB4/FQrC0rioPTU9R4FuZnf2iOt2gyWEGJT0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/363D4990-A2F4-41F4-A8D3-CE42FAA39FAD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1883" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xKHCRsp2CGQ/YTGIoGpfs1I/AAAAAAAAGB4/FQrC0rioPTU9R4FuZnf2iOt2gyWEGJT0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/363D4990-A2F4-41F4-A8D3-CE42FAA39FAD.jpeg" width="294" /></a></div><div>Devil’s Lake 2018. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Pt2aOZ95DI/YTGIq_yvdII/AAAAAAAAGCU/0kqzXTL7CU8xUzxTpwQn3iGvrGd7p1BbACLcBGAsYHQ/s1014/574CC594-F8EE-4102-92C7-841101D35324.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="990" data-original-width="1014" height="312" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-1Pt2aOZ95DI/YTGIq_yvdII/AAAAAAAAGCU/0kqzXTL7CU8xUzxTpwQn3iGvrGd7p1BbACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/574CC594-F8EE-4102-92C7-841101D35324.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Boundary Waters. 1989. Just as a series of storms rolled in and we were rushing about tying down the camp. Jeff’s green canoe just visible. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GHWew59kaKA/YTGIuVc1ePI/AAAAAAAAGC0/pFQ44C7NL70gmS3yKREH7chiuaBq4AUKACLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/631F5D47-7E5B-445E-97B5-134C23427153.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GHWew59kaKA/YTGIuVc1ePI/AAAAAAAAGC0/pFQ44C7NL70gmS3yKREH7chiuaBq4AUKACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/631F5D47-7E5B-445E-97B5-134C23427153.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Jeff, Gyro, Rick. Door County 2019. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-khkuF_SjhBY/YTGI0TpIUHI/AAAAAAAAGDw/UvmB3ni0reYZoYovZgh5FILkyrRta8ZYQCLcBGAsYHQ/s729/958B563C-681B-4F28-9278-F8B7D7E3D471.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="729" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-khkuF_SjhBY/YTGI0TpIUHI/AAAAAAAAGDw/UvmB3ni0reYZoYovZgh5FILkyrRta8ZYQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/958B563C-681B-4F28-9278-F8B7D7E3D471.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Maropea fishing. A few pools later and Jeff had his trout. And we had breakfast. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N5mVzQATpDE/YTGIqz5HnBI/AAAAAAAAGCY/C9Mww-7vIQsZWcrh_qmsQwXuAGzLd0xbACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5556A0E4-3580-47EF-B082-35C9BF94ABF7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-N5mVzQATpDE/YTGIqz5HnBI/AAAAAAAAGCY/C9Mww-7vIQsZWcrh_qmsQwXuAGzLd0xbACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5556A0E4-3580-47EF-B082-35C9BF94ABF7.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Madison. Fall 2012</div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7jgTjNZchVM/YTGIrLX_8sI/AAAAAAAAGCc/KNQGJnx_y_cw-RQHTbkFLDOD7qPT3AfXACLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/5843E6FC-21FB-450A-9454-40A9CF15ADFD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="697" data-original-width="1024" height="218" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7jgTjNZchVM/YTGIrLX_8sI/AAAAAAAAGCc/KNQGJnx_y_cw-RQHTbkFLDOD7qPT3AfXACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/5843E6FC-21FB-450A-9454-40A9CF15ADFD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Bad fish river. Classic Jeff. So at home. Summer 2015</div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QExGAZCPFzU/YTGIyh--hzI/AAAAAAAAGDg/oZ9vh0EgCQ4s6d2hH1YvJt2UcdVye1o6ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/82484D19-16BD-4E79-9B27-1D0E4A74B216.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1084" data-original-width="2048" height="169" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-QExGAZCPFzU/YTGIyh--hzI/AAAAAAAAGDg/oZ9vh0EgCQ4s6d2hH1YvJt2UcdVye1o6ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/82484D19-16BD-4E79-9B27-1D0E4A74B216.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Breakfast. Door County camping 2019. All I brought along was me. Jeff had gotten everything arranged and sorted. As he did. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oAkirYK8Yz8/YTGImuGOjvI/AAAAAAAAGBs/fCLixYkL1JIHfMIPIGwRinMziKFOop_TwCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/349841AC-98DF-414A-9120-DFB432793BDD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-oAkirYK8Yz8/YTGImuGOjvI/AAAAAAAAGBs/fCLixYkL1JIHfMIPIGwRinMziKFOop_TwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/349841AC-98DF-414A-9120-DFB432793BDD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Setting up my tent for Jeff in the Ruahine. And I do believe it was time for a wee dram. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xTbPCJt2bMY/YTGIodnK4rI/AAAAAAAAGB8/e1iJ0AK2BEIJX4Eo5tmdOspKCJXlYLbdgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/365562FD-F292-4BE9-832F-938B0D7E06E0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="768" data-original-width="1024" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-xTbPCJt2bMY/YTGIodnK4rI/AAAAAAAAGB8/e1iJ0AK2BEIJX4Eo5tmdOspKCJXlYLbdgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/365562FD-F292-4BE9-832F-938B0D7E06E0.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Lingering behind Near Madison 2012. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AQcZRbxnwuI/YTGIusnihlI/AAAAAAAAGC4/IyFVHMz7u78i7GqUeVVYNhS_96G_9cxfQCLcBGAsYHQ/s729/662144A4-052E-4A55-ABC8-DE6C87716C30.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="729" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AQcZRbxnwuI/YTGIusnihlI/AAAAAAAAGC4/IyFVHMz7u78i7GqUeVVYNhS_96G_9cxfQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/662144A4-052E-4A55-ABC8-DE6C87716C30.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Ruahine cocktail hour. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-22gf8Dfm80k/YTGIwI9U1gI/AAAAAAAAGDM/prSjtr4qeS4NV5o1nuAIr5BbXTI4VG3agCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/726109F7-AE65-46BF-86FD-22FECE269EDD.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="229" data-original-width="400" height="183" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-22gf8Dfm80k/YTGIwI9U1gI/AAAAAAAAGDM/prSjtr4qeS4NV5o1nuAIr5BbXTI4VG3agCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/726109F7-AE65-46BF-86FD-22FECE269EDD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Stringer of pike. Boundary Waters day trip. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XiYBakB-gr8/YTGIjx8Fu2I/AAAAAAAAGBU/Rw3XVfmec0wiMyXANbLGVT_f-ImNSvHHQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/03069683-B601-4CB2-BE80-EFA0BB5A42B5.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1478" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-XiYBakB-gr8/YTGIjx8Fu2I/AAAAAAAAGBU/Rw3XVfmec0wiMyXANbLGVT_f-ImNSvHHQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/03069683-B601-4CB2-BE80-EFA0BB5A42B5.jpeg" width="231" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Madison. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TUsOUQM2q7Y/YTGI2103kDI/AAAAAAAAGEI/ib1BBSouVI4j1uX-s-lk8LFXdy_nwQWSgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/A5E2A64B-85E7-4C2A-AAF5-743B7FC3E945.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1393" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-TUsOUQM2q7Y/YTGI2103kDI/AAAAAAAAGEI/ib1BBSouVI4j1uX-s-lk8LFXdy_nwQWSgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/A5E2A64B-85E7-4C2A-AAF5-743B7FC3E945.jpeg" width="218" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Madison 1983. My 23rd birthday. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AynMemvt0OY/YTGI2QrbaXI/AAAAAAAAGEE/bhjRXO3HWPYyEtJ3RvvYNIMXtSl2V2x7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/A57F97E5-DDBC-48B7-B79A-FFB978E865E3.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-AynMemvt0OY/YTGI2QrbaXI/AAAAAAAAGEE/bhjRXO3HWPYyEtJ3RvvYNIMXtSl2V2x7gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/A57F97E5-DDBC-48B7-B79A-FFB978E865E3.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Near Maropea Forks. One of my favourites. Just a very cool and memorable day. </div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GwXD5IFMHYY/YTGI3JjTx-I/AAAAAAAAGEQ/bcDbSz2zr8gFYZ8If0dOlmZ3BiqZLUouwCLcBGAsYHQ/s697/AB70F496-6F61-4E7B-9C0B-EBA99489A78F.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="697" data-original-width="235" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GwXD5IFMHYY/YTGI3JjTx-I/AAAAAAAAGEQ/bcDbSz2zr8gFYZ8If0dOlmZ3BiqZLUouwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/AB70F496-6F61-4E7B-9C0B-EBA99489A78F.jpeg" width="108" /></a></div><div>Sunset and Jeff. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zADAPH2V3wc/YTGI4bZrnHI/AAAAAAAAGEU/R91gjNCsanYDdMssVMVjmr4Ctem6LafUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/AC0EEB39-C889-41AE-943A-CD194F08A742.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1152" data-original-width="2048" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-zADAPH2V3wc/YTGI4bZrnHI/AAAAAAAAGEU/R91gjNCsanYDdMssVMVjmr4Ctem6LafUwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/AC0EEB39-C889-41AE-943A-CD194F08A742.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Devil’s Lake 2018. So at home and comfortable outside. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7NcasRKzpGc/YTGI4pMISHI/AAAAAAAAGEc/n1zjLzohvgAkUYXB2ZK0BpFfcT15y6ROwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/B10EAA62-9A3C-4E9E-AE02-AA77510FD808.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1718" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-7NcasRKzpGc/YTGI4pMISHI/AAAAAAAAGEc/n1zjLzohvgAkUYXB2ZK0BpFfcT15y6ROwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/B10EAA62-9A3C-4E9E-AE02-AA77510FD808.jpeg" width="268" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Boundary Waters. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_HAr3wWI-mQ/YTGI5RNqWAI/AAAAAAAAGEg/LN0sbXsy__Y1a19X5IEyfzdHVJcG6pVcgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/C6AF59D6-0971-473E-BB00-F553B273A374.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1323" data-original-width="2048" height="207" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_HAr3wWI-mQ/YTGI5RNqWAI/AAAAAAAAGEg/LN0sbXsy__Y1a19X5IEyfzdHVJcG6pVcgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/C6AF59D6-0971-473E-BB00-F553B273A374.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>San Francisco 1987. Thanksgiving. Another very interesting evening. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GtxIUOqBRtc/YTGI4iEfBOI/AAAAAAAAGEY/qIZHGrSoiw8ek6eL6v0OccENcTdFJdmvACLcBGAsYHQ/s810/C603AFF1-3008-494F-A550-052C9C952580.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="456" data-original-width="810" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-GtxIUOqBRtc/YTGI4iEfBOI/AAAAAAAAGEY/qIZHGrSoiw8ek6eL6v0OccENcTdFJdmvACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/C603AFF1-3008-494F-A550-052C9C952580.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>La Fete de Marquette Music Festival. A hot summer evening in Madison. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I45t1Yi26Hs/YTGI6vOn2HI/AAAAAAAAGEw/JWXyo9VWjSk1keKa_dm2XJFz2I4p-jppgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/D8FF1763-3205-4DB5-AE6C-0EF86E127A00.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="576" data-original-width="1024" height="180" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-I45t1Yi26Hs/YTGI6vOn2HI/AAAAAAAAGEw/JWXyo9VWjSk1keKa_dm2XJFz2I4p-jppgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/D8FF1763-3205-4DB5-AE6C-0EF86E127A00.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Post party same evening. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DCPrs8yJO40/YTGI6LXhPQI/AAAAAAAAGEo/pVydQHVSlmwyYrS-52gkN_Ki5xHcYmtQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/D29C4C81-FA10-4EBD-9AC8-B4A25EF2BF1D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1647" data-original-width="2048" height="257" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DCPrs8yJO40/YTGI6LXhPQI/AAAAAAAAGEo/pVydQHVSlmwyYrS-52gkN_Ki5xHcYmtQwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/D29C4C81-FA10-4EBD-9AC8-B4A25EF2BF1D.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>Sunset San Francisco 1987. Love this moment. </div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eKGVhMeCnU8/YTGI5nRaezI/AAAAAAAAGEk/EPlnJX3qI_k4kupXk3jrMu4iPl4sqecfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s943/D217C361-FBE6-405A-AFC8-43E451ADE224.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="943" data-original-width="856" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eKGVhMeCnU8/YTGI5nRaezI/AAAAAAAAGEk/EPlnJX3qI_k4kupXk3jrMu4iPl4sqecfgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/D217C361-FBE6-405A-AFC8-43E451ADE224.jpeg" width="290" /></a></div><div>John Muir Redwood forest. Jeff took us way off the beaten tracks. What a day! </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pKJyAeda6pM/YTGI6Wxye7I/AAAAAAAAGEs/QVi5JCu4ZgkJ3w86rPmfVBxS2OExsCrGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s400/D334D8F7-CB42-4C26-B19E-ED0883569ECF.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-pKJyAeda6pM/YTGI6Wxye7I/AAAAAAAAGEs/QVi5JCu4ZgkJ3w86rPmfVBxS2OExsCrGgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/D334D8F7-CB42-4C26-B19E-ED0883569ECF.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div>Comrades! </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jueNtzf7hns/YTGI6z7ckDI/AAAAAAAAGE0/tP_E1HbfTLAeeYRtCfSLBHrq2QHVu9dAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/DEB94FAC-367B-4BF0-9F8C-B2528786B187.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1391" data-original-width="2048" height="217" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-jueNtzf7hns/YTGI6z7ckDI/AAAAAAAAGE0/tP_E1HbfTLAeeYRtCfSLBHrq2QHVu9dAwCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/DEB94FAC-367B-4BF0-9F8C-B2528786B187.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>La Fete de Marquette</div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OGPDGfIczeU/YTGI7C4j5zI/AAAAAAAAGE4/oQ-_Se62ghgfQxaGOlOys2q6d3MFg2J-gCLcBGAsYHQ/s729/E4BF7C28-42CF-483C-845D-BD46C0EC7A60.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="729" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-OGPDGfIczeU/YTGI7C4j5zI/AAAAAAAAGE4/oQ-_Se62ghgfQxaGOlOys2q6d3MFg2J-gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/E4BF7C28-42CF-483C-845D-BD46C0EC7A60.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><div><br /></div><div>The Mapster! </div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_LscV7rVx6U/YTGI8XrS4EI/AAAAAAAAGFE/oxNC8zIyFCgX47cax0IL__9Ti8OTbfEEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/ECB34D9F-D245-45FC-8E50-C81798C975D7.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2048" data-original-width="1893" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-_LscV7rVx6U/YTGI8XrS4EI/AAAAAAAAGFE/oxNC8zIyFCgX47cax0IL__9Ti8OTbfEEQCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/ECB34D9F-D245-45FC-8E50-C81798C975D7.jpeg" width="296" /></a></div><div>Madison 1987 summer. </div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><span style="text-align: left;"><br /></span></div><p></p>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-63615119772618533212021-09-02T08:25:00.000+12:002021-09-02T08:25:02.004+12:00Jeff 4<p></p><p></p><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UAG31xFzZzg/YS_hSh4eUjI/AAAAAAAAGA4/rIwEN2geUkAnNzJA00vfhK5h4P5O3TL6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/B9F95C06-5ACC-4D3D-B92E-8B4792A724DD.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1647" data-original-width="2048" height="257" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-UAG31xFzZzg/YS_hSh4eUjI/AAAAAAAAGA4/rIwEN2geUkAnNzJA00vfhK5h4P5O3TL6gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/B9F95C06-5ACC-4D3D-B92E-8B4792A724DD.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /><div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">"You should have been told, that within you was the gold</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">mountain and river extracted no fee</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">mountain to river</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">river to sea" - Denis Glover </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">An epitaph. The words from this poem of Denis Glover resonate. It is ourselves, it is the land, and it is the people. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">5 January 2009</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Our final evening on this summer trip. A different experience than in the past but I would not change a moment. As I wrote on an earlier post, accepting the Gifts we are given in Nature is far better than being upset over plans that might have been.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">The sky is now completely still and barely a whiff of a breeze ripples the forest here at Top Maropea. In the distance the peaks begin to reflect the play of light from the setting sun moving beyond us. The 27th time I will have watched this canvass being painted. Each one unique in its own way.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">I walked up from Maropea Forks on my own just being absorbed in the beauty all around me. The river and forest like old friends,the high peaks above calling me home, which suited this trip quite well really. To my surprise I found myself at the head of the side creek which climbs to Top Maropea after what seemed like no time at all. I climbed up to the track and waited for Jeff and John in the beech forest.They came along within a short time and I waited for them as they did the grueling vertical climb up that nasty 200 metre "track". So my final evening here in the Ruahines on this summer trip with Jeff. I know John and I will return here at some stage, but these could be my final moments in a place I love with an old friend I love. I am trying to absorb it all.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">We have what will surely be a lovely and rare beautiful and calm walk back over Armstrong saddle in the morning, yet the final evening is always melancholic for me, and now those reasons are twofold. Leaving these ranges, another trip completed, and also saying goodbye soon to my treasured friend, friends.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">I console myself in that we have created moments to relish, that windy crossing of the saddle, a day on the river, renewing friendships and creating new ones, climbing in the forest, cups of tea, watching Jeff hook that beautiful rainbow and give Thanks to the Ruahines. Time grows short but we will enjoy this evening and tomorrow will unfold on her own terms.</span></p></div>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-10505915377730959682021-09-01T16:55:00.000+12:002021-09-01T16:55:01.486+12:00Jeff 3<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1mbWPexkbo/YS8HPBeDDPI/AAAAAAAAGAk/jVdeSgifNoYmjAtYePLJBvbjK6cNGCj0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/46FDBDFB-9C7C-449A-91AA-1D210AA6326A.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1407" data-original-width="2048" height="220" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A1mbWPexkbo/YS8HPBeDDPI/AAAAAAAAGAk/jVdeSgifNoYmjAtYePLJBvbjK6cNGCj0ACLcBGAsYHQ/s320/46FDBDFB-9C7C-449A-91AA-1D210AA6326A.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> Saturday Reflections:<p></p><p>Long may you run.</p><p>Although these changes</p><p>Have come</p><p>With your chrome heart shining</p><p>In the sun</p><p>Long may you run. </p><p>– Neil Young</p><p>Photo: Jeff Kjos’s 1973 Ford LTD. Thanksgiving 1987 in San Francisco. It had done some serious miles across America. He had driven it down from Portland to join a group of old friends gathered in the Marina District for a celebration. It was the last time I saw Jeff’s old car. We had some serious adventures in it. The method of transport to countless hikes, canoe trips, fishing excursions, Packer games, and a few Grateful Dead concerts, amongst others. She wasn’t much to look at, but she was a real beauty anyway. In my mind Jeff drove it into the Pacific Ocean the next day to be reclaimed. The truth is I think he managed to nurse it back to Portland where it had a much less dignified ending. In my mind I prefer the former myth.</p><p>In the summer of 1984, I was living in Madison Wisconsin in a lovely old 4-bedroom brownstone flat overlooking Lake Monona. I had the place to myself. Just a few blocks removed from the campus of the University of Wisconsin. I was in summer school taking a final semester of 3rd year French which were the final credits I needed to graduate. It was all extremely idyllic. My last taste of such youthful freedom. </p><p>I had a part-time job working in a dairy factory for a few shifts per week, and though I didn’t have a lot of money it didn’t really seem to matter much. If I had a few bucks to put gas in my old Ford Pinto, buy a few beers and other essentials I considered myself to be a rich man.</p><p>My phone rang one evening, my old landline phone, as no internet or mobiles existed at that time. It was Jeff ringing me from Milwaukee. He had recently returned from a stint living in Homer, Alaska and was planning to move to Madison in the fall and enrol at the University. </p><p>Somehow Jeff had lined up a job with some guy who had bought a huge quantity of steel pipes that had rusted in the hold of a ship while at sea then made its way to the Port of Milwaukee. This guy bought the rusted pipes and they needed to be sand blasted, cleaned, painted, and bundled into strapped lots of pipe by size. Jeff was the foreman, worker, forklift driver, blaster, painter, bundler, and stacker – all in one. He needed a toiler and so he rang me. It didn’t sound all that tempting, but being that it was Jeff, I soon loaded up my Pinto, put some tunes in the cassette player and the 80 miles of freeway between Madison and Milwaukee flew by.</p><p>Jeff had an upper flat with another friend of ours on the East side of Milwaukee. The next morning Jeff and I piled into his old battered Ford LTD, got a few large to go coffees each, and headed into the mire of the industrial southwest part of the city to finally arrive at a large industrial yard where the pipes, equipment, forklifts and racks had been set up. It was a hot summer and because we were sand blasting, priming, and spray painting we had to wear long sleeved shirts and pants. And if it was your turn on the spray painter a breathing mask was needed as well. It was hot, sweaty, and dirty work. The plum job was driving the forklift and I must admit that despite Jeff being the Big Chief we split the duties equitably. It didn’t take long for us to find our feet and we soon got into a rhythm and the finished painted bundles of pipe began to grow steadily. We worked hard until quitting time.</p><p>This industrial area had lots of tiny corner bars and each one with its own clientele from the nearby factories. We chose a random one each day. Jeff and I had had long hair, and no doubt our musical tastes, political leanings, and most else differed from these guys. Yet walking in dirty and hot as they were and ordering ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon we were readily accepted and soon discussing the Packers and Brewers like good ol’ Wisconsin boys. </p><p>Then we would return to the East side to the flat and go for a run, or more likely take Jeff’s battered basketball down to the park to shoot hoops, which would invariably lead to many games of hustle. Oh, the wonders of our youth! Then back to flat to indulge in more ice-cold Pabst, Jeff’s record collection, and brats or burgers on the grill. A few other things as well.</p><p>Lather, rinse, repeat for a week or two until we finished the job. </p><p>Summerfest was happening during this period of the Milwaukee summer, but we were usually to0 tired and satiated with ice cold Pabst, and other things, and with an early start the next morning, were never too bothered with it. However, one night we did go. Where on one of the stages was playing John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers. Jeff was a pretty good harmonica player himself and so was a big admirer of John Mayall. I lost track of him during the show until I finally spotted him. On the side of the stage with his own harp out blowing along with the maestro himself. How he got I up there I still do not know to this day. </p><p>I don’t recall how much money I made after the expenses of food, gas, lots of Pabst Blue Ribbon and other things, tickets to Summerfest, 2 large to go coffees each morning, and who knows what else. And as I drove my Pinto back to Madison it didn’t matter at all. I was still a very rich man. I had just picked up and left for Milwaukee on a whim and stayed in the company of an amazing friend for as long as he needed me. Moments of true freedom, vigour, and good health. Some how I think I appreciated that even then.</p><p>Funny the memories and thoughts a photo of an old car can evoke and bring back to life moments long gone in such vivid detail and remembrance. To Jeff’s Ford LTD!</p><p>Long May You Run!</p>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-90008313468621671762021-09-01T07:48:00.004+12:002021-09-01T07:50:27.379+12:00Notes on Jeff: 2<p></p><h1 style="text-align: left;"><br /></h1><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-soCZI2tHf-s/YS6HR-FXcGI/AAAAAAAAGAc/BXgMTt6o21oEi9t5O89WofsjfQhI8B72gCLcBGAsYHQ/s1024/894DD178-7B6D-466A-85B4-4580DFE9FE77.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="697" data-original-width="1024" height="218" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-soCZI2tHf-s/YS6HR-FXcGI/AAAAAAAAGAc/BXgMTt6o21oEi9t5O89WofsjfQhI8B72gCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/894DD178-7B6D-466A-85B4-4580DFE9FE77.jpeg" width="320" /></a></div><br /> <p></p><p><br /></p><p>Jeff Kjos.....1961 - 2021</p><p><br /></p><p>May your paddle find sweet calm waters</p><p>to guide your eternal canoe</p><p>With enough stretches of fast water and rapids</p><p>along the flow to keep the journey interesting</p><p>May the steep hills you pass by be covered in powdery white snow</p><p>with dogleg bends to test your ski’s and mettle</p><p>your joyous shouts of delight echoing through the slumbering trees</p><p>May the lakes and rivers be clear and teeming with hungry fish</p><p>and the trusty Mepp’s spinner find home with each cast</p><p>May the memories of your smile comfort and bring peace</p><p>to all the loved ones whom adored you</p><p>and when we walk in the woods may we feel your presence</p><p>May your campfire be bright and warm each night</p><p>The coffee strong and the beer cold</p><p>A welcome place for us beside it</p><p>Your spirit a beacon that awaits...</p><p><br /></p><p>I love you my brother!</p>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-59122132780777582052021-08-31T18:11:00.003+12:002021-08-31T19:06:24.564+12:00<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3UJ9Ey-_bRo/YS27NFNhwxI/AAAAAAAAGAM/VFg15BKIQhUl3XXpkT1QFEyjEUODAoSEgCLcBGAsYHQ/s1361/F1731DDC-5CA4-4146-8719-FC7E60E28057.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1361" data-original-width="943" height="320" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-3UJ9Ey-_bRo/YS27NFNhwxI/AAAAAAAAGAM/VFg15BKIQhUl3XXpkT1QFEyjEUODAoSEgCLcBGAsYHQ/s320/F1731DDC-5CA4-4146-8719-FC7E60E28057.jpeg" width="222" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 28px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px 0px 3px;"><span class="s1" style="font-weight: bold;">Notes on Jeff: 1.</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Moments I recall amongst so many: </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Jeff was a friend I met in my youth and grew with to the brink of old age. We went from the complete and utter freedom of youthful vigour through to the accruement of love, children, jobs, property and responsibilities we could never have imagined at Ripon College in 1980. Though our actual contact was rare after I moved to New Zealand in 1993 the times we did see each other in 1995, in 2006, 2012, 2018 and 2019, and of course 2009 when Jeff and Sara were in New Zealand, were always a perfect blend of recognizing our old memories and history but being able to remain in the present and talk about our lives as they had unfolded. The talks we had around so many campfires or wood stoves in remote mountain huts stay vibrant within me. And particularly the last ones in 2019 Door County with Rick Parduhn and Mike Gatenbein. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">True, honest and vulnerable moments. Memories from 1980 to 2021 that will burn brightly in me till I join Jeff around that final campfire. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I was fortunate to have such a friend as Jeff. One of the rare few we can meet after our formative years and high school with whom we connect and nurture that bond through the years. I shared moments with Jeff on the basketball court, in canoes, walking in wilderness, concerts, Packer games, Brewer games, and a few wild parties, (my 21st, and Jeff’s flat on Oakland Avenue in Milwaukee, a few Miflin Streets, San Francisco, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and a few other places). I also worked with Jeff a few different times. His approach to that, his work ethic, also remains with me to this day. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">To those who knew Jeff well he could be slightly stubborn at times. When he would start rubbing the whiskers on his chin and begin to frown a bit the jig was up. Be it a route ahead by river, lake or wood, politics, the Packers, Badgers, windmills, being cold in Wisconsin vs. New Zealand, it didn’t matter. Once he put his stake in the ground that was it. I always understood that about my friend. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">And it may seem that Jeff at times never let anyone’s inexperience or hesitancy in a canoe, kayak, cross country skis, or off track route get in the way of a Jeff Kjos plan. I have been thinking a bit about this. As many times I was on the recipient end of those plans. So I stood on a few steep hills in the winter snows of the Baraboo range, not having skied in years, or being a giving a sit on kayak with a rapidy river ahead, or Jeff deciding there is an interesting looking rock formation well off the track he wanted to take a look at. Yet I survived them all. And learned in each case to stretch my comfort zone. I carry that lesson with me always. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Yet peeling all that back these last few days I also realize that Jeff most likely just assumed because these things were so easy for him that they shouldn’t necessarily be difficult for anyone else. He was so gifted athletically, so agile, nimble, and coordinated that he could simply do so many things physically that us mere mortals cannot. He had panache in nature. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">The call I got from him when Luca was born and informed how fragile and tiny she was and the battle they faced ahead. Yet the love for his daughter and partner, the love he exuded even over the phone was palpable. Phone rates very different those days but we talked for a long time. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">Or that final evening we spent around that Door County campfire in 2019. All old friends, all who had visited me in New Zealand, and shared so many other special moments with each other, yet also had our own paths, our own lives. And the laughs we shared that cold night were in equal proportion to the tears that flowed for our painful times. And the comfort in the laughter, tears, or just the many moments of quiet with the fire popping from the late fall wind stirring the cherry red coals, and the snow falling with no need for words. The company was enough. </span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2"><br /></span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2">I am going to share my photos, words and thoughts of Jeff here in a more quiet place than Facebook. I hope those that love him find them as well. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s2"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">E hara take toa</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">i te toa takitahi</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">he toa takitini</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">My strength is not </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">as an individual </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">but as a collective</span></p><p></p>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-8419805774481353422021-08-30T14:37:00.000+12:002021-08-30T14:37:56.146+12:00Reflections <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FbAj5j1x4x0/YSvl9hZJP_I/AAAAAAAAF_0/49pNwFKuzFAfJekZ7Pu06_qx5aMAm18NQCPcBGAsYHg/s4128/20201218_092537.jpg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1956" data-original-width="4128" height="224" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-FbAj5j1x4x0/YSvl9hZJP_I/AAAAAAAAF_0/49pNwFKuzFAfJekZ7Pu06_qx5aMAm18NQCPcBGAsYHg/w576-h224/20201218_092537.jpg" width="576" /></a></div><br /><p><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">“Worry is a way to pretend that you have knowledge or control over what you don't--and it surprises me, even in myself, how much we prefer ugly scenarios to the pure unknown.” </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s2" style="font-family: "Helvetica Neue"; font-weight: bold;">―</span><span class="s1"> Rebecca Solnit, <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/2756721">A Field Guide to Getting Lost</a></span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Lockdown Day 11: </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">In the midst of lockdown boredom today I went and “inventoried” our wood supply. We are only 3 weeks or so away from Spring. It occurred to me last evening that we haven’t even needed to light the fire to warm the whare in over a week. Except to dry some clothes. At one stage in the past month we were putting the fire on every night. I tend to get a bit worried and a hoarding tendency with regards to our wood supply and was thinking we might need to get to some in, however I realized today that we actually have plenty. I divide our wood up by age, dryness and type. And was pleased to find all the stuff I collected this past year from our own trees, and hauled over from a neighbor who cut down a few big trees in his yard and graciously offered some to me if I hauled it away hasn’t even been touched. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">We put new insulation underfloor and in the roof a couple years back and it seems to have really settled in this year as it seems we only need to get the fire going, turn it down, and then feed a piece in every now and again. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">All exceedingly boring stuff <span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span>I acknowledge but it’s lockdown. I’m itching to get out and I’m tired of walking on cement and foot paths. I dream of the Ruahine , or even the Te Arapiki Steps. Both off limits. Looking forward to focusing soon on training up for a Ruahine ramble. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">My boys have created a gym outside in the garage complete with a home made bench press and boxing bag routine. They go at it hard. Tara is doing it too. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">And I’m cracking another Mac’s Golden Lager. One arm curls. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">17 December 2020</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Triangle hut porch</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">5:45 pm</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">The final evening of our Ruahine wander has arrived. An evening that always seems to arrive in the blink of an eye and wishing we had planned another day or two. I just breathe deep and let the gifts we have been given sit upon my soul. Adding to the memories and lustre of the rich history I have accrued here. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">For the first time in nearly six days I look up at the tops of the Whanahuia and see grey cloud gathering. And it smells slightly of rain. A possible interesting dimension to be added to our trip out. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">As we are walking out all the way to the car tomorrow I will again leave quite early in the morning. I feel quite good with the rest day and I should be much more match fit with a much lighter pack. And I know the route very well and have done it in both fine and deplorable weather. The last time I climbed up there a few years ago on my own it was deplorable weather. I recall hunkering in the tussock out of the gales and thinking of both John and Pete. I was a bit out of sorts to be true. But thoughts of prior experiences and good mates over ruled my building anxiety and worries. I carried on. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">Pete and I had a fine session down by the river. The last of our whiskey proved to be a generous few wee drams and the glow it provided enhanced by the song of the river, the place, and especially the company. We toasted our absent mate John Nash and told a few stories of his company. I met Pete 20 years ago at Iron Gate hut which is the next hut down the Oroua river on a trip I did with my brother in law Steve from Wisconsin. From that meeting has come a valued friendship and more so one meaningful to my relationship with these mountains as Pete, John and I have done a number of Ruahine trips over the last 15 years or so. Pete has a doctorate in Entomology and is also an amazing botanist, photographer, writer and observer and teacher. I have been fortunate to forge relationships with people like Pete and John Nash. Not bad for a transplanted Yank. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">On the other hand part of me is also looking forward to pulling into the driveway of my whare and seeing Tara. And my sons. Tara would accuse me of being nostalgic writing that, and possibly I am. Maybe it is the whiskey but I think I am also getting better at dealing with the anxiety our, at times, chaotic household can produce. And spending a week out here does a lot to balance my Te Whare Tapa Wha...Hinengaro, Tinana, Wairua, and Whanau, Mental well being, physical well being, spiritual well being, and family well being. I am ready to pick up the burdens I always leave at the Ruahine boundary. Lighter and fitter. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.3px;"><span class="s1"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px;"><span class="s1">It is now quietly drizzling. The first rain we have seen. The sun has passed and the air gathers a chill. Dinner and a small ceremonial fire await. Kia Ora Ruahine!</span></p><p><br /></p>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-28423533411087114312020-11-01T06:26:00.000+13:002020-11-01T06:26:12.908+13:00 Sixty in the Ruahine and other Thoughts<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mzs38Wzd8cw/X5o8GZIrctI/AAAAAAAAFKA/sQApCKrmfuAfZ7QAdTO6vvliVRIgaOtswCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/E6A4D49C-C824-4633-B7B4-C7C42A6D887D.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mzs38Wzd8cw/X5o8GZIrctI/AAAAAAAAFKA/sQApCKrmfuAfZ7QAdTO6vvliVRIgaOtswCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/E6A4D49C-C824-4633-B7B4-C7C42A6D887D.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>It has been a long time since I have
written words and shared moments here in his place. Almost two years. Though I
have posted of my Ruahine travels on the sound byte-oriented Facebook. A place
where anything over a few paragraphs seems long winded and even as I write
words there can envision the rapid scroll through and ubiquitous and highly
unsatisfactory “Likes”.</div><div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">It feels calming to be here in a way I
would not have imagined. Like having a cup of tea, or a beer with an old friend
whose company I really missed. The unhurried moments that I do so often feel in
the mountains, as if somehow even as they pass by us that moment remains and we
are connected to it. This place too brings such feelings. A place to write
slowly, reflect on the words or bring the moment I am trying to wake up those
sleeping moments within me and talk to them again. That feels freeing to me
somehow.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Social media has had its place. It
enabled me, in particular, to remain in contact and share with my now 93 year
old mother, and to re-establish contact with a few people in which our worlds
through the years have grown and expanded in ways we can still connect through
and find a balance between remembering the past, but celebrating the present.
There is another side to that equation, however, which can be far less
satisfying. It is a lesson I have been thumped hard with. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So here I am with an old friend. If you
have found this place then Haere Mai - Welcome. If you have visited here before
then Nau Mai, Hoki Mai – Welcome Back! And if no one finds it and no one reads
and looks, well that’s fine too. It’s just good to be back in a place I love.<o:p></o:p></p></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fHjiaqscWas/X5ori0RYdiI/AAAAAAAAFHs/ieHmaBDfvTcryD_0CocVfepprRajWd6xwCLcBGAsYHQ/s912/49E9816E-B9FA-4449-987E-5094D8F88F09.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="684" data-original-width="912" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fHjiaqscWas/X5ori0RYdiI/AAAAAAAAFHs/ieHmaBDfvTcryD_0CocVfepprRajWd6xwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/49E9816E-B9FA-4449-987E-5094D8F88F09.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Ruahine Winter Day with promise!<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MLm66xp3GZM/X5orljrXJII/AAAAAAAAFIA/15OAUBQGSWUCmpXoU6IvIp9XibRYtsTWQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/5FE3FFAA-8A29-4C82-84B0-1D073C799333.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-MLm66xp3GZM/X5orljrXJII/AAAAAAAAFIA/15OAUBQGSWUCmpXoU6IvIp9XibRYtsTWQCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/5FE3FFAA-8A29-4C82-84B0-1D073C799333.jpeg" width="400" /></a></div><p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><br /></span></span></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><br /></p><p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">28
July 2020</span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Top
Maropea </span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">Evening</span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p3" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">The
steam rolls off my breath and I wear pretty much every bit of gear I have in
the frozen confines of Top Maropea hut. Yet writing these words in my notebook
fills me with unbridled joy and warmth in spite of the cold. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p3" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">It
has been exactly one year since my feet have been placed in the Ruahine. A new
left hip and observing my 60th birthday in a few days time. It feels good to
have set a goal and met it. And another tomorrow in getting down to Maropea
Forks lies ahead. Tonite I will just stay in the glow of arriving here. I won’t
write I walked any faster than when with my painful worn out hip, but what I
can state is not feeling sore and exhausted now when done walking. So in a way
more balance is restored and my experiences here can be measured both in the
journey and the destination once again. Which makes for a far more enjoyable
day. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p3" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">It
was a wind free crossing of the saddle today and with the snow covered peaks
all around both John and I walked with carefree smiles. Though the snow was
hard and icy so we had to take care. Especially on the final gruelling steep
descent through the forest to here. We were both glad to shed our heavy packs
and get into warm dry gear. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p3" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">As
I was putting my gear on my mattress I noticed what looked like a furry pillow
poking up under it. I reached over and felt very soft fur and realized it was
actually a possum! I wasn’t sure if it was alive or dead and even after pulling
the mattress away he lied curled up unmoving. I prodded him with a gentle nudge
of the broomstick and nothing. Then I gave him a real poke and he jumped up,
big and fat with his little claws in the air! He must have been really out to
it, or had little intention of giving up his bunk to me. He bolted out the door
and we saw his chubby furry rump heading up into the forest. It must be cold if
the possums are looking for a warmer place to nap. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p3" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">John
and I are debating as to going to the trouble and effort to even start a fire.
There isn’t much wood and it is getting dark now. A wee dram helps and I am
about to prepare fillet steak with mushrooms and gnocchi. We might have dinner
then crawl into our down bags and get a good nights rest. We have a long day
ahead in the cold river tomorrow. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p3" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">And
though it’s cold I don’t feel cold. I can’t stop smiling. David and James have
both been through as evidenced by their entries in the hut book. So a gathering
awaits as do 4 more days here in a place I had doubts about ever returning to
again. So this icy hut feels like home. An old friend. </span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="p3" style="margin: 0in;"><span style="font-size: 13pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="p2" style="margin: 0in;"><span class="s2"><span style="font-size: 13pt;">When
I walked out of here last year and got to my car I knew I was done in here
until I fixed the problem. Hard to fathom what a completely different world
that was. In so many ways.</span></span><span style="font-size: 13pt;"><o:p></o:p></span></p><br /><br /><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BD3h49qHDSY/X5orlDZYpuI/AAAAAAAAFH8/1sWmRJuV4vo0X2rrPUgJD2syWMpzYMXiwCLcBGAsYHQ/s1355/5942B3BE-30EA-449D-91B3-4C8A7840D612.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1355" data-original-width="640" height="640" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-BD3h49qHDSY/X5orlDZYpuI/AAAAAAAAFH8/1sWmRJuV4vo0X2rrPUgJD2syWMpzYMXiwCLcBGAsYHQ/w302-h640/5942B3BE-30EA-449D-91B3-4C8A7840D612.jpeg" width="302" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A fine winters day of the Maropea, Not far from Puketaramea and Maropea Forks.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><br /></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FplNwhoZ9mo/X5pFW2c1QkI/AAAAAAAAFKM/HzpvDiTcgogiipLnLAGL9XhqBgvMCMZfACLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-FplNwhoZ9mo/X5pFW2c1QkI/AAAAAAAAFKM/HzpvDiTcgogiipLnLAGL9XhqBgvMCMZfACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/image.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robb seated. David Dodge, John Nash, James Jordan.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;">I have spent many birthday’s in the Ruahine over the last 28 years. Significantly my fortieth, fiftieth, and now sixtieth have been marked in the depths of its beauty. Along with many other less marked years. Some with friends, and many with the solitude of only my own company.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;">When I turned 50 I had only months before had my right hip replaced and climbed on my own into the wintry Hikurangi range, and then at 60, this year, shortly after my left hip was replaced I climbed up into the winter mist and beyond with my tramping mate of over 25 years, John, and onto Maropea Forks.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Out of all the above-mentioned days the one that offered the most eclectic celebration, and certainly the most party like was this past year. When I turned the final bend on the western fork of the Maropea river I saw on the hut porch John talking to a couple of guys there with him. Now normally the sight of other people already at the hut makes the heart drop and spirit sag, at least for bit. Over the years I have found that on the rare occasions when I do share a back-country hut with other people they are almost invariably like-minded people, and also probably feel that exact same heart drop as I do. Indeed in a few cases I have developed excellent friendships and bond through mutual interest and love of these mountains with people I have met and shared huts with.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;">And on this occasion the sight of the people on the porch brought a smile to my face and a final burst of energy in my tired legs and body after dragging my heavy pack there for the last 6 hours or so. For these people I knew and expected to see and was glad to see all had arrived safe and sound.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Quite a few years back I came across a book somewhere, somehow, called “At Home in the Hills” by a man named James Jordan. I recall opening it and seeing pictures of the Ruahine and immediately bought it. James grew up in the shadow of the Ruahine and it wasn’t long before he was in them, and their sister range the Tararua, and quickly became an experienced and accomplished deer hunter and eventually making his living as a deer culler in them. Living for weeks at a time in tent camps and then huts thinning out the massive deer herds, then making money by carrying out the venison when that market exploded by exporting the meat to Germany. But aside from that was the overwhelming love and connection James felt to the hills, streams and rivers of the mountains and expressed in his writing. I felt a bond to his words and to James as a kindred spirit. I can’t quite recall how it was we connected but at one stage we began exchanging correspondence which eventually led to smiling at the sight of him sitting on the porch there at Maropea Forks in that moment. A man, in his early 70’s now, had tramped deep into the Ruahine to meet and celebrate my birthday. It seemed a bit like a destined moment in a way.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;">The other man talking to John I had met in the Ruahine nearly 20 years ago when he was just a teenager. David was in the valley fly fishing when I came through on a tramp. We shared a few huts over the next several days and he was excellent company. Ten years later I was walking down the Maropea river on a hot summer day when I saw a couple guys come staggering towards me under the strain of obviously heavy loads and a stag perched on top of one their packs. As I approached them one stopped and shouted “I know you! You’re Ruahine Robb! I read your blog! We met in here years ago”. His name was David Dodge and we stood in the river recalling our time in the Ruahine when I noticed they were tired and sweating. We hoofed it back up to Top Maropea where I was staying, and we caught up some more along with several cups of tea from the billy. Being as it was summer and very hot the two lads had to get their massive loads of venison out to the road end where they were being picked up. So off they staggered. David and I have stayed in touch since then. He and the guy he was with, Tyson, both helped carry the benches we had made at Community Work to replace the ones at Top Maropea which had been burnt. David stops by my house occasionally for a cup of tea and to drop off some very welcome venison through the years and we would leave greetings for one another in the hut books. So to see him as well here at a place we both love and have spent a lot of time at was also widened the smile on my weary face.</span></p><p class="p3" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-align: start; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s2" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IgAN5YTGoTM/X5od3045zcI/AAAAAAAAFF4/Ci-zm89w9iAWu3s75pElCPeo0giXCDGDgCLcBGAsYHQ/s912/240C3AC2-57C9-41D9-BF50-F20B0EE004E4.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="912" data-original-width="684" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-IgAN5YTGoTM/X5od3045zcI/AAAAAAAAFF4/Ci-zm89w9iAWu3s75pElCPeo0giXCDGDgCLcBGAsYHQ/w300-h400/240C3AC2-57C9-41D9-BF50-F20B0EE004E4.jpeg" width="300" /></a></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><p class="MsoNormal">30 July…early morning<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">On the porch at Maropea Forks<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Dressed warmly in the early morning chill and enjoying
another strong coffee. The river runs by with its endless song. I am 60 years
old!<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">David has already packed up and headed back up the river
towards Top Maropea, Armstrong saddle and Sunrise. And James is packing up and
heading up the steep spur and Puketaramea before heading northwest and to Iron
Bark for the night.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I revel in the glow of a fine afternoon yesterday, and an even
better evening, spent in the company of such fine gentlemen here at an amazing place
deep in the Ruahine to celebrate my birthday. Here I am, a manuhuri, visitor,
to New Zealand, yet feel so at home here in this place and honoured by the
company of these guys who travelled in here by foot to share a bit time with me.
A mark of acceptance and belonging and sending waves of emotions and warmth that
roll through me from the feeling of both the company and the place. Particularly
John, whom I have tramped with in here for over 25 years now and shared
countless trips memories, but also David and James. The common bond being the
Ruahine. And once again the lump rises in my throat. The echoes of so many
friends, and both my sons, whom I have shared this place with, seem to drift lazily
in the air like the melting frost off the toi toi and grass in front of me.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">At dusk yesterday David went off for a hunt upriver and John,
James and I meandered about the hut, flats and river until heading into the hut
when darkness rolled in. We lit the fire and when David came back, we settled
into a fine evening. <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">With over 150 years of Ruahine experience in that small hut
there were a few tales to share and tell. David supplied us with venison steak
and sausage cooked on top of the wood stove and cut up and shared on a common
plate, and out of nowhere appeared a fair bit of very good whiskey and scotch.
There wasn’t much room left in the hut by the end of the evening as besides us
it was full of deer, trout, old cullers and friends, poems and books, steep ridges,
snowed in tops, flooded rivers, and skies so blue they take your breath away.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Sitting here now on the porch of Maropea Forks and watching
a perfectly amazing day unfold I can write that even though an evening ahead of
my actual birthday it would have been the finest birthday I have spent in the
Ruahine, or anywhere else for that matter. That must mark something special.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EHupvkirkG0/X5z_jVoiOCI/AAAAAAAAFLI/N2VGyQ-VOBcfvriPbUr3HMM6YkrLOZN6ACLcBGAsYHQ/s960/02FEDF89-41B0-49B2-AE82-54C60D17A8C0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="720" data-original-width="960" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-EHupvkirkG0/X5z_jVoiOCI/AAAAAAAAFLI/N2VGyQ-VOBcfvriPbUr3HMM6YkrLOZN6ACLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/02FEDF89-41B0-49B2-AE82-54C60D17A8C0.jpeg" width="400" /></a></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">30 July -afternoon<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">Outside Maropea Forks hut </p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal">I am in the warmth of the sun next to the river, absorbing
its energy and soothing rays. The gentle lullaby of the river song had me drift
off to sleep for a bit. I lie upon my bush shirt while John in a more
industrious mood earlier dragged a mattress from the hut to rest upon. Only a
few feet away from me I can hear him snoring softly as he enjoys his own
afternoon nap. I came back from my walk down river towards Otukota to find him
lazing in the sun at the most perfectly chosen spot to enjoy the afternoon. All
too soon the winter sun will pass over this valley. </p><p class="MsoNormal">Scribbling words in my notebook on my 60th birthday in the
Ruahine. As I did in another notebook 20 years ago here on my 40th birthday and
many others since then.</p><p class="MsoNormal">I am not sure what will become of these near 30 notebooks I
have filled in the mountains. Even now they tend to gather dust upon our
bookshelf and probably will till they become dust themselves. Still, for me
they are a treasure, a place where my trips here remain alive. And there are
always evenings in front of the fire I might reach over from my old chair and
grab one to reminisce on words scribbled that perhaps only I can decipher but
soon come to life. </p><p class="MsoNormal">And now today here I jot down thoughts once again in the
Ruahine. Only a few feet from where the old hut was until 5 years ago. The
echoes still dance around me. 20 years ago I had more hair, less weight, and my
two original hips still working in fine order. A few years prior to that I had
run my last marathon up in Rotorua. The guy lying here now looks far different,
has two new titanium hips, has not run for many years, but is still here in the
mountains. And to have walked in here after having my left hip replaced less
than 5 months ago has moved me bringing forth emotions and realisations when I
least expect it. It has made me feel connected to something I don’t quite
understand and am simply content to appreciate. Like I can roll back the last
sixty years of my life like a tape and feel it all at once. And know that I am
exactly where I should be. </p><p class="MsoNormal">In that sense I am changed only as is the rivers song that I
listened to here 20 years ago is different than the tune which plays for me
today. Still the same river but different. Only those whom have spent time here
would have observed those changes. Not so much different than flesh, bone and
blood. Yet my spirit feels whole. Like this place.</p><p class="MsoNormal">And this beautiful river, the sun shining and glistening
upon her, the graceful curve just beyond where I lie leading down river and
eventually to the sea where this sparkling water will be lifted up to fall back
upon the Earth and begin again. When the time comes I am ready to flow with
her.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><br /></o:p></p></div><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KmijGTZe-1s/X5orqNra8EI/AAAAAAAAFIo/FXTY34uGYNEjKvlnpJxYB1-m2Hvtd3oTwCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/F95EF6AC-5795-4FF8-BFB9-2AD1C0D6E9A1.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KmijGTZe-1s/X5orqNra8EI/AAAAAAAAFIo/FXTY34uGYNEjKvlnpJxYB1-m2Hvtd3oTwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/F95EF6AC-5795-4FF8-BFB9-2AD1C0D6E9A1.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maropea Forks hut: Evening 30 July 2020<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div>
<p class="MsoNormal">“If you will stay close to nature, to its simplicity, to the
small things hardly noticeable, those things can unexpectedly become great and
immeasurable.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Rainer Maria Rilke<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>30 July</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Evening<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Maropea Forks hut<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>The hut warms slowly and glows softly with the cherry red
coals in the wood stove, a few candles and our tiny lantern which has been a
very pleasant discovery on this trip. John reads by his head lamp as I scribble
a few words and think about getting tea started. No hurry. Last night we had a
far more lively atmosphere with David and James here. We cooked up venison,
drank a few drams of nice whiskey, and filled the hut with our combined Ruahine
stories, memories, and observations over the last 50 years. I guess that was
the real birthday celebration.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p>Though John and I have just returned from out by the river
enjoying a quiet dram it is far more sedate this evening as we return to
patterns established over the past 25 years in the Ruahine. A transition that
is never difficult. I was here twenty years ago at 40. Still here at 60. I’m
good with that.</p><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><br /><br /><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NKei8Bl1g9k/X5ormX26RII/AAAAAAAAFII/njWlHBboCjgBie25SGcQUwztBoIEiLLZgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/9917BCB8-EDB1-4AA5-BDD4-6BEF6351A203.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-NKei8Bl1g9k/X5ormX26RII/AAAAAAAAFII/njWlHBboCjgBie25SGcQUwztBoIEiLLZgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/9917BCB8-EDB1-4AA5-BDD4-6BEF6351A203.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David leaving in the morning to head back up river<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">30 July 2020</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">In the sun outside the hut</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Maropea Forks...</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"> Sixty</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">When I turned 20</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">the days ahead seemed endless </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">and plenty</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">The hair was long</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">my body fit and strong </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">When I turned 30 </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">I felt I was drifting</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">the sands kept shifting</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">I felt unease</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">nothing was clear</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">I could not have known</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">that changes were near</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">When I turned 40 </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">those changes had come</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">A new country with mountains</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">A new wife</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">A new son </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">The unease was less</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">something new had begun</span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">When I turned 50 </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">I had a new hip</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">The old one was done</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Also in that time</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">I had a new son </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Now I am 60</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">with another new hip</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Pieces of me gone</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">like a rusty old ship</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">The days of my past like </span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">a long winding road</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Hitting the straight away</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">to my final abode</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">All I can do is trust</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">things aren’t ill fated</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">And live in love and peace</span></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">with what I’ve created. </span></p><p class="p2" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; min-height: 20.5px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;"></span><br /></p><p class="p1" style="-webkit-text-size-adjust: auto; font-family: UICTFontTextStyleTallBody; font-size: 17.2px; font-stretch: normal; line-height: normal; margin: 0px; text-size-adjust: auto;"><span class="s1" style="font-size: 17.22px;">Kia ora!</span></p></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qZQoakmnprg/X5z5PYXFDyI/AAAAAAAAFKw/-XdNpMBGpzU8mTIPY9f1gXC4CaEx7_POwCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-qZQoakmnprg/X5z5PYXFDyI/AAAAAAAAFKw/-XdNpMBGpzU8mTIPY9f1gXC4CaEx7_POwCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/image.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Birthday Stroll on the Maropea<br /></td></tr></tbody></table><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M14YxQ4DI6g/X5orpyaxOZI/AAAAAAAAFIk/GGBd19mleHciUH9IQPyw_jUYn2mJgpKJgCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/EDF4D90E-8DA7-47C7-BE0A-EED0FE42C931.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1536" data-original-width="2048" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-M14YxQ4DI6g/X5orpyaxOZI/AAAAAAAAFIk/GGBd19mleHciUH9IQPyw_jUYn2mJgpKJgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/EDF4D90E-8DA7-47C7-BE0A-EED0FE42C931.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning tea</td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><div><br /></div><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gaOowK4VGiE/X5orpt5H86I/AAAAAAAAFIg/S6-QWLmFUBol6Xw-3FuZ2XkkpWycw0MQgCLcBGAsYHQ/s774/F25FEA39-3564-4832-A5E6-7D09C7444590.jpeg" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="367" data-original-width="774" height="190" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-gaOowK4VGiE/X5orpt5H86I/AAAAAAAAFIg/S6-QWLmFUBol6Xw-3FuZ2XkkpWycw0MQgCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h190/F25FEA39-3564-4832-A5E6-7D09C7444590.jpeg" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">River Walking</td></tr></tbody></table><div></div><div><br /></div><div><p class="MsoNormal">Top Maropea<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">31 July Afternoon</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John and I arrived here a while ago after a very pleasurable
meander up the Maropea river. Though climbing out of the side stream was a real
grunt as a new slip has come down. It was a gruellingly steep effort. And when
we arrived and were changing into some dry gear we saw out the hut door a pair
of legs coming down the rough track. It was our friend Pete! What a cool
development. I have shared this small abode with so many special people. Both
my sons, Tara, and a handful of friends who get places like this. We are in for
a fine evening. And far from the first in this lovely little spot as wll. Tihei Mauri Ora!</p></div><div><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ErufyEiJjrQ/X5z6rReR3dI/AAAAAAAAFK8/AXvKJkl3aJQ1LEbFLP6omvLKfL113rJ7QCLcBGAsYHQ/image.png" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img alt="" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="320" height="300" src="https://lh3.googleusercontent.com/-ErufyEiJjrQ/X5z6rReR3dI/AAAAAAAAFK8/AXvKJkl3aJQ1LEbFLP6omvLKfL113rJ7QCLcBGAsYHQ/w400-h300/image.png" width="400" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Robb, John and Pete. Many trips under the belt now.<br /></td></tr></tbody></table></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal">“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">For I would ride with you upon the wind,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">And dance upon the mountains like a flame.” <o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal">― William Butler Yeats</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">1 August</p><p class="MsoNormal">Sunrise hut - mid morning</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I sit in this spacious but rather dull hut alone. The view
is world class but the ambiance of a 24 bunk hut lacks the charm, even dignity,
of the more remote huts that lie beyond here. Two hours beyond here lies the
rather more quaint abode of Top Maropea from which I have come here this
morning. Few that arrive here venture much further. I am glad I am one that
does. And thankful.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">John is making his way over. With him our good friend Pete
who arrived at Top Maropea yesterday shortly after we did. Pete is another page
of richness added to this story of my return to the Ruahine. He and John are
much similar in their pace over the mountain terrain and the thought of those
two very capable friends out there enjoying the place and the company keeps the
smile that has been upon my face for 5 days now firmly set.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">I have been travelling in these hills now for over 25 years.
The men I shared time with these past 5 days in here brings that total to well
over 150 years of Ruahine wandering. A mere fragment of a moment, a mere breath
drawn, in the life and significance to these beautiful mountains.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">This return has been heightened by the echoes of those who
love the Ruahine as much as I. Who were, are, as exhilarated by the sight and
distinct call of the whio on those sparkling pristine rivers that lie far
below. And the symmetry of those far off peaks and leading spurs beckoning
always.</p>
<p class="MsoNormal">So I wait for my friends and happy to do so. I can linger
for awhile in the foolishness of things.</p><p class="MsoNormal">Kia ora John Nash, David Dodge, James Jordan, Pete McGregor, my whanau, and the Ruahine...</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mW3zzF9efao/X5od4j0SSFI/AAAAAAAAFF8/UHQ-7eylBRU-NLEOKDx5XcVipLYvzfjoQCLcBGAsYHQ/s2048/0A1CBF1E-370B-4240-AFDD-9ECB280294F0.jpeg" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1639" data-original-width="2048" height="512" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-mW3zzF9efao/X5od4j0SSFI/AAAAAAAAFF8/UHQ-7eylBRU-NLEOKDx5XcVipLYvzfjoQCLcBGAsYHQ/w640-h512/0A1CBF1E-370B-4240-AFDD-9ECB280294F0.jpeg" width="640" /></a></div><p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br />Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-33030829764587112542018-12-30T16:11:00.000+13:002018-12-30T16:11:14.443+13:00Ruahine Summer Tour 2018<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-alzbfkvXhuQ/XCgdV58U70I/AAAAAAAAD4o/ahRzzRZICBoyj_-JPJwx4WAwSfDUtqSewCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1119.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-alzbfkvXhuQ/XCgdV58U70I/AAAAAAAAD4o/ahRzzRZICBoyj_-JPJwx4WAwSfDUtqSewCLcBGAs/s640/DSCF1119.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
16 December 2018</div>
Top Maropea hut<br />
Late afternoon.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I write these words sitting upon one of the benches we
hauled up here in June to replace the ones which were burnt. I think back on
that sleet filled, windy and cold weekend and packing these seats up to here
and glad that I am now enjoying the benefits of them and that they are all in
fine condition. It gives me a real connection to not only the tinana, or
physical place but the wairua, spirit as well. It makes that hard journey
bringing them here worthwhile in so many ways.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
It is the first day of our annual summer tramp in the
Ruahine. John and I hoisting our swags for around two decades now and this year
joined for the second time by Pohangina Pete, whom I met in these ranges almost
as long ago. Very appropriate company indeed. Three people bonded by the
adhesive love of these mountains.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
We changed our plans and reversed our six day loop when we
reached the turnoff on Sunrise track to the Waipawa river. Rather than head
down to the river, up the valley and over the saddle to Waikamaka hut we
decided instead to head to Sunrise and over Armstrong saddle to here. The
debate was mainly around the long gruelling river walk and nature of the
terrain going down the other side of saddle, versus quickly getting
to the tops and enjoying the fine weather on the way here, a relatively rare
occurrence. We all concurred in the decision and here we are. (Completing our
trip 6 days later on the Waipawa river validated the voracity of the decision made.)</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
It is very comforting and soul nourishing to be here
after a lovely day on the tops enjoying the weather and the stillness that
enables us to walk slowly and not only see the view but get a lesson in botany,
bird life and entomological life John and I simply do not see. Dr. Pete is in
his element. So are John and I in our own ways, but it is humbling to see how
much we don’t see.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AI1jjVNqM-c/XCgdWB0v05I/AAAAAAAAD4w/8oKjQXrHcVkZlnzgf60RUEf9eQueiFU7gCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-AI1jjVNqM-c/XCgdWB0v05I/AAAAAAAAD4w/8oKjQXrHcVkZlnzgf60RUEf9eQueiFU7gCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1123.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yqv2VePfFGo/XCgdWHt692I/AAAAAAAAD4s/kIbbuWugRLMkq57EVR_tbL7De3Pcn0HJACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1125.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-yqv2VePfFGo/XCgdWHt692I/AAAAAAAAD4s/kIbbuWugRLMkq57EVR_tbL7De3Pcn0HJACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1125.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pete and John heading up towards Top Maropea.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DtqLMBRAa50/XCgdYGhhLOI/AAAAAAAAD40/t2XfsLeSK9URb81NZVXeg19VtcTBV2KHQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1126.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-DtqLMBRAa50/XCgdYGhhLOI/AAAAAAAAD40/t2XfsLeSK9URb81NZVXeg19VtcTBV2KHQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1126.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A rest before the drop to the hut. A rare occurence to get such a day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ewix1m_Meg/XCgdYh5CyuI/AAAAAAAAD44/BAj1pjygUpICe7q3a3fD-WB-9b_JTBotACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1131.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-_Ewix1m_Meg/XCgdYh5CyuI/AAAAAAAAD44/BAj1pjygUpICe7q3a3fD-WB-9b_JTBotACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1131.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On Camel Back spur near Top Maropea</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J95qnIe4RAg/XCgdYzTikFI/AAAAAAAAD48/dphscvZ-_7YUsBr4PxDb6WMrcT5Q5jEvACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1134.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-J95qnIe4RAg/XCgdYzTikFI/AAAAAAAAD48/dphscvZ-_7YUsBr4PxDb6WMrcT5Q5jEvACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1134.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Top Maropea. Benches in good shape. A pleasure to sit upon after a long day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2IhIrGO73Go/XCgda6kZM7I/AAAAAAAAD5E/D9pJH51HeWElb59SuB2WP69Gudftr7DsgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1146.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-2IhIrGO73Go/XCgda6kZM7I/AAAAAAAAD5E/D9pJH51HeWElb59SuB2WP69Gudftr7DsgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1146.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Sunrise over the Maropea valey. Ataahua!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
17 December</div>
Dawn<br />
Top Maropea<br />
<br />
The sun is still searching for it’s way over the peaks at
the head of the Maropea valley. Te Atua Mahuru, Remutupo, Orupu, Waikamaka,
Puketaramea, and Maroparea all stretch and come to life. The emerging dawn sky
is a flawless blue with just a breath of chilly wind. The river awaits!<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I feel excited by the prospect of being on the Maropea river
on a day such as this. To just let go of my thoughts and be on the river, to be
with the river. And find that in letting go will come many reflections,
questions, and maybe even a few revelations along the twists and turns of her
shimmering beauty. What has changed in the river? What has changed in me? And
where will the whio be?</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sveXvFcBf5Q/XCgdbHmneyI/AAAAAAAAD5I/yOhx_xnze1M9uPOhdO8h11L0kF5AfMgmwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1150.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-sveXvFcBf5Q/XCgdbHmneyI/AAAAAAAAD5I/yOhx_xnze1M9uPOhdO8h11L0kF5AfMgmwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1150.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tupare (Leatherwood) in flower. Friend and foe.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OuRwyAGuc8Y/XCgdcthguxI/AAAAAAAAD5M/q2ZnxqFZYw48hvMt4xipZ3BmHaIANybMQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1168.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-OuRwyAGuc8Y/XCgdcthguxI/AAAAAAAAD5M/q2ZnxqFZYw48hvMt4xipZ3BmHaIANybMQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1168.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Maropea river</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gntfhawB1Bw/XCgddlGKexI/AAAAAAAAD5Q/OYy1_4q61LA9g-zsqcA57OqyWOeENRmtACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1170.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-gntfhawB1Bw/XCgddlGKexI/AAAAAAAAD5Q/OYy1_4q61LA9g-zsqcA57OqyWOeENRmtACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1170.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning tea must be soon!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d7PSLeo3Pbo/XCgdeF1HxuI/AAAAAAAAD5U/wF4zFkSHneYZAuXZVU86sLxJXHIsW0tWACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1171.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-d7PSLeo3Pbo/XCgdeF1HxuI/AAAAAAAAD5U/wF4zFkSHneYZAuXZVU86sLxJXHIsW0tWACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1171.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The old tawhairaunui log. Still there amongst much change. Great place on a good day.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qbXTqBX6nn8/XCgdfTnfIKI/AAAAAAAAD5Y/DPuwwra2kFkX93UteFcg7b6wCukK2sV2wCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1173.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qbXTqBX6nn8/XCgdfTnfIKI/AAAAAAAAD5Y/DPuwwra2kFkX93UteFcg7b6wCukK2sV2wCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1173.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--yHYXr5Khk0/XCgdg7JnHLI/AAAAAAAAD5c/3wZRfy4MFy0ojh2TOWvV8-YUOqrlK9QtgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1175.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="640" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--yHYXr5Khk0/XCgdg7JnHLI/AAAAAAAAD5c/3wZRfy4MFy0ojh2TOWvV8-YUOqrlK9QtgCLcBGAs/s640/DSCF1175.JPG" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The waterfall. Not too far from Maropea Forks now!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-asvvwLnzXFA/XCgdhJbmqjI/AAAAAAAAD5g/kHl8r2Sqc_MYdzityfuM7Vk0we1aPX3ugCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1177.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-asvvwLnzXFA/XCgdhJbmqjI/AAAAAAAAD5g/kHl8r2Sqc_MYdzityfuM7Vk0we1aPX3ugCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1177.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Pete approaching from below the fall.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s5C93L-gniA/XCgdh4x7M_I/AAAAAAAAD5k/eP6OLceIalslSuQCkKGCNHvs9vAhgd0mQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-s5C93L-gniA/XCgdh4x7M_I/AAAAAAAAD5k/eP6OLceIalslSuQCkKGCNHvs9vAhgd0mQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1183.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Time for a swim. Beautiful pool and highly refreshing/</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-is1D8FliODs/XCgdkHd8nMI/AAAAAAAAD5o/NDGTZlIrza0-RgtxQAk_oVpR62a64q7jgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1188.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-is1D8FliODs/XCgdkHd8nMI/AAAAAAAAD5o/NDGTZlIrza0-RgtxQAk_oVpR62a64q7jgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1188.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Maropea Forks hut</td></tr>
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<br />
17 December <br />
Late Afternoon<br />
Maropea Forks hut<br />
<br />
We did indeed walk with the river under the flawless blue
sky today. When a day like this shared, when the sunlight sparkles and shines
on the clear water and illuminates the stones and pebbles like jewels, when the
day is fine enough to go slowly and stop by the old tawhairanui log for lunch
and to boil the billy, when we can stop and observe the whio, and when the day
allows a leisurely swim in the pool of waterfall we have enjoyed a special day
on the river. Such experiences become engrained within my very soul. The
symphony of the river’s music changing with its ebb and flow.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
And the river, as I have, has changed since I last was here
almost exactly two years ago. So change was my common bond with the river
today. A huge boulder, the size of a small truck, I used to linger at prior to
a small rapid is now gone! Another near it tipped on its side. What must that
have looked and sounded like? The river is far fuller of shingle and rock,
other areas that used to be grassy toi-toi covered flats now gone. Dramatic
changes synchronistic to the large boulders I have shifted within my own life.</div>
<br />
We saw one whio higher up in the river. I know two years ago
a pair was on this stretch of river near the hut and forks so hoping we see
them. One fat trout was spotted in a deep green pool lazily lurking.<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Now I am sitting on the porch of Maropea Forks hut with
another cuppa full of sweet tea. Pete and John discuss green hooded orchids and
the differences between butterflies and moths. Other conversations of my past
visits seem to float amongst the fluttering of the tawhairuriki leaves. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
The hut book here goes back to 2010. My first visit here was
20 years ago which certainly feels like a milestone. This is my 7<sup>th</sup>
trip here since 2010. The first being with Taylor, or should write without
Taylor, when he was lost on the river. The ghost of that old hut and that
lonely night I spent there without my son lingers. After that I did two solo
trips searching for some sort of relief or answers to that experience with
Taylor. None have been forthcoming, aside from the realization that places we
love can hold more than just happy memories, and perhaps should for that is
true life. I feel a sense of clarity scribbling these words now, my wairua, my
whanau both feel soothed. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
John and I then came to the old hut for the last time in
2013 for a few nights and on the way out we met Pete at Top Maropea. Another
circle completed. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
In 2015 I came to the then brand new hut with my other son
Charlie. So to have the memories and echoes of both my sons here swirling about
with the river’s song is a moving and real experience.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
John and I then visited two years ago this very day for 2
more nights which brings me to today. I’m not quite sure how many that makes in
total going back over 20 years but certainly enough to indicate I find this a
very special spot in the Ruahine. And realize that here now I am less concerned
about how many times in the past but rather simply enjoying the moments here
right now. Another smile radiates through my entire being.</div>
<br />
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R8CDm9f9EkI/XCgdk1hroII/AAAAAAAAD5s/GVfF2T0eY-Ef0nhDShGevlgMSwYTXoCJQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1198.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-R8CDm9f9EkI/XCgdk1hroII/AAAAAAAAD5s/GVfF2T0eY-Ef0nhDShGevlgMSwYTXoCJQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1198.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
18 December</div>
After sunrise<br />
Maropea Forks hut<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Another beautiful day comes to life. The birds have begun
their rounds and the air seems fuller of birdsong than I recall in many years.
The piwaiwaka, the titi pounamu, the miromiro are all here today. And as if on
cue a lone whio landed in the pool by the little waterfall just across the
river. There is again a slight chill to the morning air, and though much more
of a wind it appears we are in for another hot mountain summer day.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Today we are heading over a connecting spur and ridge
between the Maropea and Waikamaka valleys to Wakelings hut. I am going to head
over there soon on my own. Though I have lost a lot of weight and feel very fit
my pace is far slower than that of either John or Pete. And truth be written I
look forward to the solitary walk and time immersed amongst the forest.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I woke up this morning thinking of Tara, feeling very
refreshed. Usually when I am in the mountains, I have very vivid dreams of her.
Of not being able to find her, or seeing her across a crowded room but unable
to get to her, or she can’t see me. I’m sure there is a lot of meaning tangled
in there but right now it feels like mountain therapy, along with work I have
done out there, is revealing the truth that lies deep within. Moving my feet,
breathing the mountain air, and being part of this environment has brought a certain
degree of clarity. I hunger for more. </div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iCT490WrPEQ/XCgdlNXW7HI/AAAAAAAAD5w/SBmbhyHdziEbyWs74FXi7FZxA5Zkk7pfgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1203.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-iCT490WrPEQ/XCgdlNXW7HI/AAAAAAAAD5w/SBmbhyHdziEbyWs74FXi7FZxA5Zkk7pfgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1203.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning light and the symmetry of the trees.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W-U_rFZD33o/XCgdnWxnZYI/AAAAAAAAD50/11fu0oiIZmQwlt2_CCKRLZ-G8VKqfEqZwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1211.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-W-U_rFZD33o/XCgdnWxnZYI/AAAAAAAAD50/11fu0oiIZmQwlt2_CCKRLZ-G8VKqfEqZwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1211.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<div style="margin: 0px;">
18 December</div>
Mid morning<br />
Hidden in the forest<br />
<br />
I am somewhere on the ridge connecting the Maropea valley to
the Waikamaka. I'm hoping somewhere near the point where it drops to the river.
My altimeter tells me I am still at 1257 metres and the hut on the river
somewhere over 900 metres. So, there is a very steep drop ahead. However right
now I sit in a sunny moss-covered spot on the forest floor. The accrued sweat
dries. Though warm the wind whips over and in the shelter of the forest it is
actually cold so this sunny wee spot beckoned strongly. Flies buzz lazily. I
munch contentedly on a salami stick and drink my water. I am in no hurry. This
ridge is longer than I recall and undulates from gentle to steep. Very
synchronistic to my own life this year so I simply accept my toils. <br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Somewhere behind me Pete and John are catching up to me,
their pace much faster than mine. I can wait here or go. In the mountains it
boils down to simple choices.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The Waikamaka river below. Much steep work yet to be done.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In Waikamaka hut on a summer day. What to do?</td></tr>
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KaSAbFUlCq4/XCgdqUxN-kI/AAAAAAAAD6E/sl10uisPfLkJD9pzUpdTIu6YA4q3_AZQACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1223.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-KaSAbFUlCq4/XCgdqUxN-kI/AAAAAAAAD6E/sl10uisPfLkJD9pzUpdTIu6YA4q3_AZQACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1223.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Just the thing!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u7sxJGoO4Vk/XCgdqjof5jI/AAAAAAAAD6I/69s1YeVEPMcKimYIV0ayP2oti3U1mIvRACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1226.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-u7sxJGoO4Vk/XCgdqjof5jI/AAAAAAAAD6I/69s1YeVEPMcKimYIV0ayP2oti3U1mIvRACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1226.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pete and Robb</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XywpB8DPZv4/XCgdrOZbOXI/AAAAAAAAD6Q/BWAVy3raTSwVmWu_4MWcP83jrk9fcDVqgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1227.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-XywpB8DPZv4/XCgdrOZbOXI/AAAAAAAAD6Q/BWAVy3raTSwVmWu_4MWcP83jrk9fcDVqgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1227.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Robb. Ten years since our last visit here.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
18 December</div>
Evening<br />
Wakelings hut<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I am preparing our tea for the evening meal. Soaking
shiitake mushrooms and shucking fresh peas. Pete is inside the hut writing and
John has gone to meander by the river and stretch his legs. I sit here and
smile at being in the company of friends who can go for a wander, do their own
thing, then come together and enjoy that equally as well. I am relishing that
in particular this year when the true value of friendship and what that really
means to me has evolved. Quality far exceeds quantity.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I arrived here after finding that gruelling steep drop very
shortly after my rest in the sunshine, and John and Pete arrived not long
after. It was a very lazy afternoon, with a brief nap, a refreshing swim in a
lovely pool near the hut, cups of tea or soup, conversation and making plans
for our day tomorrow. We will be staying here so have the day to do whatever we
wish. That is a very liberating feeling.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Right now, I have set down my peas and merely sit here
writing and listening to the wind breeze through other tawhairaunui leaves in
another mountain valley, as the river mutters by close below the slight rise
the hut is built upon. Perhaps the music is the same as the Maropea, yet there
are differences that bring a freshness and newness to what was familiar. Or
maybe it is my own perception. What I do know is that right here, right now, my
Te Whare Tapa Wha is okay. I’m okay. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hLlUsPnCfWE/XCgdsHomOKI/AAAAAAAAD6U/txAmV2YBcq8ZfPcDsgXN6avf6oNMGvupgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1233.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-hLlUsPnCfWE/XCgdsHomOKI/AAAAAAAAD6U/txAmV2YBcq8ZfPcDsgXN6avf6oNMGvupgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1233.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Climbing through the forest to the Mokai Patea tops.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
19 December</div>
Early morning<br />
Wakelings hut<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I awoke this morning and had to lie there sleepily and work
out what day it was and how long we have been in the mountains. I considered
this a very good development. For it indicates I have moved into true Ruahine
Time. That being the essential moment is the present one, and the only
important measurement is lightness and dark. Which also means I have let go of
outside distractions around stress or worry. That might be the greatest gift of
being here. Thoughts I do have of home and my whanau are of love. I have no
room right now for anything else. The river beckons.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
According to the hut book no one has visited here since
October, and only 7 other parties have been here this year. Four of those were
flown in by helicopter. It's location and distance provide a natural barrier. So,
it is a place that adds to these feelings of timelessness and solitude. I set
my pen down and listen to the winds rustling through the tawhairanui leaves, the
river muttering past in harmonic symphony. I take a drink of my rich dark
coffee and smile at thoughts of the day ahead.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sw7YhI6ksak/XCgdtEtn1XI/AAAAAAAAD6Y/rYQQz_v31aImInFXq9ET1vXH07Vm3DRcACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1237.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-sw7YhI6ksak/XCgdtEtn1XI/AAAAAAAAD6Y/rYQQz_v31aImInFXq9ET1vXH07Vm3DRcACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1237.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Waikamaka valley and Ruahine tops</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9UWtEIGccw/XCgdvHYCRHI/AAAAAAAAD6g/pkl_Ghwh4pgV-DZoBVfMtu5Qy_14CymIwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1238.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-G9UWtEIGccw/XCgdvHYCRHI/AAAAAAAAD6g/pkl_Ghwh4pgV-DZoBVfMtu5Qy_14CymIwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1238.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A happy man. A ways to go yet.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qsUXuhWG5y0/XCgdvq7Dh7I/AAAAAAAAD6k/MO6dltLUVx8byyCL-JxLTJPtVSDMBMJSQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1243.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-qsUXuhWG5y0/XCgdvq7Dh7I/AAAAAAAAD6k/MO6dltLUVx8byyCL-JxLTJPtVSDMBMJSQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1243.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">At Rongotea. Warmer gear required.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1gJke0O3Fo/XCgdv6qLYPI/AAAAAAAAD6o/1G9Qj3PuAFs7UBp1rGmq_V9vjD2wsUcmgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1251.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-E1gJke0O3Fo/XCgdv6qLYPI/AAAAAAAAD6o/1G9Qj3PuAFs7UBp1rGmq_V9vjD2wsUcmgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1251.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John with main Ruahine range behind. Pretty cool.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br />
19 December</div>
Evening<br />
Wakelings hut<br />
<br />
Pete left after breakfast and headed downriver towards
Otukota to try and spot whio, which makes sense as we head up river in the
morning. After another cup of strong coffee John and I decided to climb up to
the open tops high above and the Mokai Patea ranges. The highest point in the
Mokai, which are part of the Ruahine, is Rongotea at 1568 metres. That was our
goal. It was quite warm and muggy by the river but by the time we had climbed
through the forest into the tupare and tussock the wind had picked up and it
was cold. We donned some warmer gear and continued onto the tops. The views of
the Ruahine were spectacular, with nearly the whole range exposed in the
distant blues and closer peaks and ridges of the tussock with its golden hues
and greens’ leading to slips and spurs down the valleys far below. It was truly
worth the sweaty climb and effort on a supposed “rest day”. We lingered at
Rongotea until the chill of the wind had us heading back down. Even now here at
the river I can close my eyes and see that view. I can sense the change in the
river’s song as we climb away from it, steeply, and though with great exertion
always surprised at how quickly the river drops away and the music of the water
fades to hushed whisper. Or the excitement of seeing the big trees gives way to
the stunted tawhairaunui and finally the tupare and tussock. The hard work of
the climb brings the rewards of our efforts. John Muir was absolutely spot on…<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature's
peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow
their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will
drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn.” </div>
―<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>John Muir<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sxgnk2Us3M0/XCgdw4OGYWI/AAAAAAAAD6s/fqFGaj4eWaY21cQXWguxYiFvkhvrWOzQQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1252.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-Sxgnk2Us3M0/XCgdw4OGYWI/AAAAAAAAD6s/fqFGaj4eWaY21cQXWguxYiFvkhvrWOzQQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1252.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Early morning on the Waikamaka</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-St5FD7kCIrc/XCgdx1lkhfI/AAAAAAAAD6w/fKxiSSlzhsogNVK7szDRS4jsL_gSurt0ACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1254.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-St5FD7kCIrc/XCgdx1lkhfI/AAAAAAAAD6w/fKxiSSlzhsogNVK7szDRS4jsL_gSurt0ACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1254.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misty morning with Te Atuaoparapara at head of the valley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
20 December</div>
Afternon<br />
Waikamaka hut<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
The day begins to fade into our final evening of this summer
roam in the Ruahine. I can’t help but wish we had a few more days
here to linger in the mountains, yet one mixed with how much I look forward to
seeing Tara and my whanau. After 6 days I notice myself feeling fitter and coming
to settled terms with my ever-lightening pack, though also notice the blisters
and other bumps and bruises gathered along the way. There is nothing for it but
to just enjoy this last evening, these last moments of camaraderie with fine
friends, and appreciate the long walk out tomorrow and our lives out there. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
We were up and off early. Last evening it began to drizzle
and during the night it rained in earnest for a long while. In the morning it
had stopped but it remained overcast and smelling of rain at any moment. By the
time it did start raining we were several hours up river. As there was little
wind in the valley the rain didn’t bother us aside from making it a wee bit
harder to decide which rocks to step upon for footing. The river was fairly low
and few gorges I recall nearly swimming through years ago were perhaps hip deep
at best. It is a beautiful river with a lot of deep clear pools but easily
walked around in most cases. It is a fairly long walk which took me about 6
hours all up. We saw one lone whio again and spent a bit of time watching as
Pete took a lot of photos and worked his way as close as he could. Eventually
the whio tired of us and floated off with typical whio unerring grace and
dignity. </div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
And so here we are at Wakeling for our final afternoon. John
reads, as I sit in the now emerged sun and write, as Pete is off pursuing other
interesting things. In the background we can here thunder and see bruised
clouds rolling in. It won’t worry us much either way.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
I felt a twinge of anxiety start to well up inside me as I
was walking up the river. It was raining fairly hard at the time and with
adjusting to the footing on wet rocks the dull ache in my hip began to come to
my present mind. I have battled anxiety this year, and have for my whole life
without knowing it until recently. When I first came to the Ruahine I can
recall getting worried about what might happen, particularly when lying in my
sleeping bag at night, what if rivers flooded, or too much wind and cloud on
the tops, what gear I had and so on. Eventually I think it was the mountains
themselves that began to bring clarity to something I didn’t even know was
occurring. That was by simply being in a place I loved, the Ruahine. It brought
an inner peace and contentment – even if a thin layer – and soothed my jangled
nerves and running thoughts. Only this year when developing recognition and
strategies in dealing with it did I see that in the past. So today I simply
focused on my breathing, on looking at the strengths I possess rather than my
faults and weakness. I thought of the company of the friends I was with on the
river and how they adapted themselves to my pace and my presence. And then I
felt peaceful and calm totally cognizant of the moment and place and of the
tears in my eyes, as they are now. These are the rare moments when mind, body,
spirit, and those we love become supportive equally of each other. Te Whare
Tapa Wha. Today on the river was one. Kia kaha!</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RN9B-bgEQPM/XCgdyQUOseI/AAAAAAAAD60/8awl1usG3RImbwoTPqzFgjEQi5ePvo-6gCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1257.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-RN9B-bgEQPM/XCgdyQUOseI/AAAAAAAAD60/8awl1usG3RImbwoTPqzFgjEQi5ePvo-6gCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1257.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">One of many falls on the Waikamaka</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U4fYGx-c2MQ/XCgdy2ZjVLI/AAAAAAAAD64/Sn9NvwT3rZIyj1nB9AEHP1Dr-_46rjpcwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1258.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-U4fYGx-c2MQ/XCgdy2ZjVLI/AAAAAAAAD64/Sn9NvwT3rZIyj1nB9AEHP1Dr-_46rjpcwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1258.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VQ4qjoTabx8/XCgdzzAuAUI/AAAAAAAAD68/HQXWWThUnMEbvly-VxEtR5FXtyaUQY1qgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1260.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-VQ4qjoTabx8/XCgdzzAuAUI/AAAAAAAAD68/HQXWWThUnMEbvly-VxEtR5FXtyaUQY1qgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1260.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Green pool and tawhairanui leaves shining. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dPl7vabkaRs/XCgd0uWWDiI/AAAAAAAAD7A/x8EsXw9ZWvs4YBElO5xqkkN6zG32SZlAACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1262.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-dPl7vabkaRs/XCgd0uWWDiI/AAAAAAAAD7A/x8EsXw9ZWvs4YBElO5xqkkN6zG32SZlAACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1262.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John and Pete walking up river</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JRfH76Wlmww/XCgd1XoVn5I/AAAAAAAAD7E/bF57jMbG-Pk9d2vtcAukG9jFonTG6gT-wCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1264.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JRfH76Wlmww/XCgd1XoVn5I/AAAAAAAAD7E/bF57jMbG-Pk9d2vtcAukG9jFonTG6gT-wCLcBGAs/s640/DSCF1264.JPG" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Whio</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nIDZjDmUpJ8/XCgd12qyJ7I/AAAAAAAAD7I/Gxc6cjcmdHIDaznF0f2UUrQjVU0LNBdLwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1269.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-nIDZjDmUpJ8/XCgd12qyJ7I/AAAAAAAAD7I/Gxc6cjcmdHIDaznF0f2UUrQjVU0LNBdLwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1269.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Pete photographing the whio. </td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HSQAdVU95F0/XCgd3iMFauI/AAAAAAAAD7Q/S-B1KJXywDEs-exyuX0VjrdC2_kiVTqTwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1270.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HSQAdVU95F0/XCgd3iMFauI/AAAAAAAAD7Q/S-B1KJXywDEs-exyuX0VjrdC2_kiVTqTwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1270.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
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<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
21 December 2018</div>
Morning<br />
Waikamaka hut<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
The dawn is a pallid dull grey and mist swirls about the
ridges and higher peaks. Though it isn’t raining it feels as if the skies will
burst forth with showers with the slightest provocation. Our task is fairly
straight forward. Climb up the side creek below the hut, find the route leading
out of it and climb up to Waipawa saddle, then climb down the other side to the
Waipawa river and up it to re-join eventually with Sunrise track and complete
our 6 day loop.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
My mood feels somewhat the same as the weather, a sense of
melancholia envelopes me. It is not depression or even great sadness, but
rather a lingering loneliness that will not be satiated until I again appear at
the entrance to the Ruahine bearing a load on my back.</div>
<br />
It has been a full six days of open tops, forested spurs and
ridges, battling down and up side creeks and wandering along 3 different
mountain rivers. We have had a full adult portion of the Ruahine. We have said
Kia Ora to the whio, miro miro, piwaikwaka, titi pounamu, kereru, kareara, the
trout, deer, and a myriad of insects, butterflies and moths I never had
considered before. <br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Kia ora to Pete and John for their knowledge, experience,
company and friendship.</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Kia ora, most of all to the Ruahine…I’m not done here yet!</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Unuhia, unuhia</div>
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Unuhia ki te uru tapu
nui<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kia wātea, kia māmā,
te ngākau, te tinana, te wairua i te ara takatā<br />
Koia rā e Rongo, whakairia ake ki runga<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Kia tina! TINA! Hui
e! TĀIKI E!<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Draw on, draw on,</div>
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Draw on the supreme
sacredness<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>To clear, to free the
heart, the body and the spirit of mankind<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>Rongo, suspended high
above us (i.e. in ‘heaven’)<br />
Draw together! Affirm!<br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Kia ora!</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Robb</div>
30 December 2018<br />
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<br /></div>
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<br />Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-2057847514261918962018-12-05T21:23:00.000+13:002018-12-05T21:23:40.631+13:00Pukatokato<br />
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TSWl5FqeRY4/W_xj27w-aCI/AAAAAAAAD2k/k8HMoPO-6UsgLu4A1katUo9YVYGRHaP4ACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1098.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TSWl5FqeRY4/W_xj27w-aCI/AAAAAAAAD2k/k8HMoPO-6UsgLu4A1katUo9YVYGRHaP4ACLcBGAs/s640/DSCF1098.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
"When you find out that there was never anything in the dark side to be afraid of...Nothing is left but to love." - Alan Watts<br />
<br />
<br />
<br />
25 November 2018<br />
Afternoon<br />
Rangiwahia hut<br />
<br />
Sitting here at Rangiwahia hut on my own. There is a chilly southerly blowing over in great gusts, shaking the hut which momentarily overwhelms the rain. Then it settles and the constant drumming of the downpour on the tin roof resumes. The soft hiss of my camp stove joins in, creating a sort of comforting lullabye, as it heats the billy full of water for another cup of sweet tea.<br />
<br />
My plan was to have some lunch and a cuppa here then travel along the Whananhuia tops to the tarns below Maungahuia and camp. However the windy southerly, the clagged in tops, and the rain are, once again, making staying here a very attractive option. And with the stormy weather meant to settle in for a few days I may have to re-think my whole 4 day trip. Still, aside from day walks, I haven't been in the hills since early June and hauling the benches up to Top Maropea. So it is just good to be here in the Ruahine, and even walking up in the rain was not unpleasant. Even less unpleasant to find the hut empty.<br />
<br />
And as my stove does its work and the rain pelts down I sit here and scribble these words, stopping often to reflect, ponder, and gather my thoughts. And there are so very many thoughts to gather.<br />
<br />
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<u><span style="color: #000120;"></span></u><br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7BqYtOL-pDw/W_xxurE4leI/AAAAAAAAD34/ey_yBvu87mEElZOcFfp8HuqbKBGJo6FPQCLcBGAs/s1600/5_dEP7pQ.jpeg.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1440" data-original-width="810" height="400" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-7BqYtOL-pDw/W_xxurE4leI/AAAAAAAAD34/ey_yBvu87mEElZOcFfp8HuqbKBGJo6FPQCLcBGAs/s400/5_dEP7pQ.jpeg.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The stream 10 minutes or so below the hut and just inside the open tussock and tupare zone. On a good day</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><div>
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JeBGt54nxgM/W_xj7SDUKdI/AAAAAAAAD2o/8E1oDRsk0rYrXyUNW2LDitxBYuTvI1M7QCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1087.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JeBGt54nxgM/W_xj7SDUKdI/AAAAAAAAD2o/8E1oDRsk0rYrXyUNW2LDitxBYuTvI1M7QCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1087.JPG" width="225" /></a></div>
<div>
<span style="font-size: x-small;">The same stream after 20 hours of constant rain.</span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JLk7QCmDSqE/W_xkAScacUI/AAAAAAAAD2s/d4-MT7qjyfE2kZqthjmFO-8OJbk9ZVZewCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1088.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JLk7QCmDSqE/W_xkAScacUI/AAAAAAAAD2s/d4-MT7qjyfE2kZqthjmFO-8OJbk9ZVZewCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1088.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The pool, normally quiet, peaceful, and a place to ponder</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JX63TnCHx54/S_XLMQlqS1I/AAAAAAAACAQ/tk6asgjeyosLf1SBP0w3SqETr41D6apQQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Ruahines%2B002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JX63TnCHx54/S_XLMQlqS1I/AAAAAAAACAQ/tk6asgjeyosLf1SBP0w3SqETr41D6apQQCPcBGAYYCw/s400/Ruahines%2B002.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;"><div>
Such as on a day like this. </div>
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<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-JX63TnCHx54/S_XLMQlqS1I/AAAAAAAACAQ/tk6asgjeyosLf1SBP0w3SqETr41D6apQQCPcBGAYYCw/s1600/Ruahines%2B002.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></a>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
After coming back from visiting my family in the States this past July, I found myself highly discombobulated. I know that saying goodbye to my mother impacted me like never before, and the anniversaries of the deaths of my brother and father loomed large, as did my normal anxieties and realizations in having two very different places in which I put my feet. The only common factor in both being me. As even in myself, my one presence, I felt like two very different people. I was feeling lost and out of touch, and quite simply not coping very well. There were other issues as well that had been lying there for years. My growing dependence on alcohol, ignoring my relationships, and past behaviours and traumas I have never acknowledged much less address in any meaningful sense. I may have pretended to at times, even thought I was being honest and truthful in trying to grasp my own self, only to slide back into old patterns as soon as the waters seemed calm<br />
<br />
A few months after our return the watershed moment came with Tara. She'd had enough. She was done. I saw it her eyes and felt it in her voice. My growing untrustworthiness in being a partner, my continued and growing unavailability, my drinking and growing numbness.<br />
<br />
And I realized I had absolutely no defense or valid response to any of it. None. So the dam burst, well and truly and there was no turning back. I began crying and didn't stop for weeks. And it felt unashamed, and I began to welcome the moments of tears. Tears that were welling up from the ages. Tears from the past and more tears from the present.<br />
<br />
I quit drinking. I went to talk to someone and found more strength and support in seeking help with anxiety and depression than fearing what that might appear to look like to others, or to myself. I turned my attention to our long neglected whare, house, and all the things that needed to be done. I cleared the overgrown gardens, cleaned out and cleaned the gutters, moved the ultra-heavy clothesline to a better place, water blasted the entire house, driveway, footpaths, fences, barbeque area (water blasting is highly therapeutic), cleaned out the garage, cleaned all the windows and framework, pruned out and removed trees and bushes to the tune of 3 huge trailer loads. What I didn't do wasn't worth doing.<br />
<br />
By the time I looked back a few weeks later a small degree of calmness and clarity arrived. The therapy was helping me to understand the deep seeded causes, and the relief of not feeling isolated was enormous. The biggest discovery was that this was my own self-care, to save me not my marriage, and though related they are very separate. The "therapy" with the whare? The hard work on our house merely a manifestation of what I had allowed our house, my life, our lives, to become. A messy, untidy unsafe and unloved environment.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LPAuZTLOr70/W_xkICZZgKI/AAAAAAAAD20/c2512kJF3bkCSh2bzZrN67wnoydXfqJHQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LPAuZTLOr70/W_xkICZZgKI/AAAAAAAAD20/c2512kJF3bkCSh2bzZrN67wnoydXfqJHQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF1099.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kaikawaka in the misty and rain filled forest</td></tr>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s_j-Q1lA1pg/W_xkQlKnFEI/AAAAAAAAD3A/C4yjJvOogMQckmUvPC8mngZwSb0WuhYkwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1100%2B%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-s_j-Q1lA1pg/W_xkQlKnFEI/AAAAAAAAD3A/C4yjJvOogMQckmUvPC8mngZwSb0WuhYkwCLcBGAs/s640/DSCF1100%2B%25281%2529.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Even in the mist a path is revealed<br />
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"As I watch you</div>
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take that </div>
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first drawing sip</div>
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my chest</div>
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tightens</div>
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rages</div>
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in anticipation</div>
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of too much talk</div>
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with too little substance</div>
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the face I love</div>
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becoming slack</div>
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flushed</div>
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those mostly kind</div>
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brown eyes</div>
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unfocused,</div>
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I am...</div>
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reduced</div>
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to a blurry shape</div>
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on this couch to be ranted at</div>
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yelled over</div>
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or sentimentalized</div>
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idealised;</div>
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either way</div>
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I don't exist</div>
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My </div>
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love</div>
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for you</div>
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drowning </div>
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in </div>
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the tinkling </div>
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of ice."</div>
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<br /></div>
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written by Tara Kloss</div>
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<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WeR4joR2RI8/W_xkrKI42_I/AAAAAAAAD3Q/58Az1bKURrEKFFE9fndTblPUcYG8XEtLwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF1108%2B%25281%2529.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-WeR4joR2RI8/W_xkrKI42_I/AAAAAAAAD3Q/58Az1bKURrEKFFE9fndTblPUcYG8XEtLwCLcBGAs/s640/DSCF1108%2B%25281%2529.JPG" style="cursor: move;" width="640" /></a><br />
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In a period such as this reassessment of everything comes into play. Relationships, friendships, social media, eating, and for me drinking. There is no ego left. There is no place left to hide either. I had slipped slowly and comfortably into a separate existence for the most part. Sitting in my comfy chair numbing myself against pain, and the reality of what it was doing to me and to the people I love most. I'm currently in a place where alcohol has no place for me. I know full well the allure of the ice tray, the sound of the cubes tinkling in the glass, the glug of the pour of my whiskey and searching for the that perfect zone of exhilaration and absence of pain with measured pulls at my glass. That perfect numbness. It doesn't last long, like the whiskey, and there is always more ice, and more whiskey. See the problem?<br />
<br />
I haven't had alcohol in that comfy chair, or any other chair for that matter for nearly two months now.<br />
<br />
So, while I know all to well what the whole process with the
booze feels like, before, during, and after, what I am finding unfamiliar, and
new, is sitting with discomfort, pain, and having to feel the reality of it
all. It lets me know I am alive, it makes me realize what I must own, and what
I need to acknowledge and then either let go or learn to live with.<br />
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</div>
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And here I am, alone in the Ruahine on a stormy afternoon.
It seems, and feels, appropriate. Yet I feel invigorated and alive. I had a
fairly heavy pack on, with my tent, as intend to stay out 4 days. I noticed
immediately another effect of no booze and better eating. That being carrying
over 20 less kilo’s of body weight. And though tomorrow will be a far tougher
test, it was apparent how much better I felt both going uphill and more so
down. I just walked lighter and easier, better balanced and fitter feeling. I
arrived here in a little over 2 hours which is far faster than the past years
of slow plodding. And while I wouldn’t describe myself as moving fast I
certainly felt less clumsy and more in tune. I am lighter both mentally and
physically.</div>
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I have written in the past of the concept of Te Whare Tapa
Wha, a Maori focused view of our health. The whare, known as Te Whare Tapa Whā,
has four walls and each wall represents a different dimension of health. Right
now, in this moment, my own Te Whare Tapa Wha, feels in the best condition it
has been, well, perhaps ever!</div>
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The Four Walls:</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Wairua
(Spirit) …My own developing spirituality has always been nature focused. I am
realizing now, here, how much easier it is alone, and yet how crucial it is to
bring that with me elsewhere and around those I love. There is little point to
Wairua unless it shines within. I have not. In particular with receiving the
aroha, love, of those I profess to love with genuine grace and presence. For
me, it is to realize my own vulnerability is not a weakness, but rather
strength. And to have wairua be a sense of lightness.</div>
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</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span></div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Tinana
(Physical well being) …I am lighter. Certainly physically. I have been
physically fitter, but never fitter in conjunction with the opposite 3 walls of
my whare. Which means my foundations are firmer, better rooted. Or at least the
newly poured cement is setting.</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Hinengaro
(Mental well being)…I can scribble words here on these pages, but none will do
justice to the reality of my mental well being. I have really only begun to pay
attention to the importance of my own self-care. I have only just acknowledged
and owned the hurt I have caused. Or hurt I have had caused to me, to the past
and present pain, trauma and what that has left in it’s wake. I have only
recently allowed myself to the feel the shame and tears of weaknesses that
have led me to such places, and also the strengths I never knew I had in merely coping. To
reach out for help, to be vulnerable without fear of weakness, and constantly
seek to be a better man. To seek integrity.</div>
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</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Whanau
(Family) …Tara, Taylor, Charlie, Monique, Noah, family here, and my family back
in Wisconsin. I have not been very good at making this the most important wall
of all, though if the other 3 are out of whack it all is out of form. A very
circular and connected system. What I appreciate most is the noticing of even
small changes and new behaviours by them merely observing.</div>
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Tara watches and wonders. As she should,
she also has her own self-care to ponder and figure out, her own demons to
wrestle with, her own healing to undertake. And for her to not be absorbed by my own battles. She needs to that on her own, as do I, then focus on our relationship. As
she described it as the raw nerve that still jangles between us. </div>
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26 November 6:00am</div>
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The rain is still coming down. It has beat
on the roof measured and steady all night. The barometer remains low and flat
indicating little change ahead. The winds have mostly died off in the stillness
of the grey misty morning. </div>
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So, do I go or retreat to fight another day?
Though I know the route very well it is more the thought of a touch 5 plus hour
grind and arriving to find the Oroua in a raging torrent, the hut in in sight
across the way. That thought has me glancing towards the plains and car far
below. And to what awaits there.</div>
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<span id="goog_949441987"></span><span id="goog_949441988"></span><br />Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-44833937421478766972018-08-25T18:35:00.000+12:002018-08-26T20:25:56.994+12:00Footsteps<br />
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Maori Dictionary - Tangata whenua <br />
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1. (verb) - <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>to be
natural, at home, comfortable.</div>
Ki te tīmata mai te ako i te reo i te wā e nohinohi tonu ana
ngā tamariki, ka kōrero Māori ngā tamariki rā, ka mau, ā, ka tangata whenua te
reo ki roto i a rātou. / If learning the language begins when children are
little, those children will speak Māori and the language will be natural to
them. <br />
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<span style="margin: 0px;"> 2</span>. (verb) (-tia) to be naturalised, acclimatise,
established, adapted.</div>
Ko tēnei rākau kua tangata whenuatia ki ēnei motu<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>/ This tree has become naturalized in these
islands. <br />
<br />
3. (noun) local people, hosts, indigenous people - people
born of the whenua, i.e. of the placenta and of the land where the people's
ancestors have lived and where their placenta are buried.<br />
Ko te tangata whenua te hunga pupuri i te mana o tētahi
whenua. / The tangata whenua are the people who have authority in a particular
place.<br />
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Thoughts of having put my mokopuna’s (grandson’s) feet upon the Ruahine has
been stewing within over the past week. The significance continues to grow as I
reflect upon him being the third generation of Kloss men to step foot upon its
temperamental yet beautiful valleys, rivers, streams, ridges and golden
tussock. I am Manuhuri, Visitor, to this land. Even though I have lived here
close to half my lifetime, my original place lies elsewhere. Yet over time my
relationship with this country and certainly the Ruahine has become close to
the first two definitions of tangata whenua listed above. My sense of place
belongs here as well. And though Noah’s feet have only walked a short distance
into those mountains, there are steps there for him. There are memories there
for him that swirl in the in the forest breeze, or flutter the waxy leaves of
the tupare up high. That is a fine legacy should he choose to find it one day.<br />
<br />
Reflections also come to mind of both my sons and their place in this story and in my heart. Thoughts of both my sons and different moments shared with each. The common element with both is the Ruahine. And me. I was neither the same man, nor the same father with either of my sons. How could I be? The one piece of true knowledge I have gained over time is that my own growth is never stagnant. I have never arrived. The process constantly evolves and unfolds. So now my mokopuna, grandson, awaits to be introduced in full to these mountains, and my own continuing unfolding. Lessons that bind fathers to sons, brother to brother, brother to uncle, and grandfather to grandson. Like an ancient grove of tawhairauriki deep in a mountain forest so our own roots live, then die, yet nourish the next generations. </div>
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With Taylor and Nigel on Taylor's first trip to Top Maropea.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taylor's frst fire at Top Maropea</td></tr>
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Robb</div>
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I first set foot in the Ruahine in late 1993. I was invited
by a friend I had met here in New Zealand to go on a day tramp with and his mate
up Gold Crown ridge. His mate turned out to be John Nash, whom I am still
tramping with to this day and whom has become a treasured friend. Which in itself is noteworthy for me. I had never
experienced anything like it. The walk across farmland with the ranges looming
above, and then starting up the unbelievably steep and relentless Gold crown
spur. Yet climbing up into that forest, seeing the dripping mosses and lichens, and breathing
deeply<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>the earthy aroma of Aotearoa, the
fantastic twisted and unreal shapes of the tawhairauriki, was like nothing in my experience. I was mesmerized.
Gaining the ridge we ambled down towards Park Peak ridge for some time before
having to turn around. Being a hot day we ran out of water and I recall vividly
climbing down with John. Far below us we could see the green clarity of deep
pools in the stream below us and the hushed sound of the water out of reach.
Fortunately back at the car we had a chilly bin full of ice and beer. Some of
the finest beer I have ever chugged!<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>Since that day I have done countless tramps into the Ruahine. Some of those
linger more than others and at the top of that list are the ones which placed
the feet of my own two sons upon the hallowed ground of the Ruahine.</div>
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Taylor on his first trip to Top Maropea.<br />
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<span style="font-size: small;">Taylor</span></div>
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Top Maropea hut</div>
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Evening</div>
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Here at Top Maropea. Once again with Nigel, but also, in a
presence that makes my heart swell, Taylor Quinn Gustav Kloss, entering his
name into the hutbook and entering the Ruahine mountains on his first real
adventure at age 7.</div>
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This has been, perhaps, my finest day as a father, both in
guiding his young legs on a long day and a fairly daunting stretch of open tops
and down to here in cloudy, misty and very wet conditions. It took us 6 hours
of walking all up. We arrived at Sunrise in decidedly poxy weather but after a
rest. A hearty lunch and a group discussion we packed up and set out in the
rain for Top Maropea at 3:00pm. Taylor negotiated a wee tricky bit of tramping
in very good cheer. I am bursting with pride!</div>
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We now sit in front of the fire. Our bellies are full of steak,
rice and broccoli and about to indulge in hot cocoa with pieces of chocolate
stirred in. Staring at the fire and letting the days memories wash over us. Not
sure what the morning will bring but tonite we are together, safe, warm and
smiling.</div>
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10 March 2001</div>
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Gold Creek hut</div>
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Abridged story…after a long of just Taylor and I getting
into Gold Creek hut:</div>
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As we approached the empty hut we could see far below us, we
were both wet and tired, and I too, knew we had put in a good day. Now soon we
would have a safe, dry place, plenty of good food, hot drinks, dry warm clothes
and especially good company. It took us over 6 plus hours to arrive here but we
soon had the fire and a supply of very dry wood cranked up and roaring in the
wood stove.</div>
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Taylor organized all our supplies on the small hut table,
then went and dragged in some more wood and then went to the creek to fill our
water bottles and billies. Then I heard him down by the creek, playing the
games that seven year old boys play in such places as a wild mountain creek. I
stayed in the hut, reading the hut book which went back to the 1980’s. No one
has been here for over 3 months. With the rain bouncing on the tin roof, the
sound of the creek outside, and the excited voice of my son it felt like a
magical, remote place indeed. Later we got dinner ready and Taylor stirred our
potatoes while I got our sausages and gravy. We ate in great contentment, just
enjoying our little home for the night.</div>
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Taylor drifted off to sleep still talking and mumbling about
the day till all I heard was his gentle breathing, the plops of the rain on the
roof, the crackles and pops of the dying fire.</div>
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We awoke just before sunrise. After a breakfast of Hopple Popple, which consists of bacon, eggs, potatoes, onoin, garlic green pepper and cheese, all coming together in a big feast. It is delicous and we ate with great gusto. The sky outside was now a deep brilliant blue. Everything felt right. I repacked our gear and made Taylor's load as light as possible. I decided we would head own the creek to the river instea of climbing back up to the ridge. The park topo map indicated it was shorter, though a few mixed reviews in the hut book had me somewhat dubious. Still, it was a beautiful morning, we had all day, and I knew that eventually we had to meet the river.</div>
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Taylor thought it was a grand idea, until 15 minutes in when he slipped and fell head first into the cold water and got soaked.Within an hour I arrived at the conclusion I had made the wrong decision. The creek falls pretty steeply from the hut. This means lots of fast water but worse, a large number of waterfalls, some as high as 15 feet or so, and lots of log jams to scramble over or around. It was tough going. A lot of falls I had to climb down, leave my pack, go back up and get Taylor's pack, take that down, then help Taylor down the fall as well. It was all a bit nerve wracking, never mind tiring. At the biggest fall I looked up to see Taylor's lip trembling and then crying saying, "It's too big! It's too dangerous! I want my mummy!" I climbed up and we had a big cuddle and just let him have a cry. Then I explained as softly as I could we had to carry on. I didn't tell him I was scared too.</div>
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I held his hand in the fast water and over the slippery rocks and we soon came to a rhythm getting down the creek. At one point I slipped over and fell flat on my face, banging my arm hard on a rock. It hurt! Taylor came rushing over to cuddle me and make sure I was okay. In the bush we take care of each other.</div>
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<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br /></div>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trtcLawhlcs/W3-oowOv69I/AAAAAAAAD1s/tJw3lgG1D40eQ7b-mgGHaSDgklspzmB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2008%255B566%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>That walk down the creek took us 5 hours. Finally the creek opened up and we could see the upper ridge we had been on the day prior. We stopped at the first sunny spot we came across and had a rest. We munched on cashews and drank water from the stream. We didn't say much. We didn't have to say much. Even though we had both scared in the stream, for different reasons, we helped each other through, we made it together. Possibly we both learned something about ourselves, each other, trust and love. I know I did.</div>
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One moment stood out in particular for me. We came around a bend after our rest and su<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trtcLawhlcs/W3-oowOv69I/AAAAAAAAD1s/tJw3lgG1D40eQ7b-mgGHaSDgklspzmB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2008%255B566%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></a>ddenly the sun was shining on brilliantly on the water, highlighting the green clearness of the pools, and each pebble shone and glowed like jewells. The big trees loomed and the bush a thousand shades of green, while high overhead we had glimpses of the open tops far above. The whole scene was vivid and alive with colour and energy. "It looks like a painting!", Taylor shouted. He was seeing exactly what I saw and summed it up far better.</div>
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We stopped in at Craig's hut after crossing the main Makaroro river for a hot brew,<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trtcLawhlcs/W3-oowOv69I/AAAAAAAAD1s/tJw3lgG1D40eQ7b-mgGHaSDgklspzmB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2008%255B566%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trtcLawhlcs/W3-oowOv69I/AAAAAAAAD1s/tJw3lgG1D40eQ7b-mgGHaSDgklspzmB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2008%255B566%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; orphans: 2; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a> dry socks and a rest. Taylor had put in a long day, longer than yesterday, and was getting tired and looking forward to the car and hot chips in Dannevirke. We still had a 30 minute walk down the old logging road and a final river crossing to the car. Once there I loaded up our gear, started the car and drove towards the farm gate. By the time I opened and closed the gate Taylor was fast asleep. he had walked almost 8 hours today. Not bad for a 7 year old. </div>
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I drove home as my son slept. Listened to Van Morrison and ran the past few days around in my head. Lots of lessons learned. Some good moments, some hard ones too, a few laughs and a few tears. Together with my son. We never had those hot chips in Dannevirke. I carried him into the house when we got home. Still fast asleep. <b><br /></b></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eHip6ldlc9Y/W35O95kphbI/AAAAAAAAD0M/IkvC70N7Zg0p-OA4kGwMoN2zwDXZwDh-QCLcBGAs/s1600/Purity%252Bhut%252B038.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: left; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eHip6ldlc9Y/W35O95kphbI/AAAAAAAAD0M/IkvC70N7Zg0p-OA4kGwMoN2zwDXZwDh-QCLcBGAs/s400/Purity%252Bhut%252B038.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie's first trip to Top Maropea. </td></tr>
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<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
Charlie:</div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trtcLawhlcs/W3-oowOv69I/AAAAAAAAD1s/tJw3lgG1D40eQ7b-mgGHaSDgklspzmB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2008%255B566%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"></a><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trtcLawhlcs/W3-oowOv69I/AAAAAAAAD1s/tJw3lgG1D40eQ7b-mgGHaSDgklspzmB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2008%255B566%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: transparent; clear: right; color: #0066cc; float: right; font-family: Times New Roman; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-bottom: 16px; margin-left: 16px; orphans: 2; text-align: left; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><br /></a>
<b></b><i></i><u></u><sub></sub><sup></sup><strike></strike><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">13
Jan. 2011 Top Maropea</span></span><br />
<br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><b>Robb Kloss</b></span></span></span><br />
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Charlie Kloss</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">In the "backyard" at
Top Maropea once again, and so soon back in the Ruahine after my last
interaction. I like that. I am absorbing the last of the sun's warmth, crossing
the saddle this afternoon the wind died, the clag lifted, and suddenly it was a
glorious day.</span></span></span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And with me now lying stretched
out in the sun yawning and napping is Charlie Kloss. To celebrate my 30th
evening here at my favourite Ruahine spot with him makes my eyes brim as I
write this. I can think of no other finer company to share this moment with me,
aside from my other son Taylor. Introducing Charlie to this walk, this spot,
Charlie's Cairn, to see him today and watch him endure a long walk and interact
with these mountains, was, is, a Gift from the Ruahine. Such days are rare up
there.</span></span></span></b></div>
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></b></div>
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Taylor has been here many
times, Tara has been here once, this is my 30th night here, and Charlie's
first. This place has meaning for us. It is part of our story, part of our
history. It is beautiful. This is a powerful place.</span></span></span></b><br />
<span style="margin: 0px;"><b><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /></b></span>
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<span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"></span></span></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bhBnYwoHJf0/W35yb7cLFsI/AAAAAAAAD04/jq1hl000oPsiRo1d6RIzVMNMoIlulockQCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2003%255B560%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="400" height="300" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-bhBnYwoHJf0/W35yb7cLFsI/AAAAAAAAD04/jq1hl000oPsiRo1d6RIzVMNMoIlulockQCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_2003%255B560%255D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Camel Back spur. About to drop to the hut.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-An1AfhFtvHU/W35ycPP0QcI/AAAAAAAAD08/8clVZiCpRiU8NCnqdu7vELQlYuFQgR3CwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2005%255B563%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-An1AfhFtvHU/W35ycPP0QcI/AAAAAAAAD08/8clVZiCpRiU8NCnqdu7vELQlYuFQgR3CwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_2005%255B563%255D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie by the cairn underneath which his placenta is buried. Connecting him to the Whenua, Land.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HBxZM8yMPq8/W35yccL2N0I/AAAAAAAAD1A/Pk5fqT0lXUkR5BIfdCHRjQxr7fOF9IMAwCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2006%255B564%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-HBxZM8yMPq8/W35yccL2N0I/AAAAAAAAD1A/Pk5fqT0lXUkR5BIfdCHRjQxr7fOF9IMAwCLcBGAs/s400/IMG_2006%255B564%255D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A ways to go yet.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ic8rhfcrF-s/W35ycmQhZcI/AAAAAAAAD1E/fLoMnS-lMVEHFjz-p3xWWLH9oXhldMTNACLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2007%255B565%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1200" data-original-width="1600" height="300" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Ic8rhfcrF-s/W35ycmQhZcI/AAAAAAAAD1E/fLoMnS-lMVEHFjz-p3xWWLH9oXhldMTNACLcBGAs/s400/IMG_2007%255B565%255D.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The ridge across Camel Back spur leading to Te Atua Para Para.</td></tr>
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<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-trtcLawhlcs/W3-oowOv69I/AAAAAAAAD1s/tJw3lgG1D40eQ7b-mgGHaSDgklspzmB_wCLcBGAs/s1600/IMG_2008%255B566%255D.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a></div>
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">14
Jan. 2011</span></span></b><br />
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">This photo was made by Charlie
just after we had emerged from the forest onto the open Camel Back ridge before
climbing it and dropping to the saddle. It made the hair on my arms stand up as
in my experience that ethereal hue to the light and sky, and the wind blowing
above meant danger. The wind picked up stronger, though in gusts and bursts,
and I hurried Charlie along to The Gut, where I knew we would be sheltered and
could see the whole route from the saddle to the protection of Buttercup Hollow
and Sunrise hut. From the saddle to the hut is only 15 minutes or so, but also
the most narrow, open, and exposed section. When the wind blows from the
northwest, which it most often does here, it funnels through the valley above
the mountains literally pulling down the high winds which have been rolling
over the open sea and narrow island gathering strength. Often it makes the
saddle uncrossable, and most often makes it windy. My concern observing the
route from The Gut was just how much wind was on that final stretch. I have
been knocked down there in the past, and while not so worried about me, I was
about Charlie and I could see the anxiousness upon his face. This was wind
already such as he had never before seen. The mountains had a final test
indeed. </span></span></span></b></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">When we got below the saddle
the wind really began to howl relentlessly. I had Charlie hang on to my pack
straps which I had looped together, and I was getting shoved around pretty
good, and then I felt him go off his feet. I quickly pushed him into a bit of
tupare and scrub on the lee side of the wind, just enough so that our heads
were out of it as we lay on the ground. Charlie was scared and crying. I knew
instinctively I had to let him rest and gather himself. I thought very clearly
and calmly as I stroked his head, and after a few minutes he looked up at me. I
told him what we had to do. I strapped my poles and his to my pack, and the
second the wind howled a fraction less, we were on our feet and off. I had
Charlie in a death grip by the arm and literally dragged and pulled him as I
fought through the wind. A couple times I looked back and literally saw his
feet off the ground. There is a little tunnel in the tupare and tawhairauriki
which lean decidedly against the nor'west wind a few hundred metres before the actual
track drops to the hut. Once I saw that approach my heart lifted, I knew we had
made it. I pulled Charlie ahead of me and down into the tunnel. The wind
stopped and we were in sudden calm, which is somewhat disorienting after being
in a blowing gale. I yelled and whooped and screamed. We were alive and we were
living! Charlie started staggering down the rough track the wrong way and I
called him back. His eyes were wild and unfocused. I pulled him to me and
hugged him and told him I loved him, how proud I was of him, how hard I know
that was for him, and the courage it took. It may have been my proudest moment
as a father. Since that moment Charlie and I know something more, about each
other, about these mountains. He is indeed connected to the Ruahine. He met
Tawhirimatea, The God of Wind, he met the Ruahine....</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">And of course it was Charlie whom accompanied me on my very first trip bak to the Ruahine after having my hip replaced. To be honest I was full of anxiety prior to that trip, simply not knowing how it would go, or if those connection to this place were even real. He was so kind and gentle with me over those two days, much like when I fell in the river with Taylor and he came rushing to my aid. I felt loved and cared for by my sons. That is a wonderful feeling.</span></span></span></b><br />
<b><span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"><br /></span></span></span></b>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";"></span></span></span><br />
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">4 June 2010 </span></span></span></div>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
</span></span></span>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Sunrise hut - late afternoon</span></span></span></div>
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</span></span></span>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">Robb Kloss</span></span></span></div>
<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="background-color: rgba(255, 255, 255, 0); margin: 0px;"><span style="font-family: "calibri";">
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Charlie Kloss</div>
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I have pulled out my little notebook a few different times in the past few hours here at Sunrise hut to try and gather the thoughts running around inside my head, but each time till now I have failed to put pen to paper. I could only stare out at this place, and even if only here at Sunrise today that is a huge step, and a wonderful place to be as I reunite with the Ruahine. I came here back in October of 2009 with Taylor, and on a stormy day where crossing the saddle was not an option we stayed here and had the place to ourselves. Today as I sit here on the porch I watch a well used swan dry garment once worn by Taylor as a little boy, now filled by another little boy, Charlie, buzzing about the tussock and tarn looking for ice and snow and taking in this huge new environment. His first over night trip into these mountains, age 7, the age I first took Taylor beyond here to Top Maropea, the first of many trips for his young legs. I sit and stare at Charlie, yet I think of Taylor and that time gone in the blink of an eye. And, of course, this is also a homecoming and a first for me. My first connection here since November of last year, and my first outing with this new tin hip. Wow!</div>
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</div>
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<b>I am feeling a bit overwhelmed, stunned to have walked up here with a reasonably heavy pack, and discover the joys of walking which I have not experienced for almost 5 years now as I look back. To actually enjoy walking and climbing rather than it being simply an arduous and painful price to pay for being here. As I walked today I kept waiting for those signs to flare up, which they did not. I felt light and giddy, walked slow, steady, and easily instead of a painful lumbering gait. I walked with a smile upon my face rather the mask of grimace I have been used to. I felt like I was having some sort of a religious experience. Maybe it was I just felt normal.</b></div>
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<b></b><br /></div>
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<b>5 June Sunrise hut - just after sunrise</b></div>
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As I sat with a cup of coffee before sunrise I saw Charlie stir and then wake up, (he had over 11 hours of sound sleep). So for the first time in my life I watched the sunrise in the mountains with my youngest son. How wealthy was I in that moment, sitting on the porch of this place, the only ones in the world watching the sunrise from here, Charlie snuggled into me and my arm around him. </div>
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My thoughts cannot help but wish we were heading in deeper into the Ruahine for many days, but this first journey for us both was more prudent and the results satisfying. Charlie and I will experience that, differently perhaps than I did with Taylor. I want to one day come with both my boys together. But to be here now, not just with Charlie, but with this new hip, to have set my mind to getting back here, to have accomplished that, to know they will still be the part of my life I need so much. I can only bow my head in Thanks. Kia kaha!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie and I outside Top Maropea.<br />
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Noah</td></tr>
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“Going to the mountains is going home.” <br />
― John Muir</div>
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Today was an important one. Certainly in my life and one that one day, when I am mere dust, my grandson might see as relevant to how his life is unfolding. I hope so. Today Tara and I took our moko out to the Ruahine. His first steps into a sacred and special range of mountains. The third generation of Kloss feet to be placed there. A distinct honour and a humble privilege. We walked only a very short distance into the fore<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;">st along the Number 1 Line track out in Pohangina valley. Up to the huge Rimu tree. We said a Karakia and stared at this ageless giant . Noah loved it and got quite stroppy when we had to leave. He kissed the giant goodbye. My sun is setting and his only begun to rise. On the short walk back to the car all I could think of are the possibilities we have in the few short years ahead when our lives intersect with real meaning. </span></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Trees!</td></tr>
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“I have learned that to be with those I like is enough” <br />
― Walt Whitman</div>
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A favourite moment from placing my grandsons feet in the Ruahine. Noah found a cozy spot and sat nestled and happy. It seemed the roots of the stately old Rimu were giving him a cuddle and pleased for the company. He sat there for a long time. I joined him and told him of a few places I love in these mountains and hope to show him. He just sat and looked around, listened and it all felt very comfortable, very natural. Like sitting along a river on a beautiful calm day, or resting after climbing a long steep spur with a treasured mate. The smiles always tell the story. A simple dream I hold onto is to one day and one evening climb up and to Top Maropea with my sons and grandson. The completion of a huge circle in my tiny life. Tihei Mauri Ora! (top photo)</div>
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What a privilege it has been to be able to first be introduced to place that has become so important to my own well being and learning its charms and character one step at a time. Then being able to introduce my own sons to that place, to have experiences there we will always share. And now my mokopuna, grandson. What might await? For Taylor and Charlie even if they do not have the same passion and yearning for the Ruahine, or any wild place, as I do, so be it. At least they know they are there. And like a dusty hidden present forgotten on some shelf it will always be there to discover and open. Tihei Mauri Ora!<br />
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">“We have such a brief opportunity to pass on to our
children our love for this Earth, and to tell our stories. These are the
moments when the world is made whole. In my children's memories, the adventures
we've had together in nature will always exist.” </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; margin: 0px;">― Richard Louv, Last Child in the Woods: Saving Our
Children from Nature-Deficit Disorder</span></div>
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Kia ora!<br />
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Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-50395246587672746002018-06-08T20:59:00.000+12:002018-08-05T08:30:37.414+12:00Mana Heke Iho - Inherent Dignity<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"Nothing is at last sacred but the integrity of your own mind."</div>
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-Ralph Waldo Emerson</div>
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2 June 2018</div>
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Sunrise hut Mid afternoon</div>
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I arrived here after a rather chilly walk up through the
cloud and mist. It was drizzling when I left the car and shortly turned to rain
and sleet as I trudged upwards to here.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>While trying to be cognizant that I would be carrying a near 18 pound bench
lashed to my pack, I also had to have gear and equipment for a 3 day winter
tramp. Thus my load, both mentally and physically was very heavy. It has been
over 5 months since I have spent any real quality time in the mountains, and
combined with the duty of hauling this bench along to replace ones which had
been at Top Maropea for 60 years, until being burnt, made it a tough effort.
That someone chose to burn 60 year old seats in a mountain hut that is actually
a Historical Site because they were cold still astounds me. The total
disconnection, disrespect, and sheer self entitlement of such an act filled me
with a melancholic gloom. </div>
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I just wanted to be alone with my thoughts as I climbed
slowly up here and reflect on my relationship with both Top Maropea and the
Ruahine, perhaps find some inspirational insight that will soothe my soul. The
truth is really I felt blank and simply felt the weight of that bench strapped
on my back with each step. Maybe it was some type of penance and more sanguine
and lucid thought will come as I sit by the fire with a cup of tea, or
something stronger.</div>
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In the morning I will head over the saddle to Top Maropea
and be joined at some point by a few other lads hauling the other two benches.
It is completely clagged in and grey with rain and sleet, though only a slight
wisp of wind. It seems as if the mountains too feel the melancholy.</div>
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Late Afternoon..</div>
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There was a wee break in the rain and I went out and sat
amongst the tussock up where the track to the saddle begins. Though I could see
no more than 10 metres in any direction I knew that Te Atuaoparapara loomed
above to the southwest, and that Armstrong saddle was just to the north and the
highpoint and start of Camelback spur directly to the west. The mere fact I
knew they were there made their presence important and significant. Then as if
the cloud lifted and those peaks and places suddenly appeared clear and vivid,
the fog in my head lifted in the same momentary reflection. What came to mind
was holistic model of Maori health and wellness developed by Sir Mason Durie,
one I had learned the basics of in my Probation officer training and read more
about on my own, that of Te Whare Tapa Wha. Simply explained meaning there are
4 dimensions to a person’s <span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>well being,
akin to the support of 4 legs of chair we might sit upon. If 1 or more of the
legs is wobbly or broke it will not support us and we are out of balance. The 4
areas are:</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">1.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Taha
Hinengaro – our mental health and well being</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">2.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Taha
Tinana – our body and physical well being</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">3.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Taha
Whanau – our family and relationship</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"><span style="margin: 0px;">4.<span style="font-size-adjust: none; font-stretch: normal; font: 7pt "Times New Roman"; margin: 0px;"> </span></span></span>Taha
Wairua – our Spiritual well being</div>
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<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>So sitting there all bundled up on a wee knoll of moss and
tussock enjoying a wee dram with the tupare and stunted tawhairaunui as
soothing, knowing, and wise companions, I realized the issue was with my own
wairua.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>The bruised and battering my own
wairua, spirit, has taken was not so much related to the burning of the actual
benches themselves.<span style="margin: 0px;"> </span>They are simply
representations of a place, and mountains, I love and have become connected to
in so many ways. And perhaps it is simply being in these mountains again that
has help lift my wairua. I suspect as well that the load I carried up here to
begin restoring mana and karma to a place I love also has a role in my own
spirts being lifted.</div>
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Evening:</div>
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The rain has resumed in earnest and the temperature remains
0 degrees Celsius. Everything outside is still muted by the quiet mist. I am
off to bed and in the morning I shall venture into the mist shrouded track over
to Top Maropea. My Quiet Friend and I will travel together. A hint of breeze
fluttering the waxy leaves of the tupare, greywacke rock falling down a slip
like broken shards of glass, the rise and fall of my own breathing and
heartbeat, and always on days like the one ahead the cacophony of water,
plopping, dripping gathering and flowing into nearby waterfalls I will never
see. It is hushed and quiet but never silent. Tihei Mauri Ora!</div>
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3 June 2018</div>
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Top Maropea hut</div>
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Mid-morning</div>
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The rain and sleet picked up quite heavily during the night
at Sunrise, joined by the odd blast of wind which had me nervously tossing and
turning in my sleeping bag. Rain, cloud and sleet are not deal breakers on a
route I know very well, but strong winds definitely can destroy the best laid
plans. However when I awoke just before light it was fairly quiet and though it
was drizzling steadily the winds were still with just an occasional gust. A few
cups of coffee, some cabin bread and peanut butter, and I packed up and was on
my way.</div>
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While I got very wet I was only hit by blasts of chilly wind
when turned into the easterly cold wind and just plugged along through it. As I
neared the middle section of Camel Back spur a small section of cloud cleared
and across the valley a section of the snow covered tops emerged out of the
mist for a few brief moments. (It was to be the only glimpse of any tops I
would see all three days). Walking in the cold and mist was actually not
uncomfortable travel given my heavy load. After the steep climb down through
the forest I arrived at Top Maropea and unburdened myself of my heavy load. I
said a Karakia for what was old and what is new and that Mana Heke Iho, or
Inherent Dignity be restored to this mountain treasure. Then I just stood in
silence and listened to the plopping drips of water all around me and thought
of my connections to this place….</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">I, and the bench have arrived. Haere Mai! Welcome. Always glad to be here.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The original hut. Things still swirl here.</td></tr>
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The above photo, courtesy of the New Zealand Deer Stalkers
Association, is Top Maropea in 1959. I came across it and just sat staring at
it. It seemed to speak to me, almost as if waiting for me to discover it. How
many nights, or hut bound afternoons waiting out a storm, or even fine ones lazing
about doing not much at all, have I wondered about this place, the men whom
have spent time here culling deer, the storms this hut has withstood, the
changes in the mountains it has been witness to observe.</div>
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A hut was first proposed for the area in 1956 with the site
chosen by NZFS field officers Evan Meredith and Des Torrance. In early 1958 a
tent site was set up and 14 loads of materials were parachuted in by fixed wing
airplane. It was built in one week in Feb. 1958 by NZFS bush carpenters Jan van
de Lagemaat, Des Torrance and Bob Norton. It was built before hut
construction was standardised and as such this hut had its own special
uniqueness.</div>
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The hut was less than two years old when this photo above
was observed. Though it has been refurbished, most of the structure today is
the original hut seen above. The chimney, roof, guttering, interior lining, and
fireplace all have been replaced, and the hut has been designated as an
historical land mark, one of the original cullers huts in the North Island, and
certainly the Ruahine.</div>
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It was not, apparently, the most popular place amongst the
cullers to pull duty in. It is relatively high at 1242 meters, burnable wood
for a fire hard to come by for a night, much less to cook on and warm one's
self morning and night day after day. Also observing the above photo and
noticeable lack of a water tank to capture rain off the roof, getting a drink
or boiling the billy would have been the best part of an hours journey to and
from the stream far below the hut. In winter, after the fire dies, it is like
sleeping in a refrigerator.</div>
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Still, this place calls to me and always will. I have seen
it on the most sublime of days and nights.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>On blue sky sunlit days when flies buzz lazily in the air, and cool
clear nights when stars light up the skies. I have woken up and got my stuff
packed and dressed at 3:00am when I thought the hut was going to be blown away.
I have had to stay extra days and ration out my food supply because of raging
blizzards. I have seen the snow glow translucent on the surrounding peaks on a
full moon. I have just sat in the hut contemplating, looking out the fly
specked window, the rain beating down on the tin roof. I have had many wee
drams in my tin cup, a candle illuminated in the hut window with the smell of
wood smoke in the air as I sit outside observing the scene. My sons Taylor and
Charlie have both shared this place with me, and Charlie's placenta is buried
here. Tara has been here with me at a time I needed her most. I have shared the
charms of this place with many special friends, and spent many nights as well
in the solitude of my own company.</div>
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So this photo echoes strongly for me. As if I can sense men
like Des, Evan, Jan and Bob still have their spirits swirling about the place
and understand exactly why those bloody benches were indeed so important.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taylor and I in 2001. On the way to Maropea Forks. </td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Taylor at Top Maropea in 2011. Little did we know the trip ahead!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">An absolutely awesome fire, well built and well earned.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie at Top Maropea. One of my favourite moments in the Ruahine. His placenta is buried beneath that cairn the sunlight shines upon. I took it, and still do, as a sign from Papatuanuku, Mother Earth, that all was correct.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie in front of a well built Top Maropea fire.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie. On the way to Maropea Forks. Another good fire.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tara. I would carry a bottle of red wine in for no else in the entire world. Enough said.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">2008 and the celebration of the 25th night spent under this orange roof.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">All three benches have arrived. A fine evening!</td></tr>
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3 June Top Maropea</div>
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Evening</div>
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I am now joined now by the other two benches hauled in by
David Dodge and T.J, and Tyson. I met David at Upper Makaroro back in 2001 when
he was a young lad. I was with an American friend and he was there with a mate
fly fishing. One evening we shared a freshly caught rainbow trout that fed the
four of us. Ten years ago or so I was spending a few days at Top Maropea and
doing some day trips. I was down on the Maropea river on a lovely day strolling
along when I saw two guys come around a bend staggering under heavy loads and
large Red Stag head. It was David and he immediately recognized me from our
time at Upper Makaroro. We climbed back up to Top Maropea and renewed our acquaintance
over cups of tea. We have remained friends ever since. The person with him was
Tyson. So the connections are very relevant and very strong. Tyson had a snow
boarding accident a few years ago and broke his back. This is his first trip into
the Ruahine since then. It seems significant he is here and representative of
the healing process for all of us. Kia ora!</div>
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It is still raining and we sit inside by the fire as these
new seats become part of their new whare.<span style="margin: 0px;">
</span>We sit in the ambiance of a job well done, laughing and telling Ruahine
stories, sharing our food and several well earned drams of very nice whiskey. </div>
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I am proud and honoured to be here with these gentlemen and
share this moment. The new seats look and feel like they belong and with their
long journey over the misty mountain terrain they have truly gained character.
Mission accomplished. </div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David, TJ, and Tyson on Camel Back spur. Weather conditions not pleasant.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Nice job lads!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">When it is wet, cold, and no firewood there is work to be done.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home Sweet Home!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Meeting David Dodge at Upper Makaroro back in 2001. The trout was tasty.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">David Dodge and I in 2018. Kia kaha e hoa!</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tyson and David Dodge hauling out that deer from Top Maropea way back when.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The view from the "backyard" at Top Maropea. To appreciate it most sitting on a nice bench and contemplation is required.</td></tr>
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<b>4 June: Sunrise Hut</b></div>
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<b>Still raining but across the saddle. I have chosen to remain behind while the other fellahs walk ahead. Once here there is no more risk involved. Just a big walk down the mountain to my car. So I just wanted to stay behind and reflect a bit. To all the times I have been here doing just this. To all the times I have managed to cross the saddle and venture beyond. And those I have not. To all those I have crossed that saddle with. Each equally important. And now, as I sit here alone with stean blowing off my breath, I know the efforts of many have added up to a meaningful experience. </b></div>
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<b>E hara taku toa</b></div>
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<b>i te toa takitahi,</b></div>
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<b>he toa takitini,</b></div>
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<b><br /></b></div>
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<b>My strength is not</b></div>
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<b>as an individual</b></div>
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<b>but as a collective.</b></div>
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<b>Arohanui,</b></div>
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<b>Robb</b></div>
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<span id="goog_1771543409"></span><span id="goog_1771543410"></span><br />Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-83303958000895052082017-12-30T11:10:00.002+13:002019-06-23T17:33:36.397+12:00Hei huarahi maa taatou e te rangi nei ( A Pathway for us all day.)<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9oxow0NSOTM/WkXCWnbxnfI/AAAAAAAADtA/lM-MhKUZS9wAit-bcDOHyTl7M-VA7TsKQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0176.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="360" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-9oxow0NSOTM/WkXCWnbxnfI/AAAAAAAADtA/lM-MhKUZS9wAit-bcDOHyTl7M-VA7TsKQCLcBGAs/s640/DSCF0176.JPG" width="640" /></a></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John on Parks Peak ridge. Main Ruaine range in background with Makaroro valley between</td></tr>
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17 December 2017<o:p></o:p></div>
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Parks Peak hut<o:p></o:p></div>
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Early evening<o:p></o:p></div>
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Robb Kloss<o:p></o:p></div>
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John Nash<o:p></o:p></div>
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How many times now have I sat here at the table in this hut
and stared across the high mountain meadow towards the Makaroro valley and the
distant main Ruahine range? At the end of the meadow lies the location of the
old Parks Peak hut, a miserable and leaking little hut with a cranky wood
stove. Yet how I loved that place. In a few years now only those whom
had been there will even know it was there at all. This “new hut” which I sit
in now could hardly be considered any longer as new. It is coming up quickly on
ten years old. And memories of many visits over that span make me realize I
have spent as much time in this new hut as I did at the place I gaze wistfully
across the meadow upon.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<o:p> </o:p> </div>
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I am here with John on the first day of our week long summer
roam in the Ruahine, the 17<sup>th</sup> such summer wander. It was a very hot
day on a ridge the hut map describes as “very long, and very arduous.” John and
I both agree that is a very apt description. Perhaps the word “gruelling” could
be added for additional effect. I have never arrived in my many trips along it
to not be tiredly thrilled to see this meadow come into view and with it the
little orange roof of the old hut or the white one of this more spacious
accommodation at the other end of the meadow. Yet the pain of walking and
climbing up the ridge is always tempered by the sheer beauty of it. The rewards
of the climb apparent in the emergence of the mosses and lichen, the stunted
tawhairauriki, the far off views of the distant main Ruahine range and finally
the tupare, leatherwood, and knowing the upper reaches are at hand and that hut
roof and mountain meadow not too far away. <o:p></o:p></div>
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There is a shadow hanging over me. There is a lingering and
familiar pain in my left hip, the one that wasn’t replaced. One that reminds me
of perhaps what lies ahead, and also an incessant tapping on my shoulder of
time and my ability to travel in these places. So in the dull pain I am also
aware of being present and mindful of each moment I have in the mountains. It
is not a combination I would choose but my companion none the less.<o:p></o:p></div>
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John naps peacefully as I scribble these words in between
thoughts. Soon I will begin preparing our tea of green beans, mushroom, garlic
and satay noodles. Even now the memories of a day on that “long and arduous”
ridge fade into the sunset and comfort of arriving at such a place as
this. <o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Parks Peak hut at Sunrise</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cloud gathering over the main Ruahine range</td></tr>
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18 December 2017<o:p></o:p></div>
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Upper Makaroro hut<o:p></o:p></div>
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Late morning<o:p></o:p></div>
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I arrived here an hour or so ago, and not long after came
John. We enjoyed our descent from the upper ridge down to the river on our own.
Yesterday was blazing hot and cloudless. Overnight the wind blew in in fierce
gales shaking the hut, and it still blows hard overhead though we are
relatively protected here on the bottom of the narrow valley. From the track
head on Parks Peak ridge the main range, our goal for the day, was smothered in
layers of fluorescent bruise coloured rolling cloud and mist. It did not look
inviting. Even dropping into the magical glowing forest and big trees the wind
still howled through with an ominous feel. John’s thoughts obviously mirrored
mine on his walk as by the time we had boiled the billy and made our first cup
of tea we had decided to stay in the lovely confines of Upper Makaroro hut and
the river. The beauty, I guess, of our flexible travel plans and having time
built in. Older legs combined with experience can indeed make good decisions.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper Makaroro hut</td></tr>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
Late Afternoon: The wind still swoops over the valley,
occasionally reaching a probing gust down to our level, as if to remind us of
its presence, and also validate our decision earlier today. John and I have
gathered a bit of firewood and rendered it up not quite deciding yet on a fire
thought the temperature is steadily dropping. We have spent today just being
here in the moment. It has been good to catch up on what is going on in our
lives, with our families, with our jobs, with each other. And always a pleasure
to find that even though we have not seen each other in almost a year there is
an easy comfort in each others presence. A friendship that has evolved with
proper portions of recalling old memories mixed equally in always advancing the
relationship through what is relevant now, be it an easy subject or a difficult
one. We are also comfortable in silence or traveling alone and meeting up along
the way out here in the mountains. So though today has mostly been a hut day I
smile at the discovery the roots of our friendship have been watered and
nourished…. Ma roto hoki kia ora! Ka pai te korero! - Let us refresh ourselves
and the conversation will be good.</div>
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<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--syeFfM1u-g/WkR4lPd1_JI/AAAAAAAADro/qZD0P_f6MnYnhOXqwMNEcnMIXDEmHOGNQCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0093.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/--syeFfM1u-g/WkR4lPd1_JI/AAAAAAAADro/qZD0P_f6MnYnhOXqwMNEcnMIXDEmHOGNQCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0093.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Stunted tawhairaunui forest on Totara spur</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tz94W80d8Z8/WkXWqSOWXRI/AAAAAAAADt0/1MdmypEgHf40za_ADi2UxL2W-HLWyE_qwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0099.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-tz94W80d8Z8/WkXWqSOWXRI/AAAAAAAADt0/1MdmypEgHf40za_ADi2UxL2W-HLWyE_qwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0099.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Now on main range looking back to Parks Peak ridge</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GoS-zBqvWh4/WkR4s8Uqq5I/AAAAAAAADrs/XwE7a-2e2QU_NdKs8xERmCRAbncxG9S5wCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0104.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-GoS-zBqvWh4/WkR4s8Uqq5I/AAAAAAAADrs/XwE7a-2e2QU_NdKs8xERmCRAbncxG9S5wCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0104.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Main Ruahine range turnoff. Windy and cold!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IEQLTalj7LE/WkXlfz4XueI/AAAAAAAADu0/1Ahpn1OjWp4gE-zVHT7vBVI5NQVDBKYNwCEwYBhgL/s1600/DSCF0106.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-IEQLTalj7LE/WkXlfz4XueI/AAAAAAAADu0/1Ahpn1OjWp4gE-zVHT7vBVI5NQVDBKYNwCEwYBhgL/s400/DSCF0106.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">South on main range. Kylie spur is just above the tarn. We took shelter out of the wind by the tarn and changed our plans.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--HYCNSryLUo/WkXB8EDA28I/AAAAAAAADs0/4lwvyJLMO_QdKeLHQFOMoG_p-X9YQDbwwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0103.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/--HYCNSryLUo/WkXB8EDA28I/AAAAAAAADs0/4lwvyJLMO_QdKeLHQFOMoG_p-X9YQDbwwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0103.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Tarns on the tops.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br /></div>
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19 December 2017<o:p></o:p></div>
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Kylie biv on main Ruahine range<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Mid-afternoon<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
We are cosily ensconced in the modest confines of Kylie
bivvy. There is pretty much room for the two of us and a bit of gear. However
any negative reflections on our accommodation are eliminated by the fact we are
out of the howling and near gale force winds – and the reason this little dog
box hut is here. Being on the tops in this type of wind is not pleasant and
possibly very dangerous. We climbed up Totara spur from Upper Makaroro and
arriving to fierce winds on the open tops decided to battle along and trust
conditions might improve. They did not. After battling and fighting the cold
wind for almost two hours we were happy to drop down the spur off the tops to
here and more thankful to find this little shelter. Every few minutes a gust
finds its way down the spur and rattle and shakes this tiny box with ferocity.
We will just have to re-assess and see if the winds die down and head back to
the tops and camp. That was the plan. The Ruahine do not seem to care a lot for
our plans so far. So this little box suits us just fine.<o:p></o:p></div>
<br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTgO-1MnD9o/WkR6DNI07-I/AAAAAAAADsU/esQoPpaU_DE_Mgau8b3CQHjQe9ZoRF9-ACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0130.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DTgO-1MnD9o/WkR6DNI07-I/AAAAAAAADsU/esQoPpaU_DE_Mgau8b3CQHjQe9ZoRF9-ACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0130.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Looking north on main range and head waters of Makaroro valley.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TRAiSpN7sF8/WkR45d1SpmI/AAAAAAAADrw/lhjCLCLmkFM7xkAHKFehBSGjZ1-8hemKACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0108.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TRAiSpN7sF8/WkR45d1SpmI/AAAAAAAADrw/lhjCLCLmkFM7xkAHKFehBSGjZ1-8hemKACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0108.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kylie bivvy. A steep drop down off the spur.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FIIMCJJu5gI/WkR5WHui5PI/AAAAAAAADr8/Jsg9OUgCP-gOajFqiDVyHEe90GmIicRzwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0109.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-FIIMCJJu5gI/WkR5WHui5PI/AAAAAAAADr8/Jsg9OUgCP-gOajFqiDVyHEe90GmIicRzwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0109.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">The loo.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jl-6r8TwN_0/WkR5LeHOXMI/AAAAAAAADr0/IHl2m1YqLbABAuZzXb6No9Rfb_R3GUKigCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0111.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-Jl-6r8TwN_0/WkR5LeHOXMI/AAAAAAAADr0/IHl2m1YqLbABAuZzXb6No9Rfb_R3GUKigCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0111.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Kylie biv.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A4HSMfjzhXo/WkXdCK5G8rI/AAAAAAAADuc/rwKgLcOsxc0EyyP6GxKbmonILwrWOdvIQCLcBGAs/s1600/20171219_155041_1514503796138%255B6%255D.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="900" height="400" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-A4HSMfjzhXo/WkXdCK5G8rI/AAAAAAAADuc/rwKgLcOsxc0EyyP6GxKbmonILwrWOdvIQCLcBGAs/s400/20171219_155041_1514503796138%255B6%255D.jpg" width="225" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Home sweet home. John reading the hut book.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D5kGI4i1bW4/WkR5PnmtT-I/AAAAAAAADr4/2_ywYHcMZIskN8AyX2o2yJcao8yaFo6SgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0112.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-D5kGI4i1bW4/WkR5PnmtT-I/AAAAAAAADr4/2_ywYHcMZIskN8AyX2o2yJcao8yaFo6SgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0112.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Cozy!</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<br />
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Early Evening: <o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Our new tiny abode now feels lived in with a bit of our gear
strewn about and a wee nap. The wind still howls over and from time to time the
darkening clouds let loose with a brief rain shower. This is our home for the
night and what it lacks in ambiance and comfort is made up for in its location
and mere presence. Not to mention possibly the finest outdoor mountain loo in
the Ruahine.<o:p></o:p></div>
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<br /></div>
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The hut book here goes back over 20 years and the book is
less than half full. I was surprised and delighted to see my own name there
from 2003. I was here with my American friend Mike (Gyro) for a day trip up
from Upper Makaroro. I was much younger and far fitter. I can recall from
looking at my entry that the pen left then had run out and all I was able to write were our names. So tonight, over 14 years later, I finished our entry and added
a new one. It seems quite fitting. I ponder again how long these mountains will
allow my presence. This lingering pain in my left hip continues to tap upon my
shoulder. To see that entry in a seldom visited place makes me smile. My legs
carried me here. I am indeed older, slower and not much wiser perhaps, but I am
here. The little dog box has just taken on a wee bit more ambiance.</div>
</div>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fSaSFw4pGeI/WkR5xy0aC6I/AAAAAAAADsM/S3BYujZHKXQVX0SQRuhdZVL3TnPk0BF_wCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0127.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-fSaSFw4pGeI/WkR5xy0aC6I/AAAAAAAADsM/S3BYujZHKXQVX0SQRuhdZVL3TnPk0BF_wCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0127.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John emerging from Kylie spur back onto the tops. It was dark cloud and suddenly the sun just burst through.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br /></div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YQqcMdB13yY/WkR5oDt7rpI/AAAAAAAADsA/NQ6AVc02CJAq4y_GzzRXwpi2s6QIyVvtwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0123.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-YQqcMdB13yY/WkR5oDt7rpI/AAAAAAAADsA/NQ6AVc02CJAq4y_GzzRXwpi2s6QIyVvtwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0123.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Morning view from Kylie biv.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0XbmMVodSfY/WkXC68id4TI/AAAAAAAADtc/sGb3E3jRvGYME4Qiklcg5EJpSc78umfLACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a></div>
<a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-0XbmMVodSfY/WkXC68id4TI/AAAAAAAADtc/sGb3E3jRvGYME4Qiklcg5EJpSc78umfLACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0183.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><br /></a>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4tXsAswsUCg/WkR5srgEFjI/AAAAAAAADsE/vqAojZTnzyEY8jJchRKius6S_XEJPAQSwCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0124.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://2.bp.blogspot.com/-4tXsAswsUCg/WkR5srgEFjI/AAAAAAAADsE/vqAojZTnzyEY8jJchRKius6S_XEJPAQSwCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0124.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back along the main range.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
</div>
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ge7f3T5RKnE/WkR5875_GjI/AAAAAAAADsQ/_Kyf5G0OgAk95p_34w4k9r-Ci8Iuxr-ugCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0128.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-ge7f3T5RKnE/WkR5875_GjI/AAAAAAAADsQ/_Kyf5G0OgAk95p_34w4k9r-Ci8Iuxr-ugCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0128.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the tops.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TklYSpGHK8U/WkXdQcgTnsI/AAAAAAAADug/zmAXdIPy2poTL_hfX0CyvsK-SfmyON1dACLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0163.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="background-color: transparent; color: #0066cc; font-family: "times new roman"; font-size: 16px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; letter-spacing: normal; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center; text-decoration: underline; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; word-spacing: 0px;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-TklYSpGHK8U/WkXdQcgTnsI/AAAAAAAADug/zmAXdIPy2poTL_hfX0CyvsK-SfmyON1dACLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0163.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Back into the forest.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
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<div class="MsoNormal">
20 December 2017<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Upper Makaroro<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
Late morning<o:p></o:p></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
<br /></div>
<span style="font-family: "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12.0pt;">Almost as soon as we pulled the door shut on our
wee bivvy early last evening the rain began to patter in earnest on the tin
roof. Then it began to rain, and when that was done it rained even harder, and
then it rained again. For over 12 hours it rained. Occasionally the rain was
overcome by the continuing gusts of wind that would howl over and shake the
tiny bivvy to its core. It was not the best nights sleep I have had in
the mountains. Just after dawn the rain slowed to a drizzle. Not too long after
we got our gear organized and headed back up to the still windy tops. We found
the tops covered in swirling cloud and wind. It was actually a fantastic scene
as the view changed almost by the minute, engulfing us in her misty grey
fingers one minute, the next finding us in sunshine. It was enough for us to
call off a long day on the tops in uncertain weather and an unknown route. This
was validated by our becoming “lost” by walking off towards the ridge leading
towards Ruahine Corner until the mist lifted and we spotted our error. It was a
very humbling moment to experience. So
we made our way back to Totara spur and climbed back down here to Upper
Makaroro. It is what it is, and certainly a reminder that the mountains always
hold the upper hand. I can’t even really write that I am disappointed. On a map
the route we had planned today looks pretty simple, but once up on the open tops
the scale of it becomes very real and in that type of weather, with the wind
and cloud mistakes are never far off. It was not a hard call to make</span></div>
<div class="MsoNormal">
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<br />
<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f0gBG-78Rj0/WkXCQhTYCwI/AAAAAAAADs8/mt2fJgby26EVC9CjsSK28A4r7iGo8B9EgCLcBGAs/s1600/DSCF0138.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="900" data-original-width="1600" height="225" src="https://3.bp.blogspot.com/-f0gBG-78Rj0/WkXCQhTYCwI/AAAAAAAADs8/mt2fJgby26EVC9CjsSK28A4r7iGo8B9EgCLcBGAs/s400/DSCF0138.JPG" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Makaroro river above the hut.</td></tr>
</tbody></table>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
20 December</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
Late Afternoon</div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
<br /></div>
<br />
<div style="margin: 0px;">
After a late morning siesta awoke to find the sun shining,
and while the winds were still heard over head, in the cocoon of the valley all
was well. We walked up river for an hour or so to stretch our legs and hoping
to spot a whio. We had no luck with the whio but spotted quite a few big trout
and found a beautiful little pool to dive into and carry on our summer
tradition. The water was ice cold but highly invigorating. As always it is such
a pleasure to just amble along a pristine mountain river and just enjoy each
new bend, the sounds of its music, and the quality of such moments. How lovely
to reflect upon my time here, the fact the proposed dam far down river where it
leaves the mountains will not proceed. Places like this are taonga, treasures,
and need to be treasured in turn. To quote Edward Abbey, “..We need wilderness
whether or not we ever set foot in it. We need a refuge even though we may
never need to go there.” </div>
<br />
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As I sit here on the old smooth worn surface of the ancient
tawhairanui log listening to the river, eating cashews, and having a wee dram
of Glen Morangie I lift my tin cup to those wise words.</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Upper Makaroro from Parks Peak spur. John outside hut.</td></tr>
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21 December<br />
Upper Makaroro<br />
6:00 am<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline; font-family: inherit;"><br />1 degree Celsius</span></div>
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It is dawn. Though it will be a long while yet before the Suns warmth reaches the narrow valley high above me. I have no real reason to be up so early. Our days travel up the grunty spur will take no more than 3 hours and we have all day. Yet as I sit here and sleepily come to life so it seems do the mountains. Even the endless flow and song of the river seems muted and hushed. And I smile knowing these are truly my favourite moments of all in the Ruahine. My cup of strong coffee, bundled up to ward off the damp cold, and my mind and body feel suddenly alert, aware, and in tune. The possibilities that lie ahead exciting and endless. </div>
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The steam rolls off my breath and will until the sun appears and the chilly morning dew will rise and evaporate just like my own presence here. Yet this moment, right now, shall remain like a lingering wisp of that dew.<br />
This is now our 5th day in the mountains. Aside from our own company we have yet to see another soul. Now truly operating on mountain time. Moving with a deliberate pace and action even when seemingly doing little at all. Any burdens exist only in our individual dark places. The mountains bring light and the promise of a new day.</div>
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Kia hora te marino<br />
Kia whakapapa pounamu te moana<br />
Hei huarahi maa taatou i te rangi nei<br />
Aroha atu aroha mai<br />
Taatou i a taatou katoa<br />
Haumie hui e Taiki e!</div>
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May peace be widespread<br />
May the sea be like greenstone<br />
A pathway for us all day<br />
Let us show respect for each other<br />
For one another<br />
Bind us together!</div>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Afternoon tea on Parks Peak ridge.</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Not bad. Not bad at all!</td></tr>
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21 December 2017<br />
Parks Peak hut...evening<br />
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A beautiful day has emerged. Walked up on my own through the mystical like forest. Although grueling and mostly relentless in its climb, there are some truly magic places, full of energy and wairua, (spirit), within it. A good place to check the measure of my own wairua. I arrived at the top of the spur tired but smiling so I take that as a good sign. I stare once again out the window at the mountain meadow. These past 5 days have unfolded on their own terms. John and I have merely reacted to the gifts we have been given.<br />
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We went out to the track head over looking the valley for our final afternoon tea. Olives, cheese, salami, and a wee final dram to toast the Ruahine, and each other. We have been traveling in these mountains together for over 20 years, and for 17 of them doing trips like this every summer. There is a very solid rightness to that. We must be doing something correct.<br />
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Kia Kaha, Kia Maia, Kia Manawanui - Be Strong, Be Steadfast, Be Willing<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Misty days bring out the best on this ridge. Magical.</td></tr>
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22 December 5:30 am<br />
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I am once again up early. John still sleeps soundly. The weather has turned once again to grey cloud and mist. I can hardly see the meadow outside the window in the early morning dawn. I look out with an equal degree of joy and melancholy. The joy is soon seeing Tara, my sons, my moko and his momma - my whanau, family. And also joy in that I get another 5-6 hours to wander down this Ruahine ridge knowing she is at her best on just such days as this. The melancholy comes from knowing the meander will carry me to the road end. Another trip finished. How many do I have left? My heart still sings with youthful vigour for these mountains, yet six days of travel tell my legs truths I also need to acknowledge. The coffee tastes good, and I am still smiling. Just enjoy the ridge and the moment Robb...just enjoy.<br />
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Kia ora John<br />
Kia ora Tara<br />
Kia ora Tony (Tara's dad who came to pick us up)<br />
Kia ora Ruahine!<br />
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Arohanui,<br />
Robb<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">John on Parks Peak ridge. One of the less arduous parts. :)</td></tr>
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Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-51235814540777478662016-09-12T18:37:00.000+12:002016-09-12T18:37:39.991+12:00Te Whakapiri Mauri Ora<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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21 August, 2016 Sunrise hut Ruahine range<br />
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It has been a long time between drinks of these mountains. Not since early January with John and Pete have my feet been placed here. And today I left definite footsteps in the snow that lie just halfway here. By the time I arrived at the hut I was breaking through to thigh deep snow and the saddle and tops look deluged with the white stuff. I am having a cup of coffee and some hot noodles and deciding if I want to cross the saddle to Top Maropea today. I have a few hours up my sleeve and it is a lovely day. I'm just a bit concerned about all the snow. My plan is to get to Maropea Forks for a few days. I was last there with Charlie in late 2014, and in those near two years since have been wandering in the Oroua valley so the thought of the forks, river and whio appeals. A bit of work lies ahead..<br />
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This year has been a fruitful one in spite of my lack of mountain time. A mokopuna to increase our whanau, Charlie starting high school and entering the teen years, and my undertaking of a new career. A steep and daunting challenge at my age. Yet I feel that part of my life invigorated, moved in a direction that feels right. It is a difficult under taking and one where the rewards are far and few between. Small shifts that hold great significance.<br />
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I am connecting many dots. My Te Whare Tapa Wha needs re-balancing after 7 months. (I wrote about Te Whare Tapa Wha a few posts back for those interested)...And a recent concept I have been made aware of through involvement in the Tikanga programme. Te Whaka Piri Mauri Ora...or in essence to Step up to, or Enhance the Spirit or Breath of Life. Which fits the essence of the four pillars of Te Whare Tapa Wha and my need to assess that balance. What better place for me to do that but here in the Ruahine. One foot in front of the other.<br />
(Note again...shortly after writing this a few people arrived up at the hut. I decided solitude was my immediate goal, so I packed up and left in the late afternoon. It usually would take less than two hours to cross the saddle, over the short stretch of tops and down into the forest to Top Maropea.) <br />
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21 August late evening Top Maropea...<br />
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I arrived here a few hours ago. It took me nearly 4 hours to cross the saddle, tops, and drop into the forest to here. Snow conditions were extremely difficult. Icy on the narrow ridge and deep all the way. Every few steps I would break through the surface knee or thigh deep, and in places where the obliterated track was rutted up to my waist. Extracting myself from that was both time consuming and exhausting. By the time I got into the steep drop through the forest to here it was dark. The forest at night with deep snow all around is essentially featureless, and I had to stop to get out my head torch so I could locate markers on the tree. I knew the hut was close but I could not find the next marker. I felt a sense of panic welling up, thinking I might have to bivvy in the snow during a very cold night. I focused on being mindful and present and my experiences here. I moved a bit towards the sound of the creek far below and suddenly not only saw the marker but the roof of the orange hut. I stood there quietly just looking at that little refuge where I have spent so many nights. I tried to utter a karakia but the words choked in my throat and so I just thought them. I was shaking, wet and cold and it seemed to take ages for me to get out of my wet gear and into dry stuff, get the billy on and get some hot drinks inside me. Lighting the fire seemed too much. Eventually the hot tea and soup worked and I managed to get a fire going which is now built up into a roaring conflagration. The heat and glow have warmed me immeasurably. The difference a few hours can make.<br />
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In spite of my physical and mental tiredness I feel a sense of warmth within beyond the heat of the fire. I found resilience, mental toughness, experience and inner calm today. Perhaps qualities I know I have anyway but maybe I needed that reassurance. I'm thinking maybe those people arrived at Sunrise for a reason. A Gift from the Ruahine.<br />
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22 August. Late Afternoon. Top Maropea hut.<br />
The fire crackles and takes the chill out of the cold confines of the
tiny hut. The hut was re-piled a few months back and some of the old
piles left behind. Original totara from when the hut was built in 1958.
Totara burns bright and hot and I feel it is appropriate for me to use
and enjoy their warmth here. I have spent a bit of time here over the
last 20 years after all. <br />
A sleet and ice driven snow patters on the tin roof. A fi<span class="text_exposed_show">ne,
even reassuring melody when in front of such a fire as this. I munch
contentedly on olives and salami and contemplate over a wee dram of
Jameson 12 year old...I gaze over to my bunk and rumpled sleeping bag
from which I recently awoke from a dreamless and deep afternoon nap.<br />
This morning I battled down through the forest to the where it drops to
the side stream. I was already wet, cold and tired. It is perhaps a 150
metres down to the stream. Straight down. There is a track that zig
zags down but it was obliterated by snow. The thought of getting down
that then spending another 4 hours or more in and out of a freezing
river to Maropea Forks was too much. So I battled even harder back up to
the hut. What should take less than 30 minutes took well over an hour.
So here I contemplate and I am okay with this....</span><br />
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The sheer beauty of these places. This historic little hut which I have
spent over 50 nights and feel a small part of now. The possibility of
solitude and remoteness here, a day's walk from the road end. All that
awakens something within me, just as the last 7 months in my working
life have. Maybe the uncertainty there is symmetrical to the weather
here, just as a blue sky day here to the small shifts out there. Best
laid plans are still only plans. Reality often steps in to reminds us,
sometimes gently, sometimes with a sledgehammer. Like yesterday out
there in the dark seemingly fighting for my life, or today not arriving
at Maropea Forks. Lots of small choices. And this fire needs another
log...Te Whakapiri Mauri Ora!<br />
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23 August Afternoon Sunrise hut..<br />
It was snowing and blowing a gale at Top Maropea all night. I rolled over in my sleeping bag and mentally resigned myself to staying here another day. When I drifted off into a fitful sleep finally I awoke to quiet and blue skies. It was another long and grueling climb up through the forest and across the tops and saddle to here. Took me 3 hours and I arrived to an empty hut. Being a week day I fancy my chances at solitude so have settled in here, filled the wood bins and have a cozy fire going.<br />
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In spite of the deep snow it was a beautiful day and I was again mindful of the immensity of that splendour and what this place means for me. Which I guess helps to alleviate the tough conditions and travel on days like this. In any case I have had three revealing days here. Not the days I had planned or envisioned but how many are? I have had a few moments that have awakened me totally and completely to the present. What more can I ask? Te Whakapiri Mauri Ora!<br />
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<br />
The time for me here begins to dwindle<br />
My presence a mere gust of a nor'west wind<br />
reaching probing fingers down <br />
to rattle this hut <br />
or one of the icy snowflakes<span class="text_exposed_show"><br /> bouncing on the tin roof<br /> destined for creek, river, and sea<br /> Listen to the crackle and pop of the fire<br /> Hard earned<br /> The wood hissing from rain, snow, and life <br /> in these mountains<br /> The final act to give warmth<br /> then like my own temporal moment<br /> a smokey wisp<br /> So I gaze out the fly specked window<br /> One more time...</span>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-46625647093423420792016-03-13T19:59:00.001+13:002016-03-17T20:03:12.825+13:00Bukowski and Trump<br />
I understand the mechanics of the American political process and system very well. My degree from the University of Wisconsin was in Political Science. So I understand the nomination process currently being undertaken by both the Republicans and Democrats involves a very small number of registered party members and that the actual numbers of Trump's support are spread actually very thin across the Republican Party....Still...<br />
What concerns me most is the continuing rise and utter bile of such lowest common denominator tripe that Trump puts forth. No actual policy just repeated utterances that mirror the ugliness of the man, his bigotry, racism, and fear mongering.<br />
Charles Bukowski wrote this poem about America decades ago. It seems to be breathing and heaving more full of life today...<br />
<br />
Putrefaction<br />
<br />
of late<br />
I've had this thought<br />
that this country<br />
has gone backwards<br />
4 or 5 decades<br />
and that all the<br />
social advancement<br />
the good feeling of<br />
person toward<br />
person<br />
has been washed away<br />
and replaced by<br />
old<br />
bigotries<br />
<br />
we have<br />
more than ever<br />
the selfish wants of power<br />
the disregard for the<br />
weak<br />
the old<br />
the impoverished<br />
the<br />
helpless<br />
<br />
we are replacing want with<br />
war<br />
salvation with<br />
slavery<br />
<br />
we have wasted the<br />
gains<br />
<br />
we have become<br />
rapidly<br />
less<br />
<br />
we have our Bomb<br />
it is our fear<br />
our damnation<br />
and our<br />
shame<br />
<br />
now<br />
something so sad<br />
has hold of us<br />
that<br />
the breath<br />
leaves<br />
and we can't even<br />
cry.<br />
Charles Bukowski<br />
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Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-29595553641743449352016-02-27T19:43:00.000+13:002016-02-29T06:36:21.032+13:00Te Whare Tapa Wha <br />
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Had an amazing week here at my new endeavour. A real adult portion. Early in the week had a day out at the prison. Something that is part of what I am doing.<br />
<a href="https://4.bp.blogspot.com/-HfeyKNp3lvM/VtFIyA0_AmI/AAAAAAAADis/W6M_TtBU3dQ/s1600/IMG_16372607009663.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"></a>On this day, however, most of my morning was spent in the Te Tirohanga unit, meaning most closely as The Focus, and programme. Which is a total immersion into Te Ao Maori, or Maori world view. To walk slowly into the whare, or house, while 50-60 men are engaged in a full fledged Haka is a pretty humbling and intense experience. A powhiri, or welcome, as a manuhiri, or visitor, is a highly emotional moment. To listen to the Whaikorero, or formal speech, by men who a few months ago never had uttered a word of Te Reo Maori is powerful stuff. To hear those 50-60 men then sing us Manuhiri, visitors, waiata, songs, will make the hair on your arms stands straight. All are required to speak and acknowledge themselves, their whakapapa, genealogy, and place. When I stood I spoke of the Ruahine. The deep breaths and inhaling of my words by people now my whanau moved me deeply. It is not difficult for me to speak of my aroha and hononga, love and connection to the mountains which have gifted so much to me. Yet my eyes were filled with tears as I did so. I am still moved by the experience as I write these words.<br />
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I have been learning and exposed to the Maori concept of Te Whare Tapa Wha. Developed by Dr. Mason Durie in 1982 it is a philosophy that incorporates Maoritanga, or values, beliefs, and way of life into a way to assess and monitor physical and mental well being.<br />
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I am pleased to be part of an organisation, that despite the negative views around it, has recognised and embraced the need to incorporate such values into it's work. And I identify strongly with the essence, again in particular to my own relationship with the Ruahine and how that really expands into the rest of my life. Such fine lines divide us all.<br />
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Te Whare Tapa Wha essentially translates to the Four Walls of Our House. If one wall is weakened or at risk it threatens the entire structure. So to balance our house is to be mindful and present around the need to nourish and support all four walls.<br />
The four walls are:<br />
Tinana...or our physical well being. Exercise, food, diet, how we nourish our earthly presence and care for it.<br />
Hinengaro....our mental well being. The balance of our thoughts and emotions<br />
Wairua...our Spiritual Well Being....how we nourish whatever connections we feel or seek.<br />
Whanau....our family. And the definition of whanau also includes anyone who supports us and nourishes us.<br />
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It seems so simple, and perhaps the cornerstone of all organised religions, philosophies, mantras, courses, and so on and so forth. How many of us can write in any given moment all four of our walls are in line? Certainly not me.<br />
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I thinks in terms of the Ruahine. Rarely have I ever gone into the mountains with my my Te Whare Tapa Wha truly balanced, or "all my ducks in a row". If too far out of whack it would be dangerous so I can perhaps write that the balance has been enough to have me still writing. What I can acknowledge is that coming out of the Ruahine is that my four walls feel stronger, my foundations more settled. The truth is those foundations are settled upon a very volatile land, and I lead a very volatile life. The real beauty of Te Whare Tapa Wha is the gift of Awareness. I am taking that into my heart. It brings back memories of times I did travel in the Ruahine, alone and wounded of heart. I recognize now that my own Hinengaro was unbalanced and I had to compensate with the other other three in order to carry onwards. That might be okay in the short term but is not condusive to good health in the long run. On the other hand carrying that pain to such a place for me was a burden worth bearing. For being alone in the mountains I was able to focus on the whys and whats in an honest way and even if I did not know it then I was nutruring and repairing my own Te Whare Tapa Wha...<br />
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19 April 2006</div>
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"Maropea Forks</div>
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The corker stove warms the hut quietly, rain bounces on the tin roof, I can hear the river as it mutters past outside. It was a magic walk down from Top Maropea, I almost felt outside myself as if watching my own self, I felt light and free. I came down river with no burdens, I shed those last night at Top Maropea, and I realized my fear of not Being Connected here was baseless. Shedding anger and pain and frustration has allowed me to feel something other than the thick fog of those heavy emotions. I suspect they will still be waiting somewhere beyond my mountain cocoon, but not today, not here at this beautiful place. I did not hurry down river, I was hardly cognizant of any time, I walked very slow and deliberate and arrived in faster time than ever before. How is that? A whio greeted me at the waterfall 20 minutes from the hut. I sat on the huge log and watched him, he also seemed in no hurry. When he finally left in his graceful unerring flight back up river it seemed as if in slow motion, every detail stood out, the sound of the river, the sound of the waterfall joining the river, the rocks and bush, and the whio seemingly hovering above me. I arrived at the hut with tear stained cheeks.</div>
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I feel very clear, and very focused in this moment. Everything seems to have a reason and make sense, even the pain I brought here with me. Maybe letting go of that is measure or mark to where I am at as a man. I have two more days to contemplate these things. I have been given a great Gift. I am content for me.".......</div>
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I am moving into new terrain but these encounters are validating. My life has moved and shifted in ways I am still gathering. Ti hei Mauri Ora!<br />
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Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-85775198093850163512016-01-15T17:18:00.000+13:002016-01-15T17:18:24.688+13:00Ruahine Summertime<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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"High Camp Sunrise"</div>
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Awake with the full moon<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;"><br />I unzip my cocoon to look<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />and gaze into the first breath<br />of today<br />the hushed silence around me<br />As if even the mountains quietly watch<br />the unfolding<br />The layered spectrum of creations prism<br />A single star twinkles above<br />as the prism contracts as a line and expands<br />Across the horizon<br />The middle of which glows a brilliant hue<br />Of fiery red and orange<br />as if the birth of life and possibility itself<br />And suddenly there is the glowing orb<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />burst forth!<br />The new day is here...</span></div>
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27 December 2015..Camped on the main Ruahine range above Armstrong saddle...This seems a fitting place to be this evening closing out this year. A year of great change and awakenings in so many ways. Visiting my home in Wisconsin with Charlie, seeing Tara embrace a new role which challenged her, and us, in so many ways, the continued struggles of parenthood, and then being told while away I am no longer wanted in a job I have worked in for over 15 years. Sitting here now with a wee dram and knowing I have addressed that situation I can smile with the sunset. In reality, being 55 and jobless was a frightening and somewhat shattering prospect. A reality I know so many men and women face at this age. Feeling unwanted and useless, questioning what we have done and accomplished. Having our identities and self worth tied up so much in "what we do for a living", and "how much stuff we have". For the most part I have been able to not get caught up in that, but in spite of that the self doubt cannot help but creep in. No wonder the highest growing suicide rate is men in their 50's. Again, sitting here now with the warmth of the day and the mountains, not to mention the Glen Morangie flowing within I recognize part of the gift the Ruahine have given me. It seems apt that this part of them I have spent so much time in, have crossed literally fighting to stay upright, or hurried through the rain, snow, and mist to get to Top Maropea, that tonite all is calm and serene. As if the mountains and I reflect, and celebrate together..<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Top Maropea evening...29 December</span><br style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;" /><span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">The sun has finally passed over the valley to the west and quickly the air chills. The mountains waste no time in their extremes. I return to the hut and dig out a bit of warmer gear. Steam rolls off my breath. I want to be here with the final moments of this day and sunset. It may be awhile till I<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span></span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">return. A lot of new challenges lie ahead. So I share this gentle time with the Ruahine. How many times have I watched the sun move over the valley below and far off peaks? The play of light on the distant peaks. The rounded fullness of Orupu, the sharpness of Waikamaka, and shadowy Remutupo. And to the west the bald peak of Puketaramea..the least imposing of all, yet for many reasons my favourite of all. I have learned to relish these moments as if they may my last. The mountains teach well.<span class="Apple-converted-space"> </span><br />I have gathered much wood though I will leave it for another. I do not feel the need for a fire as I normally would. I feel part of this, connected to it. The fire burns within.</span><br />
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30 December...camped again on the tops. Spent the day walking down to the Maropea without a pack. Far enough to finally come across the whio! The weather has held amazingly well and today was hot and still once again. I was going to camp on the river but my left hip is playing up and with an outing planned with John for next week I am giving that more importance. So I packed up and headed back to the tops. It is not often in this part of the ranges the wind holds so still and I consider it a bonus to be up here in my tent. I'm pleased to be here in these hills. Pleased that in years past and rushing from place to place that I questioned that. Pleased that the result is a more intimate relationship with certain places as the nuances and beauty reveal themselves. Pleased that it turned out to be that I was right where I should have been all the time...<br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">5 Jan...mid morning Whanahuia tops of the Ruahine. "We are enjoying a lunch of bagels, salami, cheese and tomato just below the tupare (leatherwood) zone with the forest and steep drop to the river still below us. We are in no hurry and it feels good to sit in the sun and look across to the main range. We arrived on the tops late yesterday intending to camp but the high winds, intermittent rain, and cold made the empty Rangiwahia hut look very attractive. Who would have thoug</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">ht that on a January summer evening we would fire up the wood stove? As the temperature was 1 degree Celsius this we did. A southerly system has blown in and though the morning was still very cold the wind had died and the sky a cloudless deep blue. I left early and made my way up the Whanahuia, the richness and allure of the early morning sunlight on the tussock is always a treat. I waited for John near the high point of Mangahuia and then we ambled along together to here. We fall easily into our patterns and rhythms accrued over two plus decades roaming these hills. To break bread right here in this spot, in this moment, with such a friend has almost a spiritual and cleansing quality to it. I smile at the thought of the 4 days ahead."...</span><br />
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The Oroua river...<br />
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John in the morning waiting for the sun to hit from the east over the valley. It was bloody cold!<br />
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Then in the afternoon on the river we were doing this!<br />
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Our campsite....<br />
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6 Jan.. Camped on the Oroua river. "Last evening just before dark John and I went and sat by the river to enjoy a wee dram and hoping to see or at least hear the whio. We had gone upstream to the gorge for a swim but had seen no sign. Dusk and dawn are the best times, so even if fighting off a few sand flies, the Bushmills, the river, and the company made our "effort" well worthwhile. The hut sits in front of the Oroua river and on the true left of a side creek which meets th<span class="text_exposed_show" style="display: inline;">e river there. We sat at this confluence watching and quietly chatting when suddenly around the corner of the side stream into the main river came cruising a whio! I adore the sight of these ancient indigenous birds. The shrill whistle of this one indicating he was a male and in fine condition. It fills me with delight to just observe their beauty, elegance, and unerring connection to the rivers and streams of these mountains. They are the heart and soul of the Ruahine. He swam down stream a bit, then flew back to right in front of us and climbed up on a log. He kept gazing up the creek which I hoped meant he had a female and brood of chicks as this is the season. In any case he didn't seem to find us to be a threat and after hanging out for a bit flew off back up the creek. A great way to end the day...I slept by the river in my tent and at 5:00 am was awoke again by the male and then heard the female as well. I couldn't see any chicks as it was far too dark and they didn't stay long. It felt like a winters morning and when I went up to the hut for coffee the temperature on my barometer was -2 Celsius! Summertime eh...yet mid morning when the sun finally was over head it grew hot. So we packed up and headed down river. In no hurry to be anywhere we found the best pools to swim in, the best spots to boil up the billy, and searching for the best place to pitch up a camp. We chose here, a place where the river grows quiet with a pool on one end and a cozy river flat along the other. With enough old driftwood for a fire. And just like that the day has passed and the sun has now setover the valley. The evening chill returns and we are back sitting by the river with another wee dram. Waiting once again for the whio...</span></div>
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<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W4wBfd3WPUs/VphlwGodvWI/AAAAAAAADhU/EXEVQhbNF0c/s1600/IMGA0363.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-W4wBfd3WPUs/VphlwGodvWI/AAAAAAAADhU/EXEVQhbNF0c/s400/IMGA0363.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">7 Jan....Whanahuia tops. "I left the river late this morning on my own. Took my time and stopped frequently on the relentless climb to both rest and simply enjoy the quiet ambiance and essence of the living breathing forest. I can judge my gains not just through my steady steps and sweat but by leaving the stately tall Tawhairauriki below and moving up into the Kaikawaka and gnarled hearty Tawhairaunui and finally into the Tupare and tussock. The story of the forest. I made w</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">ay up and along the tops to a sheltered basin by a tarn and boiled up the billy and waited for John. Though the wind was up my protected spot allowed me to enjoy the Suns warmth and in time a little white speck appeared in the distance making its way along the tops. It was an enjoyable moment to just watch my friend on his way to join me...</span><br />
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<span style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline !important; float: none; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">8 Jan. 2016. "Our final night up on the Whanahuia. I have been fortunate enough to have spent 9 nights in these mountains over the last few weeks. Roaming last week on my own was fine, but this week with John felt very special, very satisfying. Like the culmination of our 20 years in these hills. We have practiced Whakawhanaungatanga, or the Maori concept of coming together and working to a common cause, (as I understand it in this moment), and not even consciously have pract</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">iced it but rather emerged into it through our experiences and friendship here in the mountains. Another Gift from the Ruahine. And so we watch the final sunset on the Whanahuia, perhaps the finest of all the Ruahine ranges to do so as we gaze to the west...</span><br />
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<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">Culmination</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">The final morning arrives</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">the last mountain</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">only to be climbed down</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">to the car</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">to the shingle then concrete highway</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">where we become </span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">something perhaps a bit less</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">than what I feel here</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">But for these days up here</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">we have lived</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">amongst the the tupare and golden tussock</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">with the cloud, wind, and sun</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">We have lived in the forest</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">high up with the gnarled and fantastic</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">tawhairaunui</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">and their more stately cousins far below</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">We have listened to the difference</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">the Ruahine breeze plays through them</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">And we have lived by the mountain river</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">sparkling in the sunlight like jewels</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">followed her twisting turning bends</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">heard her songs and been embraced fully within</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">her deep clear cold pools</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">And we have lived with whio</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">and their unerring grace</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;">united if briefly</span><br />
<span class="text_exposed_show" style="-webkit-text-stroke-width: 0px; background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14px; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: normal; letter-spacing: normal; line-height: 17.5636px; orphans: auto; text-align: start; text-indent: 0px; text-transform: none; white-space: normal; widows: 1; word-spacing: 0px;"> as brothers... </span><br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zQfb5sDbLlI/Vphl_hLf6TI/AAAAAAAADhk/ywzgFFldWlI/s1600/IMGA0377.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-zQfb5sDbLlI/Vphl_hLf6TI/AAAAAAAADhk/ywzgFFldWlI/s400/IMGA0377.JPG" width="400" /></a></div>
Aroha,<br />
Robb <br />
<br />Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-78013460144689730942015-11-24T16:31:00.000+13:002015-11-24T16:35:51.126+13:00Wisconsin part 2... Lambeau Field <br />
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<a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MOhIsMxpqj8/VlOyX_Tda7I/AAAAAAAADew/kM-bujAGcEc/s1600/robb%2Bcharlie2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-MOhIsMxpqj8/VlOyX_Tda7I/AAAAAAAADew/kM-bujAGcEc/s320/robb%2Bcharlie2.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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One of the highlights of our return to Wisconsin was to be able to attend a Green Bay Packers game at Lambeau Field. The day was flawless, perfect blue skies and a beautiful fall day. By the time the game finished in the early evening the sun had gone down and the night autumn air had become decidedly chilly. But the warmth of sharing this day and experience with Charlie, family, and so many friends made our smiles broad and our hearts warmed through...and a Packer victory at Lambeau of course helped a bit too!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KvddDs1rVWY/VlOQG7GmVTI/AAAAAAAADdY/fplXfO1JLAw/s1600/lambeau%2B2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="319" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-KvddDs1rVWY/VlOQG7GmVTI/AAAAAAAADdY/fplXfO1JLAw/s320/lambeau%2B2.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie and I before the game at my sisters house. </td></tr>
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To grow up in Green Bay, Wisconsin, is to be a Green Bay Packer fan. Much like my current home of New Zealand, lives and dies by the actions of our rugby All Blacks, Green Bay is dominated by the presence of the Packers and the ultimate symbol of that is the looming forbearance of Lambeau Field. For a city the size of Green Bay, the population of which even now struggles to reach much over 100,000, to even have a professional team, much less a gem of a stadium like Lambeau, is an amazing story in itself. And if you have grown up there, suffered and celebrated the lows and highs, but have always loved and supported our team regardless, it is a story we actually feel a part of in our hearts. The team and stadium are without an actual owner and instead are an incorporated part of the city itself. It is a unique and special relationship between city and team.<br />
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Charlie had watched many a Packer game with me in New Zealand. I took him out of school when he was 7 in 2010. The Packers were playing in the Super Bowl. Far more important than a day of school in New Zealand. It was his heritage and history. He has seen me rant and rave at the television as I despair at times and delightedly roar at others. He has become familiar with his own favourite players, and tracking the results on his own. But for every story I can tell, and I can tell a few, for every game we can watch from over here, nothing speaks more than a trip to Lambeau itself on a game day. A world class sporting experience. The pageantry, the place, the people, the sights and sounds of 75,000 people in such a place. To be able to share that with my son from halfway around the world is a whole series of dots I needed to connect for him. For me.<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ilnbBNImS5I/VlOQCvgO-YI/AAAAAAAADdQ/6fPV_-gH_KQ/s1600/lambeau%2B7.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="640" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-ilnbBNImS5I/VlOQCvgO-YI/AAAAAAAADdQ/6fPV_-gH_KQ/s640/lambeau%2B7.jpg" width="360" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Our tickets. 40 yard line behind the Packer bench. I sat in these seats on a snowy Christmas Eve with Charlie's momma in 1995. One those dots I wrote about above.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gq6HAeAxhN4/VlORAqrspbI/AAAAAAAADeM/vQw_SltOVRk/s1600/trish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="320" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-Gq6HAeAxhN4/VlORAqrspbI/AAAAAAAADeM/vQw_SltOVRk/s320/trish.jpg" width="320" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My sister, Trish, Charlie, Robb, and brother in law Steve in the Lambeau parking lot. What a day to tailgate!</td></tr>
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The one part of this which I cannot explain to my son is how deep this connection reaches into the lives of those of us whom have grown up in Green Bay. Even those few whom are not football fans are certainly aware of the Packers and Lambeau, especially during football season, but also in our daily lives when our travels bring us down to the south west part of town and Lambeau comes into view. It is always there casting a giant but quiet shadow over the events of our lives....such as this event I commented on before the Super Bowl in 2010. An event that rocked my world and still does....<br />
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<span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.079999923706055px;"> </span><span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.079999923706055px;"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g">1975 Bishops Charity Game Packers vs. Giants:</span></span><br />
<span data-ft="{"tn":"K"}" style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.079999923706055px;"><span class="UFICommentBody _1n4g"> It was summer 1975, I was 15 about to be a junior in high school and though school had not yet started two a day football practices had. My friend Kevin, who was born and lived across Tommark street from me his whole life, was out for football but was injured and had stopped attending practice. kevin and I had been best friends from day 1, but in the past year or more we had grown apart. Well more like he was just in a different orbit than me, a faster crowd, a better athlete, better looking, he had just moved beyond me in the stratified teenage world. SoI was surprised and delighted when he rang me that hot summer evening and said he had gotten to tickets to the Packer game that night and would I go with him. We walked from Tommark street to Lambeau Field , 15-20 minutes, one of the beauties of a small town having an NFL team. I recall now being almost overwhelmed at how happy Kevin seemed to be in my company, laughing and talking about old times, things we had gotten up to in the neighborhood with our mates, and how much fun we were having at Lambeau Field watching a meaningless exhibition game sitting high up in the stands. It is a beautiful place to watch a football game, and that night it was spectacular, warm, a gentle breeze, and in the company of my best friend. After the game we walked back to our street, and as I had practice at 7:00am bid Kevin goodnight. But he insisted I come into his house and we sat around his kitchen table, as we had so often done, and continued talking. I finally insisted I had to go, and it was almost reluctantly Kevin walked me to the screen door leading to the garage and street. As I walked out the door he suddenly grabbed his very cool brown denim jacket and handed it to me, telling me he didn't need it anymore and wanted me to have it. I remember walking across the street to my house, the street lights casting those golden shadows and thinking what a great night.<br />A couple days later the phone rang around 5:00 am. As my bedroom was downstairs and had an extension I picked up the phone at the same time as my mom did upstairs. All I heard was Kevin's mom screaming to my mom that Kevin had shot himself and was dead. I hung up the phone and went to sleep, as if refusing to believe what I had just heard. I went to football practice as if nothing had happened, and it was not until Coach Miller gathered us around as a team an announced what had happened ad he broke down, that the truth of it, the enormity of it hit me like a sledgehammer blow and I lost it. It is still hard for me to write this. I still miss my friend. The last time I shared with him was at a Packer game. My life unfolds and the Packers weave in an out as a constant presence, marking good times and bad. That is how it is when you grow up in such a place. It doesn't matter if you like football or not. The Packers mark time and events in our lives and that is one of the reasons I hold them so dear. I will think of my friend as I watch this game, and I will remember him.</span></span><br />
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<table align="center" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto; text-align: center;"><tbody>
<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eXNOCdtHvas/VlOQQdzSs9I/AAAAAAAADdg/qJWQdN1c3Is/s1600/lambeau%2B10.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-eXNOCdtHvas/VlOQQdzSs9I/AAAAAAAADdg/qJWQdN1c3Is/s400/lambeau%2B10.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">the next generation</td></tr>
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Or this memory...................<br />
<span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.079999923706055px;">I was 27 when my dad died. Like all fathers and sons we had our ups and downs, he had his demons, I have mine. Sport was the one thing that always connected us, the Packers were always a big part of that.<br />He died a few months before Christmas on a holi</span><span style="background-color: #f6f7f8; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 12px; line-height: 16.079999923706055px;">day with my mother in South Carolina. I had to fly from Minnesota where I was then living to SC to pick up my mom, make some arrangements, and drive mom back to Wisconsin, a near 20 plus hours drive, then go through the funeral. Before I knew it, I was back in Minnesota at work, and wandering around in a sort of a daze wondering what all that had been about. Christmas came, and it was a not a happy time as I recall, I was still not really together, it was our first Christmas without our dad, my mom's without her husband. For those whom have lost parents or loved ones you understand the difficulty of those first holidays - a representation of life ahead, of change, of moving on, of acceptance.<br />Christmas day came, and early in the morning there was knock upon the front door. I answered it sleepily, and probably a bit hungover, and there stood my old wood working teacher from West high where I attended school and my dad taught. I could see he was a bit nervous and uneasy. In his hands he held a great big package. He said, "Robb, I don't know how to tell you this, but this is a Christmas present for you from your father. He gave it to me shortly before he died to be made into this". He handed it to me with his eyes tearing as I stood there stunned, said "Merry Christmas" turned and left. I sat on the couch alone and opened it. Inside was a beautiful wooden plaque upon which was mounted half a genuine real Packer helmet, and below which was mounted two pieces of the original goal post from the very first Superbowl the Packers won in 1967 and that my dad had procured and saved all these years. It was if he reached out and hugged me, and I could finally let my tears go and miss my dad. I still miss him. It was the best present he ever gave me. Go Packers Go!</span><br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DvwZMnte_6U/VlOQTrfg1eI/AAAAAAAADdo/_emVl-X9pfM/s1600/lambeau%2B3.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-DvwZMnte_6U/VlOQTrfg1eI/AAAAAAAADdo/_emVl-X9pfM/s400/lambeau%2B3.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">My friends Greg and Phils on my left. They had driven the two plus hours from Milwaukee without even having tickets. They were coming simply to enjoy the pre- game tailgate atmosphere and knew I was in town from New Zealand. great friends. I have attended many games over the years with these fine gentlemen. On my right is my old comrade Rick Parduhn. A fine man and I have shared many adventures with him near and far.</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xq38XQ16-G8/VlOQWC0qTcI/AAAAAAAADdw/9e5zU8Xxw4s/s1600/lambeau%2B8.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="300" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-Xq38XQ16-G8/VlOQWC0qTcI/AAAAAAAADdw/9e5zU8Xxw4s/s400/lambeau%2B8.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">On the way into the stadium we ran into many old friends. This is James, and high school friend and former team mate at Green Bay West high school. He is now a teacher himself.</td></tr>
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<a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--7CQqfOoRUw/VlOP-1xBGII/AAAAAAAADdI/YFLx0VO9rWw/s1600/lambeau%2B1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/--7CQqfOoRUw/VlOP-1xBGII/AAAAAAAADdI/YFLx0VO9rWw/s400/lambeau%2B1.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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My beautiful sister Trish surprised Charlie, myself and Rick by getting us passes to actually go onto the field prior to the game. A pretty stunning development. I have been at many many games at Lambeau, seen some of the all time great players and games over the years. There has never been a time when I have walked from the stadium atrium to the actual field that I have literally not gasped at how incredible it really is in person. The fabulous green of the grass, the colours and sight of the chalked lines and uniforms of the players. The massive lit up scoreboard. It always feels like the first time. To share that moment with Charlie, and then be able to actually go onto the field was spectacular. A moment we will always have together. Lambeau Field!<br />
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gCO2ktQtI9g/VlOQarl7FkI/AAAAAAAADd4/TP8boIDECl8/s1600/lambeau4.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="225" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/-gCO2ktQtI9g/VlOQarl7FkI/AAAAAAAADd4/TP8boIDECl8/s400/lambeau4.jpg" width="400" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Charlie with a couple of the Packer Cheerleaders. Look at that smile!</td></tr>
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<tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-469etgWq9pI/VlOQrU51NYI/AAAAAAAADeE/f9gCNh2GH5g/s1600/steve%2Bmax%2Blambeau.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-469etgWq9pI/VlOQrU51NYI/AAAAAAAADeE/f9gCNh2GH5g/s400/steve%2Bmax%2Blambeau.jpg" width="300" /></a></td></tr>
<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">nephew Max and Steve in their seats</td></tr>
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">In our seats with my other nephew Benjamin. Family and friends. What a spectacular day!</td></tr>
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It was a great game! The Packers were not playing particularly well but stayed in the lead as the Chargers marched up and down the field. The warm afternoon faded into the slightly windy and growing cold of an early fall evening. The crowd grew restless as the game came down to final play from the Packer 3 yard line. See the video link below the last photo to see what happened....<br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">A few days later we were privileged to dine with and meet the Packers coach, Mike McCarthy. I have been honoured in my time in Green Bay to meet such Packer greats as Vince Lombardi, Bart Starr, Ray Nitchske, Tony Canadeo, Charley Brock, Ted Fritsch, Dave Hanner, Fuzzy Thurston and a host of others. It is always a pleasure and they have always been accommodating and kind. Must be a bit of a fishbowl experience for them at times so I appreciated the coach making my son feel a bit special. Go Pack!</td></tr>
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<a href="https://www.facebook.com/robb.kloss/videos/10153231871033697/">The Packers win!!!</a></div>
<br />Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-52973163565495635972015-11-19T15:13:00.000+13:002015-11-19T15:13:08.011+13:00Wisconsin Part 1...The Fall<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I sit here now in somewhat bittersweet contemplation of the journey back to my original place. Even Charlie commented to me while I was driving him to school, and me to work, this past Monday morning, on how it seemed almost unreal that time had passed so quickly. I am glad he made that connection and gets it. It seems a bit surreal to me as well. We had some amazing experiences which I will try to unravel in a series of posts here....<br />
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The one part of this trip that impacted most significantly, and certainly more so than any of my past trips home over the last near 24 years was my sense of place. My Turangawaewae, my place to stand. As much as I love and feel connected to the Ruahine ranges here in Aotearoa, I am still manuhiri, or visitor, there. That does nothing to diminish the connection I feel when amongst them roaming, indeed, one of the gifts the Ruahine have given me is the Powerful sense of connection I felt to Wisconsin on this trip back. The Ruahine have bestowed within me far more awareness of my own place than I ever had when I was actually there. Wisconsin! I love just saying the word...<br />
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One of the questions I am most frequently asked in Wisconsin is what do I miss most about America, about the states, about home. I think most people might expect me to say a kind of beer, or food, or the Packers, and so on. It is far deeper than that. It is the place itself, and unequivocally at a certain time of year. The Fall. The dramatic and stunning change to the seasons, the exchange between the lush greens and heat of summer to the subliminal softening of the landscape building into the booming crescendo of the full bloom of autumn. The heart is light and not yet grasping the reality of the long cold months ahead but rather delighted in the beauty and change. We caught it perfect and I spent a lot of time walking in the woods and forests with Charlie, other friends, and mostly on my own.<br />
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Above is a moment at Devil's Lake State Park, or Manitou (Spirit Lake), as originally named by the Indian tribes which lived around it. This is a glacial lake formed 12,000 years ago when both ends of an ancient river that flowed through were blocked off by glaciers depositing terminal moraine boulder fields on either end. The hills around the lake are thought to be over 1.6 million years old and though now called the Porcupine Hills were once mountains towering higher than the current Rockies. The lake is surrounded by quartzite bluffs up to 500 feet high. In the company of two fine and treasured friends we spent the whole day tramping, climbing, and taking in the splendour of such a place. These ancient hills seemed to be nudging me and reminding of the Ruahine, that how in comparison how youthful and full of vigour and restlessness they are in comparison to these eroded giants now melting back into the earth. Yet no less significant.<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.31999969482422px;">Indian Summer! Helped an old friend check out some new ground for the upcoming deer hunting season. Over 35 years ago I took my friend to land I was allowed to hunt on owned by family friends. 500 acres. Some a Christmas tree farm I worked at during summer trimming season, and then a beautiful hardwood forest and ridges running into a lowland bog. A lot of deer were taken there. Karl got to know the owners and hunted there for decades after I left. Eventually the owner died, </span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.31999969482422px;">and the land was sold. No more hunting. We are mere caretakers of the land. In any case we scoured this new public land for deer sign and trails. On such an amazing day it was easy and fun. The company even better. It reminded me how I discovered on that Christmas tree farmland that I never really cared that much about the deer. I just liked to be in the woods. Rave On!</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.31999969482422px;">A long walk in the fall woods today along a trail I used to cross country ski upon back in the day. 6 miles through the birch, pine, and maple forest. A real adult portion of Wisconsin woods. The leaves which a few weeks ago were brilliant oranges, yellow, and the colour of spice, cumin, cinnamon, and turmeric, now fallen. The trees now mostly bare except for the occasional splash of remaining fall hue. A stark and bare scene, different than the full bloom of fall, yet still beautiful and stunning in ways equally smile inducing. The trees themselves seemed to be sunning themselves on such a day. As if knowing the approach of the long cold months ahead. The leaves on the forest floor have accrued the crunch and papery sound of completeness. A fall walk in the Wisconsin woods.</span><br />
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The autumn carpet. On my first walks the leaves were still soft and resilient. The winds blew gently through on the Indian Summer breeze and the leaves floated to the ground. We tried to catch three falling leaves for good luck as they swerved, swayed, and danced to the ground. I never did.<br />
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Above Manitou on the bluffs looking below the southern moraine terminal. Just beyond here lies Parfrey's Glen...<br />
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Parfrey's Glen is a spectacular gorge carved out of the prevalent sandstone interspersed with quartzite boulders and rock from the retreating glaciers. Spent a lot of time here back in the day hiking around and through and cross country skiing nearby during winter.<br />
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<span style="background-color: #fffbf0; color: #333333; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica";">That's the best thing about walking, the journey itself. It doesn't matter much whether you get where you're going or not. You'll get there anyway. Every good hike brings you eventually back home.</span><span style="background-color: #fffbf0; font-family: "verdana" , "arial" , "helvetica";">"<br />- Edward Abbey</span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif;"><span style="font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.31999969482422px;">At Manitou Lake with my friends. A moment with Jeff, one of my oldest friends and one in particular with my relationship was built and continues to be through nature. We have walked, tramped, skied, paddled, wet lines, listened to music, and played an awful lot of basketball together. He, like Mike who observed this moment with his camera, have both come to New Zealand and tramped in the Ruahine. Days like this, even though overcast, still shine very bright. It felt like somehow the circle was now complete.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: "helvetica" , "arial" , sans-serif; font-size: 14px; line-height: 19.31999969482422px;">I enjoyed most just lingering behind Jeff and Mike and watching them walk and interact ahead of me. Gesturing, laughing, and earnestly discussing one subject or another. Even in my lingering I felt part of it, connected, knowing, and understanding it all. The smiles and hugs from that day still warm me. Kia ora!</span><br />
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Charlie loved this sign along another old cross country ski trail we walked one fine day. The possibility excited him. Me too. We never saw him or her, chances are the bear would have smelled or heard us far before such an encounter. Good to know they are out there. Charlie said on the way out the bear was me. I liked that...<br />
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<span id="goog_1479940665"></span><span id="goog_1479940666"></span>Te hei mauri Ora!Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-77651145458412091272015-08-13T18:58:00.001+12:002015-09-09T20:57:46.350+12:00Cousins...<br />
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We have certain days in our lives that take on significance. They stand out from the others in either great joy, or like today, great sadness. The memories of them take on a certain hue, be it a brilliant lightness when we fall in love, or see the smiles and hear the laughter of our children. Or the dull grey and black stillness after a storm has passed with more dark clouds on the way. My cousin died today, and though the sun shines brightly outside and the skies are a flawless blue, all I see, all I feel is the grey. A shadow that has its hand upon my shoulder touching me with unrelenting grief and guilt at my distance from the unfolding of these events.<br />
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I had an older brother whom passed away over 20 years ago now, when I first arrived here in New Zealand. I never felt for him what I am feeling now inside for my cousin. The reality is I was far closer to Roger, far more of a brother to him than I ever was to my own brother and so the shadows of grief are far more consuming and mist filled in direct proportion to the love I felt for him. And although our paths physically only crossed a few times in the years since I moved here, he was always in my heart. We never missed a beat. We never judged, we never lectured, we never shook our heads at our flaws and our mistakes. We just loved each other and took the moments when we could. I think we both carried the same sort of melancholic sadness and searching that truly made us kindred souls. We understood each other completely and without need to explain. Today has left a deep hole in many hearts....<br />
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We were born six weeks apart. Those two little babies on the laps of our mothers would grow into very large men. How I wish I could sit in that lap and be comforted just one more time...<br />
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The most special times of anticipation for me growing up was when we travelled to Chicago, or when our people there were coming up to Green Bay. Waiting for those cars with Illinois license plates to pull in the drive and watch those people emerge...my grandparents, my great aunt and uncle, my aunt and uncle, and most of all my cousins! Be it Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter, or a Packer - Bear game, it didn't matter, the fun was about to begin. <br />
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My dad, me, my grandfather and Roger, my Uncle Roger and older brother Steve. The men of my youth. I am the only one left from this moment, those men in their prime and we boys. A high water mark. <br />
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Families eh...Roger adored my older brother Steve. Steve was a pretty awesome guitar player and Roger was highly interested in that. He was probably closer to Steve than I ever was. He seemed to understand him and Steve had far more time and patience for Roger than he ever did for me. My sister Trish and I would be entertained for hours by Roger. He had that gift of just being able to look at you and make you laugh. We spent a lot of time teasing, or being teased by our older sisters as well. <br />
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Through the years we developed different interests and activities. Roger acquired a beautiful '57' Chevy and a biker jacket. I wore my letterman jacket. Yet it did not matter if we were on his turf or mine. Amongst his friends and their world I was included and accepted, just as he was in mine. I like to think of that as a quality in ourselves and the friends we chose. We had some interesting times as teens, and in our 20's. I will leave it at that.<br />
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When I was in my mid 20's I graduated from college and moved to Minneapolis. Roger stayed in the Chicago area. We saw each other a bit less frequently. I got a call from my mom one afternoon, which surprised me a bit as I knew she and my dad were traveling out east. My dad had had a heart attack and was dead. My mom was in South Carolina and needed me to come and get her. I arranged a flight schedule that took me on 3 different flights to get to Charleston. I arrived there 12 hours later and found my mom in a hotel. It was the first time I ever saw age on her. We made whatever arrangements we needed about my dad and immediately began driving home to Wisconsin, I would stop and call my sisters to inform them of our progress and try to comfort them. We drove straight through. The next few days were a blur of activity and people coming and going and over that 72 hours I would have been lucky to have slept 5. I had not cried, I had not really thought much at all, I was numbed to everything. The funeral wake came and I recall my friends hugging me and people paying their respects as if in a dream. Then in walked my Chicago family. When I saw Roger everything cleared and the enormity of it all hit me like a sledgehammer. I collapsed into his massive frame and powerful arms and I wept and wailed. I felt like he and I were entirely alone, and that he was the only one whom could bear my weight, my grief, my sadness. He just held me. He understood. Until today I have always known those arms were still there for me and now they are gone. If I close my eyes and release myself I can still feel that hug. <br />
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The last time I saw Roger was in Chicago a few years ago on my last visit home. I was so pleased that he finally got to meet my youngest son Charlie. It was stifling hot and most of the last evening there at my Aunt Jean's house he and I sat outside on the porch. Me drinking whiskey, Roger smoking cigarette after cigarette. He no longer drank. We talked long into the night about our lives, about our families. Roger had finally found a real passion with photography but we didn't much get into the future. We never did much of that in our 50 plus years of each others company. We were always just in the moment. A blessing and a curse. I think we both always knew that as well. When I hugged him goodbye in the early hours of that hot summer morning I did as if at may be the last hug ever. You learn to do that with people when you live on the far side of the world away. As it turns out it was our last hug. But not my last tears. Those tears for that goodbye, for all the embraces, hugs, laughter, honest tears, sadness, Old Style beer, Elvis Presley, basketball camps, 57 Chevy's, Packers and Bears, up all night talking in smoky hotel rooms, getting me out of fights, for him loving my brother, for being tender when my friend Kevin killed himself, for picking me up at airports, and most of all, for that long beautiful hug when my father died....I love you cuz. I love you my brother. Keep the fire warm...<br />
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<span style="background-color: black;"></span>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-48921953977621717382015-07-24T12:52:00.002+12:002015-07-24T12:52:55.254+12:00Sharing a fire with Wordsworth...<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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For oft, when on my couch I lie</div>
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In vacant or in pensive mood,</div>
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They flash upon that inward eye</div>
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Which is the bliss of solitude;</div>
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And then my heart with pleasure fills,</div>
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And dances with the daffodils.... Wordsworth, I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud</div>
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<br />
My birthday approaches rapidly. Seemingly as rapidly as the years seem to slip by. I have spent the last 14 birthdays in the Ruahine, something of a tradition it has become for me to roam a bit and reflect. A few trips have been with other notable friends, but most on my own. The best Gift my lovely and understanding wife and family can bestow upon me. This year, my 15th, I am healing slowly from a knee injury and so the trip I normally take at or around my birthday will be delayed until mid August. Giving my knee proper time to rest and heal and then a few weeks to gain a bit of condition. So I sit back and am reminded of Wordsworth reflecting back on his wanderings. It is good to have memories just as to have dreams...<br />
I think of a few other trips, one in particular, when the true power of the mountains suddenly and brutally revealed itself. Had this little hut not have been there I would have been in serious trouble...<br />
<br />
2 August, 2007 4:30 pm...Top Maropea<br />
<br />
There will be no getting across the exposed saddle today. It is a full blown blizzard outside and the hut is rocking and shaking in the gale force winds. It is -7 celsius, in the hut! I arrived here around noon from Maropea Forks. The weather was eerily still when I left and began the walk upriver.The cloud that has hung over the valley the last 3 days still persisted. A slight foreboding feeling shadowed me as I walked up the wild river. By the time I reached the side creek after 3 hours the wind had picked up and the skies cleared. I stopped a few minutes up the creek in the first patch of sunshine I had seen and felt in four days and ate some beef jerky. Within 20 minutes the skies had blackened, the temperature dropped to a freezing swirl of wind and blowing snow. It sounded like a freight train was passing right next to my ear. I climbed up the creek, up into the forest, and up to Top Maropea. I could hear tree branches snapping off like gunshots. The high pitched creaking and swaying of the trees played a frightful tune with the howling winds. I arrived wide eyed and thankful at the hut.<br />
<br />
I waited until 2:30 and decided to at least walk up to the start of the exposed tops and see what the situation was up there. It is not the route across the exposed 1 hour plus walk that is the problem, it is the wind and cold that is the worry. It is only 20 minutes climb through the forest into the tupare and then the tops. By the time I arrived there I must have resembled a snowman. The accumulated snow falling off the tawhairauriki onto me. The noise of the storm, the cold, the chill all around me was stunning. When I got to the very edge of the tupare and tops my jaw dropped and I just stared. What I saw just stopped me in my tracks. The entire scene in front of me was devoid of life, drained of colour. It was death itself and I knew it. I took some photos, and by the grace of the mountain God's I was able to get reception on my phone. I sent texts to Tara, her family, a friend. Several times. Then I retreated back down to the freezing hut....<br />
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The approach to the saddle, just outside the tupare zone and forest that very day. The sound, look and feel of it is far beyond what this photo manages to portray.<br />
<br />
2 August continued....<br />
<br />
The water tank is frozen but plenty of snow to melt for a few hot drinks and soup to warm up. Though out of the wind the hut is like being inside a freezer. I have changed into all my dry clothes and a few still wet ones as well. I have the choice of crawling into my sleeping bag and trying to get warm, or busy myself and try to build a fire and get at least the illusion of warmth.<br />
I put my wet gear back on and went into the storm. I knew where some chunks of old tupare were and pulled them from the snow. I worked them into a box shape open on my end in the fireplace. Then used my saw to rend the driest beech in the wood bin into pieces of various sizes. Then I used my knife to shave off kindling into my billy and dried them over my stove. Using a candle stub I worked the shavings and kindling into a small fire and by patience and perseverance got it worked into a flaming crackling cauldron of warmth. At least when I sat directly in front of it. Once the tupare chunks warmed up and then caught like coal I have a real slow long lasting fire. A bit smokey at times but who is complaining. I am able to hang and dry my gear, or at least get it from wet to just damp, have removed a layer of clothes even, and warmed the hut to a balmy 3 degrees. This is the best fire I have ever built, and probably the most necessary...<br />
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I had dinner of noodles and tuna. Left in my supplies are a full gas canister, a tin of smoked mussels, a packet of 2 minute noodles, 4 instant soups, cashews, chocolate, some porridge and powdered milk. Lots of tea. There are some old instant mashed potatoes here at the hut.. I have no idea how long this storm will last so want to know exactly what I have at hand. Seems enough for several days if need be...it has been good to stay busy and focused. In spite of everything I feel calm and content. The hut even seems to brace itself for the gales and gusts which reach down and make it rock. Then we settle back into our rhythm. There is a certain beauty to this day...I have my down bag ready, and my bivvy bag as well, time to ride out the dark night and try and sleep...<br />
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Top Maropea fire...not the fire from that day but the idea is abundantly apparent....<br />
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3 August, 7:15 am...Conditions are not improved at all, except the snow has stopped. The nor'west wind still howls over, occasionally blasting low down through here and I hold on. The roof blew off the dunny upsetting my normal morning constitutional routine to no end! It is now -2 here in the hut. What wood I have left I must preserve if I need to stay another night. All I can do is wait and hope the wind drops at some point today. Pen and paper comes in handy...<br />
You wanted solitude Robb..here is an adult portion. I come here because it is a place I feel whole and at ease with myself. Which is easy, I guess, when skies are blue, winds are light, and the rivers are clear. I am glad to write I still feel that. I feel in control of what I can control. There is no point in a tantrum or anger. The nor'wester will simply roll on, the mountains will just do as they do...time for a cup of tea and some porridge.<br />
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Next morning. Tupare and tawhairaurinui covered in ice and snow...<br />
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Coda: <br />
Later in the afternoon I sensed a slight dropping off of wind. The severe gusts came less frequently. I made the decision to pack up and go for it. It was less severe up top but still very cold and windy. At the very top of the climb is a near razor back ridge of perhaps 400 metres or so. It was solid ice. A few times gusts came on and literally had me sliding forward pushed by the wind. My poles came in handy as brakes. After that I just hunkered down and hurried through the gusts and arrived at Sunrise hut. I was safe. A quick brew and I headed down to my car. As I got lower down the mountain it got warmer and by the time I got to my car I was sweating and stripped down, surrounded by mushy melting snow and green pasture below me. I looked back up at those hills high above where it felt not long ago I was in a fight for my life. I wondered if I would tell anyone or if I would even be believed if I did. What I knew for sure was that there was still a feeling a wistful regret I was leaving them and already looking forward to returning. I sit here now and pause and drink my coffee and feel this day again. My knee feels better already.<br />
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Self portrait in the hut at -7 celsius. The camera lens kept frosting over. About to build a fire...<br />
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Cheers!<br />
<br />Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-79621730911746327222015-07-21T15:52:00.000+12:002015-07-22T14:47:37.678+12:00Early Evening at Top Maropea<br />
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"Early Evening at Top Maropea"<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">It is still and quiet within this misty coccoon</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">far below I can hear the endless murmur of the creek</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">punctuated by the occasional eruption of a stag's bellow</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">other moments it seems all I sense is the beating of my own heart</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; color: #141823; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;">Warmly attired to ward off the southerly chill, wee dram at hand</span><span class="text_exposed_show" style="background-color: white; color: #141823; display: inline; font-family: helvetica, arial, sans-serif; font-size: 13px; line-height: 18px;"><br />I am in no hurry to move<br />My wood is chopped and piled high<br />the fire awaits only the touch of a match<br />water for my tea and thirst filled in billy and bottle<br />Warm down nest awaits with comforting embrace<br />Four days in the Ruahine makes my life<br />very simple.<br />Robb - Top Maropea 14-04-12. Early evening</span>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-92228010502323336562015-07-16T11:35:00.000+12:002015-07-16T11:35:34.031+12:00The Day Ahead<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Early starry morn<br />
steam rising off breath<br />
off coffee<br />
off damp clothes absorbing<br />
my freshly un-bedded warmth<br />
The day unfolds as a lovers caress<br />
calling to go upwards and beyond<br />
to distant places<br />
mind free of other burdens<br />
echoes of the past fade<br />
as only footsteps in the tussock matter<br />
leading to the rivers song<br />
far below...Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-41227001438270321062015-07-13T16:24:00.000+12:002018-06-11T21:44:48.276+12:00A Birthday<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PcTyAoiH7Zo/VaMzKe1iy2I/AAAAAAAADWg/AK_YIF4qDyk/s1600/taylor.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="240" src="https://1.bp.blogspot.com/-PcTyAoiH7Zo/VaMzKe1iy2I/AAAAAAAADWg/AK_YIF4qDyk/s320/taylor.jpg" width="320" /></a></div>
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<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 29.25px;">What was silent in the father speaks in the son, and often I found in the son the unveiled secret of the father.</span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: 18px; font-weight: 700; line-height: 29.25px;">Friedrich Nietzsche</span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 29.25px;"> </span><br />
<span style="background-color: white; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: 18px; line-height: 29.25px;"><br /></span>
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 29.25px;"> The above photo is my most significant Ruahine moment spent with my oldest son Taylor. I'm not quite sure why, as it is slightly out of focus. Then again maybe that is exactly why. The whole scene fairly well represented our relationship at the time, and to be perfectly honest still does. A bit out of focus, a bit unsure and the ground just below very dangerous and steep. It is only a 10 minute climb from where he sits down to the stream below. Yet it is 10 minutes that requires total concentration and the consequences of a mistake are possibly quite severe. This was perhaps the 5th time Taylor would do this climb down, starting from age 8 until here at age 18. Yet this one had me nervous and tense and I was very glad when he made the final small jump from the steep bank to the stream bed.</span></span></span><br />
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<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 29.25px;"> Getting from the stream to the river, and the river down to Maropea Forks is pretty straight forward, just a matter really of one foot in front of the other. I relaxed and started to just enjoy the day. The sun shining and sparkling on the water, the pools deep and clear with a tinge of green. We came across a pair of whio and I stopped to spend a bit of time watching them and getting a few photos. Taylor carried on ahead....I didn't see him for the next 20 hours.</span></span></span><br />
<span style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="line-height: 29.25px;"><br /></span></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 29.25px;"> Getting Taylor down that steep cliff seemed easy when he was little. I am not sure why it felt so hard when was older. Or why I didn't keep a closer eye on him down on the river, that I simply assumed he knew the way or would wait for me. Much a metaphor for my being his father. And being smacked between the eyes with the reality that fatherhood, parenthood, never really gets easier. It instead gets harder. Our own worries and expectations never really wane. I see so much of my own self in Taylor yet the words choke inside me, or are spoke in vain when I try to express this connection. The fragility of it freezes me or brings the words in ways I do not mean. I cannot steer his ship.</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 29.25px;"> Today is his birthday. I will not see him for another few weeks yet, I wished him a happy day and that I loved him. We have a long way to go down that river yet...</span></span><br />
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<span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 29.25px;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 29.25px;"><br /></span></span>
<span style="font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium;"><span style="background-color: white; line-height: 29.25px;"> </span></span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: "lato" , sans-serif; font-size: medium; line-height: 29.25px;"> </span>Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-2699436745323436303.post-71649625095446934092015-07-09T18:14:00.000+12:002015-07-09T18:15:26.841+12:00The End of the Road<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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I came across something yesterday on my Facebook feed that stopped me in my literal tracks. FB now shows us posts from the past, something I actually agree with in the very temporal sound byte social media world...it was a song an old friend had shared to my page back in late 2011. A Chris Whitley tune called the Cool Wooden Crosses. I listened to it again and felt tears coming and a lump gathering in my throat.<br />
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My friend Kregg and I go way back. From the last few years of Grade School and Junior High. It wasn't till actually in high school that we really began to hang out, part of the same small group of friends from those days whom I will always keep close to my heart. My best friend, Kevin, had killed himself at age 15, and for a year or longer I actually felt quite mad and dis attached. Nothing made sense anymore, nothing seemed important. I still battle with that from time to time, and having a small group of friends whom accepted me was literally life saving. And at age 16 highly important. I began to laugh and smile again. Kregg and I were never the best of mates, but we always had a mutual sort of understanding. A connection through pain. When Kregg was only 7-8 years old he saw his mother pick up a .22 rifle and shoot his drunken father 7 times and killing him. He was eating a bowl of cereal with his brother, it happened right in front of him and he saw he whole thing. His father had been abusing her, and them for years. She became, to my knowledge, the very first woman to begin the battered wife syndrome. She still served time in prison and the boys went to live with their grandparents. Kregg rarely ever even mentioned it, but a few times we shared quiet moments over seeing and being part of such darkness. We would talk and then suddenly he would just stop. I knew at times Kregg struggled much as I did. That was our bond.<br />
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After high school we went our separate ways, seeing each other during the summers and college holidays but more and more drifting into our own lives, our own paths. His keeping him close to our hometown, mine carrying me to far off places. Still when I returned home our little group always managed to catch up, have a few laughs and recall those moments way back when that even then grew a bit hazy. Except the ones based around pain. Those don't fade so easy. We spent a fair a bit of time at a cabin he owned with another good friend. He was an excellent hunter and fisherman. Very patient and very skilled. Those walks in the woods with him and our other mates were stirring something deep inside me. A view and a feeling of the woods, lakes, streams that ran deeper than just mere appreciation.<br />
<br />
Eventually those occasional meetings dried up. I moved to New Zealand, got married, had kids, got grown up. Kregg too got married, though never had kids as he never wanted to and never did. I had heard he had a business that was flourishing, a big house, and by all accounts was doing very well. I saw him on a few visits back home but probably had been 10 years or so since we had last seen one another when out of the blue I got a Friend Request from him on FB. We began to exchange a lot of views, mostly in agreement, sometimes not. Mostly I was struck by how his taste in music was so similar to my own. So when he sent me that tune I, at the time, gave it a precursory listen and forgot about it really. Till it popped back on my feed a few days ago.<br />
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Back in the summer of 2012 we went back to the states for a visit. We arranged an evening celebration at one of our old gang's place. Everyone showed up and it was a wonderful time. The passing of the last 30 years pretty obvious, and the hugs and laughter seemed very genuine.<br />
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Less than a month later back in New Zealand I got a phone call one afternoon from the friend whom had hosted that gathering. He told me to sit down. He proceeded to tell me that Kregg had driven from his house, checked into a hotel, and had proceeded to kill himself. In his note he wanted no obituary, no funeral, and no grave. He was to be cremated and his ashes scattered as if he had never existed. I just sat there staring at the wall in front of me. Kregg was dead.<br />
<br />
So to see his name pop up was a bit startling. To listen to that tune for the first time. To Listen To It! Hit me like a brick. I understood why he had known I would get it. The haunting, bare, and uncompromising sound of it was something we shared. Not just in music. It was like opening a gift from him. That hot summer night in Wisconsin I never really sat alone with Kregg and asked him what was really happening in his life. I didn't take his face in my hands and look him in the eye and ask him that. I don't write that from guilt. I know what lurked deep in there, and still does within me, wasn't going to come out in him just because I asked. Only the mirror tells us the real truth. My friend Kregg is dead. But he can't erase his presence here. He can't because he sent me a song....<br />
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<span style="background-color: white; color: #333333; font-family: ProximaRegular, 'Helvetica Neue', Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 19px; line-height: 28.799999237060547px; white-space: pre-wrap;">From bitter to empty
Go the bridges through town
From valley to valley
Before she burns them down
Before she burns them down
Well they gather by the river
Many miles above the ground
In a tower of mirrors
Before she burns them down
Hear the peals of opinions
Weigh your words to waste no sound
Cool wooden crosses on the mountain
Before she burns them down......words by Chris Whitley</span><br />
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That hot summer night July 2012...Kregg is in the back with the red shirt. Keep the fire lit e hoa<br />
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...Ruahineshttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09398484733805119294noreply@blogger.com0