Fathers and Sons

10 September 2009

Sunrise hut - Evening

Robb Kloss

Taylor Kloss

Taylor and I arrived here in the late afternoon, and we shall venture no further today. I had intended to cross over Armstrong saddle to Top Maropea but today my hip is not cooperating and it was a very slow and painful walk. I recall once saying to Nigel after a tramp with Taylor when he was 12 that perhaps our slow pace back then was actually as fast as we will ever go, for as Taylor grew bigger, stronger, and faster I will in turn grow older, weaker, and slower. How perceptive of me, and today how true. About halfway up Taylor was waiting for me and took my big heavy pack and took off up the mountain to the hut, and then met me when I was 10 minutes from the hut with a water bottle and carried my (his) pack the rest of the way. Normally I would not think of letting anyone do that, today I simply took the water bottle and handed him the pack. He stepped it out pretty good today. I kept humming verses from the Loudan Wainwright song "A Father and a Son". It seemed pretty apt.

Being that it is a Thursday, early in the evening, I doubt we will have any company here this evening, and Taylor is quite understanding and happy to be roaming around the beautiful playground we are amongst. We shall see what the morning brings.

Taylor with the main Ruahine range in the background (north) outside Sunrise hut.



A snowman for Charlie

Taylor looking down into the headwaters of the Waipawa river and valley.


The dip in the middle is Waipawa saddle with the Three Johns and the rising bulk of Te Atuaoparapara to the right. The backyard at Sunrise hut.

11 September
Sunrise hut - just after sunrise

Taylor is still fast asleep and I am pottering about the hut enjoying the after glow of seeing such a beautiful sight and relishing a cup of hot coffee. We had this whole place to ourselves of which I am very glad. I doubt Taylor would have been as talkative and animated as he was had we had company. Not many 16 year old boys would I suspect.

It is cold, a bit over cast, and the wind has picked up. Not enough to prevent us crossing the saddle in my estimation, which is based on having done it over 30 times now. So soon I will rouse the sleeping teen. It will be the hardest part of my day I think.

My hip is still hurting which concerns me, but feels better than yesterday and certainly won't stop me from getting over to Top Maropea. How can I not look out upon these mountains and not want to be amongst them, to not smile?

I greatly enjoyed last evening with Taylor. No computers, no television, no phones, no distractions at all. At times I looked at him and could almost see him morphing into the little boy I used to know. He is still in there and I have to remember that. The way he talked and chattered incessantly last night was exactly what he was like at age 8. I was slightly stunned and just trying to take in and savour each second.

Yet I also have to remember that he is now a young man, the way he took my heavy pack and strolled up the mountain, telling me about a girl he really likes, and asking questions about our family history. I guess as in all things it is about finding the balance between my love and longing for that little boy and the recognition and help I can give him to become a man.


The sunrise at Sunrise hut.



Taylor just above Armstrong saddle and heading up to Camel Back ridge.




Taylor with Te Atuaoparapara in background

Taylor climbing a snow filled gut to reach the ridge.

Only to take off his pack and slide back down!

Taylor on Camel Back ridge, the name he bestowed upon it when he was 8. Looking up the lovely Maropea valley and continuing main range in background. Top Maropea lies below the second big slip on the opposite face of the spur.



Snow covered forest on the way down to the hut. It may be spring but the mountains don't know that quite yet!





Taylor at Top Maropea. Recently repainted and the formerly diabolical tracks re cut. Always a fine view.


11 September
Top Maropea - late afternoon

We arrived here late in the morning. It got a bit windy on the crossing but nothing that we couldn't handle. Taylor cruised ahead of me, and though my hip was still sore I managed okay and carried my bigger pack to soothe my wounded pride. I loved watching Taylor move lightly over the crossing, wondering if his earlier tramping experiences were emerging. From the ages of 8 to 12 I would bet he did as much, if not more, tramping in these ranges than any kid of that age group. Not just peripheral outings either but rather real deep multi day mountain trips. I wonder at times if I actually pushed him too hard, too fast. Lessons learned. Again I had these strong images of him ahead of me, the little boy in the checkered knee length swan dry climbing down or up and chattering away to Nigel as we made our way deeper into the mountains. Does he remember those times?

After lunch Taylor wanted to explore the forest along the creek far below the hut. As I have never done so myself and we had plenty of time I agreed. We climbed down through the steep forest but were cut off by steep sheer bluffs dropping to the creek. So we retraced our steps and headed down the track to the creek. The track is in fine shape though covered with large beech branches snapped off either by the weight of snow or wind, take your pick. The drop down to the creek is still sheer, but now that the track is cut much more manageable. So we hung out by the creek, lounging around, each in our own thoughts. It is good to see Taylor not in a hurry to DO anything other than enjoy the moment. When the sun popped out for a bit I found a warm spot and fell asleep for a bit, just listening to the sound of clear cold running water and letting my thoughts run with the melody.

Now it is late afternoon, we have spent some time gathering our firewood and filling the bins. For the first time in my over 30 visits here wood is not a problem both due to the recent track maintenance and the storm. Tonite we shall be warm in the often refrigerator like confines of Top Maropea - at least till the fire goes out!


Taylor at the head of the track which drops straight down to the creek.


Waterfall on the creek. This is not a good place to fall, but one where you almost have to stop and take in the scene.

Taylor at the water fall.


Time for an ice cold drink of mountain water.



And a wee little nap by the creek.

11 September
Top Maropea -Evening

The sun I watched rise this morning in the east is now setting over the Maropea valley from the west. Like a painting that changes each time I view it I watch the blue and purple hues play amazing light on the far off peaks, the shadows cascading into the valley below. All places I know well, have been many times. This is my favourite place in all of the Ruahine. This is home. I have history here. Charlie's placenta which I carried up and buried here in the Maori custom of Whenua. The wonderful people I have shared this place with. And today one of the most special, to know my son sits inside the hut right now as I write this makes my heart soar, makes these words lump in my throat before I can write them. I am here. And you know what? Taylor does indeed remember!

Inside the fire is roaring and fills the hut with warmth, and enough wood smoke to put that pleasant mountain aroma on our gear which will wisp around us for days, a gentle reminder of her presence in my life. Little breaths of wind reach down from the gusty stream above and whisper gently in my ear. I am still here yet miss this place already.



The view from the "back yard" at Top Maropea.



Top Maropea at night. The pile of rocks in the foreground is where Charlie's placenta is buried and a small cairn has begun to grow. I hope he does choose to connect himself to these mountains, to this place.



Taylor, warm, safe and cozy in front of an excellent fire.



Taylor and Robb.

We have a new addition to our family. "T" is a little boy not quite 5 years old. He has seen and been through a lot of things in life no little child should have to endure. So he is with us now, for how long we are not sure, but long enough for all of us to have to shove over a little bit and make room for one more.

Aroha,
Robb

p.s. Old guys can still have fun too!

Part 3: Forest Walk on a Wet Winter Day

"The clearest way into the Universe is through a forest wilderness"

John Muir

2 August 2009

Late Afternoon

Iron Gate hut

What a perfect day. To walk slowly through the dripping forest along and above the river unencumbered by heavy pack or need to get anywhere or do anything. Freedom to relish in, and the quiet smiles upon our faces all day reflected that reality. This was our world today, ours alone to absorb and simply be amongst. I have no words to write sitting here in the candle light, the warmth of our little mountain sanctuary deeper than the small fire which warms it. There is no place I would rather be. That is both beautiful and melancholic, it is also the Truth.

To sit by the river and be in the moment a Whio lands nearby and observe him stand there whistling his tune and preening himself, sharing some of his day with me! The most special moment of all really.

Then to walk in the mystic forest with John. The myriad shades of green, some luminescent and glowing, others muted and silent, but all adding to the brilliance and miracle of this place. Climbing above the river and hearing her song muted, then dropping back down to full volume, reminded of her moody loveliness.

A mountain forest wet with rain. A bit above the Oroua river listening to a symphony of Nature's music.





Another little beautiful seemingly innocuous stream on his way to the river come to life.




Down on the Oroua where yesterday would have been a raging muddy torrent. A good spot to climb down from the forest to the river and boil the billy.

Cup of tea coming right up!

"Stormy Forest Walk"

The wind plays a melody on each and every
branch, leaf, and twig, she misses not one
Every fibre of the forest part of the serenade
it is all dancing and swaying to the Enchanting Song
Water joins in with its own sweet chorous
the unrelenting droplets of rain
like huge shiny baubles from the sky
splattering, hissing, dripping
onto the forest floor
joined by the incessant quiet plops
of luminescent moisture
from the lush green bush
fluorescent and glowing
The crescendo of the raging river joins in,
brown, dirty, very angry
soon dominating like kettle drums
Booming and symbols crashing in unison
until I climb away from her again
till she is a muted presence
in this Dance of the Forest
I slake my thirst inside and out
The Symphony of a stormy forest walk
in the mountains wet with rain
overwhelms me with the wildness
remote responsibility for myself
The mountain hut lies ahead
Warmth, Dry Clothes
The Billy to Boil
Friendship
and the Rain
still will fall and bounce
off the tin roof
outside the river will still roll by
I am here..........



Another timeless spot in the forest.



The Ruahines always means Up!!


The forest wet with rain, mosses and lichens on the side of a beech tree, dripping water and glowing.


2 August
Evening
Iron Gate hut

The sun sets on another interaction with these mountains, the Ruahine. John and I enjoy a last wee dram, the fire crackles in the wood stove, and the hut is illuminated by the flickering candle light. John and I laugh and smile as we recall memories of trips gone by, soon to be joined by the ones we have gathered here. An ever growing treasure trove. These ranges are part of me, my heart and soul, yet the day will come when I can no longer travel here. That really doesn't sadden me for all I will have to do is close my eyes, open my heart, and I will be here.

Aroha,
Robb

Part 2 Ruahine Winter: The Whio

2 August Early morning

Iron Gate hut

The Oroua has dropped somewhat dramatically overnight, though it is still overcast and drizzling slightly. It is pretty amazing to look at the river now, which has regained much of the clarity of normal flow, compared to the raging torrent of yesterday. The river is still high, and battling upstream, over the spur and then up river to Triangle hut does not seem an attractive option to either of us. Then there would also be the problematic possibility of the rain starting again and the river resuming her angry mood, and being stuck on the wrong side of the river is an interesting though perhaps not a very smart option. The safer play is to simply enjoy a day here, a walk in the forest, and enjoy our final full day in the mountains here whilst our wet and saturated gear gets a chance to dry. We are in no hurry to do anything at all, and have made no crucial decisions about what to do with the rest of our daylight hours. We can discuss it by the fire with a cup of tea.

John and I decided on a leisurely stroll back down the track through the forest and river flats. Just enough to stretch the legs and enjoy the lushness of the bush and the calmer but still temperamental river. I stepped outside the hut and walked to the edge of the bank to have a look while waiting for John. The bank sits perhaps 10 metres or so above the river, and I was standing there looking at the clearing water and pondering the flood of yesterday when I heard the beautiful, familiar, and haunting call of the Whio. That sound always fills me with joy. I looked up and saw him fly gracefully up the river almost at eye level and carry on down the straight out of sight. I was speechless and stunned, and even more so when he flew back and landed on a rock on the opposite bank straight across from me and started singing. I quietly called John and we stood there for I don't know how long just looking at and observing him, just as he seemed to be looking at and observing us.

For some reason very strong thoughts of my son Taylor came to me, a somewhat wistful and forlorn feeling, as we are struggling with each other currently. I have stood here at Iron Gate with Taylor, but that was a long time ago now, and maybe it was the ghosts of who we were then that swirled around me, a little boy and his father living simply. Or maybe it was the Whio. Before my last trip to Upper Makaroro I had not seen, heard, or interacted with them for almost two years, and each trip I seemed more desperate to connect with them and did not. I believe they represent the soul of these ranges, the wildness and purity, so to not see them for so long was very distressing to me in many ways. At Upper Makaroro I was finally blessed by not one but three. And now this amazing interaction, by far the longest and most pleasurable observation I have had of this beautiful and incredible mountain traveler. Maybe his song is telling me to never give up on either them nor my son. Perhaps he is telling me that which takes us apart can also bring us back together. I choked out a little karakia of Thanks to the Whio and of Hope and Aroha for my son. I hope one day I can stand here again with him, living simply.

The Whio is in the middle of the photo standing a few feet into the river on the partly submerged rock. Over millions of years they have developed an uncanny likeness to the predominant grey wacke rock environment, and I wonder how many times in my period of absence from their graceful presence did I simply walk right by unaware. At one time in pre-colonial Aotearoa these unique fellows and ladies would have roamed far and wide beyond the mountains but have now been driven to these relatively pristine sanctuaries. They are the heart and soul of these mountains.

Just a reminder of what that very same stretch of river was like not long before. Where does the Whio go in such inclement weather?

My friend the Whio and I looking each other straight in the eye. He was in absolutely no hurry to fly off anywhere, or drift effortlessly back down river amongst the white water. I was in absolutely no hurry either. I like to think it may have been a moment of connection, in many ways.

Photo of Whio supplied by Pohangina Pete, a real photographer, and a pretty good writer as well, he can be found at http://pohanginapete.blogspot.com/ .

" In God's wildness lies the hope of the world - the great fresh, unblighted, unredeemed wilderness. The galling harness of civilization drops off, and the wounds heal ere we are aware."

John Muir

End of Part II. Thank you for bearing with me. Stay Tuned for the final episode.

Aroha,

Robb

Wild Wonderful Ruahine Winter

30 July, 2009

Evening at Rangiwahia

Celebrating 49 years on this earth here high up in the Ruahine and the Whanahuia ranges with John Nash. My 9th birthday enjoyed here in the wintry mountains. The years seem to pass by more quickly, the guy in the mirror feels much the same as the younger version, except more weight, less hair, aches and pains emerge more frequently. The Ruahine remains pretty much the same.

It is minus 3 Celsius outside, the ranges remain unseen covered in cloud and mist, the wind gusts over, and there is deep snow all about. Our aim is to cross over the Whanahuias and drop down to Triangle hut in the morning, then head over to the Pourangaki catchment the following day. We shall see in the morning.

Right now I am content to enjoy just being back in the mountains and to enjoy a few celebratory wee drams of fine whiskey with an equally fine friend and just be amongst this place I love.

Foot bridge on track to Rangi hut

The slip which adds a considerable climb and time to the walk to Rangi hut

A fine way to enjoy a birthday.

Up the track with bridge now below.

John climbing up Rangi track. Now that the slip is past not long at all to the open tops of the Whanahuias.

31 July Heritage Lodge

Oroua valley

Evening

John and I are now ensconced at Heritage Lodge, a 45 minute walk from the road end and just inside the Ruahine boundary and above the river. We retreated down from Rangi late in the afternoon back down to the car and drove to the road end. We sat in Rangi waiting to see if the weather might clear, which it didn't, and as the prospect of better weather tomorrow is even worse we came up with a new plan. Our attempt to cross in the morning failed.

I have crossed the Whanahuias from Rangi to Triangle over 10 times now. Many times alone and more than a few times in inclement weather, it is a route I know very well. On a fine day it is a walk to be relished, on a bad one you just put your head down and get over the tops into the forest and down to the river. Today was one of those days. It is a poled route most of the way, meaning stakes are driven into the ground every few hundred metres to mark the way across. Except for one section just beyond when the relatively distinct track peters out and the poled route picks up not far beyond. The snow was firm but deep and every few steps I would break through the surface up to my thighs, very tiring work. Worse, as we got higher the wind picked up to gales and our visibility was reduced to almost nothing. We failed to find the poled route in the mist, and roaming about on the tops trying to find a route in conditions like that simply is not a good idea. It was very beautiful actually, a very closed in world of white and tussock gold, but potentially a very deadly one as well. Even if we had found the poled route it would have been a very long and exposed three hours perhaps longer. I was very relieved when John sauntered up to me and quietly suggested today was not our day. We retreated back to Rangi, a bit subdued, a bit humbled. Late in the afternoon we decided on this new plan, as the mountain forecast looks WORSE for Saturday. And here we are.

We have just come in from the lovely porch of this very quaint, but new lodge. The old one burnt down a few years ago, and the new one rebuilt and owned by the New Zealand Deerstalkers Association. They have a large private quarters attached and this lovely 8 bunk affair open to the public. A very nice wood fire and it doesn't take much to warm this little gem. Below us the Oroua noisily rolls by, and my question to John was even if we had battled across the tops and dropped to the forest and river would the river have been cross able? It would have been a long cold night huddled in my 2 man bivouac sack with the river raging by, and the hut right in view across the river. I think we made the right decision.

Beautiful but starting to cause a bit of concern.

John in the lee of the wind where we discussed our prospects.

John heading into the featureless cloud hidden tops.

John ahead in middle of photo. Soon after the track fizzled out and the cloud closed in thicker and the wind was fierce. Today is not our day up here.

1 August 2009

Late Afternoon
Iron Gate hut

Once again John and I each walked on our own today. I left first and almost immediately it began to rain, a big steady rain, where anything and everything is wet, and the sound of water is prevalent with every whisper of wind, or stronger gales. Dripping and splashing through the forest. Stormy days seem to have more to say to me sometimes, and walking in rain I rarely find unpleasant as it seems to keep me moving. I waited for John at Tunupo creek, as it was quite discoloured and fast and wanted to make sure he would get across. Just as I started to feel a slight chill he appeared and I showed him where I crossed, we had a little chat and then I let him go ahead and we each continued our separate wild and wet nature experiences. The Oroua beside the track was just raging, a brown torrent incapable of crossing, and I thought how our decision to bale out of the tops was the right one. I am sure we would not have crossed the river yesterday, and surely not today, and then been faced with a possible trip back over the tops in even worse conditions. So this 5 hour amble along and above the river was the right choice, and the forest was vibrant and alive.

The river outside is still raging, getting higher and more angry. The rain continues to fall. The corker stove gently crackles and warms the hut. When I arrived here wet through and chilled John handed me a cup of hot tea. I am warm now.

Heading off up the Oroua valley to Iron Gate hut.

Tunupo creek in flood.

The sound of water is everywhere on these stormy days, another creek comes to life.

The Oroua in a raging flood just outside Iron gate hut, late afternoon 1 August.

John is almost the identical spot less about 14 hours later. Pretty humbling to see.

Arriving at Iron Gate, wet as can be and ready for a cup of tea.

I have to go out of town for a few days so will publish this as part one of my annual Ruahine winter trip. A different sort of trip, but learning to adapt and accept the gifts and opportunities we are blessed with in Nature is a lesson worth learning. Stay Tuned for Part Two.

Aroha.

Into the Quiet

I have felt myself falling into the quiet as of late. That place where the words swirl about but trying to grab onto them , much less write them down, gets further from my reach and I seem to grope around trying to find my way. As if on a cloud obscured Ruahine ridge and not quite sure of my direction. Sometimes it is easier to just stay in the silence.

To be fair to myself, we have been a busy family, Tara enduring her third year final exams and papers while also working full time dealing with the causalities of our society, the ones damaged by abuse, drugs, and alcohol. How she does it sometimes is beyond me. Busy with us both the proverbial ships which pass in the night, handing our parental responsibilities off to each other as she comes and I go, much less trying to find time with each other, or ourselves alone. I have spent the better part of 3 months up in Taranaki with work during the week. It all takes a toll.

Sometimes the cold seems to ooze out of all around me trapped in the same depths of this cold, damp, bone chilling town. Everyone I interact with greets me with same dull glare. The cold chill of the afternoon quickly leading to another dark winters night. Thank god for the wood fire, the mere act of preparing the kindling, chopping the logs, getting the fire going and feel its lovely heat, hear the crackle of sanity, and see the late night glow of those embers as I lock up the house, does wonders for my soul.

Charlie in action for the under 7's Kia Toa rugby club

The boys after a half time pep talk. Those are the Ruahines in the distance.

Of course there are things beyond the fire that warm my soul in the cold Palmerston North winter. Early each Saturday morning brings Charlie's rugby matches. He is learning the basics of rugby and being part of a team, and it is always fun to watch, and about as big a slice of Kiwiana one will ever encounter. Standing on the sideline of an invariably muddy wet field on a cold Saturday morning with all the other parents lets me feel like a real Kiwi as we all watch these boys and girls running around in shorts! Then afterwards we roam about the local farmers market and buy our weeks fruit, veges, and eggs, his cleats still clicking on the pavement as he doesn't want to take them off.

And we just celebrated Taylor's 16th birthday. He had his mates around and with parental approval we let them have a few beers, and as suspicious as I was about all that it proved to be a very good evening. I lit the fire out the back for the boys, put the tunes out for them, and even went joined them from time to time. It was almost instinctive that I went and lit that fire, and those young lads were drawn to it like moths to the flame. A focal point to gather around, and more importantly keep warm, rather than just drifting about aimlessly. Most encouraging was a few of them gathering around me and asking me about tramping, and would I take them out into the Ruahines and getting some plans set down. Made me feel pretty cool really. I find it hard to believe Taylor is 16, a young man whose presence in this world brought Tara and I together in spite of the fact we barely knew one another. Yet here we are 16 years later, still playing together to paraphrase Stephen Stills talking about Neil Young. And coming out the other side capable of things we were not capable of not even so long ago, never taking anything for granted, yet now more than ever when I see her my heart leaps - even in winter.

Most of all, what seems to my Quiet Soul as a little slice of heaven, is starting to gather my gear, supplies, to pour over the maps, and look forward to my reunion with the Ruahines on the 30th of July. My birthday, and the 9th one I will have spent in the Ruahines, at one place or another. Many alone, and many such as this one, with my fine companion John Nash. I miss the mountains, though they are never far my soul. I have watched her as she has gathered the beautiful cloak of winter on her tops and flanks, accentuating the loveliness of her presence. She always seems to be whispering in my ear, calling to me, saving me from myself. I am learning when to really Listen, and I must go.

Though it is only a fool who would look upon those wonderful snow covered mountains and think it is merely a playground for us to wander about. The Siren's Song perhaps? Only a few days ago the Tararua's, the sister range of the Ruahine to the south, claimed the lives of two experienced trampers caught out in a blizzard on the tops, both froze to death less than a kilometre from the shelter of a hut. I think of them as I begin to gather my gear and plan this out. I think of their families and friends, now grieving their loss, and I wonder if being in those mountains, that wild terrain, was recognized by those loved ones as being acceptable, as being part of the essence of who those people were, and in some small way brings some comfort to that overwhelming grief. I hope so. For me, who did not know them, it serves as a reminder of the country I travel in, the volatile nature of wild places, and how much I love them.




Robb and John, 2005 30 July, a self timer photo, hence the flash and all, but a really enjoyable moment at a very cool place.

Not quite sure where we are headed. I suspect John is at a Quiet Place as well, though at the best of times with us he is a man of few words, and that suits me fine. We have four nights and five days to enjoy. In winter, in this cold, and in those very temperamental mountains, I just want to get some remotely wild and quiet space and just BE. I reckon John does as well.


I know I have put this photo on previously, but it is my favourite picture of John Nash. High above Kawhatau valley, another good ramble to the Ruahine high point at Mangaweka. And a day John and I will both remember well.

Aroha,

Robb