Whereabouts Unknown

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)

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

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

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

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