Hokia ki nga maunga (Return to the Mountains)

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

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)

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

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!