Musings from Aotearoa

Coda

2012-02-14T19:52:00.002+13:00

A few days after I wrote the prior post, Te Tiriti o Waitangi, a scathing, terribly written article was published by The New Zealand Herald, and authored by one Paul Holmes, whose claim to fame as far as I can tell is that he once pissed off the America's Cup helmsman Denis Connor who walked out of the supposed interview Mr. Holmes was conducting. He is, I suppose, in the world of broadcasting here in New Zealand, a big fish in a little pond. I have never watched him so I cannot comment upon that, but as to his lack of skill as a writer, and his rather stunning lack of knowledge, or empathy, with Waitangi Day and Te Tiriti I could easily do. Though the dark shadows which descend upon me, like watching a late afternoon storm roll over the rolling tops of the Whanahuia in the Ruahine as above, tell me it is a far deeper, far more reaching subject matter than simply Mr. Holmes. For in the Pakeha world I mostly step in I am very afraid that his rambling diatribe is seen as "good common Kiwi sense", "saying the things we all think but do not say", and that most dreaded utterance "good to see someone tell the truth and not worried about political correctness".

These are the phrases, adjectives, and nouns I gleaned from the article. There is no need to duplicate here, as it's rambling disjointed discourse is not worth the trouble.

"Hatred, rudeness, violence, hateful, hate-filled weirdo's, benefit provision, enable, repugnant, spitting, smugness, self-righteousness, neurotic Maori politics, bizarre, never defined principles,resentment, paying, bullshit, lies, loony, fringe, self-denial, hopeless, failure, fault, hating whitey, awful, nasty common, bamboozling, loony, looniest, irrational, bullying, bizarre,"... and so on it goes.

Language and words to build bridges by indeed. Yeesh!

It all points out to me as a Pakeha trying to develop a political awareness and consciousness as to what all this is really all about, is just how difficult and hard the task in front of me really is, and what it entails. Which brings tears to my eyes thinking the path that these amazing Maori people I was around to listen to at Waitangi have walked, and the path those beautiful young Maori people are embarking upon. I can only think, reflect, and experience this from my own life, a middle aged white male, privileged to have walked where the institutions and system have been loaded my way. Language, education, history, opportunity, belief systems, all have been geared to my benefit, set up so I can walk through the world where the mere colour of my skin, and maleness, means I started further up the ladder. That is the truth. No wonder Phil Ochs topped himself, at least he could write beautiful songs and play the guitar, but that line between being real, and merely a hand wringing liberal seems to me a very fine one, and what I really want to get at is just the truth.

It seems life in my world comes down to two possible roads. We take the education and opportunities and we get highly comfortable or rich, and that is where our cultural " wisdom" comes from, those whom are wealthy and successful. Why for instance, Mr. Holmes has such utter crap even published in a newspaper. It is to perpetuate the system and history, defend it, and make sure the past stays in the past, except for how the system has written it. Or we struggle along striving to reach the level of the well off and rich, and soon settle for merely trying, live a quiet good life, and just as equally and staunchly defend the system as we are told. Then we die.

I am certainly not the former, and with one foot already in the latter I am deciding I would rather live. Yet extracting that one foot is like pulling it out of a deep muddy quagmire in the Ruahine. I guess maybe slightly like a tiny fraction of a tiny step in a tiny moment of how it has been for indigenous people everywhere in the world for centuries.

I'm not real sure where this murky track is taking me and what it all means. It is unlike any I have walked before. There have been many times in the mountains I have been afraid at the journey ahead, and the best solution is to always just shoulder the pack and head into the mist. Mauri Ora!

Kia ora once again to all the lovely people above whom I spent the journey to Waitangi amongst. It opened my eyes to so much about Te Tiriti and myself. Interesting times ahead!

On a different note to close this rather rambling effort. This post represents my 100th post on this blog! A good friend once told me that most blogs last a little over 12 months and fizzle out. I started this one mid 2007 mainly as a way to let my whanau and peeps back home have a look at my wanderings in the place I love so much, the Ruahine. So five years later I am still at it, have rambled around the mountains, developed this love of the whenua and Papatuanuku I suspect has always been within me, and now moving into other areas as well. To anyone who is out there reading this - Kia ora for your interest, and Kia ora and Aroha especially to the old names from way back. I have met some extremely interesting people, and many in person as well, via this place. So cheers, and I vow now, post 101 will be in the Ruahine! Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Te Tiriti o Waitangi

2012-02-09T08:48:00.000+13:00

Mataatua marae Waitangi weekend.
I am not real sure why I am even here, on a marae for the very first time in my 19 years of living as a manuhiri (guest) here in Aotearoa. I am with a group of young, mostly Maori students, all accomplished, all heading towards being leaders in their various disciplines, and led by even more accomplished Maori women. I know I am here because of my wife's friendship with one of those women, Erika, whom I also think of as my own friend, but if I am truly honest I have to write that if I had not come to share this experience, my relationship with Tara, my wahine and a talented woman in her own right, may have possibly come to an end. So conflicting emotions see me sitting here amongst all these accomplished folk. I am glad Charlie Kloss is here as well.

Later evening: I was surprised by how the lump in my throat grew as we were welcomed onto the marae with the Powhiri. It says that our ancestors as well as those here at the marae are here with us. I get that. Later on after our dinner I was wandering about the grounds and came upon a little non- descript shed in the back and in front were piled loads of wood, which I am always interested in. I walked over to the stack of old huge logs, thinking these are too massive to split here for firewood, when a quiet voice spoke from inside the shed and asked, "Are you a carver mate?". Of course I answered no, and the voice then invited me inside where I found Jay, one of the Maori men who had greeted us during the Powhiri. I was surrounded by carvings, wood and bone, and all ataahua (beautiful). Jay showed me all around and each piece, and upon the walls the pictures of all his prior generations who had been carvers. How he was the only one left in his family to pursue the skill, craft and patience required. How hard it is now, in South Auckland, to find anyone young in his whanau to teach as he had been taught by his elders. We were then joined by Marsh (who has a lovely Maori name I was unable to remember and will not denigrate by trying to do so), the kaumatua who gave the korero (talk) at our Powhiri. Marsh has a full Moko, or facial tattoo. As a Pakeha we are conditioned to see this as something fierce and intimidating, yet Marsh spoke in a lovely soft voice as he showed me his bone carvings and spoke of his experiences of working with youth in South Auckland. At one stage he asked who I was, why I had come to Aotearoa, and so on. Somehow that got to the Ruahine and the old tawhairauriki staff I had once found to aid Taylor in crossing a flooded river we were going to have to cross for a long time that day when he was only 8 years old. I still have it, (and it sits beside me as I write this now). Marsh said I was meant to find it and should send it to Jay to carve for me. I walked away from that tiny shed with another lump in my throat.

The whanau I was with for the most amazing 5 days I have spent in Aotearoa.

Mataatua marae early morning. I stayed behind when the others went to the Otara markets and such and had a chance to talk to Rangi, the Maori woman who really ran the marae. She patiently explained to me the whole meaning of the Powhiri, Tapu (Sacred), and Noa (Open), which after being welcomed onto the marae I am. Sitting with Rangi having a cup of tea was the the most incredible way to begin my day.

The wood and bone carving shed. Significant moments in humble places.

Kawiti marae. A most beautiful and peaceful place, yet has sheltered some of those most involved in real strife, hate, and fear beyond this graceful domain when no others would. No wonder shelter was both offered and accepted here in her bosom. The sleeping quarters in the foreground, the kitchen and dining area in back, and the ablutions block hidden behind. The cliffs behind are Tapu (Sacred) meaning no one is allowed amongst them. They remind me of mountains, or of Kura Tawhati in the south island. All places that exude spirit and mana.

A view a bit further back, just after we had arrived. You do not just bowl on into a marae, you have to announce your presence, be seen and acknowledged, then proceed to the Powhiri. Here Erika and Tara await before we gather for a karakia and proceed forward. The formality and significance of host to manuhiri (guest) is something we out here in our fast paced materialistic world have forgotten. Really it comes down to manners and respect, and an acknowledgement of the host and guest relationship.

Putting a wood stove in our own whare (house) was a very big thing for me. I love the whole process of gathering wood, preparing and building the fire and maintaining such a simple way to provide the whanau heat and comfort. This wood stove at Kawiti also provides the means to prepare food in those two big ovens on either side. In a way I saw it as the soul of the marae itself.

Waitangi Day: We are here to mark the signing of Te Tiriti o Waitangi, or the Treaty of Waitangi, which was signed in 1840. As a manuhiri I have always been vaguely aware that this was a significant day, and the way I understood it as put forth in the media was that it marked the birth of what is now New Zealand. Mostly it was a day off work, a chance to party a bit the night before and have a sleep in, or plan a tramp up into the hills and so on. For most Pakeha that would be a fair representation of the day. For a far larger proportion of Maori, Te Tiriti is a far more important document, a living breathing entity which represents what should be a way of life itself. So many Pakeha, media, corporations and business interests, and certainly our government see Te Tiriti as an old piece of outdated parchment that should simply be burned, as well as a hindrance to "progress", usually benefiting a small number at the top. I always find it interesting how the mainly white western world holds our own ancient documents so dear and closely to our bosoms, the Bible, the Magna Carta, the Declaration of Independence, the Constitution, and so on. Yet treaties signed with indigenous peoples of the world we saw, and still see, as being somehow invalid as quickly as they accomplish the short term purpose colonizers required, or simply an old outdated dead document. Well, I got news for such views, the biggest lesson I learned over the weekend is that Te Tiriti ain't going nowhere, and there are some fiercely brilliant Maori minds and bodies, and even a few Pakeha ones, who are in for the long haul. Mauri Ora!

The above photo is representative of another huge myth that was blown to bits, and another huge truth revealed for me. Every year before I came to Waitangi the spin put out by the government and media is that Waitangi Day is a volatile, explosive cauldron of Maori discontent. Radicals, terrorists, agitators, and separatists who harrass and threaten the government officials and others. The news papers and television show pushing and shoving, men with full faced Moko's filled with rage. This should be a day of celebration, not one of division is the common theme of the pakeha world. "We are all one". - No actually we are not, and I also learned that this day is no way a "celebration" for most Maori. It is in fact a very sad day, a day that highlights the fact that Te Tiriti is still being abused, neglected, and unobserved, that Maori continue to lead every possible negative statistic there is available. And we say, "well, we are all one, they have the same opportunities", "ferals", "warrior gene", "time to move on", ad nausea. What indeed is there to celebrate about the effects of colonization on an entire population of people whose land was stolen, whose language was nearly killed, and who are still being lied to about Te Tiriti o Waitangi?

The media puts out close up, panned in shots and film of angry protesters to make it look as if riots are about to break out, and the impression that hundreds of people are about to run wild. That bubble was burst for me in the above photo. Charlie and I were standing near where John Key and his entourage were being escorted off the marae. There was a small group yelling abuse and protesting, and there should be in my view, but in the media it was made to look as if he was in danger, that the kettle was about to boil over. Have a look. Do you think I would let my 9 year old son stand near what I thought would be a threatening situation? Does it look dangerous and out of control? I was there, and it wasn't. And the same applies to the next day's Hikoi to the Waitangi flagpole where again it was potrayed as a near riot, and the same type photo of an angry Maori man of twisted face and hatred. Had the camera panned a mere few feet away, they would have seen Charlie and I standing peacefully as so many others carried on a respectful and dignified korero. Never again will I believe our media and government. I will source my information elsewhere.

Charlie standing by Hone Harawira a few mere moments after Key and his dark suited entourage hustled off the marae. A bit later Tara, Charlie, and I were walking back towards the political tent and Charlie asked us, "Why do men in suits look so strange?" - there was a Maori woman walking behind us and she burst out laughing and said to Charlie, "Because they are all thieves! What a great question!" She continued down the road laughing.

Above is Tara with Meteria Turei, the leader of the Green Party, and Tara's cousin whom she had not seen in many years. The biggest benefit for me being such an unimportant part of the group I was with is that I was fortunate enough to listen to some amazing Maori voices put forth the real and true story of Te Tiriti and its on going relationship with all of us. People whom once again in our media, and by our government are portrayed as haters and wreckers, radicals and dividers, even a few as terrorists. To listen to these people speak, to listen to the passion, commitment, knowledge, and yes, Love, in their korero left me dazed, and honoured.

Tame Iti. To hear this man speak in such a quiet gentle manner, to feel emanating from him the hurt and pain of his journey, I actually had to look away at times. He did not talk of agendas of terror and plots HE may have put forth, as so commonly is put up by our media, he talked of what it is like to be sleeping peacefully in your own whare and have our own government terrorists break his doors down and pull his partner, daughter, and himself outside and separate them. He talked of how it felt to see the red laser dots on his face and body, of being on the ground with a snarling German Shepard snapping viciously at his face mere inches away. That happened here folks. And five years later the government has still yet to bring all this to trial. Why is that?

Giving the korero is Mereana Pitman. Seated are Moana Jackson in the middle, and to the left is Veronica Tawhai (the leader and facilitator of our group). Three beautiful and amazing minds and visionaries whom opened up a whole new view for how I see certainly Te Tiriti, but also the whole world. And with others we listened to, Tame Iti, Mike Smith, Annette Sykes, Hone Harawira, Metiria Turei and others, the fight to put Te Tiriti in its rightful place is in good hands. Combined with people in our own whanau, Erika Te Hiwi, Natasha McCombe, as well as the young brilliant minds I met and observed in the young students who came with us, it all gives me inspiration to change myself, and hope to change the world.

Dawn over Waitangi from the Upper marae.

So here it is, because I know there may be a few peeps who read these words and still see the above names and my own views as radical and dangerous. So, to paraphrase a bit from the wonderful Moana Jackson, whom I could sit in front of and Listen to for days at a time, from now on this is what I will ask of any Pakeha, or anyone who wants to question the rightful place of Te Tiriti in Aotearoa.

Please ask yourself four questions.
1. Would the King of France have woken up one morning around 1840 and decided he would cede all power, because ultimately this is about power, to the King of England, and what would the people of France have thought about that?

2. Why would a combined Maori population of up to an estimated 500,000 in 1840 cede power to a group numbering around 2000 settlers and missionaries? They could have, and probably should have run them into the sea. What they were attempting to do was to bridge a way to allow these people to live here in a way that was similar to inter-connections the various Iwi shared amongst each other as the indigenous people, through the bonds of marriage and history, so that quite simply the manuhiri would abide by the rules and behave themselves. Hone Heke went directly to the source, to the King of England, to suss him out and get him to control his drunk, and out of control wild mob instead of the other option of simply running them into the sea. Te Tiriti was a way to let people stay here and yet still be guided by the principles of Tino Rangatiratanga. It is as simple as that.

3. Ask yourself what sort of world you want to live in, what sort of world you want your children, and your childrens children to live in and amongst? One can read most any post I have written on this blog to know how I personally feel about wild places, the earth, sea, and what we are doing to them. And now, having been on two marae over 4 days and living under the protection of Tino Rangatiratanga and how I was cared for, how I learned to pitch in and make it all happen, how much more aware of what is around us and how we treat one another, I have absolutely no issues at all with, again simply, a better way.

4. Have you actually ever been to Waitangi? If yes, I hope you feel a bit like I do, if no, I'll see you there.

The flagpole over Waitangi at dawn.

The real reason this is all so crucial and so important to get right.

"On life's eternal river
   we float on....and
   on, forever - like
   a stream of light
  enhancing our under-
standing of human love,
and life! Kia ora!
                         Hone Tuwhare

Kia ora to all the wonderful people I shared this experience with, and especially to those who put it all together and allowed me to be part of such an amazing chapter in my life.
Aroha,
Robb

A Swimmer's Lament

2012-01-25T19:44:00.000+13:00

Charlie swimming blissfully like a little otter on a hot summer day. The Rangitikei not far from where it rolls out of the Ruahine.

Evening 25 Jan. 2012 - Charlie and I have just returned from the swimming pool at his school a few doors down from our house. We have a key over the summer holiday so after coming home from work on a very hot afternoon we headed down for a wee dip before dinner. As we swam and played I couldn't help but let my mind drift a bit to the mountains, and how on a long summers day, and sometimes even in the midst of winter if a staunch enough challenge is issued, the deep green tinted clear depths of a Ruahine mountain river pool prove so alluring. Perhaps I am spoiled by my time amongst the rivers, but the chilling embrace and the tingling of flesh and spirit afterwards are far more refreshing there than in the tepid waters of a city swimming pool.

Some days you get lucky enough to spend the whole day just meandering up and down the river, looking for the best pools to be embraced by. Above is the Pourangaki river, a ways down from the hut on a stretch with fast water and big pools. That, plus a hot day, adds up to loads of fun! We certainly do not have to worry about being thirsty.

John on the Kawhatau river on another brilliant summer day. Don't be fooled! Days like this are really very rare in the mountains, so when you get one it is best to grab onto it and relish each second. It is good to be reminded of such simple pleasures.

The Waikamaka river on possibly the finest summer day I have personally spent in the Ruahine in my near 20 years of being amongst them. The river was low, travel was easy, the sun was shining, and it was hot. Normally a dip into any mountain river is relatively chilly proposition and the stay in equally short. On this day the normally frosty reception negated by the heat and the days labour to arrive here. To sit in a mountain river in natures very own whirlpool was just simply a luxury. This is living!

A different scenario. A different time of year. But look at that pool just calling out. Nigel, well dressed to ward off the winter chill gazing into the lovely depths. Soon after I observed this scene I took off my clothes and crossed the river just down from the pool. I climbed onto that moss covered rock on the other side, braced myself, and jumped in. It was well over my head and like jumping into ice water. I emerged very quickly yelling and screaming and completely alive! I have no photo to verify this, well I do, but this was back in the age of film, and I did not convert that one to digital. You will have to trust me.

"I meet the Tukituki"
No webbed feet or even talons
grip this moss covered greywacke
as I brace myself quite ungracefully
above the rivers song
I look to my mate for reassurance
none is forth coming except
anticipation of his own pleasure
Too late to back out now
I release myself of my clumsy perch
and for a brief exalting moment
hover above my doom
and plunge into the deep embrace
down into the clear darkening depths
familiar and welcoming
part of me wanting to remain
yet emerge I do bellowing
laughing and crying out for joy
My friend smiles and shakes his head
I dress and we go back down the river
I keep looking back
-written at Barlow hut 2004

Waterfall creek. No way out now!

John not long after me. It is an awesome pool.

Charlie carrying on the tradition of enjoying the rivers. Closer to home, and in the Tararua's but he has already done his share of Ruahine "swimming". Love the look on his face as he scrambles to get out of the late winter water.

Aroha,
Robb

The Summer Tour that Never Was

2012-01-15T16:33:00.003+13:00

Early Jan. 2012
I sit here alone just above Sunrise hut, over looking the Waipawa valley, the Three Johns, and Te Atua Para Para. To the northwest lies Armstrong saddle and the route into my intended destination, the Maropea valley. But for now I am content to just sit here in the rare quiet stillness of this moment.

It is early evening and having climbed up and finding Sunrise hut empty, a luxury as it's 22 bunks and gas heater usually have someone, if not several people in residence. My preference is to add another hour or so to the day and cross over the saddle to Top Maropea, perhaps my favourite spot in all the Ruahine, but the lateness of the day, the empty hut, and being able to sit amongst this view when normally the wind dominates the scene, simply makes me pour myself a wee dram and relax, the days work done.

It feels somewhat as if the Ruahine are welcoming me, and understanding my reluctance and hesitation to even be here better than I do myself. A solo trip always brings out these feelings, but I also have a few lingering family issues which hang low over me like the onimous steely grey clouds descending upon this valley. I feel almost a sense of unease. To sit here in the quiet hazy silence of an early mountain evening is a rare and distinct pleasure. I have, literally, fought for my life out there. And there she lies before me. Calm. Temptress.

Waipawa valley, the Three Johns, dipping low in the middle is Waipawa Saddle which separates Waipawa valley from the headwaters of the Waikamaka valley. On the right is the flank of the centerpiece of the area Te Autoaparapara.

The sun sets on Armstrong saddle and Patiki to the far right.

The sun fades on Te Atuaoparapara.

Evening: A breeze has picked up from the northwest, which is never a good sign. I may have missed my window to get across the saddle. But what will be will be. Why is it so easy to understand here that I can control what I can control, the weather not being one of those? Yet outside here I so often worry about what I cannot control in others, especially those I love dearly. There is a freedom in that which I struggle with. This evening my choice has been made, all the ramifications of that will be revealed soon enough.

Looking to the east and the plains of Hawkes Bay in the evening light.

To the north east and the far off Parks Peak ridge, an old familiar Ruahine place as well.

Following Day: Still here! In the night I was awoken by a shaking of the hut by gusting wind and then the sound of torrential rain on the tin roof. All I could do was roll over and nestle deeper into my down sleeping bag. The wind has been howling all day long, and having crossed the exposed saddle some 40 times I KNOW when to simply stay put. These are gale force winds and there is nothing for it but to just put the billy on for another cup of tea.
I have been thinking about my son Taylor. One of the reasons I wanted to traverse this area is I feel a sense of unfinished business in the Maropea valley from our last trip here some 7 months ago. Taylor wandered ahead while I stopped to photograph and observe a pair of whio on the river. Somehow he wandered right past Maropea Forks and continued down the river. I could not find him, and I spent the loneliest night of my life in the warm hut while Taylor shivered some place on the wintry cold mountain river. The next day the mountains returned him to me, but this time it is not the mountains he is lost in. I love him.

Tupare - or leatherwood. A hearty alpine shrub and tree which withstands the howling gales, rain, sleet, snow, and winter cold to thrive and grow, and even find beauty in such unforgiving terrain. Like the heart of any parent.

Evening: The wind howls even fiercer. I have trouble standing even in the relative protected shelter of the hollow where the hut sits. I know I would stand no chance of standing, much less moving on the exposed open tops a few metres away. The hut shakes and moans frightfully, and all I can do is trust in the sturdy construction and the guy wires which lash it to the ground. It is quite a storm. I will wait till morning and see if by some chance the wind abates and I can move. If not I will retreat back down the mountain and live to try another day.

Sunrise hut. When I first came here in 1993 it was a very small unimposing 6 bunk hut. Now it sleeps 22. It is anchored into the ground with a series of guy wires at the corners. I was thankful for that. It is hard to capture wind in a photo, but trust me, to walk from the hut to where I was standing was a struggle.

Aside from the near vertical mist and cloud rolling across, the indication of how strong the wind was can be seen by the tussock grass which is blown straight over. It too is a hearty rugged alpine plant well adapted to this environment. It just goes with the flow.

Morning : Still howling and raining, and I am retreating down the mountain and home. I am okay with that, as it is always these hills that hold the final say, and even if I was only here for a brief interlude and not what I expected, at least I was here at all. I will return.

Down into the forest and home.
I end this meandering post with a poem by Sam Hunt, one of my favourite New Zealand poets. He captures the essence of what I was feeling, and how I felt up there in that storm on my summer trip that never was.

'Rangitikei Riversong"
A man can only
find himself when lost
Such country, this,
where all men are lonely
plateau, hawk, and rivermist

country where a man at last
might lose himself, an end of talk
find that gaunt faced other
man who stalks these ridges
plateau, rivermist, and hawk

no longer keeping eye
for crumbling edges
lovers or the weather
Listening, rather, to the river:
hawk and high plateau
rivermist below
Sam Hunt - Selected Poems

Mauri Ora!

Whanahuia Ora

2011-11-18T10:44:00.000+13:00

11/11/11 Whanahuia range of the Ruahine - evening

A stunning campsite on the Whanahuia range on a lovely evening. John Nash and I climbed to the tops and Rangiwahia hut in the early afternoon and rather inclement weather. Late in the day the weather cleared and we quickly decided to pack up and head further up the range towards Mangahuia and camp. Our decision was validated by finding this small piece of flat gravel in the tussock. Just enough for our tent and a little room to sit, which is all we need. We are on the north side of the range looking into the valley know as Venison Gully and across to Deadman's Ridge with an unnamed stream running far below, we can listen to the muttering song up high.

We are being treated to one of the more spectacular sunsets I have been privileged to be part of in my time traveling in the Ruahine. The tussock is lit up to golden brown, then fiery red, in the distance the sun duels with the cloud and mist, treating us to a new vista like clicking through natures own digital camera in real time, and a slow moving bank of smokey cloud moves up the valley reminding us of a maunga taniwha as it crawls up the stream below poking and probing each gut and gully, then retreating back to the flat lands far below. John and I just sit here in the quiet silence of the mountains saying little even though we have not seen one another in some time. Sometimes more is said not saying anything at all.

John earlier in the afternoon as we set up our little camp. Looking south east towards Mangahuia in the distance.

Settling in with a wee dram and the sunset.

The show begins.

Just a bit above our camp looking west toward the setting sun.

Looking down into Oroua valley the following day. Our destination, Triangle hut is a small red dot almost in the middle of the photo. A lovely spot, and though we could see it, was still many hours away.

Resting by a snow tarn as we make our way north before steeply heading down through the mud and treacherous footing down to the forest and the hut. A good place to refill our water bottles and have a snack before pressing on. A good place period.

Finally down into the high forest after a long battle with the descent. The sun came out and with still another hour or so very steeply down to the river time for some lunch (bagels, cheese, tomato, onion, and salami for me as John is a vegetarian), then a bit of a nap before pressing onwards. What's the hurry?

12/11/11 Triangle hut late afternoon
The rain gently patters on the tin roof, droplets drip slowly off the porch overhang as the Oroua river flows by. A cacophony of water surrounds us. I have seen, I have listened to this, many times before at this very spot, but it is always new, always different. I feel like I am home.
John sleeps in his down bag as he was not feeling well today, another reason to take it slow and easy on the tops and down through the kaikawaka and tawhairaunui. I made John a few cups of tea and some hot soup and he was already feeling better, and what better spot to curl up in and dream. Sleep well e hoa!
So I have been just sitting here listening, brewing cups of tea in the billy, smiling and laughing. Gathered wood for the stove, and reflected on our day of traveling in the Ruahine. Mostly just smiling. This is my 9th visit here over the years. The hut book goes back to 2004 and the third entry is by John and I. It is barely a third full, so this is a place that is rarely visited, and being here 9 times in an honour I an humbled by. Pohangina Pete's name is here, as are a few others I have come to know in my time in these mountains. My time grows short, so moments like this take on even greater clarity and significance. One day I will be here forever.

John by the stone gorge a short meander up the river from the hut. The whole of the Oroua pours through this gorge, as can be seen by the place John stands. In 2004 the Oroua out on the flat lands flooded through rain up in here and caused untold millions of dollars in damage. The mountains are built for that. What is now farmland used to be "built" for that when it was just bush and forest. Now cleared and "productive" we blame Nature. This very spot tells a huge story.

Triangle hut just in the left side. In the hut book I found a poem I wrote back in 2008, my last visit here. One where I got stuck for 2 days when the river came up through incessant rain, and I sat watched the droplets fall off the porch.

"Hut day at Triangle"

I have used this day to my fullest ability
have run through the rain to use the facility
except in the course of that little caper
neglected to bring the toilet paper
I've chopped wood and stacked it quite high
more than enough for the next man by
sat on the porch just quietly thinking
about how many cups of tea I've been drinking
Rivulets of water drip down from the roof
offering me final and total proof
That a day spent here all toasty and warm
beats the hell out of being out there in that storm
21/12/08

Inside Triangle hut early evening.

Cooking tea. Fresh tomato, red onion and garlic, simmered to a sauce with tarragon and and a smidgen of rosemary, then served over pasta. Really roughing it!

13 November very early morning Triangle hut:
I sit on the porch with a strong mug of coffee and start to watch the mountain morning unfold. These are the days when John and I really have learned how to excel. A day of doing nothing with the whole day to do it. And feel no guilt, or remorse, or regret. To just have enjoyed these moments as much as we possibly can. Yet by the end of this day, the wood boxes will be full to over flowing, the hut cleaned, all the excess rubbish stuffed into bags we will carry out, which amounts to not much here thankfully and gratefully. We will have walked up river and down, maybe even have tried to climb up some unexamined spur, (though I doubt that). And soon enough I shall be back sitting in this very spot as the sun passes over this valley far sooner than it does on the tops we camped upon. John and I will sit here with something stronger than this coffee in our tin mugs, and we will wonder where the day has gone.

Evening inside Triangle hut - The wood stove creaks and moans as it comes to life. Candle light accentuates, softens, and adds dignity to the already apparent charms of this back country hut as the sun sets on our second evening here on the Oroua river. Neither John or I were concerned with packing up and going anywhere today, particularly with the rain up here a fairly good indicator conditions would not be too pleasant up there. The frantic rushing we used to do, the 8, 9, 10 hour days on the go, the huge endless climbs and descents are for younger legs. At 51 and with a new hip I am content to stay here in spots I love so much and let them fold over me, and enjoy them on their own intimate terms. Like sitting in the high forests quietly and being absorbed by them, and in that stillness see the real forest revealed, so it is too by the rivers - the fact this charming little hut is here an added bonus. My legs are older indeed, but here my heart sings and my soul is young.

Back along the tops of the Whanahuia.

We had to stop on the tops to don warmer gear, but once we turned out of the wind it became calm and still once again. We stopped in the tussock for lunch and a lie down. The cloud rose up in the distance and revealed Te Hekenga, the first time we had seen it on this trip.

14/11/11 Rangi hut - evening. The sunsets in a brilliant show once again, just as it sets on this mountain experience. In the morning a 3 hour walk or so will bring us back to the car and soon back to the world. Though right now here in this moment that seems a long time away and we are content to linger here in the foolishness of things a while more.

15/11/11 morning - Ruapehu, Ngarahoe, and Tongariro, the volcanoes, shimmer in the distance. Taranaki glimmered further to the southwest as well, forced to flee there after fighting with Tongariro for the affection of the beautiful Pihanga. It is said that when Taranaki is covered in cloud it is weeping for it's lost love. It weeps often. I understand how he feels. As I get ready to head down this mountain I miss the Ruahine already.

Kia ora John, Kia ora Whanahuia, Kia ora Ruahine.
Aroha,
Robb

Matariki Huna Nui

2011-09-30T19:33:00.000+13:00

A Ruahine forest dripping with vibrant energy and force, glistening with Life as the filtering sunlight argues with the swirling cloud above, the forest floor simply sighing as the argument continues, the rich musty aroma of the earth intoxicates my senses. The light and moisture illuminate my path as if I were part of a painting. The pull gets stronger and I must return to this place. My pack and boots await. Soon.

For me, this very place is where a strong part of the soul of the Ruahine resides. This deep part of the forest which has tapped me gently upon the shoulder stronger each time until I finally stopped and Listened, and felt it inside, drank it all in with every part of my being. To implore me to let go of my humanness, and to rather just embrace being part of Everything. As close to any religion or of any God as I will ever get. I was just there with a cheap camera, an observer, yet part of, this incredible scene. The hand of Papatuanuku Herself is at work here. It is almost too much for the eye to take in and process without allowing our very selves to enter it as part of each tiny molecule. It is a place that now draws me closer each time I pass by and spend moments here. And in spite of the relative permanence of the forest itself, the mood and ambiance are forever fluid, much like the whole of this land called Aotearoa. In the Te Ika a Maui, Aotearoa ( the North Island of Aotearoa), the Ruahine was one of the first land masses to nudge her head above the safety of the sea. So the ancient, ethereal feel comes from those earliest moments. I feel like I belong to them.

(Kia ora and aroha to my wild kindred soul Robin Easton for suggesting I expand a mere observation into words about this Matariki huna nui that envelopes my being. She understands.)
Aroha,
Robb

Ripoinga (memoirs)

2011-09-24T17:14:00.001+12:00

I am caught up in a busy period of work, and it will be at least 3 more weeks till I can get out into the mountains for a bit of Quiet Solitude. I found myself dreaming of the mountains on this rather cloudy and grey spring day, and dug out my little note books which has notes, poems (such as I interpet them :)), observations, and ramblings from every trip I have done in the Ruahine going back to 1998 when I started toting them along with me. So to connect me with a place I love so much I am using this exercise to share some of those moments here. Enjoy! Above John overlooks the headwaters of the Mangatera valley from the flanks of Te Atua Mahuru.

28 Sept. 2001 The Hikurangi's in the Ruahine. Somewhere along the ridge to McKinnon hut.
I am now snug in my tent on the open tops of the Hikurangi's, the only range in the Ruahine I have not been until now. A solo trip, and one I felt I needed to refresh my soul. I feel a bit battered with the recent attacks upon the Twin Towers and the inevitable places that will take the world, a few rough patches with work, and most of all trying to be a father and husband as best I can. So I took a few days off and headed up here on a rainy cold afternoon. My pack felt very heavy with 4 days supplies and my new tent attached as I began climbing the very steep spur up from the Kawhatau river to the open tops. I felt tired and sleepy and just wanted to quit and come home yet something in me just kept plugging away, step by step, and as I could see the forest changing to the higher alpine growth my confidence ebbed back slowly, and finally I arrived at the tops. Only to find them shrouded in cloud, mist and wind, and though the route is poled I had difficulty seeing anything beyond 20 metres or so. I carried on until it started to get too dark, and me too tired, and I found a spot in the lee side of the tussock and pitched my new tent. Everything seems nice and snug as I write this by headlamp, the wind rushes up in gusts but all seems secure. No hot meal this evening and I wish I would have brought more water. Feeling a bit better, a test of my mental toughness to get here. I am truly cloud hidden.

29 September 2001 Crow Hut.
Yesterday seems like a lifetime ago. I sit here now listening to the song of the Kawhatau river below the hut, the sky an amazing blue, the sun warm and comforting, and the doubts and worries I felt yesterday washed off like the grime of hard work when I dove into the bracingly ice cold pool below. I awoke to very gusty winds and driving rain just before daybreak. I quickly packed up and headed along the ridge towards McKinnon, picking my way through the cloud pole to pole up to the high point of 1645 metres. Then steeply down to McKinnon where I arrived to the empty hut just after 8:00a.m. Glad to to be there! It is in a very cool location sheltered below the Hikurangis and with the Kawhatau valley below and the Mokai patea to the north, and the main Ruahine range across to the east, the view is spectacular. Though I had refilled my water bottle in the lake size tarn I still drank deeply from the water tank, then set about cooking up a huge breakfast. 4 eggs, 2 potatoes, 3 rashers of bacon, 1 onion, garlic, and chunks of cheddar cheese - hopple popple, cook the onion and garlic, then the potatoes, then the bacon, then crack the eggs on top, and when just set, add the cheese and cover till melted. Salt and pepper to taste and Yum! I ate the lot. The big camp oven here at the hut worked a treat.
I then relaxed by crawling into my sleeping bag, reading my book, then feel asleep as the wind howled overhead and the rain beat upon the tin roof. I awoke just before noon to complete silence. And when I opened the door of the hut to look outside was almost blinded by the brilliant sunshine, blue sky, and stillness all around, not a breath of wind. Just an incredible turn of events from struggling across the tops a few hours earlier. I packed up while having a few strong coffees and then began the steep drop to the Kawhatau river and Crow hut. The forest just hummed and glowed with energy and the sunlight filtering through the trees and bush just astounded my senses with overwhelming shades of green everywhere. Soon the river came muttering into my descent and before I knew it I was sitting beside the crystal clear water slaking my thirst. So I have now spent a glorious afternoon at Crow hut, drying my gear, setting up my tent to dry out, and just standing and gazing out toward Rongotea which looms over the valley and watching the afternoon light play on her flanks and golden tops. I dove into the cold water and howled with joy, and I sat there shivering with joy and letting the sun warm me a whio flew by. A perfect day.

Cloud and mist shroud the Kawhatau valley. On the Mokai Patea climbing out of Crow hut.

28 December 2005 - Waterfall hut
What an amazing day, full of fun, adventure, woe, decisions,validation, and as always in the Ruahine, great beauty. John and I left McKinnon hut in very good conditions early this morning, climbed up to Huikurangi (1701m), then onto Mangaweka, the highest point in the entire Rauhine range. It all involves a bit of route finding, tussock bashing, and climbing, but on a clear still day such as this it presents no real issues. John and I have seen no one for three days and we stood alone upon Mangaweka and relished the views in all directions. We decided to descend via what we thought was Iron Peg creek, and the day being fine and feeling good we happily scampered down the steep tussock and slid down into the creek. Only to soon find we had picked the wrong creek, one between Trig and Iron Peg, and there was nothing for it now but to follow it down. We spent over two hours climbing out onto sheer tupare and Spaniard covered cliffs and bluffs to avoid waterfalls, other times simply climbing down through falls and down through the slippery steep creek, removing our packs and lowering them with the rope. It was dicey nerve wracking stuff, a place where one wrong step could have meant real trouble. When the creek finally leveled out a bit then met with the real Iron Peg creek I flopped down beside John and we didn't say anything, just sat there. We didn't have to, we both knew we had been very fortunate to extract ourselves from a dangerous situation. More lessons learned. Glad to be at Waterfall hut, wee dram in hand for a quiet celebration.

23 April 2004 Pourangaki hut
I am feeling very content in this moment in the Ruahine. Quite happy with a solo day traversing these mountains off the beaten track, across two ranges, to arrive here safely. For me, that is a big deal, to find a level of confidence to do that, and today it all clicked, it all felt right, made sense. It has taken me 10 years to feel that here in the mountains, so I feel like it was a big breakthrough. I needed to expand my boundaries. Since Nigel has moved to Korea it is either find other people to tramp with, don't tramp, or go by myself. I am learning to enjoy being on my own in the mountains very much, and I am not so sure that I take more risk on my own than with someone else. With others, such as Nigel and John, I can rely on their experience, or get a false sense of security in numbers, where as on my own it is all on me. In the mountains that is a big deal. I have seen no one for 3 days, which surprises me as a few deer are still roaring, but that suits me well. When I arrived here there was a hind in back of the clearing by the hut and she quietly disappeared into the thick forest, and shortly after a Karearea, or native New Zealand falcon flew over. Good signs.

One of the pleasures of winter travel in the Ruahine!!

"The wind plays notes on every branch, and flutters each leaf
she misses not one
water adds a chorous, the unrelenting droplets of rain like shiny baubles
from the sky
Splattering, Hissing, Dripping
onto the forest floor
joined by the quiet plops from off the lush green bush
Then the crescendo of the raging river deafens me
brown, dirty, angry, dominating
until I climb away from her again
The symphony of the stormy mountain forest
overwhelms my senses and fills me with joy
with the sheer wildness of it all
remote responsibility for myself
The mountain hut lies ahead
sanctuary, warmth, dry clothes, billy to boil
Yet the rain will still bounce upon the roof
and outside the river will still sing".

Nigel, John, Robb, somewhere between Longview and Howlett's on the main range.

Aroha,
Robb

Manuhiri

2011-09-07T19:10:00.000+12:00

I am not from this place. I came from elsewhere, drawn to some vague definition of "responsibility", but also an unexplained deep urge within that called to me. As a young boy my grandfather gave me a huge hard covered book of Life Magazine photos and snippets of the world from the 1950's. There was one photo that always stirred something within me, it was a photo of New Zealand, so beautiful and so calling. The place that photo was "taken" is not so very far from where I write these words. There was also a comfort in the photo and accompanying caption that this was a very English world, so they spoke, more or less, like me, and thought, more or less, like me. I was only 8.
When I came here, I discovered a place, in the above photo, that held true all the things I felt as a kid back in Green Bay, Wisconsin. But what has become also true, is that this is not my place. The land, the earth herself (Papatuanuku) has a hold on me and an ancient connection I am still struggling to understand, but the place, the original human inhabitants of this place, were not me, or of me. The mountains above which I love and honour were traversed and used by Maori, the original people, and most peaks, features, and rivers reflect that truth. It does not demean or lessen what I am finding in these mountains, the Ruahine, it only enhances us all. Why is that so difficult for so many people to acknowledge? So for me, a white immigrant to a far away land which I love, New Zealand has become Aotearoa.

"On the porch at Maropea Forks" - July 2002
The rain patters on the tin roof
drumming her song, the endless symphony
of the river joins the chorous
These echoes have called me often
So I Listen
to this ancient music once again
Alone
not lonely
Intensely fullfilled
The fear I have felt in my solitude is real
This is a Path filled with potentail woe
Yet here I am in the bosom
of this place
I am Home

Rangimarie

Timmer

2011-08-18T12:30:00.013+12:00

I love the mountains. And a certain range of mountains, the Ruahine, in particular. From the first time I set foot in them back nearly 20 years ago, something inside me knew I was home, that this place on the other side of the world from where I grew up was where I felt most at home. I still recall with vivid clarity a moment coming down from that day walk up Gold Crown ridge with Nigel and John, it was a very hot day and I had much to learn about travel in the mountains being a flatland Wisconsin boy such I was. Carrying enough water was one lesson. As Nigel climbed down ahead into the forest John and I looked down through the tupare and tawhairariki to a stream far below. We could hear it faintly, see the clear green depths of her pools, and the satiny ribbon whiteness of the rapids - and we were thirsty! Even with my thirst I was tingling inside, feeling excited and alive as I had in many years. I knew part of me would never leave these mountains.

A very good friend of mine back home in Wisconsin died this past week, far too soon at the age of 50. Tim Revane never climbed any towering mountains, he never traveled to distant lands, I am not even sure he ever left Wisconsin, he never wrote any books or went to university, he will not have any statues built in his honour, no lofty tributes from on high will grace the news recalling his feats. This will have to do. For in a circular way it was my friendship with Timmer, and the time I spent with him, and others, that brought me to that moment I described above, and gave me the presence to recognize it happening. Timmer most likely would not even acknowledge what I am writing about here, but rather he would smile at me as he opened a beer and lit another cigarette and say, "Dobber, let's go fishing".

Above is a photo of The Barbaric Open - a golf tournament we held every year in the late 80's to early 90's when I moved here to New Zealand. We played on courses from Minneapolis to Milwaukee and we were never invited back to the same one twice. Timmer is the 5th in from the right, in front of him his brother Bob, and behind Bob in the blue cap is Rick Parduhn - whom has tramped here in the Ruahine. One of my oldest friends, Quinn, is seated on the bus, with his brother Mitch in front of him, me holding young Colin Pollesh (who would now be approaching his mid 20's!), on my right in the blue tee shirt is Phils, and to his right in the blue shirt is Gustav, whom has been in the Ruahine many times and now lives in Tasmania. The guy with the arm around the fellow next to Gustav is Todd, the father of young Colin, and now a charter boat captain on Lake Michigan, and closest on the left is Iron Mike, the other brother of Tim and Bob and also one of my oldest friends.

Timmer in the crash helmet with Mitch ready to board his amply supplied golf cart. This was vintage Timmer. In a bus load of characters and personalities he always had a surprise, or a perfect comment on any situation. Then he would just sit back and laugh.

An evening at Selen's in Milwaukee, a sort of going away gathering before I left on this part of my life to join Tara here in New Zealand. She had returned earlier as her visa had expired, and on the day she left we found out she was pregnant out in San Francisco. Interesting times. Out of a lot of my mates one of the most supportive was Tim in his own unique way. He kept my car running, helped me move, kept the whiskey flowing, took me fishing, made sure I had lots of venison - big chunks marinated in orange juice and grilled rare on the Weber. He always planned to come over to fish and hunt and see these mountains I was so fond of. He never did. So it is up to me to take him there with me and I will.

Above: Todd, Phils, Timmer, me, Iron Mike, Bogger, and Tony Maio. Enjoying the best prime rib in Milwaukee and all the trimmings.

A spot of croquet on the afternoon of my 30th birthday. Summer 1990. Iron Mike playing out of the rough while Todd and Timmer eye up the situation, me not really caring much, Roaster - another Ruahine veteran, Bob, and Phils.

Timmer loved to fish and hunt. At a time not long after my birthday I struggled a bit. A relationship ended badly, I quit a job I hated and went back to school. Timmer decided I needed to start fishing again, which I had not in years. He took me out and reignited the flame within me. He taught to me to slowly stalk and hunt fish from shore, to do it with purpose and stillness. Yet is was being outside that meant more to me, the smell of the woods, the sunlight glistening on the lake, this stirring inside of me I had yet to understand. So I eventually returned to the Boundary Waters, a magical place of lakes, woods, rivers, bears, and wolves, and accessible only by canoe. My friend Quinn and I spent 8 amazing days there and relished each second. I owe that to Tim and he recognizing something in me I didn't even see myself. I needed to go fishing.

Sitting by the fire on Mahlberg lake. 3 days paddle from the nearest road end.

A walleye caught from shore. A few more and dinner is served.

The final evening at Bashatong Lake. May the waters on the other side be as still for your paddle my brother, may the walleye be large and hungry, the woods full of deer, and the firewood dry. Keep that fire burning e hoa. See you soon.

"Farewell farewell,

Let the heavens mumble and stutter

Let them acknowledge your leaving us

Mine is the lone gull's cry in the night

Let my grief hide the moon's face

Let alien gods salute thee and

with flashing knives cut open

the dark belly of the sky

I feel rain spit in my face

I bear no malice, let none stain my valedictions

For I am at one with the wind

the clouds heave and the slapping rain

the tattered sky with the wild solitude

of the sea and the streaming earth

which I kneel to kiss............."

Hone Tuwhare - Lament (1)

Deep River Talk - Collected Poems

Winter

2011-07-29T15:43:00.026+12:00

27 July Heritage Lodge, Oroua Valley

Robb Kloss

Charlie Kloss

I was on my way yesterday on the road and looking forward to a four or five day solo trip into the wintry Ruahine. A very cold southerly has blown in, and the snow was down very low in the hills, and covering the far off peaks in a shimmery glowing white satin against the foreboding grey skies. I pulled the car over and sat looking at the view out there and dealt with the thoughts tumbling through my brain. Then I turned the car around and returned home. I had decided to take Charlie with me. He wants to be in the snow. He was down in Wellington for the day with Tara, so this meant I lost a day, and also a bit of logistical reorganizing, but the feelings that ran through me looking at those peaks told me to get my son. So I did.

So here we are after walking into Heritage in the early afternoon and settling in for a big day walk in the morning up to Tunupo Peak and the snow. The southerly has blown through and the warmer northerly bringing wind and rain and easy low lying snow is gone, so some tough work lies ahead for the Chomper to see snow. I had planned to be far deeper in at either Iron Gate or Triangle on my own, instead I am here with Charlie, and that has it's own wonderful charms. We spent a while gathering, chopping, sawing, and stacking wood, and now the lovely confines of the hut are warm and cozy. We are joined by Mike, a retired gentleman who has put out a small line of possum traps a short way up the valley towards Tunupo creek, doing 'feasibility study" as he puts it. There is good money in possum fur at the moment, but it is very very hard work. Interesting how a cup of tea and sharing a warm hut in the wilderness brings out the good things about human company. I love my solitude and will always relish seeking it, but here now in this moment with Charlie and Mike it all seems right.

Charlie doing the dishes after a tea of marinated steak with Chinese rice and cashews.

Charlie has taken in interest in why I spend time out here huddled up with my little notebook, and picked up and my pen and book, and has graciously given me permission to share a few of his thoughts... " Charlie here. Sitting by the lamp here writing stuff on a nice night, though it is shitting itself outside with rain. I was thinking about my dumb brother and how we discovered he has broken the zipper on my new sleeping bag, he is the only one he used it. Now you can't zipper it up, which is sort of the whole point of a sleeping bag. Mike is pretty cool, his stuff was here but he didn't get here till late, so I thought he might be hurt or dead. Dad didn't seem too worried. It is heaps warmer in here now than when we arrived and the fire looks cool. Me and dad are about to have some big juicy steaks. I bet the way it is raining mum would love it so much as it is raining even harder than last time we were here, and she loves the rain on the tin roof. It is a bit quiet except all the rain, but still lets me focus more. THE END.

The mountain tawhairaunui reaching for the sky against the droplets of rain. The beseeching limbs always remind me of the mountain spirit Herself. Trying to tell us what we refuse to hear. Listen!

Robb: It was a bit more difficult getting my head around returning to the mountains than I thought after my last experience with Taylor. So I am surprised a bit by the notion which overtook me to change my plans and collect Charlie. Maybe the thought of being on my own was more daunting than I thought. But I don't think so, as the thought of being further up the valley on a stormy night in a smaller less posh hut still makes me sigh with a small tinge of regret that it is NOT where I am. Or maybe it was the mountain spirits themselves knowing me better than I know own myself. I like the thought of that for some reason.

Up onto the ridge. A couple days ago this all would have been covered in snow. 600 metres or so. We had a long way to go and did not get into snow until well over 900 metres. Still, the winter forest above heaves and sighs with energy, colour, and steepness!

Charlie looking for snow ahead. Not yet mate!

Finally! Nearly two hours after starting our climb did we get into any real snow still around. As a kid who grew up with Wisconsin winters, it takes a fair bit of snow to impress me. But through the eyes of a child who has NEVER been in amongst the stuff, it is a real amazing experience to observe. Especially when the kid has to work so hard, and climb so high to see it.

The hump below is the ridge to Tunupo peak we were climbing. A long steadily climbing ridge, which then steepens considerably when finally emerging out of the forest into the tupare and tussock. Gazing up at the route ahead.

Charlie got a fire in the belly once we saw a bit of snow. Climbing up with a big smile on his face.

Eureka!

A phone call to mum. The final push to Tunupo lies in the background. The weather up was getting considerably cold, misty and cloudy. Not too much longer from here and I pulled the pin to Charlie's chagrin.

The far off Whanahuia's on a stormy winter day.

Heading back down. A lot of work still ahead.

Lower in the forest the mosses and lichens began to glow. There is a lot going here in this photo.

An old familiar friend.

"Winter Ruahine"

The scents of the winter forest greet me

the musty earthy loveliness

assures me of my place here

the flapping wings of the chubby Kereru

like the forlorn song of the whio further below

and the gentle towering presence of the tawhairaunui

all familiar and real

like the aroma of fresh brewed coffee

or the Thanksgiving delights in my grandmother's oven

muddy steep tracks that never end

pulling us upward guided by the glow and shine

of the mosses and lichens

we climb to the tupare

to the snow

my child has never seen till now.

Charlie back below, a short few minutes to Heritage, warm fresh gear and hot drinks. It was a 6 hour effort round trip to get up there and back to see a bit of snow. I think he will remember this.

Aroha,

Robb and Charlie

Makariri Pohewa (Winter Dreamer)

2011-07-15T19:52:00.010+12:00

Parks Peak ridge back in 2004 or so, and a walk up that ridge in what became in places hip deep snow, only to arrive at the old Parks Peak hut, at best a freezer out of the wind, and a place certainly requiring a warm sleeping bag. Not quite like the comparatively luxurious quarters there now. I loved that old hut, even on that cold night. It is a bit easier to write in retrospect, fire blazing not far away, wee dram at hand, but it holds true. Where the above photo was lived, it was bone chilling cold, I had only stopped to put on some more gear, so I knew what lie ahead, and I knew what awaited me. I carried on regardless.

I love being in the mountains in winter. The temperamental mood of the mountains in winter suits me well. I love the wildness and solitude. I love arriving at a much loved hut and finding in the hut book no one has been there for weeks, or months. I love the quiet of my own company. I dream of this happening soon. I have had my nose to the proverbial grindstone for a bit, and I dream of a few days to myself, to renew my place in a place I need to come to terms with for many reasons.

Maropea Forks: A winter July trip with Gustav. We spent a couple days here, and on the second day I went for a solo walk up river. A few hours later the weather started to close in, the skies a silent grey, and the whole narrow world around me took on an ethereal glow. Just as I arrived back at the hut the whole place exploded into a whirling snowstorm. The wind blasted us in huge gusts and the snow swirled and then fell in gentle huge flakes, only to swirl again. Gustav and I danced about in glee, laughing and then silently gazing in awe at the power of this storm, freight train sounding blasts of wind rushing up the valley then unleashing itself upon us. We cooked huge steaks and sat by the fire, smiles upon our faces.

Winter 2009 : Heading into the mist, snow, and wind upon the Whanahuia's with John. My last trip with an old tired, worn out painful hip and I could feel every step.

" You, as ego , cannot change what you are feeling, and you cannot, effectively, try not to change it. There is simply and only what is happening, including those particular thoughts, images and tensions which you customarily attributed to the phantom thinker and doer. They persist like echoes, but as it is seen that they are just static in the nervous system and not the work of any central ego, they lose interest, subside, and go away of themselves. Hoping they will go away is just more static". - Alan Watts, Cloud Hidden - Whereabouts Unknown: A Mountain Journal

I need to go to the winter mountains.

John returning to Parks Peak from Upper Makaroro hut July 2008. I climbed up earlier in the day, and an hour or so from the hut it started snowing, and by the time John arrived late in the afternoon we were in a real blizzard. In this case the NEW Parks Peak hut, its insulated walls and flash new wood stove all were of comfort and building of my own relation to this place. Still, I could not help but gaze across to other end of this wintry mountain meadow and wistfully not miss that little orange hut and the many other souls who had sheltered within it.

Road end - coming down from Parks Peak to the road end. We knew what was snow up high would be rain far below, and where the mountain river rolls out of the hills to more sedate land, thus wider and deeper. The Makaroro above is normally a fairly easy cross, thigh deep and clear. Above, a muddy, wide torrent, but one I know pretty well, so John and I barged in at a good spot and battled across. The power and force of water is pretty awakening when you are in it, and only halfway across. Time to pay attention. Above we had made it, the car was only a few hundred metres away, and we were safe. Yet part of me wanted to cross it again and go back the other way.

I am a winter dreamer.

Residual

2011-06-15T18:17:00.017+12:00

It has been a month or so since Taylor went missing, and got found in the Ruahine. This past month has found me vacillating between extreme highs and very melancholic lows. Highs in that, in moments, I feel so completely alive, and so understanding of what is important in my world and the things I do, a deep love I can barely contain for Taylor, Tara, Charlie, and the people I love, (and why should I contain it?), a desire and understanding of Wild Places and what they mean to me and the truth of what operating in such places means. I feel an awareness of sight, sound, vibrant colours and tones I have not seen before come into view. I find reasons to be physically close to my sons, when I touch my wife and look at her beauty I want to cry. These are good things.

Then a terrible grief and melancholic sadness rolls over me like the mist and cloud on a high exposed Ruahine ridge. I cannot get out of the way. The overwhelming sense of helplessness and loss I experienced that night at Maropea Forks, the hut illuminated only by a lonely candle in the window knowing my beautiful son was out there, lost, possibly hurt or worse just consumed my soul, burning and twisting it into to tiny knots I am still slowly untying. I fully learned and felt what it was like to have a child taken away, then by the Grace of Nature, have that child returned to me. Then I read of the young 17 year old who took his own life on the weekend, sent to his room by his parents after being expelled from his high school ball for being under the influence. Inside me I feel the grief and desolate emptiness they are living, I understand it very well. Just as I understand the same pain of the 13 children in Kawerau whom have killed themselves in the last 18 months. I feel still, the hopelessness of my friend Kevin, whom killed himself at age 15 and in a few days time would have been celebrating his 51st birthday. I will never stop missing him. I wonder why I had the gift of being able to still gaze upon my son alive given to me, am I even deserving of it?

Taylor has not had any life changing epiphany, though he does seem a bit more settled, today even landing a job in an economy where 35% of his age group is unemployed. I still worry for him, but I know out here there is really as little in the mountains once he steps out of my range that I can do for him. And I suspect the lessons out here for him fade as fast as they come into view for me. These are now his choices. He is coming into whom he will be and I am winding down into who I have become, the eternal struggle between sons and fathers. Some of the melancholy comes from that as well.

As for me, I think that sooner than later I need to return to Maropea Forks in particular, either alone or with Tara. I need to be in that area, to sit on that porch I love so much and just be part of it all. Now that I have been there at the very best of times, and the very worst of times, it simply has deepened my connection, and my aroha, for these wild places. The Lessons keep coming.

Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Hokia ki nga maunga (Return to the Mountains)

2011-05-27T08:17:00.022+12:00

23 May 2011
Top Maropea
Robb Kloss
Taylor Kloss

I am once again in the back yard of Top Maropea gazing down the valley and mist shrouded peaks above it. This time, however, I will be venturing further into those alluring views. The next five days will be spent roaming about with my oldest son, who returns here after almost a two year absence from the hills. And judging by the fact that he, like Charlie a few months back, immediately crawled into the very same down sleeping bag and fell fast asleep upon arrival, indicates a lack of bush fitness and carrying a large pack. At 17 Taylor no longer warrants my back bearing the entire load, and it is good to see him sleep out of physical tiredness and the mountain air rather that tiredness of his more hedonistic pursuits.
We both need this trip, for many reasons, some our own, some to find each other. I have no real expectations, nor fatherly advice to give, except to simply be together in the mountains for the next five days. I am leaving the past where it is out in the world, and resolve to simply be present and in each moment with my son. It feels real here in the Ruahine.
It was a cold windy crossing of the saddle and I was thinking of my last crossing with Charlie battling those gales. He did so well, and was so brave. And looking at Taylor walking ahead I drifted back the sliding years to him in this same place at age 8. It seems we have struggled a lot since then. But I love my son, and I want to see him here. It may be the last chance and the last time I get.

Taylor just above Armstrong saddle and The Gut, looking out towards the Hawkes Bay plains.

Taylor and I on Camel Back spur overlooking the Maropea valley back in 2005.

Taylor, on a decidedly inclement day, age 8, 2001, on his first trip to Top Maropea.

Taylor, not far from the same spot, age 17, 2011.

"Thoughts in late afternoon at Top Maropea"

Surly and bruised grey clouds
roll over my head
fluorescent on the edge
opaque and glinting
of yellow and red
A painting is never the same
in any different light
Nor is the backyard of Top Maropea
when day turns to night
I'm here with my son
my son is with me
we have 5 days more
to simply be we.

Early morning 24 May : Taylor still sleeps, and has been, aside from rising for dinner and sitting by the fire, again so much like Charlie on his first night, for over 14 hours now. I let him sleep and enjoy the quiet solitude.

The day still appears to be deciding what to wear and soon enough we will head down to the stream and then meet the river and Maropea Forks. I have not been there for over two years now, as my last trip with Jeff and John in 2009 was just too painful with my hip, and in the last year since having it replaced I have not gone that way. So I am looking forward to the reunion, and walking the river with focus and joy, rather than pain and wanting to just get there.

A pair of Whio on the Maropea. A beautiful sight that never fails to move me deeply.

A better photo of whio, courtesy of my friend, photographer and writer, Pohangina Pete, http://pohanginapete.blogspot.com/ .

Lunchtime on the Maropea. In the late morning sun, bagels, salami and cheese. The river was in great condition, and we had perhaps a little more than an hour to go from this spot to the hut.

The last time I saw Taylor for the next 20 hours or so. A little blurry, but the last time I laid my eyes upon him this day. He wanted to walk ahead and I decided to get out my video camera and record some of the river scene, and see if I could go back and get the whio on film. There is a very distinct waterfall on the true left of the river not so far from where Taylor is above. From there it is less than 30 minutes to the hut, and a large orange marker indicates a track that cuts through the forks to the hut on the true right just before the forks. Taylor walked right by it.

The water fall.

Maropea Forks - late afternoon : Taylor is missing. He took off in front of me and when I arrived at the hut expecting he was here I found it empty. I dropped my gear and hurried down river towards Otukota twice now, the second time building cairns and leaving markers back to here. I also searched back up river to the falls thinking he may have slipped or been injured and I missed him but found nothing. I am having a short rest and will try to climb up to Point 1450 to ring out and notify search and rescue. I have to remain calm and think clearly, and hope if he is still walking down river he will realize his mistake. He knew it was only 30 minutes from the water fall. If he carries on down towards Otukota he is going to get himself into a very wicked gorge. This is real.

This is the view above Maropea Forks from the spur leading to Puketaramea ridge. The top branch is the west branch of the Maropea leading down from Top Maropea, the bottom one is the east branch, and Maropea Forks hut lies about 200 metres up it. Taylor simply carried on down the top branch and missed the hut completely. I couldn't get up to 1450 as the day turned to dark and had to retreat to the hut. I usually appreciate being alone in the mountains, but in this case it was just lonely, and thus began the longest and loneliest night of my life. There is a lot of stuff from those hours I just have to keep for myself, but there were some very dark moments. Just before dawn I awoke, very discouraged and upset. Then I heard a whio calling from the pool just outside the hut. It filled me with the first hope I had in hours, that whio was saying to me "Keep hope, Keep hope". My eyes fill with tears as I write this and remember. Later on Taylor told me he had heard the whio as well.

I climbed the spur above, using my torch to keep on the track and spot the markers just going slowly and surely till it got light enough for me to see. Then I carried on climbing to the ridge and the open high point at Puketaramea (1358 metres), and rang Taylor's grandparents as I knew Tara was working. Then I just sat down exhausted and cried for my son.

Taylor and Nigel on the porch at Maropea Forks - 2001.

I returned to the hut, and was sitting resting before heading back down river to search for Taylor, when suddenly he walked around the corner and up towards the hut. I shouted out his name running to him and bawling and we hugged each other tightly. He had done exactly what I wrote, and just missed the sign, and in his 17 year old brain just didn't pay attention and kept going. He did end up in the gorge, and not till then did he realize his error, turned around but ran into darkness. The thing he did do right was to stop and rest, and found the best place he could to camp in the narrow river. He had plenty of food, dry clothes, a bivvy sack, sleeping bag, and made himself a little camp. He then spent a very cold, damp and wet night on the river, as lonely as I was back at the hut. At first light he packed up his sodden gear and headed up river towards the forks and soon found the signs and markers I had left indicating the distance and times to the hut. I had placed them at the river crossings and marked arrows all along the way in the sand as well. He said as soon as he saw those he knew he would be okay, and that I was looking for him. He thought the reason I hadn't found him was that I was hurt and he was going to have to find me.

Taylor was cold and shivering and had been vomiting a few times in the night, so I got him in front of the fire and then went and retrieved his pack which he had left at the forks by my last sign as he was too tired to carry it further, and could see the smoke from the fire. Then we waited 2 hours for the chopper to arrive. They were quite happy to find all was well, and quite keen to ferry us out. As the weather was due to get quite nasty, I wasn't going to argue. I don't mind bad weather, but after his experience Taylor was fairly done in. He still managed to enjoy the chopper ride over the ranges. My thanks and appreciation to great crew of the Hawkes Bay Rescue Helicopter Trust.

Let me be very clear. This incident has not put any dent for my love of the Ruahine and any wild places. Taylor recovered well from making a few near fatal mistakes. He was not paying attention nor in tune with his environment. Out here in the world that can get us into trouble, in wild places it can kill you. He should have realized far sooner I was not behind him, and stopped and waited, then come back looking for me on the basis I might be hurt or need assistance. And thirdly, with his knowledge that the hut was very close to the water fall he should have deduced that far too much time had passed. He said to me later he just caught in the trap of going around "one more bend" thinking the hut must be there. It is not an uncommon occurrence. A steep ridge we think will end soon only leads up another steep point, or ground we think looks familiar is not. This is why being in focus and in tune is so vital. My mistake was not telling Taylor to wait for me. He did well when he did realize what he had to done to remain calm and then focus on getting a camp and planning for the morning, and staying as warm as he could. Fortunately the last good move he made overcame a few very big errors.

The mountains are very neutral to our presence, neither for us, nor against us. And though I feel a deep spiritual bond to the Ruahine, it does not mean I can ever take my eye off the ball, ever. I went back to the mountains with my son whom I have been struggling with. Taylor got himself into and out of a jam for many of the same reasons he struggles out here, and lying on the cold ground by a mountain river, damp and freezing, he had lots of time to ponder things, just as I did in the hut. What I found was this deep overwhelming enduring aroha for my child that I wasn't sure was within me. The Ruahine took my boy, and then she gently handed him back to me

Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Ka Kite Ano

2011-02-15T14:54:00.005+13:00

The Ruahine mean, and have brought so much to my life, which I have tried to share through my words and photos here. I am in the process of examining EVERYTHING in my life. Some are fortunate to know this when they are young, to seek at all times who you really are, and that which defines the values and the ethics you choose to live by. For me, it has come late, but it has come. At least I think.

Eventually that had to come around to the mountains, to the Ruahine, and what they have meant to me, the role they have played, the way I want to have my future interactions with such a huge place, with such meaning, in my life. I want to find the Truth about who I am so that I can honour and treasure this place and have the times I can spend there be full of love and integrity. They are not right now, the balance is skewed and I have simply become a Taker, a User, an Appropriator, and I am giving nothing back to them.

I go to the mountains when I am empty from my trials and tribulations out here. I go to the mountains to be renewed and filled with mana and life once again because all that has been drained from me out here. I go to the mountains to simply find the energy to carry on out here with my relationships with my wife, family, and friends, not to mention the state of the world as I see it and try to live amongst it. Soon the lightness I obtain there is drained away and I return again to the Ruahine to simply take more from her grace. So I am essentially draining the place I love most of her energy and leaving nothing in return. There is something fundamentally wrong with that, wrong with me. And it is a place I love too completely to dishonour in such a shallow way. And in my heart I know I am also dishonouring myself.

I want to experience what it is to enter this sacred place when I am already full of spirit and aroha, when I take that first deep breath of mountain air and feel myself ready to burst as I am already so full of life. I have to live out here as I live in the mountains, and I have had that all twisted and turned around.

So I am examining all this out here now, and making myself confront who I am as a man, a husband and father, a friend, and a human being. It is exhausting and terrifying at times, and at times already has been full of tears of both pain and joy. It is like learning to breathe and walk all over again. A journey I am finally ready for at the age of fifty.

It means I have to write Ka kite ano (Goodbye for now to people I know) here in this place I also have grown to love, and to people whose presence I also love and honour, at least for now (I mean your presence and honour always, just me being here for now). Till I can write with the complete feeling of honesty and truth I want to feel. Not that I have not shared my entire fibre and love for the Ruahine and all wild places here. What I want to do is to write that way even when I have not just been there, and right now I cannot. That is not truly honouring my love for the Ruahine. This journey does not hold room right now for me to be here. I do hope to return, but I do not know when, if at all. It doesn't mean either that I am giving up on the Ruahine and wild places. Her mountain breeze is always upon my face, the sweet water always slakes my thirst, and the smell of woodfire one I will always seek. I just need some time to get my shit together.

To so many friends here, kia ora, and I will still check in at your places , even if silently for awhile. You have been places of refuge and grace for me, and it is an honour to have had you here, and I hope you will return when I can once again do this with complete Truth. Seek out those Wild Places and Rave On. I truly hope to see you soon. Kia Kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Charlie meets Top Maropea and Tawhirimatea (God of Wind)

2011-01-20T11:00:00.001+13:00

The sun begins to wane on a beautiful day at Top Maropea. The moon emerges over Remutopu and Oropu in the distance.

Charlie by the very shrunken tarn on Armstrong saddle.

13 Jan. 2011

Top Maropea - evening

Robb Kloss

Charlie Kloss

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.

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.

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.

Charlie heading up "The Gut", climbing from the saddle to the top of Camel Back ridge the crux of the climb. Especially for young legs.

Charlie at the top of the ridge, tired and getting sore feet. Not too far to go now. Most of the problem with his feet we realized comes from the fact he rarely wears any shoes at all, much less for 5-6 hours climbing and dropping on such terrain. He may have been better off barefoot!

Camel Back ridge.

About to descend into Maropea valley.

Charlie sleeping in the afternoon sun like a little bear.

13 Jan. Top Maropea - evening

It is still light outside, but Charlie has now crawled into his sleeping bag and is fast asleep. I am going to have to rouse him for tea. It is a long day for 8 year old legs. I recall Taylor's 8 year old legs having been just as tired.

I watch my 30th sunset here. All are special, but some a little more so in the number they represent marking the passing of time, the people we are with, the moments I have shared here with these mountains, and still dreaming of heading down valley or up to those far off peaks in the morning. A spectacular crystal clear evening, the sky above a deep majestic blue, and the hues of light playing on the valley and peaks. After starting our day climbing into wind, cloud and mist the perfect stillness and colours seem all the more relevant. Nature's canvass about to be painted here for me once more. I can only smile and applaud.

Charlie got up for a feed of steak and broccoli, sat in front of the fire for a few minutes, then was soon back in his bag and fast asleep. He slept 11 hours.

The cairn Charlie is kneeling by marks the spot where I buried Charlie's placenta in the custom of whenua - connecting deeply to the land. At the time 8 years ago John Nash marked the moment by a moment of silence and putting a few small rocks to mark the spot after I had dug into the Ruahine earth with my bare hands and placed the connection between Charlie and his mother into the mountain earth. The pile of rocks has grown considerably since then, as has Charlie. It was a very emotional moment for me to connect the boy to the place.

This was late the next afternoon. I was observing with my camera the light begin to play on the valley and peaks while sitting on the ground, and I did not see Charlie slide next to me until I turned and saw him there. At the same instant the sunlight was just streaming down upon his cairn. As if the Ruahine had been observing him, and watching him over the past few days. There would be further tests ahead, but in this moment the mountains opened themselves to and welcomed Charlie. He is indeed connected here.

14 Jan. Top Maropea early morning

The steam rolls off my breath and it was a chilly evening. Top Maropea is a cold place at the best of times, in winter only very cold tolerant souls would stay here, and usually one never spends much time here idly on a winter morning. The coldest I ever experienced was -8 Celsius INSIDE the hut one July morning. And another time when a beautiful day turned into an all out blizzard by the time I got up from the creek 30 minutes below, and I spent an extra day and a half here. The water froze in the tank and I had to whittle wood chips into my billy, dry them over the stove, and slowly build a great fire, more to keep busy than to actually warm the hut. Ahh memories.... Still, as I sip my mug of strong coffee I smile at what this place represents to me - the real back country wilderness and the scope of what lies beyond here.

Charlie is still fast asleep, coming up on 11 hours now. His face poking out of his bag looks cherubic and beautiful.

There is not a cloud in the sky, nor a breath of wind. A great day to roam down to the creek and river and perhaps find a few pools to be embraced by.

Charlie and I spent some time in the morning gathering up tawharauriki for our evening fire, and more for the hut as well. It is good for him to learn how to give back to the ambiance of these places. Arriving at a hut after a long walk to find it clean, tidy, and well stocked with wood is such a nice feeling.

We then headed down through the lovely sunlit forest to the creek.

The waterfall just above the point where the "track" drops nearly vertical to the creek.

A simply gorgeous little waterfall.

Even at very low flow the pool is ice cold, crystal clear, and over my head in its depth near the fall.

One Kloss embraced by the mountain water.

And another as well. The look on Charlie's face pretty much says it all.

14 Jan. Early evening

Charlie has had a real taste of a Ruahine hut day today. Not doing really anything in particular at all, but suddenly the day has past. We did a few hut duties, had a wander in the forest to the creek, had a swim, threw rocks in a few pools, and just lie around in the sun talking. A different world than out there. Just these moments. No television, computers, video games or play stations. Just us and the mountains.

I hope he absorbs some of this, as I hope Taylor has as well, and somewhere along the path of his life remembers the simple pleasures on offer here, a gift for him to open when he is ready.

Now the fire crackles and hisses, dinner is done, and Charlie tries out MY sleeping bag for size.

It is good to see his body clock respond to the rhythms of the mountains, and even though it is still light out he is tired and yawning. Me, I am just going to sit here for awhile and stare into the fire, and smile at the bountiful memories these past few days have brought to me. That warms me more than this crackling little fire.

15 Jan. early morning

To have spent 10 plus days in the Ruahine over the past 2 plus weeks has put a shine upon my soul. I feel wild and connected, yet also somewhat melancholic as this time draws to a close.

The wind has come up over night and I am about to wake up Charlie and get over the saddle early before it gets up too much. I am just trying to linger in this quiet and relish each taste of these last moments. I miss this place already.

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.

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, he met the Ruahine.

Robb and the ever barefoot Charlie.

Aroha,

Robb

Ruahine Summer Tour 2011

2011-01-09T18:18:00.032+13:00

3 Jan. 2011 Parks Peak - late evening
Robb Kloss
John Nash
Pete McGregor

As I write this lying in my tent which is placed upon the lovely mountain meadow on which Parks Peak hut is located I feel content, relaxed, and relieved to be lying here. Pete has his bivvy bag located not far from me, and John is in the hut. I did not feel so content, relaxed, or relieved a few mere hours ago when climbing the ridge. It was a very hot summer day, very little wind, and very heavy packs. I would have thought my mountain foray last week would have held me in good stead, and expected it to do so. Alas, it did not. I struggled and plodded up the steep ridge, pausing for breath and rest, and it was not till just short of 8 hours from leaving the car that I staggered into this meadow.
It occurred to me that in this story I tell here of my love and travel in the mountains, I write most often from the hero's perspective. Travel is light and easy, the mountains speak and the rivers sing as I bound about. It is easy to forget the moments of doubt, or fear, or simply not wanting to climb or descend anymore, of running out of water on a hot day and feeling cramps coming on, or walking for years with a hip not fit for such activity. So today was a very honest day, a reminder that the mountains always hold the upper hand, a reminder of my real place here.
Yet upon arriving and getting into some fresh gear, being handed a cup of sweet tea, and then roaming out a few minutes to overlook the Makaroro valley and watch the colours of a Ruahine sunset with John and Pete. Those hard hours on the ridge seem like a long time ago.

John and Pete on Parks Peak ridge. A long series of climbs behind, a few more ahead. One of those days when I had to remind myself of the reasons I love these places, or perhaps it was the mountains reminding me.

My campsite, and Parks Peak hut with John on the porch behind. Pete was camped not far away.

Overlooking Makaroro valley and the main Ruahine range. Pete, a much finer and more astute photographer than myself, observing the play of light. ( Please visit his awesome photoblog Ruins of the Moment: http://worldsenz.blogspot.com/ , or Pohangina Pete: http://pohanginapete.blogspot.com/ another great place to stop in. What a great spot to let the mountains wash over us after a hard days travel. Not a bad place for a wee dram as well!

A Miromiro (Tomtit) landed on a tawhairauriki right by us and began to sing. In the Maori world the Miromiro represents the light and life, as opposed to dark and death. After my day on the ridge seemingly facing the latter, having the representation of the former appear I took as a very good sign.

The sun begins to fade over the main range , Te Atua Mahuru, Ina Rocks, and Tupari. We took sly bets on how many minutes it would be till the sun sunk below the peaks. None of us won.

Another Ruahine masterpiece sunset painted just for us. How many have I seen in these mountains over the last 18 years? Never will I tire of such an honour.

4 Jan. Upper Makaroro

Upon arriving here mid morning from Parks Peak, John and I dumped our gear in the empty hut and headed down to the pool running through the flat in front of the hut. To be consumed by the bracing coolness and refreshing thrill of the mountain river, and wash the sweat, dirt, grime, and even thoughts of my performance yesterday, to cleanse myself, I felt renewed. I have been baptized in many Ruahine pools.

After many cups of tea, lunch, and a brief siesta, the three of us walked up river. In a very solid moment of connection I wanted to find a waterfall David and Tyson mentioned to me last week in the Maropea. David said it was 2 kilometres or so to the fall, but on a twisting, turning, beautiful wild mountain river how does one tell when a kilometre or so has past? At one point we stopped and agreed a few more bends and we would turn around. Within a few bends we heard a new sound to the river, an urgency and booming beat to the music lie not far ahead.

The fall was spectacular. Not in height, or even the power of it in very low flow like today. Rather, for me, it was the sheer wildness of it, the beauty of seeing her flow, how she completely stopped any forward progress upriver (at least as far as we could read). I dove into the pool in fairly short time. Not as deep a pool as I would have expected, though it falls through the very tight gorge with alacrity. One that makes you realize how privileged we are to be in such a place on a fine day. On an unpleasant one you would not have stood where we did.

A very quiet pool on the Makaroro.

Pete and John, crossing the river. To walk in the summer Ruahine river on a fine day, without pack, and when thirsty simply reach down, grab a few handfuls and feel the extra droplets drip down my chin. Aaaahhh.......

4 Jan. Upper Makaroro - continued

About 5 or 10 minutes up river from the hut we began to spot in the clear aqua pools rainbow trout, their golden and red flashing hidden perfectly in the clear water and the golden red beech leaves on the bottom of the pools. About 20-30 minutes upriver, a whio just blasted out of the the greywacke ahead of us and jetted off up river. It happened so fast I could not get the words out, Pete was focused on something else, but John saw the whio take flight. Of which I was glad or I would not have been sure if it had actually happened. It did. We were with the whio, the Heart and Soul of the Ruahine. Even for the briefest of moments that makes me smile.

This pool was most likely 10-15 feet deep, the deepest on the quiet river, high up the head waters on a very quiet day. Up above it, where I enjoyed this moment, it looked up to my ankles. Notice the tawhairauriki leaves gathering on the bottom. The trout roam there.

Even at the times of quietest flow the watersheds of the Ruahine still are at work. We saw streams running into the river now dry, but then you come across places like this, still releasing some of the countless billions of gallons held in store, the natural surge tanks which must not be altered. When we destroy the tiny trickle above, we destroy ourselves.

The Waterfall. Such a place. The clear cool water, the roar of the river, the looking around and knowing this tight spot would not be nearly as pleasant on a bad day, or times of higher flow. It was wild.

A dip in the pool.

There was no way up from here, or just down below, as far as I could see. Pete and John debated hand and foot holds on the sheer smooth slippery rock. I had my doubts. The consensus seemed to be that it would require rope work and such. All I could think is never forget your party is only as strong as the weakest link. I was happy to swim in the bracing pool. Climbing it was another story.

5 Jan. 2011 Morning Upper Makaroro

John clears the overgrown path to the river, access for drinking water and doing dishes. He is down there with the hut axe and my saw doing hard yards. He is like that. I have no doubt any hut rubbish left previously will end up in his pack. It always ends up just as heavy, or heavier, than when we started. I love that about John.

We have decided to head down river to Barlow, a walk I will be doing now for the third time, but not since 2004 or so with Taylor and Jake, then myself. The river is low but it falls fairly fast from here, so is never "easy".

I could not stop smiling after yesterday seeing the whio on that walk up river. With like minded and gentle souls. I have never learned so much about the insects and birds of the Ruahine as now with Pete. And John who taught me so much early on about observation of the lie of the land, reading a map and compass. We traveled lots of places in the mountains on his expertise. I am lucky to have made such friends.

We sat down by the river before dinner last evening waiting to see if a whio might grace us with its presence. And we sat upon a huge old beech river log brought down by some ancient flood and left. So smooth it seems to be sanded and varnished. I seek it every time I am here.

Pete looking for a route through this narrow pool, John pretty much accepting a deep wade is ahead. It was. Chest deep at least, bracing and cool. On a higher flow day this river would present more problems.

John headed into another pool than from above. The only way through.

Pete making his way through as well.

Lunchtime on the Makaroro. A cup of tea on the sun drenched greywacke along the river. I fell on the river and sprained my ankle. Didn't quite realize the peril of that till it stiffened up at this point. I had a couple real top shelf mates to stir me through. I had a long couple hours ahead.

The river.

5 Jan. Late Afternoon Barlow hut - Makaroro river

I sit outside the hut while Pete and John have a short siesta. I couldn't sleep as my ankle hurts and has swollen up. It is going to be a long slow walk out of here in the morning. Another reminder of the wildness of these places, and the potential risk and danger we face when amongst them. I accept that and wouldn't have it any other way. This was such a beautiful day to be upon the mountain river. Traveling through darkened gorges and fast water with big boulders into calm clear straights where the sunlight hits the water making it sparkle and glimmer, and the sun warmed greywacke rocks seem to glow against the aqua pools. How can I not smile? Hard to write this trip is almost done. I wish we had arranged a few more days now. I am enjoying the place and the company very much.

Robb and Pete.

Robb and John.

* my ankle was very swollen, stiff, and sore. We wrapped it up and I hobbled off well ahead of John and Pete. The river eventually becomes a very wide and braided bed, much easier, if not a bit tedious, to walk down, and in about 4 hours I was at the car. Not too far a drive from there to the Onga Onga pub for a couple very cold beers. Kia ora John, Kia ora Pete, Kia ora Ruahine!

Maropea

2011-01-01T14:30:00.037+13:00

29 December 2010 Top Maropea
Robb
After an almost two week wait for the weather to come right, my son Taylor decided he had better things to do with his girlfriend and mates. At 17 can't say I blame him. So I took off myself when the forecast looked promising. And at least today it was as I sit here now at Top Maropea. I must write that I do miss the company of my matamua tama (eldest child). Taylor was with me a little over a year ago when this was as far as I could get on a trip planning to go far deeper but stopped as my hip hurt too much. So it would have been cool to share the smile on my face today with him.
And I was starting to feel a bit nervous and anxious about why I just did not go anyway with Taylor, and bugger the forecast. I have done it before. I realized today on my own that is my choice but to put my tamariki (children) in harms way would simply be irresponsible. The mountains always clear my foggy head and bring clarity.
It is always a pleasure to cross Armstrong saddle on a relatively wind free day, particularly now when the high alpine tussock and plants are in flower, and the mountain world is lit up with the shimmering brilliance of the small and short lived mountain flowers as the more muted golden browns and greens burst into life. Wind free days are rare here. It is the weather itself which keeps this place wild and relatively unintruded upon. So days like today are to be enjoyed, and I met a man at Sunrise who had never been to the Ruahine so I walked with him out to the saddle and showed him the lie of land, and then carried on here.
This is my 28th night spent here. I have arrived here with some wonderful people. Tony, Nigel, John Nash, Taylor, Rick, Steve, Gustav, Adam, Tara, Jeff, John Streat, Scott, and Ethan.Some only once, some many times. All I toast now.
I love it here. Truly my most special place in the Ruahine - of many such special and unique places for me, each holding it's own charms, beauty, and nuance in my soul.
Yet this was my first. The first time looking out at the Maropea valley and the ranges beyond over 13 years ago, I was moved by the wildness and beauty. I now know those places well, have traveled to and from here in every direction. I am still moved by this view as if it were my first visit and I am laying my eyes upon all this for the first time.
I am now completely shrouded in by cloud and mist. The newly painted bright orange hut less than 10 metres away from me is enveloped in mist and glowing. I am truly Cloud Hidden. I am Home.

Looking over Camel Back spur and the Maropea valley beyond.

Armstrong saddle and headwaters of the creek leading to the Maropea river far below.

Dropping into the forest above Top Maropea. These colours just jumped out at me.

Top Maropea hut overlooking the Maropea valley.

After a tea of garlic infused sirloin steak, with mushrooms and broccoli steamed in tarragon what a great way to end the day.

30 December, 2010 5:30 am

I am wide awake enjoying a cup of strong coffee. The day looks to be brilliant, very little wind and blue sky as far as I can see within my westerly confined view. I am putting a few items in my pack and heading back up the spur to climb Te Atuaoparapara (which is the far left peak above pictured from just where one emerges from the forest above Top Maropea). I have always wanted to do it, but have always been either coming or going, and so while I have looked upon from afar many many times I have never been introduced properly.

Looking down Maropea valley just approaching Te Atuaoparapara. A view I love from a new perspective.

Getting closer. The route takes a very steep desent down before starting to climb onto the flanks. Just as I got here, the cloud started swirling in from the north east.

Like another world amongst the shattered and battered greywacke.

Not a good place to fall.

The connecting spur between Camel Back ridge and the mountain.

Just getting onto the flanks, the top in view. About 20 minutes past here the cloud completely rolled over the mountain and just sat there. Being rather narrow and steep and thick with tupare I decided the top of Te Atuaoparapara could be left for another day. At least we met one another properly.

The cloud rolls in and the choice is made to retreat. Much easier to decide on my own.

Getting back to the hut at lunchtime I decided I had plenty of time to also drop down to the Maropea river, as on such a beautiful day conditions for a river walk were perfect. All I needed were my camera and poles. Above is just below the hut entering the cool forest, which after being in the high mountain blazing sun all morning was fantastic.

Heading down to the creek.

A good look at the steepness and ruggedness of this Ruahine country. This is dropping down to the creek and then river, on a final decent of near vertical proportions.

A favourite side creek about to meet the main river. The river was very low, I walked up the river proper for over an hour and hardly got my boots wet! Never experienced in my 20 plus trips here.

Still, the amazing clarity and brilliance of the beech leaves and pebbles flashing beneath the glass like surface makes my heart sing.

Normally this is a fairly sizeable pool. Today I just hopped along the very warm and true hard gripping river stones and only got wet feet when I wanted a drink from such a lovely pool and have a splash.

How cool to watch such a river in such a mellow moment, her song still loud, clear, and resonant. I have also seen this river very angry, dirty and roaring. So these moments are to be savoured.

As I continued down river I saw approaching two hunters. Strapped on the pack of one was a rather large stag head. The largest I have seen in the ranges. I thought my solitude and tranquility at the hut might be ended. But it is summer, and I am not the only one in these mountains. As I approached them, one of the hunters was looking at me and said "You're Robb Kloss - I read your blog, and I met you years back at Parks Peak." Indeed it was 2005 and I was with an American mate and we spent two nights with a then very young David (above) and his mate Mike, who were fly fishing for trout. A very enjoyable experience. David has since found my blog and has continued roaming the Ruahine as well. An excellent chap, as was his mate Tyson. They had spent 5 days crossing the Ruahine, fishing and hunting, and had shot this huge 10 point Red Stag, and were carrying out the huge head and rack and a large amount of meat.

Tyson and David, about to head up a now windy saddle and out to the car park - a major hike with these loads at night. Two young men finding out what carrying out a load of meat from such country is all about. They were pretty knackered already and had another major walk to where David's wife was picking them up at midnight. I talked to him today and they made it, very glad to get to the car. And the head has impressed many in the know - Ruahine racks generally do not get that sort of spread. Well done David and Tyson, on your first crossing of the Ruahine, enjoying its offerings, and appreciating what a special place it is. Well done!

30 December 2010 Evening

I have enjoyed one of my finest days ever in the Ruahine, and I enjoy them all. I climbed a mountain, I slaked my thirst and was embraced by the mountain river. I walked quietly in the coolness of the high forest. I met an old Ruahine friend and made a new one. I am no child, but today I found one still lurking inside me. It was good to hug him.

* I am off in a days time for another 4 days in the Ruahine with my old tramping mate John Nash and fellow Ruahine traveler Pohangina Pete. Looking forward to it. A Nature Filled and Peaceful New Year to all!

Aroha,

Robb

Days Gone By : Farewell 2010 and Peaceful Yuletide

2010-12-05T13:19:00.031+13:00

As I grow older I seem to measure the passing of time differently. The lessons of life, the mental and physical battles we endure, the daily grind of paying bills and raising a family, and suddenly that young buck who used to be looking back at me in the mirror has become my father. In the mountains it is easy for me to become absorbed by the natural rhythms of my environment - such as my poem Mountain Time a few posts ago. Not so easy out here, but I am growing and still learning. As this year comes to end, I look back on my favourite mountain moments, some no doubt quite ordinary. But when a year ago I wondered if I would ever return to the Ruahine, ordinary is actually pretty exceptional.

The smile on my face above, and just the quiet countenance I felt within me, says it all. It was June, a little over 3 months since my hip had been replaced, and Charlie accompanied me on my first journey back into the mountains. I was nervous and tentative, like a first date when I was a teenager. So to get up to Sunrise with a heavy pack and pain free and have the whole Ruahine to ourselves on a picture perfect couple of days was almost too much. Charlie came out and found me watching the sun begin to set and I was sitting there with tears rolling down my face. He just sat down next to me and didn't say a word. A little while later he took the photo above.

Charlie out on Armstrong saddle. Originally I wished he had been looking at me but as this photo has come through the year I have grown to appreciate he is not. To have Charlie there with me as I was reunited with the Ruahine was an honour and a pleasure.

Charlie on a section of the track to Sunrise when suddenly the tawhairauriki appear in this gorgeous little brimming spot, and you know the open tops are near.

In July my mate Gustav came over from Tasmania. We spent 4 days in the Ruahine, retracing backwards a few steps made years ago. Being kicked back above, tin cup in hand and wood gathered, being at a cool mountain spot celebrating my 50th birthday, being in the mountains again with a brother of spirit and soul. I love the wet upside down boots on the end of the porch, their work done. I will never take any moment in the mountains for granted.

It is places like this in the forest where I am just staggered by the presence of the forest and just stop to absorb the energy. There is a lot going on here.

I have been across this particular place many times, and always have loved it, the colours and symmetry. Before this July with Gustav I have never managed a photo, most often as the weather has been either raining, snowing, windy, or all the above, and this is not a place to stop and fall. You would not stop until hitting the river, and then most likely swept down near by rapids very quickly. So on this day I left my pack on the far side of the slip and carefully walked back out to where I could observe this view. A personal favourite photo.

A week before Gustav arrived in late July I ventured solo onto the southern end of the Hikurangi, the highest range of the five which make the Ruahine. I spent another 4 days on my own, again walking up on a perfect day. Through the forest the far off active volcanoes on the The Rim of Fire, Ruapehu, Ngarahoe, and Tongariro shimmered in the distance, the sunlight making the snow look like shiny glass. Aotearoa is a beautiful, but volatile land.

Just before sunrise in the high Ruahine, as the open tops meet the bushline, and in in this part a stunning Kaikawaka forest. The trees with this new blanket of frost and snow to me were speaking to each other, some mouths agape, others quietly listening or rolling their eyes, personalities and character revealed in the quiet early morning. The mountain lives! Mid July 2010.

The winter climb is almost done. I love the mountains best in winter. Wild, raw, enter at your own peril.

Charlie and the Ruahine. He is a well equipped mountain traveller. Oh, to be 8 and have those mountains out there to discover! I didn't find my mountains till I was almost 35. So these will do for me. I hope Charlie finds his own mountains as well, whatever, and wherever they may be. He will always be connected here. October 2010.

Charlie and I. October 2010. Overlooking the Oroua valley. We had an excellent day and evening.

The elusive high mountain forest Ruahine elf. Seldom seen but I spotted this one a few times for some reason on this day. He was just scampering ahead of me and I was lucky to have my camera at the ready.

The late spring north eastern Ruahine. Another view I will tire never of seeing. And to view it again a mere month ago makes that very moment unfold as I close my eyes. I spent another 4 days alone in the mountains, the weather turned cold and nasty, but I was Home. November 2010.

My favourite high mountain meadow. I have spent many days here wandering about, and look forward to the next.

Looking out the door of the hut by the river. The music of the river endless, joined by a water fall which can be seen falling down the slip face near the top left hand side. I have seen Whio fly down or up the river as I sat here or just outside. How can I not appreciate I am here, and that I want to return? I was smiling.

The mountain river. Soothing, restorative, yet temperamental. November 2010.

The enveloping high mountain corridor of tawhairauriki. A path I am blessed to have discovered and will always try to remain upon its winding path.

Charlie about to be introduced to the high mountain pool last month. I still smile and chuckle at this moment. November 2010 - a nice spring day but a very very cold pool!

In a few weeks time my oldest son Taylor and I will head into the mountains for another 4 -5 day mountain journey. He suggested it so how can I refuse? It is the best Christmas present he could possibly give me.

I started this place a bit over three years ago not really imagining I would have something to write about these mountains and wild places for as long as I have. What I have found within me is that each and every encounter I undertake with these mountains is new and fresh and fills me with inspiration. As does the presence of those who read here and the sharing of your thoughts which has also led me to your own places in this world. It is a very cool process, an enjoyable community from around the world.

So to those whom tune in here, Kia ora! Please have a peaceful, and nature filled Yuletide Season. Ti hei mauri ora!

Aroha,

Robb and the entire Kloss family

Song of the Tawhairauriki - Mountain Beech (submitted for the Festival of Trees 54)

2010-11-27T11:18:00.008+13:00

There is a ridge in the Ruahine mountain range of Aotearoa (New Zealand) which for me is a magical and spiritual place. Up high at around 1300 metres the tawhairauriki (mountain beech) become gnarled and twisted as they fight the elements of the thin mountain soil, the prevailing and often gale force northwest winds, the rain, sleet, and snow as they seem to cling precariously to the mountain.

Especially around sunrise or sunset they take on an ethereal presence. As if they are the maunga tipua, or mountain guardian spirit. The gnarled branches become limbs reaching to the sky both beseeching and defiant. The mosses and lichens clinging to them become like the furs of warriors at momentary rest from an endless battle. And their defiance also speaks to the intrusion of man in such places as if to cry out,"Leave us be. You do not Listen. We accept our lot

as keepers of the tipua, but cannot abide your roads into our souls, the pollution and damming of our pure waters, and the ripping apart of our very bowels as you plunder our essence - we offer you so much with our mere presence and yet you steal what should sustain you the most - WHY!"

This is a place I always walk softly and quietly, and I listen to these voices. The song of the Tawhairauriki.

Please visit http://festivalofthetrees.wordpress.com

Whakamoemiti (Thanksgiving)

2010-11-16T08:00:00.001+13:00

The above photo is a little blurry, a little out of focus. It was taken a few years ago when my friend Jeff was visiting from the states, and along with John, we headed into the Ruahine for a few days of mountain wandering. On this day we left our gear at the hut and climbed up to the tops. Always a pleasure to walk through the layers of the forest, leaving the river muttering below and climbing into the tussock and then the clouds. Only for me, on this day, it was not a pleasure. My hip hurt dreadfully, I could literally feel and hear bone grinding upon bone, and during the climb up all I wanted was to be done with it. On the way down I told Jeff and John to walk ahead as I was holding them back, that I would make my own way down. It was the first time I realized the true extent of my problem, and the anger I felt at my body disintegrating at this moment here with a treasured friend, friends, was palpable. The truth of what the real meaning of this all meant to my even being in these places filled me with dread and fear. It was not my best moment in the mountains.

Then, slowly struggling down the steep spur, I heard a sound I could not place. I thought at first it was a bird call I had not heard before, but as I got further down I realized it was the music of a harmonica. Only two people I know carry harmonicas in the mountains, my friend Jeff, and me, and Jeff gave me mine. I stopped above him and just listened, to the forest, to the music, and I just watched him amongst these mountains, so comfortable and so at home on this mossy knoll high in the forest. My friend had waited for me to make sure I was okay. In possibly the lonliest moment in my life, a good friend sat below me patiently waiting for ME. First hearing, and then seeing, his presence sent a rush of warmth through my entire being. So the photo is a bit out of focus as my vision was a bit out of focus, washed by tears of realization that I have such people, such places in my life. That somehow I would rise up and meet the challenges ahead. That these mountains will never leave me. I am part of them. I am thankful for that.

Mountain tipua (Guardian Spirit)

The silhouettes of the tawhairauriki against the setting sky I have always felt connected to and deeply moved by. As if they are the true soul or tipua of the mountains themselves, wise teachers whom we can choose to learn from or not. Both defiant and beseeching to the heavens above. As if they are saying " We will deal with the northwest gales, the damp and cold, the snow and sleet, the thin mountain soil into which we spread our roots, that is our lot. But you self important human abusers of the Papatuanuku, you we cannot bear because you do not come in Peace, and so I thrust my fingers and limbs to the sky in defiance and warning you to stop. You are only here for a brief moment, and refuse to learn what the mountains Teach and you do not Listen. Our friendship has been refused. No mines, no dams, no roads, no poisoning of our pure waters. Leave us alone".

I am Thankful for the Mountain Lessons as well.

I am Thankful for the many beautiful pieces to my life. My family and friends far and near, my beautiful wife whom I watch unfold into a more amazing woman each day, my sons, Taylor and Charlie offering each moment the ups and downs of parenthoood as they both also unfold into themselves.

I am thankful for the people whom visit here, your presence and encouragement are a constant source of inspiration.

In this moment though right here right now, I am most Thankful to the mountains. For finding me, for saving me, for teaching me how to Listen. For giving the strength and fortitude to find my way back to something I nearly lost. It has been a very good year.

Happy Whakamoemiti!

Aroha,

Robb

A Brief Tale of Sons and Fathers

2010-11-05T21:03:00.011+13:00

Two experienced Ruahine travelers.

This beautiful mountain waterfall and pool lies in the Ruahine around 1150 metres or so. As one approaches the golden tussock and open tops it is a lovely sight to come upon with a heavy pack and know some hard graft is done, take off the pack and rest and reward myself with the taste of pure mountain water. I have visited it many times now, coming and going, and have always loved this little spot. The water is most often ice cold, the tupare in front and glistening in the sun will tell you this place is relatively high up. Tupare only starts appearing when you have reached 900 metres plus. So this crystal clear, cold, pure water is born from the high slopes indeed. It has always called strongly to be dove into, but my burdens going up or down have never allowed me.

On a recent walk Charlie did just that. He stopped here and gazed upon this pool for the first time. He drank from it, felt the tingling coldness. Up higher on the tops, where we were for the afternoon and a nice lunch, he decided he wanted to swim in that pool. He has seen many photos of me "swimming" in ice cold Ruahine pools and this was his time to be introduced to exactly what that means. We were in no hurry, so we walked back down to that pool, 10 minutes or so, him barefoot wearing only a pair of shorts, which as obviously above he soon shed. His clenched little fists tells the whole story of the pucker one feels upon entering the bracing chill of the mountain water. He was weighing it all up. His mind working furiously no doubt, all quickly ending up at the inevitable realization that this water is far farking colder than he thought!

Yes, Charlie, the relative shelter of escape is near, just right behind you.

But in he goes! I am not sure who yelled louder. Charlie, screaming and frantically extracting himself, or me, out of being proud that Charlie understood this moment perfectly without me uttering a word, just being there. And also laughing my head off watching him actually dive in that freezing pool. We stood in the sun as he shivered and dried. I took off my own shirt to wipe him down a bit, but it is always best to let the mountain breeze dry off the moisture. You tingle, you are Alive!

I love the similarity between me, above, and Charlie in the third photo above. A different place to be sure, deeper in the Ruahine, but I am still singing the "Can I extract myself from this Ruahine Blues".

You never REALLY thought I would back away did you?

Aroha,

Robb

Waiata o te tawhairauriki ( Song of the Beech)

2010-10-23T12:55:00.052+13:00

17 October 2010

Robb - solo

Parks Peak hut

Ruahine

The wind howls over the hut like a thousand freight trains that never slow down, shaking and rattling the hut at its moorings. So much so I cannot even hear the rain bouncing on the tin roof. No matter, inside the hut I have the fire going just quietly, I have a cup of tea in hand, I am dry, warm, and well. Originally I was headed for another part of the mountains, but then saw the weather forecast calling for gale force winds and rain, and that is not even in the mountains! So I instead, on the basis of my now eleven trips up and along that long steep arduous, but oh so beautiful ridge, knew I would be relatively protected from the elements by the tough and gnarly tawhairauriki (mountain beech) whom would ward off the most intense of the wind, as they do all their lives. It was a decision based upon experience and knowledge of these mountains. I feel good about that. It meant a longer, tougher walk with a very heavy 4-5 day pack, and one I felt a bit wary of with my new hip to be honest. It is a long ridge, a long day in the saddle. In the more exposed places today I could feel the ground rolling underneath me as the beech battled with the wind, I heard trees falling over in the forest. And I did huff and puff up that ridge, stop at times and gather myself for the next steep climb. Almost 6 hours. I am here.

Looking down into Makaroro valley from the ridge

Winding through the tawhairauriki. A wonderful place I am always glad to see. A long climb is past.

A section of Parks Peak ridge, the constant up amongst the up and down nature of the ridge can be seen.

"Sitting here now at Park's Peak hut

I might consider a form of Heaven

I've walked up that steep ridge a few times now

By latest count eleven

I've done it alone

I've done it with mates

I've done it with my son and his friend

The one common factor in all the above

that bloody ridge never seems to end

Though now I am here full of good cheer

Planning my next mountain trip

I may have walked slow

I may huff and puff

but it ain't from no pain in my hip"

The mountain meadow outside Parks Peak hut. A plethora of alpine plants, lichens, moss, tupare, and tawhairauriki.

The wind still howls over, but the rain stopped and the sun came out, allowing me to get outside and roam this lovely high mountain meadow a wee bit. At the other end of the meadow lies the site of the old Parks Peak hut, an old 4 bunk affair, small, cold, with a cranky wood stove and dubious wood supply. But how I loved that hut, was always glad to see it's orange roof appear, knowing the walk was done and the billy would soon be boiling. I gaze across to where it was through the rain streaked window of this new comparatively luxurious hut at the other end of the meadow. I loved that old hut, yet I have now created memories here in this one as well. I am falling in love again at the other end of the high mountain meadow.

Looking down into the Makaroro valley and the main Ruahine range up above. My destination lies down at the bottom of the valley on the Makaroro river.

Upper Makaroro hut

I was up long before sunrise and headed out just as it got light enough to see. I wanted to be in the forest early as it came to life for the day. I could barely stand upright in the gale outside the hut and was glad to retreat into the forest and starting heading down to the valley. The light of the new dawn cast an ethereal pallor upon the forest, and as I headed further down into the big trees I began to hear the tawhairanui moaning as they swayed and sighed in the wind. The forest had a raw wild ancient feel to it. Storms always heighten the character of the mountains. I walked very slowly, and just let myself go into the energy swirling about. Even walking very deliberately it seemed like I arrived here in mere moments. I guess I did.

It is still windy down here by the river and it is very cold, the sun comes out, then goes away, and the rain chases me back to the hut. I am content to just roam the river flats, and hope a whio will grace me with it's presence and say Kia ora! I can just watch the sunlight play upon the clear cold water, and slake my thirst from her sweet nectar. And at the hut I have my book awaiting, Naked in Eden, written by my friend Robin. A story of her move to the Australian rain forest and becoming Connected to the Earth, Becoming Wild. It is a brave and moving story as she unfolds into her real being. I feel connected to her as I roam amongst this wild place quietly and reflect upon her words. An amazing place to interact with the written word.

Climbing down the final spur to Upper Makaroro hut. I love the horoeka (lancewood) in front of the photo. It has been there since I first made it down here years ago, and continues to grow and cling to life on the eroding cliff face from which it has grown. Always good to see and hear the muttering river after the climb down, see the hut, and greet an old friend. Almost there.

The other direction, a bit lower. How cool to see the colours of the river emerge. Though this is no place to take ones eye of the ball. Ruahine drops to rivers are invariably steep, often becoming near vertical as the final 100 metres or so approach.

The forest sidling along side the tawhairauriki grove after a severe climb out of the valley. A sublime part of the forest.

Evening - Upper Makaroro

The rain still splatters on the tin roof, the wood fire quietly taking the edge off the damp cold. The sun, even in summer, does not take long to leave this narrow part of the valley behind. It adds to the remoteness.

I sat down by the river today when ever I could get out amongst the sun. I sat in front of the emerald pool where the river has bunched up beneath the cliffs, before releasing into a calm flat run where I can gaze through the clear water as if it is not even there and see the colour of each stone, each pebble, then she steadies herself for the long drop ahead where it gathers strength and is doing Her work gouging out the valley even deeper. Then she winds around a corner with the graceful presence of a ballerina, leaving me stunned and wondering what is around that wonderful bend. Mountain rivers will do that to you. I can content myself today knowing that I have been around that lovely bend many times now.

It is pretty cool to return to these wild rugged mountains and know I have history here, that I have climbed up and down both sides of this valley, up and down the river, seen the whio fly by this very spot. My heart bursts! Every moment here is new.

19/10/10 Parks Peak

I crossed the river, her song loud, clear and soothing, and then I put my boots on and just there Listening. Then I began the long, arduous, steep climb back up to here. About an hour in, the track meets a large long grove of old growth tawhairauriki, ambles along side for awhile before steeply heading back up the spur to the ridge. Moments to enjoy. I just waited for the living breathing forest to tap me upon my shoulder and tell me to stop and just be here. The symmetry and energy of the big trees, the glens of fern, and the mosses and lichens lighting the path ahead, connects me with my own Wildness, and though I am far and high above the mountain river, I still hear her in my heart.

My gear is dry on the line above the fire. My boots, upside down and drying out, have earned their keep over these four days in the mountains. I am warm. I have seen no one for days since I left my car and crossed the flooded river. I have roamed these stormy wonderful mountains. I am here!

Aroha,

Robb

Mountain Time

2010-10-07T17:25:00.004+13:00

Come take my hand

Sit with me

We shall take refuge

from the din

Just for a few moments

we shall live

by the sound

of the river

and let the colours of her moods

be the only measure

of mountain time

Festival of Trees

2010-09-28T18:14:00.002+13:00

To the Festival of Trees:

The photo below is a few years old now. I took it after a few days in the mountains alone and standing a bit above a clear large mountain river this tree across it clinging to life came into my view. And in that moment became a brother from where I was at in my own life at that same time..

"Observation on the River"

Your flawed elegance astounds me

Ramrod straight

As if proudly displaying your wounds

Scarred by time

battered by countless storms

Your soul precariously exposed

Eroded by what also sustain and nourishes

Yet possessing a Strength

I cannot fathom

Holding onto each moment

Until you are finally claimed to join

The Dance of the Endless Flow

It is Me

-Robb Kloss, written outside Ngamoko hut in the Ruahine range, Aotearoa ( New Zealand)

Mountain Whispers

2010-09-14T20:27:00.044+12:00

11 Sept. 2010

Heritage lodge - Ruahine

Robb and Charlie Kloss

I have spent a fair bit of time here over the last year. A trip with John late in 2009 when we had to retreat from the storm ridden Whanahuias and find another way up the valley, then again in December with Gustav when I could no longer move well prior to having my hip replaced, and again with him last month after having it done and we proceeded up valley again. So to be here this evening with Charlie I feel very much at home, the clouds drifting over the distant Whanahuias, the sound of the river muttering far below us, and the dark green spurs running up to the ridges all familiar, all welcoming. Charlie collects wood and runs about, his energy levels still high and this is a fine place for a young boy to be full of energy.

It was a different sort of journey we did today. Sitting here now writing this I realize I was applying my experience accrued over the last 19 years, and more so somewhat wistfully at the expense of my elder son Taylor. Back in his day of being 7 he was pushed hard on young legs to places in here not so many young legs would have ventured, and because I was focused on getting him to some distant place with a heavy pack upon my shoulders I was not as aware of his needs, as patient with him, nor as observant of my own place here as I should have been. And though I know Taylor has many aspects of those trips still swirling inside of him, standing here now I feel a lump in my throat. The mountains were still growing within me back then.

Charlie in the sun in the lower forest

Climbing up towards the tops

Still climbing!

Charlie thought this would be a cool place to camp. It would be!

Climbing dead fall over track

11 Sept. Continued:

My plan with Charlie is to go a bit more tenderly, let him grow into the mountains a bit more slowly than Taylor and I did. Instead of just putting a pack on his back and pointing up a huge hill, or a mountain river and tell him to just start walking, why not let him experience these places on his own terms right now. We both carried packs into Heritage, 45 minutes or so from the car, then dropped off my big pack and putting some extra gear, food and water into his smaller one, off we went. I was just as excited as Charlie, as in all my years and visits to this area, I had never climbed up the track from Heritage to Tunipo, so it was all new for me as well.

So when Charlie wanted to stop and look at some big tree, or climb up storm fallen trees lying on the spur, stomp around in the mud puddles, or just gaze off into the distance, he did. We were in no hurry, I did not have to really worry about the weather, or what is was like up top trying to get across, or how long it was taking us to climb up, or even worrying about a route I had never been on before. When I sensed he had had enough we would stop and have some lunch and a long rest. Then turn around and go back to the hut.

An unforeseen bonus for me was how quickly I found myself in my mountain frame of mind. Carrying a very light pack I felt light of foot and spirit, the forest washing through me and I could just let myself be free. It was a perfect plan!

Up on the ridge

A seldom seen Ruahine Elf!

Same Swan dry, different boy. Taylor (7) and Nigel on the tops during a stormy day back in 2000.

I never fail to be invigorated by a walk in the forest, the energy seems to shimmer and glow, radiating from the tall trees and the moss and lichens. The feel of the ferns brushing on bare skin like satin as we pass through a grove. I saw Charlie stop ahead and literally pet the first moss covered stump pictured above as if it were a living creature, as it is. To see him get that, and respond to it warmed me through. You could stop at such a spot, and spend hours trying to count the different shades of green, the various types of moss and lichen and simply just appreciate the soft loving blanket they provide the forest.

I felt wonderful as Charlie and I walked back down through the forest, light on my feet, without the numbing pain and limp of the past. That never fails to amaze me, and a reminder to never take any moment here for granted. My thoughts drifted to the friend I lost this past week. Tanuvasa Shane Sitivi you always appreciated my love of the mountains, and we often talked of doing a trip together. We never did. Another lump gathers in my throat. I am sorry I never did that for you brother, I should have. So I walk for you now. May the gentle mountain breeze always be upon you.

Charlie did well. And the other great thing we learned is how far he can go and enjoy himself in one day. It opens up a lot of potential mountain exploration this coming summer. Stay Tuned!

Aroha,

Robb

Whereabouts Unknown

2010-08-16T10:36:00.002+12:00

1 August - In the Ruahine

Robb and Gustav

It does not take long to feel the mountain energy inside me. Meandering over the farmland to the Ruahine boundary brings warmth to my soul, and the easy stroll through the wide forest path seems effortless. The musical accompaniment of water and wetness all around, the insistent fast falling stream beside us, and the thumping muttering of the river further below and the thought of the next 3 days amongst this symphony fills me with joy. That sound will soon become part of the background, part of my existence, but I am always aware it is there, and how beautiful it is, and how fortunate I am to even be here. Last week I was up high, alone amongst the snow covered tops, the music of the wind on the tussock and the tupare, beeches and Kaikawaka, so to now to be lower amongst the life giving water released from on high somehow completes the journey.

That I am here with one of my oldest and dearest friends just heightens and brightens the smile upon my face. I am Home.

Getting ready for the light show at sunset

Sunlit beech after a rain shower

Always a bit of work to be done. Gustav resupplying the wood stock.

Back in November of 1991 I visited Gustav out in San Francisco where he was living at the time. We spent an entire day in the John Muir redwood forest, walking deep into the musty coolness and intense energy of the huge red woods. It was a day that moved me deeply, one that for told to me that change was upon me, that Nature was calling strongly. Six months later I met Tara, and 6 months or so after that I moved to New Zealand. I wrote the following poem later that day back at Gustav's Sausalito home. At the time we had known each other for over 10 years and I wanted to convey the beauty of the day and the depth of our friendship. When I came across it a few days ago I realized it is a poem that has grown with us. Gustav's first trip to the Ruahine was in 1998 when we spent 4 days in the Whanahuia's. Like the trip to the red woods moved me, the Ruahine impacted Gustav deeply as well. Not long after he moved to Tasmania where he still lives. To Old Friends!

"Tall statues of Nature's Domain
Their presence dominating yet gentle
The energy palpable
A timeless blanket of protection and strength
We walk in their midst
Silent, and awed
Unhurried and sure
My friend walks ahead
Noble and Thoughtful
And though we walk separate paths
in our lives
In our hearts
Our minds
May our footsteps remain the same."

19 years later, my friend walks ahead in the Ruahine.

Ruahine forest and river.

2 August
Deep in a Ruahine valley by the river

Gustav diligently chops wood, and drags more out of the forest. All is wet and saturated and will test our fire building skills. I tend to our steaks marinating in olive oil, a bit of garlic and black bean sauce, and just before cooking to be encrusted with crushed pistachios and almonds. It is, after all, a special occasion. We are here.

The forest walk sidling above the river, one of my favourites, was an invigorating and renewing experience. A year ago, on the same walk with John, my hip hurt so bad I was almost in tears. Looking back I am not even sure how I did it, and perhaps it was only the energy pulsating in this lush place that flowed into me and allowed me to continue. Today I walked and smiled, looking ahead at troublesome roots and slippery rocks, or steep climbs and descents that would suddenly be behind me. The forest was lit up in vibrant greens and crystalline droplets of water. The glowing mosses and lichens greeting me once again under the forest canopy.

At one stage I thought I would just forget about hopping from log to rock over a particularly muddy section, as I was already wet and muddy anyway. I decided to just walk through it so I did, only to find myself buried in mud up to my waist and struggling to with drawl myself from it's squelching embrace. I smiled at that too.

Winding up through the lush forest.

Sunlight through the canopy on moss, lichens and ferns.

The sunlit path ahead.

In the forest with the sound of the river close by.

2 Aug. late afternoon.

Being in the mountains over these past few weeks has been a revealing process for me. If it has reinforced anything within me it is to appreciate each moment I am able to spend here, and to truly recognize it very well might be my last. Though the Ruahine will always reside deep within my soul, the very real possibility of being unable to travel here hovers around me. And perhaps it should, for it is a constant reminder of the value these mountains have brought to my life, and the importance of nature and wilderness to us all. A fragile relationship at best. I finger the pounamu (greenstone) pendant which hangs around my neck, a beautiful gift given to me on my birthday by my wonderful friends. It's vibrant green and changing colours representing the lush forest, and the shape being the maunga, or mountain. I treasure it and I feel its warmth absorbing the energy around and of my own soul. We are one.

Relaxing

3 August early morning by the river

The river has come down noticeably during the night, returning to the more quiet mood of clear and aqua green when she is not so angry. I sit with a cup of tea and wait for a whio to fly by. I heard one earlier, and Gustav saw one yesterday. As long as they are here. So I have had the mountains rivers and streams over the past three days, the music now deep within me. Last week was the tussock and snow high above. It's music dwells inside as well. Both so beautiful, and so moving, each with it's own special and unique song of Wildness. Go to the mountains and Listen to the Music, get their Glad Tidings. I am here, I am alive! Te hei mauri ora!

The mountain river.

Gustav climbing up another spur.

Above the river. This place and shapes reminds me of my pounamu. The Ruahine.

Aroha,
Robb

Ruahine Huritau (Birthday)

2010-07-29T09:37:00.027+12:00

26 July, 2010
Purity hut, Hikurangi range

I sit on the sun drenched porch of Purity hut, which sits high on the open tussock of the Hikurangi range, the highest of the five sub ranges which make up the Ruahine. Looking out to the west I watch puffy clouds drift over the volcano's, Ruapehu, Ngaruhoe, and Tongariro - The Rim of Fire. The snow glistens in the sun upon their flanks like shimmering satin. To my north the high tops of the Hikurangi loom above, majestic with the cloak of snow draped upon her shoulders. To the south lie the Whanhuia's and the Pourangaki valley, all places I know well.

Yet this is the first time I have placed my feet here at the southern end of the Hikurangi and Purity hut. So it is special to be here in a new portion of the Ruahine, on my own to celebrate with the mountains my 50th birthday.

The Rim of Fire.

On days like this there a few places more sublime to wander than a high Ruahine ridge.

26 July afternoon.
I was sitting in the sun up above the hut in the golden tussock when from behind me and out of nowhere, a kahu (hawk) just swooped directly past my head! It was so close I could feel the wind rush by me, and hear the rustle of the air upon it's feathers. Exhilarating. Now it soars just above me in graceful arch's and circles with the air currents. I can only think of the words I read at Pohangina Pete's place a few mere days ago when he wrote a post on the Kahu and one of his commenter's made reference to a book (This House of Sky, by Ivan Doig), in which he describes a hawk or eagle soaring exactly like that as "Correcting, Correcting". At the time I read it I did not think too much about it, but now I understand perfectly. I get it. Correcting, Correcting!

Emerging out of the forest to the open tops. The golden tussock can be seen just peeking up over the trees, and the hut lies amongst it.

Purity hut, looking north the Hikurangi. The hut lies on the southern tip of the same range.

26 July Early evening
The clouds have moved in, the wind picked up, and it has begun to sleet. I am indeed cloud hidden. The temperature has quickly dropped to 2 degrees celsius when the sun left. But I still sit outside on the porch, dressed warmly, and with map and compass I am enjoying looking around while I still can. I don't have to go anywhere, nor do anything, except just be here.

The Hikurangi tops just above and behind the hut.

The cloud moves in over the Rangitikei plains. My world is about to be truly cloud hidden.

27 July - morning
Looking out the snow flecked window contemplating what these places really mean to me, to us.
The simplicity of being in the mountains, or any wilderness we choose, on my own. The choices to do this or that, yet also making decisions that are crucial to my well being and having the skills and knowledge to get along in living simply. Perhaps it is only here that I have ever really experienced true and complete freedom. Maybe that is what Wild Places truly offer us. Why do we try so hard to destroy it?

A good place for a lie down after such heavy contemplation.

27 July evening,
The rain and snow finally eased in the afternoon, so I went for a climb in the mist and cloud up towards Mangaweka. The wind was still pretty fierce, and I could see nothing at all except directly around me, but it was good to stretch the legs and be out amongst it. After an hour or so as I started to get into the deep snow which I was not really equipped for I turned back. As soon as I got back to the hut it began to pour once again a mixed slurry of sleet, snow, and rain. Time for a cup of tea and throw another log on the fire.

The hut appearing out of the mist just in the centre. Not too hard to lose the way in conditions like this.

27 July late evening
My thoughts on turning 50.
As much as I would like to be one of those who might write 'I don't feel 50", as I sit here alone in a candle lit hut with only myself the honest and truthful answer to that is I guess I do. I don't have anything else to compare it to and it seems this is really the only moment that matters, this one right now.
I can't run up spurs and ridges like I used to, but then again I don't have to, or even want to. I would miss too much along the way. My journey is a different one than it was back then, or maybe it is the same one just that I am in a different place. In any matter what is the point of comparing what was to what is. As long as I never write "This is it, this is me", and I have stopped asking questions, seeking, learning, and growing into the man I will become. I am okay with that.

Purity hut at dawn.

A dawn walk down into the silent snow stilled forest awaits.

Listen! Snow covered Kaikawaka. The still dawn, the ice and snow seem to reveal the character and soul of the forest. It is why I love early morning walks the best.

In a days time my friend Gustav arrives from Tasmania, to celebrate my birthday with a few friends and family, and then he and I will retreat back to the Ruahine for a few more days. That is the best birthday present I can wish for myself.

Tihei mauri ora!
Aroha
Robb

Cloud Hidden

2010-07-13T14:10:00.009+12:00

Over the last few months I have been spending most of my time in Taranaki with work, culminated by a busy last few weeks. At least I was under the shadow of the beautiful volcano, and when it did appear out of the cloud always brought a sense of calm to my soul.

Now another week or so to tidy up a few loose ends and my dreams of other mountains will come to fruition. I want to be cloud hidden. I want to drag my soon to be 50 year old body up into the Ruahine and get "lost" from so much out here. My goal when undergoing getting my hip replaced in April was to be in the mountains by my birthday in July. I have already been in the mountains but they call out for more after that successful test. I feel ready to disappear into the mist.

I have often felt alone out here. I suppose it is just part of my nature, part of who I have become in these last 50 years. Sometimes I am amazed at the wealth of love and friendship I have accrued around me and feel undeserving of accepting. It has really only been recently how much I know I am not alone, both in that wealth around me, but also my kinship with so many other misfits out there. Men who never fit in, or died trying, the ones hiding behind closed doors hating the world out here, or hiding in a haze of drugs and alcohol. God knows I have done all of that.

I am tired of the system that only allows us to be successful if we have a good job, a new car, a big house. I am tired of the system that places value on wilderness only in terms of how much wealth it will create if we destroy it. I am tired of the system that encourages foreign companies to explore off our shores for oil to keep that system running, while at this very moment the oil gushes unhindered into the sea of my homeland, just as it has for years in the seas of other nations whose citizens skins are not the same colour as mine. For some reason it seems to mean more in places where the people it most affects are white. I am tired of that too.

So I just really want to lie on the ground in the mountains and dig my hands into the Ruahine earth, to drink from the clear cold waters and cleanse myself, to become part of the mountains, of the land. Just for a few moments I want to leave all this behind. It will all be waiting when I return.

Hokinga mai - Homecoming

2010-06-11T17:51:00.018+12:00

4 June 2010

Sunrise hut - late afternoon

Robb Kloss

Charlie Kloss

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!

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.

( Had a bit of a problem with the camera so these photos were all experienced with the camera on my cell phone. Charlie is a better photographer than I am.)

4 June : I felt pretty nervous about this walk, even if just the 3 hours or so up to here. There was a lot at stake, a lot to find out, and I found myself checking and rechecking the gear I had packed for us last evening as a way to let some of the steam off. And we have had a beautiful, flawless day in which to venture up here. A big fat high is sitting upon us, meant to last until Sunday. And as I took a day off work, and Charlie a day off school we have this whole playground to roam on our own. Not a breath of wind on the the saddle. Charlie runs about with little appreciation how rare these days are in this particular place in the Ruahine. Of the over 30 plus times I have crossed here, less than 10 would be on a day like this. I feel like the mountains are smiling with me. Welcome Home!

4 June Sunset : The mountains seem ethereal as they are lit up against the setting sun. Across the headwaters of Waipawa valley Te Atuaoparapara dominates the scene and up high upon her slip ridden steep flanks lie the vestiges of recent snow melted by the persistent rains. Waipawa saddle dips in a graceful arch between her and the curvaceous loveliness of the Three Johns to the east. The dying sun light clings to the Three Johns and expends its last energy in the familiar evening hues I know so well. Burning orange on the very tops, with the purple and blue streaks running down the flanks into the dark depths of the bush. I have gazed upon this so often, never tiring of these encounters, and today in this moment it feels like I am seeing it for the very first time.

Sunrise hut evening: Charlie is fast asleep. Bereft of computers, x-boxes, and television he is instead full of fresh mountain air and the tiredness which comes from a full hard day. At around 6:00 pm he was wondering what we do now, and 20 minutes later I had to rouse him from the warm depths of my sleeping bag to get a feed of venison and rice into him, only to watch him fall soundly back asleep minutes later. He is safe, fed, and warm, and the whole day the only people we have seen are ourselves. That has to mean something.

Sunrise at Sunrise.

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.

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!

I Wanna Go Home

2010-05-21T10:49:00.016+12:00

Winter seems to be finally putting her chilly hand upon us as the days get colder, shorter, and take on the shades of grey I remember well. We have been blessed by an unusually temperate and rainless autumn, which was extremely fortunate for my rehabilitation walks. Last weekend was the only time I was caught out in the rain on any of my walks in the last six weeks. The wood I laid into before my surgery to keep the family warm, lies still mostly untouched and stacked high in the garage. Waiting patiently.

Charlie has begun the rugby season for the Kia Toa Under 8's, his first year of tackle rugby, and the sound of him running outside in his new cleats on the driveway invokes powerful memories for me. That metallic clacking on the cement a sound I love. The cadence of cleats a powerful bonding preparation for battle as I advanced towards the field with my teammates before a game, or the weary dragging of them after the game or practice as tired boys and young men retreat to the locker room. I can smell the sweat, the earthy goodness of the mud and grass stains, the joyous ribald conversations in victory, or the quiet banter and tears of defeat. It is the autumn and this is what I remember.

It is my first week back at work and yesterday was six weeks since my hip replacement, the first milestone reached. Maybe it is just me, but it always seems that with the arrival of winters finger tips down here on the plains of New Zealand's North Island it all begins to take on a more grayish hue, the environment, the sky, the feel of damp bone chilling cold, and even the countenance of people appears dim and disconcerted, as if mulling over the prospects of the winter months ahead.

In terms of my hip things are going well. I will throw the crutches away after this weekend for good, and can resume going back to the gym as well. I obviously still have to be very careful bending down and to the sides, getting in and out of cars, and just being mindful of being patient. And that is hard. I look north to the Ruahines all the time. For six weeks as I walked they were within view almost constantly, beneath the blue skies day after day, now they are buried under billowing masses of blackish clouds. Still, they call strongly.

Thoughts of my rapidly approaching 50th birthday add to the sombreness I normally feel this time of year, added to no doubt by having a hip replaced six weeks ago. I can still hear the sound of those cleats! Yet in the mirror that boy is gone. Replaced by someone who vaguely looks like my own father. I think of my boys, maybe a bit selfish in the melancholic reality that as they grow strong and gain independence, I have a new hip and am turning 50.

Taylor, struggling to fit into a school system part of me can't fault for not wanting to, yet part of me with a foot planted in this adult world of responsibility and belonging worries for him. How do I balance that? I want to take him into the mountains again, but alas, cannot yet, and even that is probably more to make me feel better than to provide any answers for him. I think back on my own teen age years, and despite the balding pate, the new hip, and more weight than I care for, I feel more comfortable approaching 50 than I ever did at 17. I still seem to have just as many questions.

And Charlie, well his time to meet the real wilderness approaches as well. I hope I am up to the job. In the meantime I just want him to enjoy the sound of his new cleats.

Aroha,

Robb

The Healing Has Begun

2010-04-30T18:06:00.004+12:00

"And we'll walk down the avenue again, and we'll sing all the songs from way back when. And we'll walk down the avenue in style, and we'll walk down the avenue and we'll smile, and we'll say baby ain't it all worthwhile. And we'll walk down the avenue again, when the healing has begun". - abridged. Words by Van Morrison, "The Healing Has Begun", from "Into the Music".

One of my friends and commenter's LPH, a man I have known for over 20 some odd years now, wrote in a comment that this song was very apt for my current status. Indeed it is LPH! What a song, a song of healing and opportunity and redemption. It has been one constant favourite Van tune of the ages, one that defines for me personally why I love the music. It leaped into my heart back in 1979 and has never left. Much like these mountains here in Aotearoa, the Ruahine, leaped into my heart when I was brought to them in 1993. So the words above, and the song stand true, and represent well my current journey, and how I am feeling about it. Get the song and LISTEN! (Get the whole cd, one of Van's best)

The photo above sees me emerging from the mist of the prior post. I am writing of course metaphorically, and the photos are from different trips, yet I have emerged from a lot of the doubt and fear, the unknowns of my last post. Above I am amongst the golden tussock tops, having done the hard yards and relentless steep climb from Makaroro valley and Upper Makaroro hut to the main Ruahine range. A lot of hard work and effort, rewarded by this expanse of wilderness, these mountains, the views, and whatever lies ahead. Take a close look at the photo and you will see I am actually battling to stand upright, poles and legs spread wide, and coat on in spite of the blue sky and sunshine. So you see, though I have done many hard yards, and emerged into the sunlight, it is now the wind that sets upon me. Another obstacle to be dealt with. Ride out the storm or carry on?

I went today on 70 minute walk along the river. In a fierce wind that kept most away, and I felt very much as if I had the place to myself. The wind was blowing hard through the trees and I let myself drift along to a Ruahine ridge on a stromy day and the wind blowing its song through the kaikawaka, tupare, and beeches. Not quite the same down here, and the wind held nothing of threat to me, even on my crutches. I have been where that song of wind means real danger. I relish the feel of it upon me.

The doctor's appointment I had thought was this Thursday, is actually next Thursday, so I am fighting the urge to get ahead of myself. In the three weeks since having the hip replaced I have progressed from standing up, to walks down the hospital corridor, 10 minute forays along the foot path outside, to yesterday doing the 70 minute walk down by the river. Most days I will do a 45 minute effort. I am also starting to get around the house without crutches and so am looking forward to seeing Dr. Brougham to get an idea of boosting my efforts with weights, the bike and so on. A bit of stretching would be wonderful but not advisable just yet, and if anyone has any advice or thoughts on beginning yoga I would greatly appreciate it. I am not quite ready yet, as these first crucial six weeks play out, but soon enough will be. And everything I do is pointing at mobility, flexibility, strength, and activity. The most wonderful feeling when I am walking is that pain I had is gone. So I dream of the mountains. Sitting here in the comfort of my chair, a warm house, and a cup of coffee, it is easy to write nostalgically, recalling all the wonderful trips and views, yet I know full well that with sweat dripping off my face climbing up hill, or straight down onto some creek bed, or battling a swollen river, or cloud obscured and wind blown tops, that most of the time the focus is simply on the next step, the next decision, to not stuff up. There will plenty of time at the hut or camp, or here in my chair, to let the day wash over me. So I sit here now and smile, and dream of steep climbs, and the golden tussock, clear streams and rivers, and the sight of the whio. Kia kaha!

Aroha - Robb

Convalescence

2010-04-16T16:13:00.002+12:00

It has been 8 days since my surgery. I arrived home a few days ago and have begun the road to recovery. Sort of feels at times like wandering into a mountain day like above, vision murky, pack heavy, and lots of questions. My goal is more or less pictured above - a reunion with the mountains. But these past few days around home I have been reminded of so many other things I can hopefully look forward to doing pain free as well. Mowing the lawn, chopping wood and making a fire, playing with Charlie, going for a walk, or even just making a cup of tea. All without the constant companion of pain and grimace of discomfort that has been with me for over three years now. Tara reckons I look ten years younger without that grimace, and though I am sore and learning to walk again, there is a big difference between pain and soreness. It is almost too good to be true. I am on crutches, and will be for some time, but even in the few days home I can feel myself getting stronger, able to sit in a chair longer, or walk outside and simply breathe the air and dream of other places while increasing my distance and time. Today 10 minutes, but 10 minutes that has been the best part of my day.

Thank you all so much for your comments and thoughts. There was a point the other day I was in a lot of discomfort, and suddenly felt a wave wash through me and I felt no pain at all. Not long after I managed to get up and hobble here to the computer and check out the messages and thoughts and I really felt grateful for the time taken to visit and wish me well. It works. Kia kaha.
Aroha,
Robb

Parakawai

2010-04-07T17:53:00.008+12:00

I came across some old photos today, and because they were of great significance I have to appear here and share this place one more time before the surgery in the morning. In the post prior to the last one I mention a place that this greedy and short sighted government and its corporate masters are slathering to get slippery hands upon, Parakawai in the Coromandel. These photos are of my first visit there in 1993 which I describe in that post. Coming across them today seemed a connected moment in many ways. Today it was announced the the Mokihinui river has been granted resource consent to be dammed, destroying forever 14 kilometres of pristine wilderness sheltering some of the most unique native flora and fauna and wild life left in Aotearoa. Just as Parakawai above does. I think no government should be allowed to wantonly destroy such places until the people who make those decisions have stayed there, at least one night. I realize the futility of writing those words as I write them. More's the pity.

That pool below was some 20 foot plus feet deep, at least at the time this photo was observed. A leap into the pool below took a bit of courage.

Gustav and I, directed here by my friend Nigel. Amazing place, amazing people.

In front of the pool above, an afternoon of swimming and exploring, building our stuff to actually jump off that fall above. "I'll do it if you'll do it!"

The pool. I have camped two nights of my life on the rim above to the left. I recall both vividly.

The common babble speak around places like this is always "no one ever goes there", this seems to be rapidly becoming the mantra of those whom do not go there. Parakawai, by definition, is not a remote place, it is easily accessible in the very well developed Coromandel. So it is now much often visited I suppose in comparison to my two stays seeing no one indeed. But how it moved me, took my breath away, opened up to me the emmense Natural Gifts of this land. To destroy it seeking gold is just obscene. Even though I have never been to the Mokihinui I feel the same about there as well. Who will remember such places when they are gone forever?

Man! Dig those red pants and purple high top Chuck Taylor's! What a spot, what a day. See ya'all later, just felt a real need to share these. Hopefully soon I will be back to actually being at places like this, rather than just dreaming about them. Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Mountain Dreams

2010-03-24T21:27:00.017+13:00

30 July 2003, Maropea Forks - solo and my 43rd birthday.

I will settle upon this photo as my own personal favourite of myself in terms of the Ruahine. I was 43, certainly not a young man, but I was fit, there were no physical barriers holding me back.

A solo birthday celebration, a venture into solitude and a place I love in the middle of winter. No easy feat in the grasp of a long walk down an ice cold mountain river. Shit! It was cold. To arrive at this beautiful place, cold, wondering, exhilarated. To build a little fire in that wonderful stove just for me, but yet for everyone, was a distinct pleasure and honour, and very warming in all ways. The next day I just stayed put as the water I put in the billies inside the hut had a coat of ice upon them! Quite content I got the fire going just quietly and decided I would stay here another day. What I really love about this photo is not me, or the fully loaded already burning wood stove, but that kindling bucket in back of me , which states 28 Litres of Golden-Syrup. which is a lot of syrup, of any kind. It harkens us back to days long gone, days of yore. When people knew spots like this other than just once, other than just passing thru.

Snow fall at Maropea Forks. Such a magnificent moment!

Back yard at Maropea Forks.

John and Jeff, meeting for the first time at the beautiful waterfall about 30 minutes from Maropea Forks. A somewhat out of focus photo, but one I have come to love. Jeff, a great mate visiting from America, and I had walked in via Sunrise to Top Maropea the prior day, spent the night in that lovely spot, and then carried on late the next morning leisurely paced both due to my hip, but even more to the fact it was just such an incredible place to have such a fine reunion with one of my oldest friends. After all what's the hurry? John started early that morning from his car and caught up to us just a few moments before the photo above unfolded. We then spent the next three days in this amazing area, walking the rivers and ridges to the tops, Jeff doing a bit of trout hunting (successfully), and a lot of just lazing about doing not much at all. This area is my goal for returning to the mountains in July for my 50th birthday.

Maropea Forks in August. Another winter birthday celebration with a fine friend and brother, Gustav.

27 August 2007 Maropea Forks hut:

I shall always remember the exhilaration of standing outside the hut by the river under a full moon. After an afternoon when on a walk up river a huge snowstorm blew in, wild and furious, and I rushed back to the hut where Gustav had the fire stoked up and we stood out on the porch watching the trees sway and dance, the wind rushing and howling, building to loud crescendos, the snow swirling all around. Then it settled into a gentle snowfall, something like out of the movie "It's a Wonderful Life", where Jimmy Stewart runs about the town joyfully after discovering his own worth. I'm with ya Jimmy! And now the fresh snow covers all, the only man made footsteps to be seen for miles are ours! The entire scene is translucent, the snow has been lit into life by the light of this full moon. The water fall of the stream across the river unfurls in a cascade of glowing shimmering satin, the tall trees on the surrounding high ridges reveal their true character as the snow brings their souls to life in ways we have never before seen. The faces tell us their stories, each individual tree speaks to us. Some tell of laughter, many shed tears, and even seem to howl in despair of what will become of this scene. We are here for this brief second, but for just these few moments we have connected with the Timeless.

Moments like ones above are what I miss most right now, and thoughts of being amongst these mountains overwhelm me as I write these words. To know what roaming amongst them means to me, and to be unable to do so, cripples more within me than the physical pain of this hip will ever do. So roaming amongst them once again is my goal. To accomplish that I am having my hip replaced in a matter of days, then under taking my recovery, my rebuilding, and God Willing, my reunion with the Ruahine.

I am not sure when I will return here, how I will feel, the thoughts I will have. So I thank each and every one of you whom has made this under taking so special. I could write many words to so many people, but I will just write Kia ora for your time in coming here, for your time in your own special places, in your words and thoughts of encouragement, and support. For the aroha that I feel in my heart. Enjoy the Wild Places! Till I return with a tale of the mountains! Roam the wilderness and may the mountain breeze blow gently upon you. Don't Look Down. Kia kaha!

Aroha,
Robb

"Surgical Mining"

2010-03-15T19:33:00.013+13:00

"Gold Mining"

"Coal Mining"

"Mountaintop Removal Mining"

There does not appear to my eyes anything "surgical" about any of these types of mining. Indeed a search of mining technique websites does not reveal any reference at all to anything called "surgical mining". Yet it is fast becoming a media buzz word. Say it enough times and it becomes so. A phrase which rolls off our prime minister's tongue very smoothly, soothing the masses of any worries beyond tax cuts and g.s.t. rises. Yes, John Key has made it his own little Alfred E. Nueman catch phrase (What? Me Worry?). Don't buy it folks, it does not exist. If Key, Brownlee and National consider placing entire towns in peril from landslides and erosion caused floods due to gold mining hills in the Coromandel as acceptable collateral damage, then it should be of no surprise they also refuse to rule out the use of "other" types of "modern method" mining techniques. Modern method mining techniques are pictured above. All extremely brutal, all irrevocable scars upon the earth, our National Parks, our Wild Places. Mountain top removal is possibly the worst demonstration of man's disdain for the earth. It involves simply cutting away all the forest surrounding the victim, then dynamiting as much as 500 down into the mountain to get at the coal, or whatever might be down there, and dumping the removed earth into the surrounding valleys, choking and killing any water ways. This is one of the "newer" mining techniques. There doesn't seem to be anything in there relating to "surgical".

Polluted and ruined stream from mining extraction

A mine drainage tailing pipe.

The Coromandel Peninsula is under heavy attack, one of the areas targeted being the Parakawai Geological Reserve, a mere 70 hectare area coveted by the gold diggers, but also a treasure trove of native species of frogs, kokopu, insects, and native bird species. Within this area the volcanic landscape encloses indigenous forest and one of the last remaining water catchments in the Coromandel running from forest to sea. In New Zealand gold mining commonly results in 3 grams of gold per 1400 kilograms of rock dug up. I hardly think that will involve any "surgical" precision mining techniques. They will destroy it all.

I have been to Parakawai twice. In 1994 I picked up my friend Gustav in Auckland and we drove to the Coromandel, exhilarated by the sea at Waihi Beach then driving to a place my mate Nigel had provided a map to outside Whangamata. We shouldered our packs and headed to a campsite Nigel had described to me as beyond compare. We walked through the lush green and steamy forest climbing to a river we heard, then saw come into view and my heart leaped with joy. It was a stream below us with water so pure and clear it took my breath away. Above us we could hear the symphony of many different layers of water, and suddenly emerged out of the bush onto the stream to find ourselves looking at the beautiful depths of blues and greens under the pool of perhaps a 15 metre waterfall, and directly below us it fell in a series of perhaps another 4-5 significant pools and falls. It was ethereal. Gustav and I were absolutely speechless, yet the huge smiles upon our faces, and the lightness within our souls shouted the silent words of joy we did not need to speak. We set up a small camp on the opposite side of the main fall and spent the afternoon swimming in the depths of this wonderful paradise, climbing up the falls and exploring upstream, and finally getting up the nerve to jump off the cliff into the embrace of that lovely nectar below. We lit a small fire that evening and sat in the glow of it, our day, our friendships, and the comforting lullaby of this river on its way to the sea.

A few years later carrying a large pack I returned with Tara, who in in smaller carrier toted along little Taylor, then 1 0r 2. Once again we camped in solitude at this slice of heaven. I am told it has become a very popular local tramping spot and area in addition to its value as a heritage area.

To see this place destroyed, to think of that beautiful river with its graceful falls and elegant pools as a swill pit like pictured above, destroyed for GOLD! I feel the bile rise up in my throat.

The Makaroro in the Ruahine. A reminder of what this is really all about.

If our system has depleted itself, and the "time" has come to rip into the few wild and relatively pristine areas still left, perhaps we are really asking the wrong questions. These people are up to no good and must be confronted and stopped. Once again I present the words of Edward Abbey:

"The Rules will be dictated by the extractive industries - the coal, oil, and power companies. Not only do our state politicians fail to resist these alien forces, they bid against one another to invite them in. Our good old boys would sell their mother's graves if they could make a quick buck out of the deal; crooked as a dog's hind leg, tricky as a car dealer, greedy as a hog at the trough, these men will sell out the West to big industry as fast as they can, without the faintest stirrings of conscience. Governors, U.S. Senators, congressman, and our chamber of commerce presidents don't give a hoot about future losses; they figure, rightly, that they personally will all be dead by the time the future extent of the disaster becomes clear. So much for the canyonlands of Utah and Arizona: nothing but a barren wasteland, anyway, as any local Jaycee will tell you, nothing but sand and dust and heat and emptiness, red rock baking under the sun and hungry vultures soaring on the air. Quite so men, quite so: nothing but canyon and desert, mountain and mesa, all too good for the likes of us."

If we change a few nouns to those like New Zealand, prime ministers, mp's, mayors, councils, and businesses, and the desert and rock, to bush, rivers and mountains, and the year from the 1970's to the present once again we find the future upon us.

Kia kaha!

BEWARE!!

2010-03-06T20:02:00.003+13:00

To John Key, Gerry (Lard Ass) Brownlee, all our current National rationalists, right wing talk back radio hosts and disconnected listeners, and each and every government, corporate technocratic organization in the world, and anyone in favour of invading Wild Places still there. Your fate awaits! Piss off the lot of you!

A Day in the Life....

2010-02-25T19:29:00.024+13:00

Sitting just below the highest point in the Ruahine, Mangaweka, looking down into the head waters of the Kawhatau valley and the main Ruahine range beyond.

25 Feb. 2010

I am not sure which hurts more right now. This ever troubling and degenerating hip, now reducing me to the gait of a very old man, the prospects in my current condition of sitting there above with John in such a place as remote as being on the moon, the pain like loose ends of electric wires running through my groin and down my knee which any wrong movement ignites. So I try to put myself back in places like above, where my soul burst free and waves of amazement and euphoria washed through me and cleansed me of the grime and guilt accrued out here, where I walked free and easy and roamed with a smile instead of an ever increasing grimace. Though even in good times in the Ruahine I often grimaced!
Or I wonder perhaps instead if I feel even more this pain deep inside me as a result of the unrelenting attack upon our wild places by our own government, and how in the eyes of so many it seems to make it right. These past few weeks when I have been really focused on trying to, from a grass roots approach, engage people I met through out my day, family, friends, in how they felt about the actions of our government attacking our wilderness. And to find most are either in favour of getting any economic benefit to be had from places they have never seen, or will see, or simply are not that concerned by something so far away from their lives. There are bigger fish to fry, our jobs, our mortgages, the economy, that we have all been sold the rubbish old Ed predicted. The pain of that cripples me as much as this hip.

The view from directly across the other side of the photo above, looking back at the Hikurangis and Mangaweka.

I have never claimed to be clever. I am not a highly achieved academic, I do not have a huge grasp of economic facts and figures, and I have little response to offer witty and self serving ripostes on media reporting and the ever growing world of the internet and political spectrum aligned blogs, particularly on the right. That is all beyond me, I have little knowledge of anyone even being here aside from comments left. Mostly what I do here is for me. To look upon these ranges I adore when I cannot physically be there, is pretty cool for me. And sad at the same time. My son Charlie the other night had me type Maropea Forks onto You Tube. What came up was a group of helicoptered in hunters in the roar of 2009. Most of the pictures were from inside the hut with the inhabitants in various stages of inebriation, the defining photo one of the hunters gathered on the porch when first dropped off with a person high stack of their trays of beer the focal point. It is not just from the government these places need protection. Helicopters!

A Ruahine water fall.

My point being I do not care about economics, about the political spectrum and clever posts and responses defending a political view, or even trying to convince those of disconnection to connection. What I care about are the Wild Places. And that is that.

Bugger the statistics about our economic future, and the shit about our human right to dominate the Earth. Even here I preach to the converted, convince myself more of what I already know. Out there with the aims of our own elected government, the absorbed words of the media, talk back radio, entrenched disconnection, and conversations in the tea room lie the real bastion of our demise.

A common quote that people refer to of Edward Abbey is "Wilderness needs no defense, only defenders", or there abouts, always rung somewhat to me as the first quote that came up on Wikipedia and sounded good. I always thought it a bit over done. Until now, when I feel it my gut and my trembling fingers.

John next to a Spaniard, a native plant with razor sharp needles and leaves and not to be trifled with. This was the first encounter we had with them at river level as normally we found them up high, mixed in with the leatherwood as another delightful treat on steep climbs.

A camp on the Waikamaka river after along day, a lot of rain and a flooded gorge. Eventually the rain stopped and the rivers and streams dropped as quickly as they rose, but a gorge just up from here stopped us. The water level was over our head and climbing over not a good option. We retreated to here, and it proved an excellent decision and a great spot.

John, the next morning in the crux of the gorge where the prior evening the water was at the top of the rock on the right. Hence the retreat to our river camp after a 10 hour plus day.

Above Rangi saddle on the way to Waterfall hut. We took a wrong route and did a seriously steep climb high above the saddle, only to discover it actually was far below us. The view across the valley made it a worthwhile mistake.

Waterfall hut

Aw shit, if you don't get it you don't get it. If these places and just the knowledge of them being there does not move you, then nothing here will. I can't come up with any clever arguments to change minds and sway people over from the Cement Jungle. It seems too entrenched, too set, and the disconnection from anything wild too complete. If we have already compromised 87% of our land and now need to attack the remaining 13% to get at it's "real" value it would seem to suggest that something is inherently wrong with the system. Yet the machine grinds on.

I believe in Nature in Wild Places, in the the Earth. If that does not suit so be it. Sides are being chosen and this is mine.

Dedicated to my Wild Sister Robin, "Naked in Eden".

Even in the midst of summer, a dive into the chilly embrace of the mountain river is a jolting experience. To have done it and then stand there tingling and refreshed as the mountain breeze evaporates the dripping pure water, is a reminder we are alive. Those of us whom have done it in winter are simply Polar Bears - hopefully with a hut nearby and the fire blazing!

Not many options here!

Shingle sliding is always an interesting way down. Very quick, but one wants to make sure the bottom terminates cleanly and not in large bluffs which would not be pleasant at speed.

"All very well, the reader thinks, for a few thousand farmers and ranchers who want to save their homes and livelihoods, to preserve a charming but no doubt outmoded way of life. And wouldn't it be nice if we could keep the air pure, the wide open spaces, the canyons, rivers, and mountains free from pollution from a rash of new power plants. But America needs the energy. Our political and industrial leaders assure us that the very survival of America as a great world power may be at stake. We cannot let our future be dictated by a cartel of Arab potentates. We have more coal than the Arabs have oil. Let's dig it! The assumption is that we must continue down the road of never ending economic expansion, toward an ever grosser gross national product, driven by the mania for Growth with a capital G that entails, among other things, a doubling of the nations energy production every ten years. "Expand or expire" is the essence of this attitude, exemplified in the words of President Ford in a statement to an Expo' 74 audience:

"Man is not built to vegetate or stagnate - we like to progress - zero growth environmental policies fly in the face of human nature." But a child can percieve that on our finite planet there must be, sooner or later, a limit to quantitative growth. Any high school math student can prove that if our production of electricity continued to grow at an expotential rate of 100 percent every 10 years the result would be, in less than a century, a United States of America in which every square foot of land surface was preempted by mines and power plants, leaving no room at all for homes, cities, farms, living space, or even grave yards. Growth for the sake of growth is the ideology of the cancer cell." - Edward Abbey , essay on The Second Rape of the West, cited from The Journey Home.

Shit Ed, we haven't come too far from 1974. In our modern age of sound byte living 1974 is like the stone age and few might give your words the modern credence they deserve, and yet are so fortelling. 35 years is not even a passing of gas in terms of Nature's time. Yet so many of us seem to grasp onto our brief time here as the be all and end all. Sometimes I think I am the more religious of all my God Fearing friends. Everytime I have been in the mountains, or even dream about them now, I am in Church.

The near end of a perfect day shared above. RTC Summer Tour day 3 from a camp on the Waikamaka river to Waterfall hut. A day of sun, cloud, rain, of rivers, streams, and high climbs with huge views of these mountains. Of friendship, route finding and a an empty hut in the mountains which we made our home for the next few days, as many other kindred spirits have. Days like this are why we need these places. Kia kaha!

Aroha,
Robb

Whata ngarongaro he tangata, toitu hewhenua : Man disappears but the land remains.

2010-02-11T17:25:00.021+13:00

Most times in life the things we most worry and fear over do not come to pass. This is one of the greatest self lessons I have learned in the mountains. Yet sometimes that fear and worry does appear, does manifest itself in real and terrible ways. I have alluded to in a few prior posts about my concern for the welfare of the Wild Places of Aotearoa, that they were under the eye of individuals, corporations, share holders, and those whom would alter them eagerly for the benefit of man. That has come to pass. Our National elected government has now clearly stated their intention to open up our publicly held conservation estate to mining and mineral "extraction". The battle is truly upon us, sides will be taken, and the future of the Land, and our children is at stake.

The Conservation Estate of New Zealand compromises 13% of our land mass. Within it lies the beauty and immense treasure of such gems as Aoraki, Aspiring, Arthur's Pass, Fiordland, Taranaki, the mysterious Urewera, Tasman, Nelson Lakes, Westland, Tongariro, and the newest and perhaps most susceptible, Kahurangi. There are , of course, other jewels at risk, such as my beloved Ruahine amongst other lesser known places. The contempt our government shows for any wild place makes these even more at risk should anything of "value" turn up. I use words like treasure, gems, and jewels, in the sense of the wealth they contain in their wildness, in their ability to connect to parts deep within us we seem to be losing even faster than I ever imagined. The wealth they represent in their Wildness is too much to ever comprehend or put at risk. Too many others see treasure, gem and jewel, as simply representing potential wealth in terms of money. And so these places become mere grid lines on charts and maps representing dollar signs. 13%!!! Is it too much to ask to just leave that much alone? To just let it be and let it represent what it can be to those whom chose to seek it, or even just dream of seeking it? To leave our children, and their children, just 13% of Wilderness! How they will hate us!

Our smiling and very rich prime minister, John Key, uses buzz phrases even better than his jowly servant Gerry Brownlee. Soothing utterances such as "sensitive extraction", "all New Zealanders care about conservation", lie next to the dark possibilities of "economic growth", "job creation", and bringing "wealth" to all New Zealanders. A very quick check on companies mining or hoping to mine, within Aotearoa will tell one 4 primary movers in this travesty have little connection here aside from its interest in our "wealth". As soon as the "wealth" is extracted they will leave the mess behind for our future generations to contend with. "Clean and Green New Zealand", "100% Pure New Zealand". It is the Big Lie my friends. We have already desecrated the areas outside the 13% left pure, now the time has come to move in on that as well. It makes me weep.

Edward Abbey has always been an inspiration to me. Though later in his life Ed wrote what I considered some far out offerings about the governments NOT wanting people to HAVE access to wild places, real wild places. A paved road leading to a look out some where would suffice the urge for us once the connections are truly severed. I used to think Ed might have had a few too many drams by then, he was indeed a heavy booze hound by that stage, and that there was no great conspiracy, that deep down governments are here for US.
Ed, I apologize, you always were ahead of your time, and the future is upon us. They really do want us to just care about our mortgage, our job, fitting in like everyone else, and just being a good citizen and not asking too many questions. Total Disconnection. Holy Shit!

Earth First! Kia kaha! Please, Let us fight these Bastards where we stand. We stand on the Earth.

Aroha,

Robb

Dreams

2010-01-22T18:02:00.010+13:00

I have been having these strange dreams about the Ruahine as of late. The common theme seems to be walking amongst all the beauty and grace of the mountains, and most often with those whom I have been there with. We arrive at some far off destination and find loads people there, all sorts of noise and a confusing jumble of scrambling to find room. Last night it was just walking to Sunrise hut to find a road, cars and a petrol station up there! I wake up sweaty and filled with dread, then realize where I am. Separation anxiety perhaps? I hope so, but every day I keep waiting for this National government to show its true hand in regards to our wild places, and that combined with my own inability to Be There is leading to some very restless nights.

So it has been a real place of refuge to come here and peruse my library of experiences and recall the serenity and solitude such places still offer. The memories and sensations for instance of drinking from a mountain tarn high on the golden tussock tops of the main range as in the first photo. After a steep and sweaty climb up from Upper Makaroro valley to the tops these tarns are a welcome and beautiful sight, not to mention slaking a mighty thirst with the cold clear water. There are now signs at most of the huts which have water tanks warning of the risks of drinking untreated water, and there are those who will not drink from the streams, rivers, and tarns. I myself have never hesitated in my 17 years to simply slake my thirst in the handiest source nearby, and I recall a few times being extremely hot and thirsty with no water. A time with Nigel on a hot and steamy day on the Apiti track above Leon Kingvig hut. When we finally got down to the hut I literally staggered into the river and tried to drink it all. Or with Taylor and Jake on Parks Peak ridge, pictured above across from the tarn. It was a blazing hot summer day, and with two 9 year old boys on a long and undulating ridge we quickly ran out of water, resorting to squeezing drops of muddy moisture out of handfuls of moss. When we got to the old Parks Peak hut the sweet coolness of the nectar in that old tank was heaven. Those boys learned the real meaning of thirst that day - and I learned a bit more about tramping with young boys. Or the very first Ruahine tramp I ever did with Nigel and John in 1993. We climbed the dauntingly steep Gold Crown ridge, and on another hot summer day ran out of water long before we reached the car. I remember John and I standing on the ridge on the way down, far below us a shimmering ribbon of a waterfall which we could not reach. Fortunately we had left in the car a chilly bin, covered in ice and a six pack of beer. A cold beer never tasted quite so good as those, the best I ever had.

The old Parks Peak hut, and said water tank. In winter most often the tank was froze, and it is not an easy walk to get to, the area boggy and damp, yet it is place that I have been drawn to since my first visit there in 1997. I just stare as this photo evolves before my eyes, at the sights, sounds, the views of yonder, and moreso the amazing world of mosses, lichens, plants, tussocks, leatherwood, and twisted, gnarled and hearty mountain beech. This is the place perhaps more than any in these mountains which taught me to just slow down, to appreciate more my immediate world, all my being here in these few seconds, and really have a look around. You could be there forever and never see Everything. A place to just wander out to some point on the ridge and bash through a bit of forest, and find a place to just sit very still, Listen and Just Be. It is the most marvelous music ever. I will return here as soon as I can bear the 6 hour plus journey up this beautiful and yet arduous ridge.

Beauty is often in the eye of the beholder, and the Ruahine contains some 60 plus structures which could be called huts. I have been to 45 or so, some of my favourite spots numerous times, others only once. Above is Sparrowhawk bivouac - not a true hut in the sense the original structure was the back tiny portion. Really an emergency shelter placed just below the main range, and meant as a place to drop to when things are out of control, or getting close. There is enough room in that part for two sleeping bags, two bodies, a wee bit of gear, and that is it, and if you happened upon this place in such conditions you would consider yourself fortunate. The fact the front alcove has been added makes it a real bonus, it has a bench and a shelf to which to cook upon, and there are a few prime spots to pitch a tent if so desired. And the location itself is pretty sublime, high above the Makaroro valley and just a stones throw from the tops. Being situated in a little hollow gives it a unique almost micro climate out of the teeth of the nor'west gales common just above it. On this day John and I dropped down to it when the wind became too fierce up top and though our intention was to just have a cup of tea and lunch then carry on, the wind got even heavier and we decided to just stay the night. It was a fine afternoon and evening as we watched the clouds rip over safe in our little cocoon, and the next day, though still very windy and cold we carried onto Maropea Forks. I have never been back this way, but when I get my new hip I shall return. It calls out to me, an unreposing little gem.

An amazingly peaceful and calm early spring day at Lake Colenso. Nigel and I walked down into the basin containing the lake itself from Colenso hut, 20 minutes or above on a subsidiary branch of the Mangatera river. It is deep in the northern sector of the Ruahine, a reasonable walk from any direction, and a very unique and spiritual place. The Maori name for the lake is Kokopunui, as it was very productive source of kokopu, indigenous fish or trout, and there were apparently a few pa sites nearby established by local hapu for hunting, fishing, and gathering. With up to 150 metre cliffs surrounding the Kokopunui basin it is a wonderful view from high above it, a steep climb in and out of it, and a place of unique connection. I will return here as well. * My thanks to Kathy Ombler and her fine and often used guide - The Ruahine Forest Park. Still have my original copy from 1993!

The mighty stalwart beech - at some timeless moment to succumb to the irrestible flow and charms of the Pohangina river. Just above Ngamoko hut.

Aroha,

Robb

A few more.... and Happy New Year!!

2009-12-31T12:46:00.010+13:00

I have not been able to get out on my annual summer journey this year. I have attempted to twice but both times quickly realized the pain in my hip was too much to bear and I turned back. That is pretty hard for me to do. So I thought I would share a few more photos of my time in the mountains which will have to sustain me. Hopefully I will get a taste of the mountains next week on a short camping trip with Charlie. But until I get this hip fixed the Ruahines will have to live within me. It is just the way it is. I am not even sure what relevance I have here if the mountains are not the cornerstone of my words. I thank you all for your telling of similar situations and the improvement which resulted in so many lives, for your encouragement and thoughts from so far away. Believe me, I feel it. And in a positive sense I think of what that moment will be like when I once again hoist a load upon shoulders and head into the mountains on a deep journey, it makes my heart sing. Happy New Year to all, may the gentle mountain breeze be with you.

The above scene was from this year on the way to Iron Gate hut along the Oroua, it can be seen back in my post in July as well. Suffice to say the mountains were wet, the rivers and creeks raging, the skies grey and hanging low, and the forest dripping and vibrant. To the right water can be seen dripping off the trees. It is probably the best image I have personally been able to experience of a moment in a New Zealand forest on a rainy day, and being a tiny part of the myriad of colours, aromas, and sensations in such a place. John and I had each walked in on our own and I could only smile later on at the hut over a cup of tea with the rain beating down on the roof, as John described the exact same spot and showed me on his camera almost the exact same image. Communicating without words. Such moments I shall greatly miss.

Snow covered leatherwood and beech just outside Top Maropea. I had spent 4 days on my own at Maropea Forks, and returned back up river on a beautiful sunny day. By the time I got to the side creek which then climbs back up to here, a blizzard had rolled in. I climbed up to the saddle but knew if I tried to get across I would have died. It just oozed danger and forboding. So I returned to Top Maropea wet and cold and inside the hut the temperature was minus 7 Celsius. I had to get a fire going, and had no paper and little to work with, but by venturing into the blizzard I found some leatherwood and chunks of dead beech. I shaved off slivers into my billy and dried them over my stove, then breaking up pieces of kindling and larger chunks, and using a candle stub, worked my little fire into a great roaring beast, drying my wet gear, warming my soul - if not exactly the hut, and occupying my mind with a necessary task. It was a very cold night at Top Maropea, and the hut shook and rattled in the gales. Just as I was going to try and venture to the outdoor dunny I saw the roof of it blow by! The next day it was not until late afternoon that the wind died down long enough for me to cross the saddle, and even then portions of it on hands and knees. But it was all so beautiful.

Gustav and I high in the clouds after climbing from Otukota hut to the Mokai Patea. Basically the culmination of our first multiple day crossing of the ranges. A self portrait aided by the first marker we had seen after getting a bit wayward climbing over a huge slip above the hut and losing the track. We then bush bashed through thick, steep forest up to the open tops on a compass bearing and this was soon after we found the track. The Waikamaka valley cloud hidden below and the territory we had traversed in the background. A very cool moment.

My favourite photo of what a Ruahine hut day in summer can be like. John, outside of Otukota in summer 2008. A 5 day trip with low rivers, sunny skies, hot days, cool nights. All day long to do nothing at all. I imagine this was late afternoon after a day of swimming in the pure mountain water, and not too long before a wee dram just might appear.

A hot day, a mountain river, and men letting out the inner child. John in the Waikamaka river.

When will I see you again? Perhaps contemplating such very thoughts on the main range, a cold windy early winter day.

And finally, the place I shall most miss - the back yard at Top Maropea. The portrait painted a new and unique way on each visit. This particular experience a blend of the majestic purple and blue hues with the perfect dab of the golden tops caught in the fading sunlight. I just happened to turn around after tending to Charlie's Cairn and this sight just stunned me. How long I sat there for I have no idea. Until the last light faded I hope. Isn't it beautiful? Thank you for indulging me once again. Hope you have enjoyed.

Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Happy Yuletide

2009-12-11T19:52:00.010+13:00

One of the evenings that Gustav was here we lit a fire, put some tunes on, and at some point ended up going through the photo albums I have brought with me or put together from my life and time here in New Zealand. Interesting to hang out with an old friend from that far back and see the progression to now. There are quite a few photos of the Ruahine in there as one might imagine. Gustav asked me what my favourite 5 photos of those mountains are - a much tougher question, though a delightful conundrum, to consider. So now, a few weeks after my friend has left, I have the answer, which I am going to share below, and above and in no particular order. Mind you, I reserve the right, which I will no doubt exercise, to change my mind at anytime in accordance to my mood. But right now in this moment these 5 images of the Ruahine stand out amongst literally countless images, if not in those books, then inside my soul.

I would also like to take this opportunity to wish all those whom read here a very healthy, happy, and appreciative Yuletide season. Amongst all the hoopla and crassness of the days ahead may you find you Aroha and Nature. A long time ago a blogging friend pointed out to me that most blogs last far less than a year, then disappear. I have been writing here for a little over two years now and though I have no idea what the future will bring it has been a distinct pleasure to meet and connect with such wonderful people, you have all taught me, shared with me, and let me rave on. Kia ora and Kia kaha!

Above is a sunset I was fortunate enough to experience back in summer of 2005. It was taken from the river flats outside Waterfall hut up in the headwaters of the Kawhatau valley looking west up towards the Hikurangis, some pretty remote Ruahine country. I was with John. After a day of climbing from McKinnon hut to Mangaweka, the Ruahines highest point, then enduring about 3 hours of hard work and terror as we battled down the one creek we were not supposed to choose. Sheer waterfalls, climbing out onto and clinging to leatherwood as we dropped down from one shrub to the next like a ladder to the creek, only to soon encounter another waterfall. It was exhausting stuff, and not a place or time to make any mistakes. When we finally reached the confluence with the creek we SHOULD have been on, I flopped down next to John and we didn't say anything for a long time, we didn't have to. We knew we had made a big mistake, put ourselves into a very bad spot, and yet got out of it. We learned a lot and were very humbled. Later that evening after walking down to the river and to the hut, we took a wee dram down to the flats to toast the day - my 45th birthday. We looked up and saw the sunset above. It took our breath away.

Another birthday tramp from 2008. John and I were walking up the rather tedious approach to Parks Peak ridge after abandoning an attempt to cross Armstrong saddle due to the wind and weather. As we put on our boots on after crossing the Makaroro river we were both a bit nervous with big heavy 5 day packs and not much match fitness. Then we turned a bend and saw this! The Ruahine relaxing her angry mood to greet us and coax us along. We had a great trip, a couple sunny but short winter days at Upper Makaroro. Then a huge snowstorm at Parks Peak where John and I both walked solo through a gentle snow in the forest, to a blizzard up high on the ridge. The new hut at Parks Peak, and in particular the stove, earned a few stripes that evening.

Yet another birthday, 2004, John and I once again. John is sitting out of the ever increasinging wind on the lee side just below the flanks of Te Atua Mahuru and looking down into the head waters of the Mangatera valley along the main Ruahine range. We had spent the night at Sparrowhawk bivouac when on the way over the tops from Sunrise the wind came up and weather closed in, and the little biv was a fine place of refuge and comfort. The next day was beautiful, but still very windy and extremely cold, even for July. From here we carried along to where we could drop down to Maropea Forks and the familiar loveliness of a spot we love gotten to a new way.

Nigel and I on the main range above Top Gorge hut and the Pohangina valley, and below us on the far background the Oroua valley back in 2002. A fairly ordinary photo I acknowledge but my favourite of Nige and I as it was the last time we were together in these mountains and he is the man who brought me to them. I was at my best, no hip problems, no problems at all. We spent 2 days waiting at Howlett's hut for the weather to clear so we could cross Sawtooth ridge, and finally just changed our plans and kept moving. We were young (relatively), and as fit as we could be, at least I was. And to be with Nigel and John - who took the photo, we were pretty confident and capable.

Finally, right now, I present my eldest son and I overlooking the Maropea valley just above Top Maropea. Taylor was only 12, and I was bereft of teen age angst and fear, I mean mine for him. It is when I look at photos such as this that I know he has been exposed to other impulses that might help guide him along. Like negotiating a Ruahine ridge on an inclement day.

Happy Yuletide
Aroha,
Robb

Thankful

2009-11-30T17:15:00.027+13:00

26 November, 2009

Late Afternoon

Oroua river flats

Ruahine range

I sit in the sun next to the river, the emerald pool deep and vivid, the song a gentle murmur as it gathers before the crescendo of the rapid below. I watch my friend Gustav above me on a mossy boulder tying a fly to his line, about to cast into the pool and lure a wily trout to do battle. The sight of my friend enjoying this river in the Ruahine brings a lump to my throat. We have a very short, but relevant, reunion here in this place we have traveled together many times now. Only this one afternoon and evening. We must leave in the morning as we have a Thanksgiving celebration and Tara's 40th birthday to prepare for. In this moment I am most Thankful to be here.

We walked into Heritage lodge, had a cup of tea, left our gear there, then walked the 45 minutes down here to the river. Gustav is roaming up and down the flats trout hunting. I am just enjoying the scene, gazing up further into the valley, Tunupo peak on the Ngamokos high above and the sun drenched golden tussock of the Whanahuias at the end of the valley. It is beautiful and while part me looks wistfully with wanderlust, the other part is content right here.

The boundary of the Ruahine with Tunupo peak and the Ngamoko range framing the Oroua valley.

Gustav photographing the sunlit beech leaves.

Above a creek on the way to Heritage lodge, a lovely stroll of less than an hour from the car park.

Gustav and I have been this way before. We came out via Triangle, Iron Gate and the old Heritage lodge back in 1998, the first multiple day trip I had done in the Ruahine at that point. A few years later he returned from the states and we did the first multiple day crossing of the ranges I ever did going via Top Maropea, Maropea Forks, Otukota, and out via the Mokai Patea where Nigel met us high in the mist with cold beers, the first person we had seen in 6 days. We spent one night of that trip camped on the Maropea in a one man bivvy as we ran into darkness and doubt. The next morning Gustav slipped on a rock slick with ice and broke his hand. It was only day 3 of a 6 day trip. That trip was a water shed moment for us both. For me, in realizing how much I loved this place and what it was doing to my soul, but how much I had to learn in order to travel safely here, understand conditions, and have the right gear. For Gustav, it was the whole direction of his life and what he was doing. Not long after he quit his job in San Francisco and moved to Tasmania where he still lives today.

Gustav returned again in winter 2005 and we went into the Maropea Forks area for another 4 day trip, a lovely one of full moon nights lighting up the surrounding snow covered hillsides in translucent purple light, and a raging snow storm witnessed from the warm and lovely confines of Maropea Forks hut, the Corker blazing and steak sizzling in the pan, wee dram in hand. We had learned a bit since the last trip.

So it has been almost five years since he has last interacted with the Ruahine, and indeed since I have last seen him. It is good to reconnect with old friends, to discover that even within the silence there is comfort and understanding and that at times there is no need for words. Judging by the contented smile on my friends face he understands that as well.

Above the Oroua river looking west.

A very likely spot for a nice brown or rainbow.

A man and the river.

A happy fisherman.

Gustav on the lovely veranda at Heritage lodge looking up the Oroua valley.

Joined by hut warden Jan.

The view from the veranda, in the far distance the Whanahuia range

26 November 2009

Heritage Lodge

Late evening

Really a perfect evening. One defining the meaning of friendship and Thanksgiving. We were joined on the early evening walk back up from the river by the hut warden, who was out deer hunting and fishing as well. Jan lives in the private quarters attached to the hut, and tends the hut and the trap lines put in for stoats and rats. He has a long relationship with the Tararuas in particular and is now in the Ruahine after a stint in Australia. He quickly noticed Gustav's high quality fly rod and they got into a animated conversation about trout and Jan set up Gustav with some gear to try in the morning. We had brought in a 6 pack of beer and a wee supply of fine whiskey and happily shared our bounty wth Jan, and the three of us sat on the veranda enjoying a beautiful evening, the colours delightful and alive, and the mood mellow and full of good cheer. Now the garlic and tarrogon enfused steak is ready to sizzle in the pan in the candle lit hut as the wood stove crackles. I think of the words of a Mose Allison song we listened to last evening.

"Mountain sheen, ocean shine

Miocene valentine

One such perfect moment

Never twice the same

Such a perfect moment

Will keep you in the game" - Perfect Moment, written by Mose Allison

The view from my bunk, the sun shining on the opposite face of the Oroua. Not a bad spot to wake up in.

A fine place for the first cup of tea of the morning.

From the hut to the river below.

27 November

Heritage Lodge

A stunning morning in the Ruahine. Brilliant blue sky, not a breath of wind, the far off Whanahuias glisten in the morning light. The lush green spurs running down into the valley perfect in their symmetry.

Gustav went down to the river early to get after some trout further upriver than yesterday - which Jan had spotted and showed us pictures of 3 hovering in the clear water. Gustav

indeed saw them but they were content and well fed, and just as they were not tempted by Jan they avoided Gustav's offerings as well. That is fishing. He did, however, spot a pair of whio that Jan had also seen and mentioned, and in my book that is by far a more successful result. They came to greet you and welcome you home Gustav!

I was content to linger here in the morning sun and enjoy the elixir of this day as long as I can. Just a wee taste of the mountains, and as I look up the valley again to the tops with longing eyes it is also fine to just sit here and linger in peace. Knowing what possibilities lie out there is enough for me in this moment.

A Happy belated Thanksgiving to one and all. Living in Aotearoa has made me appreciate the value of Thanksgiving even more. For no matter where we live we can find something to be Thankful for in our lives. Family, friends, and Wild Places to share.

Aroha,

Robb

Tangaroa (Endless Wealth)

2009-11-07T18:27:00.032+13:00

1 November 2009
Makieke Stream

below Knights track on Ngamoko range

Ruahine

I was intending to walk up to the open tops of the Ngamoko and camp under the full moon and stars, then proceed to Leon Kingvig hut in the Pohangina valley in the morning. Having not been this way since 2005 I ignored the change to the track after crossing the creek. It used to amble for some distance climbing through farmland before entering the Ruahine. The bright orange markers heading up the steep spur I ignored, the now wired shut gate just beyond it I climbed over and proceeded to walk 45 minutes until I realized how stupid I had been. So I turned back and walked 45 minutes back to that steep spur and climbed it, arriving here 45 minutes later. It took me two and a half hours to walk what should have taken me less than an hour. When I arrived at this lovely little flat just before the truly steep work to the tops begins I threw off my pack, lie down in the sun, and choked back tears. I could go no further. My hip is done. I can no longer carry big loads deep into these mountains, and the added weight of my tent enough to make walking unbearable. I knew this day was coming, and it is here.

So instead of trying to get up top I pitched my tent here by the stream, and to the lullaby of water I crawled in and fell into a troubled sleep. I awoke in the late afternoon, gathered wood and built a little fire to sit by and ponder my future with this place I cannot imagine being without. I decided in the morning I will leave my camp and most of my gear here and somehow get up there. I need to do that one more time. I have put into place the schedule to have my right hip replaced in April of 2010. All going well it will be a long while between drinks of the sweet mountain nectar running beside me, and of course the very slight but real possibility the operation comes with complications and prevents my ever returning here has to be acknowledged. That thought fills me with uncertainty and even fear, and it is why I need to go up top one more time. I need to be there.

My campsite on Makieke stream (Coal Creek).

A little side stream which joins Makieke and rolls through the northern end of the flat. The climb up Knights track sidles alongside of the stream for a bit until steeply climbing away. The flat itself is by no means huge but certainly a cool place to roam and explore a bit, an excellent place to camp and one I can certainly get to with Charlie or Tara.

A lovely little spot in the Ruahine, a campsite of realizations.

A wee dram, mossy log to sit upon, looking northwest as the stream turns.

An interesting day, an emotionally moving afternoon in the Ruahine at a very elegant spot.

Early evening:

Sitting by the stream Listening to sounds of water, beautiful crystal clear pure mountain water. If there is a defining sound track to these mountains, for me, it is this Symphony, this soul soothing chorous which washes over me here in the moment when I most need to hear the Music. It is the comforting embrace of Mother Earth as she accepts my tears. I need this place far more than it needs my presence. Right now, with the looming prospect of never being here again close at my shoulder, I feel the closest to the very soul of these mountains as I have ever felt.

I have been blessed and honoured to have roamed in this place for over 16 years now. I have come to know the Ruahine fairly well, certain areas even intimately as is possible. In my heart and soul this is the most beautiful place on earth.

The forested spurs and ridges green, lush and steep, the golden tussock tops so brilliant to watch light play upon at sunrise, at sunset, at anytime really. The high ridge beech forest where the ever appealing but tenacious leatherwood emerges, on a lovely day with the gentle whisper of wind through the gnarly branches, the mosses and lichens pulsating and glowing, a place where Time takes on a different meaning. On a stormy day, in its own way, even more beautiful and a sign to beware ahead. It is the stormy days and nights here that are the ones where I learn the most. And of course, the mountain rivers and streams, each with their own unique and sublime presence and some of the places I love most of all in the myriad of possibility on offer. It is where the Whio sings.

In the world I can literally close my eyes and be here, Listen to this very sound. So I am never really far away from here. I have so many luxurious moments and memories of my interactions with these mountains, so the rich library I have accrued over the last 16 years, means that each day at some time I can simply reach inside me and recall, smell the woodsmoke upon me. I am Here. So should for some reason I never roam here again that is a sad and final thought, but one in this moment I can accept. I hope, of course, that is not the case, that within a year or so I am back here as good as new, but the possibility does exist. Perhaps it is just that this pain in my hip is also a reminder to breathe deep the fresh mountain air, to relish each sip of the cold clear water, to look sharply, deeply, and clearly at each detail with vivid clarity. To live this moment as if were my last. We should all live that way anyway. And if my last moment was to be here, I am okay with that.

Kaikawaka forest on Knights track. I always love the way trees of these forests seem to beseech the sky.

One of the rare relatively easy gradient patches on Knights track. It still is climbing but not as relentlessly so as in most stretches. As ever, the amazing tranquility of such spots in the forest reach out and stop in me in my tracks - and the opportunity to catch my breath as well.

If you accept it, there is so much energy flowing in these places.

2 November
Just below Tunupo peak
high on the Ngamoko range

Sitting in the tussock out of the blustery and cold wind. The tops just above me emerge for brief moments out of the swirling gathering cloud leaving only the creamy green flanks of the steep forest and the ribbons of brown slips below the grey veil. The sun pops out for brief periods and its warmth caresses me. When the golden tussock does reveal itself it takes on a rich golden lustre in the dimmed light.

I am overwhelmed to just be sitting here and part of it all. I have a little food, water, pen and paper and some extra warm gear. I could move up to Tunupo and get water at the tarns, even have a cup of tea or soup as I have brought my cooker and billy. But the gathering cloud and wind up there manage to keep that urge at bay. I am content to wait here and see. My little camp lies a few hours or so below me and I have all afternoon to return there.

My hip was still hurting but with much less weight and a few pills it was endurable. Never mind! I am here! Oh these rugged and wild tops! The tussock and leatherwood, the mosses and plants that cling to existence in this rugged sub alpine environment. I am seeing it all.

Looking north along the Ngamoko range, the tops cloud hidden.

Up towards Tunupo just starting to emerge out of the forest.

If you sit there long enough eventually a view will open up for brief moments. North again with the Whanahuia range on left, and the main Ruahine in the centre.

West towards the Rangitikei plains far below.

The little sheltered area I sat within teemed with sub alpine life, rich and lush and colourful, fragile yet capable of thriving in this unforgiving environment.

I am not sure what this mossy plant was or if I have ever encountered it before, but it was soft and silky and about a foot deep on a protected side of a boulder.

Symmetry, colour, Natures Gift. There was enough life and beauty in this small little area to keep me occupied for days.

Twisted and gnarled Kaikawaka with a large burl. The burl was completely soft and spongy.

A place I just had to stop and linger.

Back down to the stream and camp.

2 November
Early evening
Campsite

I took my time dropping back down through the forest stopping often to just pause and absorb the energy, to gaze upon the glowing splendour of the mosses and lichens as they greeted me and encouraged me to rest from my toils. It was a timeless day and walk, and encouraging that without the weight on my back I was able to connect with the high country.

Still as I sit here now by the river tending my little camp fire and ponder a future possibly without these moments I am filled with emotion once again. That I was fortunate enough at all to roam here warms my soul, the memories I have will never leave me, and in a way I am part of this place, these mountains. Just knowing this place is here, and others like it, or even more remote, more wild, with towering snow covered peaks, and raging angry rivers, that stir the souls of others as this place stirs mine. But none, to me, more beautiful. We need these places to simply be here.

The wind has changed to a quiet southerly and it has begun to mist as the night time chill of the mountain evening settles in. My camp is tidy and buttoned up. The rain splatters and hisses on the fire. John Muir once wrote, "never hurry through the rain" and I am not quite ready to say goodbye to this day. I think I will just sit here for awhile.

This particular dead Kaikawaka just stopped me in my tracks. It encapsulated my own feelings on a personal level dealing with my hip and concerns about my future interactions here, and also how the very soul of the mountains, of this wild place seems to be looking up and beseeching as to why we would want to alter them, attack them, abuse them for our short term financial benefit. Yet as this mountain wiarua or spirit pleads to the heavens, it's left hand raises a distinct and defiant message to the skies and the folly of man. In the end Nature will be supreme. So to Gerry Brownlee and all the corporate greedy money grubbing bastards, the right wing human centric plunderers, LEAVE IT ALONE!! May the wrath of nature spite you down should you lay one greedy finger upon it.

Rave on!

Kia kaha!

Aroha,

Robb

Scaremongering

2009-10-20T09:36:00.008+13:00

Once again here in Aotearoa our Wild Places are under attack. It is no surprise really as when this National right wing government was elected last year we all knew the Resource Management Act would be put under immediate threat, and has been. Yet now we have our National Parks, forests, and sea put in the sights of those whom would happily carve up our wild places in the name of wealth generation.

We have right wing lowest common denominator scrawny shouldered talk back radio hosts promoting this as being a good thing. Our girthy and heavy jowled Minister of Energy and Resources, Gerry Brownlee, is scathing and sarcastic in any resistance to the wishes of his corporate masters. "Scaremongering" he bellows! "We have been quite up-front about the fact WE WANT TO SEE THE ACTIVITY INCREASED," he said. "We do not want to destroy the conservation estate, BUT where there can be "sensitive" mineral extraction which adds to the economic well being of this country we should do it."

Well pardon me Gerry while I set down my meat pie and ponder that one! Being upset about that statement doesn't appear to me to be "Scaremongering", as you are clearly stating the intention to get into pristine wilderness areas and alter them forever. Just what is "Sensitive" about any mineral extraction? The road building, the helicopter pads and traffic, the destroying of waterways and forests, or the pilfering of our wild resources to create a few jobs and send the wealth overseas? You need to go for a walk in some these places, not fly over in a helicopter or look at them on a grid map, and take that talk back radio host with you.

Above and below are Charlie, "T", and cousin Gibson out by a nearby river for International Rock Flipping Day.

It is for boys like this above I feel a heaviness weigh upon me. Knowing so many who would read my words and quickly classify me as "Greenie whacko", an "old hippy", a "hand wringing liberal apologist". The reality is I am a balding middle aged white male with a mortgage and a job raising a family the best I can. I do vote Green, and probably am an ex hippie, and I am certainly more a liberal than a conservative, but life has sort of steered me back to the main stream as it does with so many of us. The mere fact Wild Places are out there makes the day to day grind a little more tolerable, represents possibility and freedom, experiences away from the trappings of modern life. It sets free in me something wild and primitive that in turn helps me connect to a bigger focus. For some it is religion, or spirituality, or philosophy, but for me and many others it is in the Wild Places. I simply want these boys above to experience that in its purest form, or at least have the opportunity to know that such places still exist. To those who don't get that I can only paraphrase the words of Edward Abbey in that it does not matter if indeed we never actually even go there but that they merely are there for the possibility they represent.

I will end my brief rant with the words of Sigurd Olson from a speech given to the 9th Wilderness Conference in San Francisco back in 1965. Olson was an environmentalist, author, and a passionate defender and advocate of Wild Places. He was at the helm of the political canoe which steered the creation of the Boundary Waters Canoe Area Wilderness through rough and troubled waters until signed into creation by President Jimmy Carter in 1978.
"If, as Harrison Brown said, " The spiritual resources of man are the critical resources," then wilderness, which fosters such values, must be preserved. If we can believe what the wise have said for thousands of years, then there is hope for wildness and beauty in our environment. If spirit is a power and a force that spells the difference between richness of living and sterility, then we know what we must do. It may well be that with our swiftly expanding population, the movement away from nature into vast city complexes and decimation facing much of the land, that the wilderness we can hold now will become the final bastions of the spirit of man. Unless we can preserve places where the endless spiritual needs of man can be fulfilled and nourished, we will destroy our culture and ourselves." - Sigurd Olson

'We stand for what we stand on" - Ed Abbey