Forty Years

Jeff the fire builder. Door County 2019. 

Devil’s Lake 2018. 

Boundary Waters 1990…An week long trip where Jeff paddled solo. He and I did a few day trips together that were amazing. 

Jeff, Sara, and Luca. Madison 2012. 

Jeff and John Nash. Ruahine ranges. New Zealand. Maropea Forks hut, a week long trip. I was so happy to show these mountains to Jeff. In spite of a painful hip that was replaced later that year. Jeff’s patience, caring and understanding of my condition while on that trip still can bring me to tears. His words from this very blog below…

 Anonymous said...

yo Dobber! I have many things to say, nay, expound,nay, philosophize upon my trip into the Ruahines and indeed New Zealand as a whole. As I sit in the middle of the north american continent in the middle of winter, many thoughts of our trip burst into being. But first I have to say,nay,demand, it is fricking cold here! Sub zero cold! So cold that if I dipped one toe into a river with this cold I would not only lose my foot to gangrene within 3 hours, I would be at the mercy of fate from that point on. Please Dobber you must understand, when the temperature never gets above zero degrees F. it is way colder than anything you get on the north island. Please understand this, my sanity depends on it. We just had a week where the high was -2 degrees F. I went out x-country skiing and brrrrrrr. No comparison. None. Sorry. So I feel better now, wether you acknowedge or not, I have had my say. Now onto more important items. I loved hiking into the mountains with you. My only regret is that your hip kept us from the high country, because the glimpse that I did see looked and felt tremendous. I truly appreciate that you powered into the mountains anyway, I sensed a profound struggle, mentally and physically with the hip and I cannot imagine the pounding you endured. Thank you Brother. Though you write that my highlight of the trip must have been the beautiful Rainbow Trout, 26 inches and 8 pounds, that was only the icing on the cake, the exclamation point on a whole month of travels in New Zealand. Now do not get me wrong, I love icing, and I love Trout for breakfast, talk about powering up for the hike out! But there is much more to the wilderness than a trout, a riverwalk, a shot of whiskey or tequila with salt and lime. There is peace and tranquility, a purpose of being beyond the mundane of culture and other piffles and trifles. There are individual river riffles and songs of the mountains to consider. There are pools of hope and valleys unexplored, there are skies full of stars and wonders around every turn. These are the true prizes we seek when we go deep, and as long as we go unencumbered by preconceptions, and stay open to possibilities,we will achieve our own glory, huge in our own immediacy, knowingly minor in the scheme of the universe.
So Dobber the highlights of my Ruahines are:the night at top maopea hut under the stars with no dew dropping on me all night long, what a star show, a once in a decade no Moon, no cloouds, full on star show; arriving at maropea forks hut and realizing what a glorious spot to camp at despite the protestations of my bank manager(and cracking a can of Fosters in celebration); checking out the confluence of the forks after the all day rain; latching onto the the huge Trout and the epic battle that ensued, man versus beast in a thrilling match of wits and endurance and..............;and then a couple of brewkis in oopaloolangaloongalong or some town on the way back to Palmy. Yowser! More Thoughts will come later as they flood in somnambulatorally.Yowser!

January 30, 2009 at 3:51 PM

 

2018 Devils Lake…with Gyro on a long day trip led, of course, by Jeff. It involved many detours. Such a cool day! And evening. 

Boundary Waters. Food bag hung from bears. A persistent black bear came anyway. We won. 

The Ford LTD. San Francisco. Thanksgiving 1987,  

Door County 2019. Our last trip. I treasure each memory and moment. And my self enforced distance always made me appreciate such times. Jeff, in a very familiar position with a map. Rick in agreement. I just did what I was told. 

Jeff, Sara, Gyro, and Larry Hale. Madison 2018. I wrote earlier on what a cool day it was. The evening was as well. 

Milwaukee summer 1981. The earliest photo I have found with Jeff, and Mike Revan aka Iron Mike - so named because he so solid and dependable . I had left Ripon and moved to Madison here. I was in town for a wedding. 

John Nash, me, and Jeff inside Maropea Forks hut. John is my finest NZ friend and to spend a week with both these men was a treasure. Both with the dry, witty, and observant quips I just sat back and watched. Mostly. 

My 30th birthday. Milwaukee. East side. Phils, Bob Revane, Jeff, me, Tim Revane, Todd Pollesch, abd Iron Mike eyeing up his shot. Bob, Tim, and now Jeff, are passed from our presence.

Jeff and Gyro. The Arboretum walk along Lake Monona. 2012. A stormy cold day. The company made all that trivial. 

Rick Parduhn, me, Jeff. Door County November 2019. As it turns out the last walk I ever did with Jeff. It was another fantastic day in the Peninsula State Park, we had the place to ourselves. My other hip was now in bad shape. I walked 10 miles that day. Led by Jeff. As aware of my pain this day as he had been in New Zealand 10 years prior. I love him for that. 

Madison 2018. Jeff, me, Larry Hale, and Gyro. Jeff soon put on Trampled by Turtles and the evening turned. 

Jeff, Gyro, me. West Bend Wisconsin 2012, Gyro’s 125 year old farmhouse he was living in and restoring at the time. Our spirits joined with the many that seemed to be around the place. After another cool day in the hills around Devil’s Lake. 

Jeff - Boundary Waters 1989. I learned so much just observing him that trip. 

Rick, Jeff, Gyro, Peninsula State Park, 2019. Our final walk. I lingered behind often to see moments like this. Almost as if I knew something. Really though, living in a country so far away, just trying to be cognizant of how special these moments can be. 

Gyro and Jeff walking ahead on a fall walk. On our way to Parfreys Glen. 2018.  

San Francisco Thanksgiving 1987. The Ford LTD Jeff had driven from Portland to San Fran. We were all glad to see one another. 

Devils Lake, fall 2018. 

Phil’s, Jeff, and me. My 30th birthday. Milwaukee. 

Jeff. In New Zealand. Along the Maropea river deep in the Ruahine mountains making us bagels. So at home. 

Cooper. Best dog. Ever. 

Rick and Jeff. Ice Age Walk 2015. 

Sunset. Door County. 2019. Who knew! 

Fishing for trout in the pool outside Maropea Forks hut. One was tempted but didn’t bite. Jeff was in Avery happy place. 

Milwaukee 1980. 

A long slow day hike in Peninsula State Park. Fall 2019. Had the place to ourselves. 

Madison. The Terrace. A visit was always required. 

Maropea river. Ruahine New Zealand. 2009. 

Devil’s Lake 2018. 

Boundary Waters. 1989. Just as a series of storms rolled in and we were rushing about tying down the camp. Jeff’s green canoe just visible. 

Jeff, Gyro, Rick. Door County 2019. 

Maropea fishing. A few pools later and Jeff had his trout. And we had breakfast. 

Madison. Fall 2012

Bad fish river. Classic Jeff. So at home. Summer 2015

Breakfast. Door County camping 2019. All I brought along was me. Jeff had gotten everything arranged and sorted. As he did. 

Setting up my tent for Jeff in the Ruahine. And I do believe it was time for a wee dram. 

Lingering behind Near Madison 2012. 

Ruahine cocktail hour. 

Stringer of pike. Boundary Waters day trip. 

Madison. 

Madison 1983. My 23rd birthday. 

Near Maropea Forks. One of my favourites. Just a very cool and memorable day. 

Sunset and Jeff. 

Devil’s Lake 2018. So at home and comfortable outside. 

Boundary Waters. 

San Francisco 1987. Thanksgiving. Another very interesting evening. 

La Fete de Marquette Music Festival. A hot summer evening in Madison. 

Post party same evening. 

Sunset San Francisco 1987. Love this moment. 

John Muir Redwood forest. Jeff took us way off the beaten tracks. What a day! 

Comrades! 

La Fete de Marquette

The Mapster! 

Madison 1987 summer. 

Jeff 4

"You should have been told, that within you was the gold

mountain and river extracted no fee

mountain to river

river to sea" - Denis Glover 

An epitaph. The words from this poem of Denis Glover resonate. It is ourselves, it is the land, and it is the people. 

5 January 2009

Our final evening on this summer trip. A different experience than in the past but I would not change a moment. As I wrote on an earlier post, accepting the Gifts we are given in Nature is far better than being upset over plans that might have been.

The sky is now completely still and barely a whiff of a breeze ripples the forest here at Top Maropea. In the distance the peaks begin to reflect the play of light from the setting sun moving beyond us. The 27th time I will have watched this canvass being painted. Each one unique in its own way.

I walked up from Maropea Forks on my own just being absorbed in the beauty all around me. The river and forest like old friends,the high peaks above calling me home, which suited this trip quite well really. To my surprise I found myself at the head of the side creek which climbs to Top Maropea after what seemed like no time at all. I climbed up to the track and waited for Jeff and John in the beech forest.They came along within a short time and I waited for them as they did the grueling vertical climb up that nasty 200 metre "track". So my final evening here in the Ruahines on this summer trip with Jeff. I know John and I will return here at some stage, but these could be my final moments in a place I love with an old friend I love. I am trying to absorb it all.

We have what will surely be a lovely and rare beautiful and calm walk back over Armstrong saddle in the morning, yet the final evening is always melancholic for me, and now those reasons are twofold. Leaving these ranges, another trip completed, and also saying goodbye soon to my treasured friend, friends.

I console myself in that we have created moments to relish, that windy crossing of the saddle, a day on the river, renewing friendships and creating new ones, climbing in the forest, cups of tea, watching Jeff hook that beautiful rainbow and give Thanks to the Ruahines. Time grows short but we will enjoy this evening and tomorrow will unfold on her own terms.

Jeff 3

 Saturday Reflections:

Long may you run.

Although these changes

Have come

With your chrome heart shining

In the sun

Long may you run. 

– Neil Young

Photo: Jeff Kjos’s 1973 Ford LTD. Thanksgiving 1987 in San Francisco. It had done some serious miles across America. He had driven it down from Portland to join a group of old friends gathered in the Marina District for a celebration. It was the last time I saw Jeff’s old car. We had some serious adventures in it. The method of transport to countless hikes, canoe trips, fishing excursions, Packer games, and a few Grateful Dead concerts, amongst others. She wasn’t much to look at, but she was a real beauty anyway. In my mind Jeff drove it into the Pacific Ocean the next day to be reclaimed. The truth is I think he managed to nurse it back to Portland where it had a much less dignified ending. In my mind I prefer the former myth.

In the summer of 1984, I was living in Madison Wisconsin in a lovely old 4-bedroom brownstone flat overlooking Lake Monona. I had the place to myself. Just a few blocks removed from the campus of the University of Wisconsin. I was in summer school taking a final semester of 3rd year French which were the final credits I needed to graduate. It was all extremely idyllic. My last taste of such youthful freedom. 

I had a part-time job working in a dairy factory for a few shifts per week, and though I didn’t have a lot of money it didn’t really seem to matter much. If I had a few bucks to put gas in my old Ford Pinto, buy a few beers and other essentials I considered myself to be a rich man.

My phone rang one evening, my old landline phone, as no internet or mobiles existed at that time. It was Jeff ringing me from Milwaukee. He had recently returned from a stint living in Homer, Alaska and was planning to move to Madison in the fall and enrol at the University. 

Somehow Jeff had lined up a job with some guy who had bought a huge quantity of steel pipes that had rusted in the hold of a ship while at sea then made its way to the Port of Milwaukee. This guy bought the rusted pipes and they needed to be sand blasted, cleaned, painted, and bundled into strapped lots of pipe by size. Jeff was the foreman, worker, forklift driver, blaster, painter, bundler, and stacker – all in one. He needed a toiler and so he rang me. It didn’t sound all that tempting, but being that it was Jeff, I soon loaded up my Pinto, put some tunes in the cassette player and the 80 miles of freeway between Madison and Milwaukee flew by.

Jeff had an upper flat with another friend of ours on the East side of Milwaukee. The next morning Jeff and I piled into his old battered Ford LTD, got a few large to go coffees each, and headed into the mire of the industrial southwest part of the city to finally arrive at a large industrial yard where the pipes, equipment, forklifts and racks had been set up. It was a hot summer and because we were sand blasting, priming, and spray painting we had to wear long sleeved shirts and pants. And if it was your turn on the spray painter a breathing mask was needed as well. It was hot, sweaty, and dirty work. The plum job was driving the forklift and I must admit that despite Jeff being the Big Chief we split the duties equitably. It didn’t take long for us to find our feet and we soon got into a rhythm and the finished painted bundles of pipe began to grow steadily. We worked hard until quitting time.

This industrial area had lots of tiny corner bars and each one with its own clientele from the nearby factories. We chose a random one each day. Jeff and I had had long hair, and no doubt our musical tastes, political leanings, and most else differed from these guys. Yet walking in dirty and hot as they were and ordering ice cold Pabst Blue Ribbon we were readily accepted and soon discussing the Packers and Brewers like good ol’ Wisconsin boys. 

Then we would return to the East side to the flat and go for a run, or more likely take Jeff’s battered basketball down to the park to shoot hoops, which would invariably lead to many games of hustle.  Oh, the wonders of our youth! Then back to flat to indulge in more ice-cold Pabst, Jeff’s record collection, and brats or burgers on the grill. A few other things as well.

Lather, rinse, repeat for a week or two until we finished the job. 

Summerfest was happening during this period of the Milwaukee summer, but we were usually to0 tired and satiated with ice cold Pabst, and other things, and with an early start the next morning, were never too bothered with it. However, one night we did go. Where on one of the stages was playing John Mayall and the Bluesbreakers. Jeff was a pretty good harmonica player himself and so was a big admirer of John Mayall. I lost track of him during the show until I finally spotted him. On the side of the stage with his own harp out blowing along with the maestro himself. How he got I up there I still do not know to this day. 

I don’t recall how much money I made after the expenses of food, gas, lots of Pabst Blue Ribbon and other things, tickets to Summerfest, 2 large to go coffees each morning, and who knows what else. And as I drove my Pinto back to Madison it didn’t matter at all. I was still a very rich man. I had just picked up and left for Milwaukee on a whim and stayed in the company of an amazing friend for as long as he needed me. Moments of true freedom, vigour, and good health. Some how I think I appreciated that even then.

Funny the memories and thoughts a photo of an old car can evoke and bring back to life moments long gone in such vivid detail and remembrance. To Jeff’s Ford LTD!

Long May You Run!

Notes on Jeff: 2

 

Jeff Kjos.....1961 - 2021

May your paddle find sweet calm waters

to guide your eternal canoe

With enough stretches of fast water and rapids

along the flow to keep the journey interesting

May the steep hills you pass by be covered in powdery white snow

with dogleg bends to test your ski’s and mettle

your joyous shouts of delight echoing through the slumbering trees

May the lakes and rivers be clear and teeming with hungry fish

and the trusty Mepp’s spinner find home with each cast

May the memories of your smile comfort and bring peace

to all the loved ones whom adored you

and when we walk in the woods may we feel your presence

May your campfire be bright and warm each night

The coffee strong and the beer cold

A welcome place for us beside it

Your spirit a beacon that awaits...

I love you my brother!

Notes on Jeff: 1.

Moments I recall amongst so many: 

Jeff was a friend I met in my youth and grew with to the brink of old age. We went from the complete and utter freedom of youthful vigour through to the accruement of love, children, jobs, property and responsibilities we could never have imagined at Ripon College in 1980. Though our actual contact was rare after I moved to New Zealand in 1993 the times we did see each other in 1995, in 2006, 2012, 2018 and 2019, and of course 2009 when Jeff and Sara were in New Zealand, were always a perfect blend of recognizing our old memories and history but being able to remain in the present and talk about our lives as they had unfolded. The talks we had around so many campfires or wood stoves in remote mountain huts stay vibrant within me. And particularly the last ones in 2019 Door County with Rick Parduhn and Mike Gatenbein. 

True, honest and vulnerable moments. Memories from 1980 to 2021 that will burn brightly in me till I join Jeff around that final campfire. 

I was fortunate to have such a friend as Jeff. One of the rare few we can meet after our formative years and high school with whom we connect and nurture that bond through the years. I shared moments with Jeff on the basketball court, in canoes, walking in wilderness, concerts, Packer games, Brewer games, and a few wild parties, (my 21st, and Jeff’s flat on Oakland Avenue in Milwaukee, a few Miflin Streets, San Francisco, Minneapolis, St. Paul, and a few other places). I also worked with Jeff a few different times. His approach to that, his work ethic, also remains with me to this day. 

To those who knew Jeff well he could be slightly stubborn at times. When he would start rubbing the whiskers on his chin and begin to frown a bit the jig was up. Be it a route ahead by river, lake or wood, politics, the Packers, Badgers, windmills, being cold in Wisconsin vs. New Zealand, it didn’t matter. Once he put his stake in the ground that was it. I always understood that about my friend. 

And it may seem that Jeff at times never let anyone’s inexperience or hesitancy in a canoe, kayak, cross country skis, or off track route get in the way of a Jeff Kjos plan. I have been thinking a bit about this. As many times I was on the recipient end of those plans. So I stood on a few steep hills in the winter snows of the Baraboo range, not having skied in years, or being a giving a sit on kayak with a rapidy river ahead, or Jeff deciding there is an interesting looking rock formation well off the track he wanted to take a look at. Yet I survived them all. And learned in each case to stretch my comfort zone. I carry that lesson with me always. 

Yet peeling all that back these last few days I also realize that Jeff most likely just assumed because these things were so easy for him that they shouldn’t necessarily be difficult for anyone else. He was so gifted athletically, so agile, nimble, and coordinated that he could simply do so many things physically that us mere mortals cannot. He had panache in nature. 

The call I got from him when Luca was born and informed how fragile and tiny she was and the battle they faced ahead. Yet the love for his daughter and partner, the love he exuded even over the phone was palpable. Phone rates very different those days but we talked for a long time. 

Or that final evening we spent around that Door County campfire in 2019. All old friends, all who had visited me in New Zealand, and shared so many other special moments with each other, yet also had our own paths, our own lives. And the laughs we shared that cold night were in equal proportion to the tears that flowed for our painful times. And the comfort in the laughter, tears, or just the many moments of quiet with the fire popping from the late fall wind stirring the cherry red coals, and the snow falling with no need for words. The company was enough. 

I am going to share my photos, words and thoughts of Jeff here in a more quiet place than Facebook. I hope those that love him find them as well. 

E hara take toa

i te toa takitahi

he toa takitini

My strength is not 

as an individual 

but as a collective

Reflections

“Worry is a way to pretend that you have knowledge or control over what you don't--and it surprises me, even in myself, how much we prefer ugly scenarios to the pure unknown.” 

― Rebecca Solnit, A Field Guide to Getting Lost

Lockdown Day 11: 

In the midst of lockdown boredom today I went and “inventoried” our wood supply. We are only 3 weeks or so away from Spring. It occurred to me last evening that we haven’t even needed to light the fire to warm the whare in over a week. Except to dry some clothes. At one stage in the past month we were putting the fire on every night. I tend to get a bit worried and a hoarding tendency with regards to our wood supply and was thinking we might need to get to some in, however I realized today that we actually have plenty. I divide our wood up by age, dryness and type. And was pleased to find all the stuff I collected this past year from our own trees, and hauled over from a neighbor who cut down a few big trees in his yard and graciously offered some to me if I hauled it away hasn’t even been touched. 

We put new insulation underfloor and in the roof a couple years back and it seems to have really settled in this year as it seems we only need to get the fire going, turn it down, and then feed a piece in every now and again. 

All exceedingly boring stuff  I acknowledge but it’s lockdown. I’m itching to get out and I’m tired of walking on cement and foot paths. I dream of the Ruahine , or even the Te Arapiki Steps. Both off limits. Looking forward to focusing soon on training up for a Ruahine ramble. 

My boys have created a gym outside in the garage complete with a home made bench press and boxing bag routine. They go at it hard. Tara is doing it too. 

And I’m cracking another Mac’s Golden Lager. One arm curls. 

17 December 2020

Triangle hut porch

5:45 pm

The final evening of our Ruahine wander has arrived. An evening that always seems to arrive in the blink of an eye and wishing we had planned another day or two. I just breathe deep and let the gifts we have been given sit upon my soul. Adding to the memories and lustre of the rich history I have accrued here. 

For the first time in nearly six days I look up at the tops of the Whanahuia and see grey cloud gathering. And it smells slightly of rain. A possible interesting dimension to be added to our trip out. 

As we are walking out all the way to the car tomorrow I will again leave quite early in the morning. I feel quite good with the rest day and I should be much more match fit with a much lighter pack. And I know the route very well and have done it in both fine and deplorable weather. The last time I climbed up there a few years ago on my own it was deplorable weather. I recall hunkering in the tussock out of the gales and thinking of both John and Pete. I was a bit out of sorts to be true. But thoughts of prior experiences and good mates over ruled my building anxiety and worries. I carried on. 

Pete and I had a fine session down by the river. The last of our whiskey proved to be a generous few wee drams and the glow it provided enhanced by the song of the river, the place, and especially the company. We toasted our absent mate John Nash and told a few stories of his company. I met Pete 20 years ago at Iron Gate hut which is the next hut down the Oroua river on a trip I did with my brother in law Steve from Wisconsin. From that meeting has come a valued friendship and more so one meaningful to my relationship with these mountains as Pete, John and I have done a number of Ruahine trips over the last 15 years or so. Pete has a doctorate in Entomology and is also an amazing botanist, photographer, writer and observer and teacher. I have been fortunate to forge relationships with people like Pete and John Nash. Not bad for a transplanted Yank. 

On the other hand part of me is also looking forward to pulling into the driveway of my whare and seeing Tara. And my sons. Tara would accuse me of being nostalgic writing that, and possibly I am. Maybe it is the whiskey but I think I am also getting better at dealing with the anxiety our, at times, chaotic household can produce. And spending a week out here does a lot to balance my Te Whare Tapa Wha...Hinengaro, Tinana, Wairua, and Whanau, Mental well being, physical well being, spiritual well being, and family well being. I am ready to pick up the burdens I always leave at the Ruahine boundary. Lighter and fitter. 

It is now quietly drizzling. The first rain we have seen. The sun has passed and the air gathers a chill. Dinner and a small ceremonial fire await. Kia Ora Ruahine!

Sixty in the Ruahine and other Thoughts

It has been a long time since I have written words and shared moments here in his place. Almost two years. Though I have posted of my Ruahine travels on the sound byte-oriented Facebook. A place where anything over a few paragraphs seems long winded and even as I write words there can envision the rapid scroll through and ubiquitous and highly unsatisfactory “Likes”.

It feels calming to be here in a way I would not have imagined. Like having a cup of tea, or a beer with an old friend whose company I really missed. The unhurried moments that I do so often feel in the mountains, as if somehow even as they pass by us that moment remains and we are connected to it. This place too brings such feelings. A place to write slowly, reflect on the words or bring the moment I am trying to wake up those sleeping moments within me and talk to them again. That feels freeing to me somehow.

Social media has had its place. It enabled me, in particular, to remain in contact and share with my now 93 year old mother, and to re-establish contact with a few people in which our worlds through the years have grown and expanded in ways we can still connect through and find a balance between remembering the past, but celebrating the present. There is another side to that equation, however, which can be far less satisfying. It is a lesson I have been thumped hard with.

So here I am with an old friend. If you have found this place then Haere Mai - Welcome. If you have visited here before then Nau Mai, Hoki Mai – Welcome Back! And if no one finds it and no one reads and looks, well that’s fine too. It’s just good to be back in a place I love.

Ruahine Winter Day with promise!

28 July 2020

Top Maropea 

Evening

 

The steam rolls off my breath and I wear pretty much every bit of gear I have in the frozen confines of Top Maropea hut. Yet writing these words in my notebook fills me with unbridled joy and warmth in spite of the cold. 

 

It has been exactly one year since my feet have been placed in the Ruahine. A new left hip and observing my 60th birthday in a few days time. It feels good to have set a goal and met it. And another tomorrow in getting down to Maropea Forks lies ahead. Tonite I will just stay in the glow of arriving here. I won’t write I walked any faster than when with my painful worn out hip, but what I can state is not feeling sore and exhausted now when done walking. So in a way more balance is restored and my experiences here can be measured both in the journey and the destination once again. Which makes for a far more enjoyable day. 

 

It was a wind free crossing of the saddle today and with the snow covered peaks all around both John and I walked with carefree smiles. Though the snow was hard and icy so we had to take care. Especially on the final gruelling steep descent through the forest to here. We were both glad to shed our heavy packs and get into warm dry gear. 

 

As I was putting my gear on my mattress I noticed what looked like a furry pillow poking up under it. I reached over and felt very soft fur and realized it was actually a possum! I wasn’t sure if it was alive or dead and even after pulling the mattress away he lied curled up unmoving. I prodded him with a gentle nudge of the broomstick and nothing. Then I gave him a real poke and he jumped up, big and fat with his little claws in the air! He must have been really out to it, or had little intention of giving up his bunk to me. He bolted out the door and we saw his chubby furry rump heading up into the forest. It must be cold if the possums are looking for a warmer place to nap. 

 

John and I are debating as to going to the trouble and effort to even start a fire. There isn’t much wood and it is getting dark now. A wee dram helps and I am about to prepare fillet steak with mushrooms and gnocchi. We might have dinner then crawl into our down bags and get a good nights rest. We have a long day ahead in the cold river tomorrow. 

 

And though it’s cold I don’t feel cold. I can’t stop smiling. David and James have both been through as evidenced by their entries in the hut book. So a gathering awaits as do 4 more days here in a place I had doubts about ever returning to again. So this icy hut feels like home. An old friend. 

 

When I walked out of here last year and got to my car I knew I was done in here until I fixed the problem. Hard to fathom what a completely different world that was. In so many ways.

A fine winters day of the Maropea, Not far from Puketaramea and Maropea Forks.

Robb seated. David Dodge, John Nash, James Jordan.

I have spent many birthday’s in the Ruahine over the last 28 years. Significantly my fortieth, fiftieth, and now sixtieth have been marked in the depths of its beauty. Along with many other less marked years. Some with friends, and many with the solitude of only my own company.

When I turned 50 I had only months before had my right hip replaced and climbed on my own into the wintry Hikurangi range, and then at 60, this year, shortly after my left hip was replaced I climbed up into the winter mist and beyond with my tramping mate of over 25 years, John, and onto Maropea Forks.

Out of all the above-mentioned days the one that offered the most eclectic celebration, and certainly the most party like was this past year. When I turned the final bend on the western fork of the Maropea river I saw on the hut porch John talking to a couple of guys there with him. Now normally the sight of other people already at the hut makes the heart drop and spirit sag, at least for bit. Over the years I have found that on the rare occasions when I do share a back-country hut with other people they are almost invariably like-minded people, and also probably feel that exact same heart drop as I do. Indeed in a few cases I have developed excellent friendships and bond through mutual interest and love of these mountains with people I have met and shared huts with.

And on this occasion the sight of the people on the porch brought a smile to my face and a final burst of energy in my tired legs and body after dragging my heavy pack there for the last 6 hours or so. For these people I knew and expected to see and was glad to see all had arrived safe and sound.

Quite a few years back I came across a book somewhere, somehow, called “At Home in the Hills” by a man named James Jordan. I recall opening it and seeing pictures of the Ruahine and immediately bought it. James grew up in the shadow of the Ruahine and it wasn’t long before he was in them, and their sister range the Tararua, and quickly became an experienced and accomplished deer hunter and eventually making his living as a deer culler in them. Living for weeks at a time in tent camps and then huts thinning out the massive deer herds, then making money by carrying out the venison when that market exploded by exporting the meat to Germany. But aside from that was the overwhelming love and connection James felt to the hills, streams and rivers of the mountains and expressed in his writing. I felt a bond to his words and to James as a kindred spirit. I can’t quite recall how it was we connected but at one stage we began exchanging correspondence which eventually led to smiling at the sight of him sitting on the porch there at Maropea Forks in that moment. A man, in his early 70’s now, had tramped deep into the Ruahine to meet and celebrate my birthday. It seemed a bit like a destined moment in a way.

The other man talking to John I had met in the Ruahine nearly 20 years ago when he was just a teenager. David was in the valley fly fishing when I came through on a tramp. We shared a few huts over the next several days and he was excellent company. Ten years later I was walking down the Maropea river on a hot summer day when I saw a couple guys come staggering towards me under the strain of obviously heavy loads and a stag perched on top of one their packs. As I approached them one stopped and shouted “I know you! You’re Ruahine Robb! I read your blog! We met in here years ago”. His name was David Dodge and we stood in the river recalling our time in the Ruahine when I noticed they were tired and sweating. We hoofed it back up to Top Maropea where I was staying, and we caught up some more along with several cups of tea from the billy. Being as it was summer and very hot the two lads had to get their massive loads of venison out to the road end where they were being picked up. So off they staggered. David and I have stayed in touch since then. He and the guy he was with, Tyson, both helped carry the benches we had made at Community Work to replace the ones at Top Maropea which had been burnt. David stops by my house occasionally for a cup of tea and to drop off some very welcome venison through the years and we would leave greetings for one another in the hut books. So to see him as well here at a place we both love and have spent a lot of time at was also widened the smile on my weary face.

30 July…early morning

On the porch at Maropea Forks

Dressed warmly in the early morning chill and enjoying another strong coffee. The river runs by with its endless song. I am 60 years old!

David has already packed up and headed back up the river towards Top Maropea, Armstrong saddle and Sunrise. And James is packing up and heading up the steep spur and Puketaramea before heading northwest and to Iron Bark for the night.

I revel in the glow of a fine afternoon yesterday, and an even better evening, spent in the company of such fine gentlemen here at an amazing place deep in the Ruahine to celebrate my birthday. Here I am, a manuhuri, visitor, to New Zealand, yet feel so at home here in this place and honoured by the company of these guys who travelled in here by foot to share a bit time with me. A mark of acceptance and belonging and sending waves of emotions and warmth that roll through me from the feeling of both the company and the place. Particularly John, whom I have tramped with in here for over 25 years now and shared countless trips memories, but also David and James. The common bond being the Ruahine. And once again the lump rises in my throat. The echoes of so many friends, and both my sons, whom I have shared this place with, seem to drift lazily in the air like the melting frost off the toi toi and grass in front of me.

At dusk yesterday David went off for a hunt upriver and John, James and I meandered about the hut, flats and river until heading into the hut when darkness rolled in. We lit the fire and when David came back, we settled into a fine evening.

With over 150 years of Ruahine experience in that small hut there were a few tales to share and tell. David supplied us with venison steak and sausage cooked on top of the wood stove and cut up and shared on a common plate, and out of nowhere appeared a fair bit of very good whiskey and scotch. There wasn’t much room left in the hut by the end of the evening as besides us it was full of deer, trout, old cullers and friends, poems and books, steep ridges, snowed in tops, flooded rivers, and skies so blue they take your breath away.

Sitting here now on the porch of Maropea Forks and watching a perfectly amazing day unfold I can write that even though an evening ahead of my actual birthday it would have been the finest birthday I have spent in the Ruahine, or anywhere else for that matter. That must mark something special.

 

30 July -afternoon

Outside Maropea Forks hut 

I am in the warmth of the sun next to the river, absorbing its energy and soothing rays. The gentle lullaby of the river song had me drift off to sleep for a bit. I lie upon my bush shirt while John in a more industrious mood earlier dragged a mattress from the hut to rest upon. Only a few feet away from me I can hear him snoring softly as he enjoys his own afternoon nap. I came back from my walk down river towards Otukota to find him lazing in the sun at the most perfectly chosen spot to enjoy the afternoon. All too soon the winter sun will pass over this valley. 

Scribbling words in my notebook on my 60th birthday in the Ruahine. As I did in another notebook 20 years ago here on my 40th birthday and many others since then.

I am not sure what will become of these near 30 notebooks I have filled in the mountains. Even now they tend to gather dust upon our bookshelf and probably will till they become dust themselves. Still, for me they are a treasure, a place where my trips here remain alive. And there are always evenings in front of the fire I might reach over from my old chair and grab one to reminisce on words scribbled that perhaps only I can decipher but soon come to life. 

And now today here I jot down thoughts once again in the Ruahine. Only a few feet from where the old hut was until 5 years ago. The echoes still dance around me. 20 years ago I had more hair, less weight, and my two original hips still working in fine order. A few years prior to that I had run my last marathon up in Rotorua. The guy lying here now looks far different, has two new titanium hips, has not run for many years, but is still here in the mountains. And to have walked in here after having my left hip replaced less than 5 months ago has moved me bringing forth emotions and realisations when I least expect it. It has made me feel connected to something I don’t quite understand and am simply content to appreciate. Like I can roll back the last sixty years of my life like a tape and feel it all at once. And know that I am exactly where I should be. 

In that sense I am changed only as is the rivers song that I listened to here 20 years ago is different than the tune which plays for me today. Still the same river but different. Only those whom have spent time here would have observed those changes. Not so much different than flesh, bone and blood. Yet my spirit feels whole. Like this place.

And this beautiful river, the sun shining and glistening upon her, the graceful curve just beyond where I lie leading down river and eventually to the sea where this sparkling water will be lifted up to fall back upon the Earth and begin again. When the time comes I am ready to flow with her.

Maropea Forks hut: Evening 30 July 2020

“If you will stay close to nature, to its simplicity, to the small things hardly noticeable, those things can unexpectedly become great and immeasurable.”

Rainer Maria Rilke

 30 July

Evening

Maropea Forks hut

 The hut warms slowly and glows softly with the cherry red coals in the wood stove, a few candles and our tiny lantern which has been a very pleasant discovery on this trip. John reads by his head lamp as I scribble a few words and think about getting tea started. No hurry. Last night we had a far more lively atmosphere with David and James here. We cooked up venison, drank a few drams of nice whiskey, and filled the hut with our combined Ruahine stories, memories, and observations over the last 50 years. I guess that was the real birthday celebration.

 Though John and I have just returned from out by the river enjoying a quiet dram it is far more sedate this evening as we return to patterns established over the past 25 years in the Ruahine. A transition that is never difficult. I was here twenty years ago at 40. Still here at 60. I’m good with that.

David leaving in the morning to head back up river

30 July 2020

In the sun outside the hut

Maropea Forks...

            Sixty

When I turned 20

the days ahead seemed endless 

and plenty

The hair was long

my body fit and strong 

When I turned 30 

I felt I was drifting

the sands kept shifting

I felt unease

nothing was clear

I could not have known

that changes were near

When I turned 40 

those changes had come

A new country with mountains

A new wife

A new son 

The unease was less

something new had begun

When I turned 50 

I had a new hip

The old one was done

Also in that time

I had a new son 

Now I am 60

with another new hip

Pieces of me gone

like a rusty old ship

The days of my past like 

a long winding road

Hitting the straight away

to my final abode

All I can do is trust

things aren’t ill fated

And live in love and peace

with what I’ve created. 

Kia ora!

Birthday Stroll on the Maropea

Morning tea

River Walking

Top Maropea

31 July Afternoon

John and I arrived here a while ago after a very pleasurable meander up the Maropea river. Though climbing out of the side stream was a real grunt as a new slip has come down. It was a gruellingly steep effort. And when we arrived and were changing into some dry gear we saw out the hut door a pair of legs coming down the rough track. It was our friend Pete! What a cool development. I have shared this small abode with so many special people. Both my sons, Tara, and a handful of friends who get places like this. We are in for a fine evening. And far from the first in this lovely little spot as wll. Tihei Mauri Ora!

Robb, John and Pete. Many trips under the belt now.

“Faeries, come take me out of this dull world,

For I would ride with you upon the wind,

Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,

And dance upon the mountains like a flame.”

― William Butler Yeats

1 August

Sunrise hut - mid morning

I sit in this spacious but rather dull hut alone. The view is world class but the ambiance of a 24 bunk hut lacks the charm, even dignity, of the more remote huts that lie beyond here. Two hours beyond here lies the rather more quaint abode of Top Maropea from which I have come here this morning. Few that arrive here venture much further. I am glad I am one that does. And thankful.

John is making his way over. With him our good friend Pete who arrived at Top Maropea yesterday shortly after we did. Pete is another page of richness added to this story of my return to the Ruahine. He and John are much similar in their pace over the mountain terrain and the thought of those two very capable friends out there enjoying the place and the company keeps the smile that has been upon my face for 5 days now firmly set.

I have been travelling in these hills now for over 25 years. The men I shared time with these past 5 days in here brings that total to well over 150 years of Ruahine wandering. A mere fragment of a moment, a mere breath drawn, in the life and significance to these beautiful mountains.

This return has been heightened by the echoes of those who love the Ruahine as much as I. Who were, are, as exhilarated by the sight and distinct call of the whio on those sparkling pristine rivers that lie far below. And the symmetry of those far off peaks and leading spurs beckoning always.

So I wait for my friends and happy to do so. I can linger for awhile in the foolishness of things.

Kia ora John Nash, David Dodge, James Jordan, Pete McGregor, my whanau, and the Ruahine...