Raving On

This morning I walked across the street to the dairy to buy some milk, bread, and a morning paper before the family awoke. The headlines of the paper were about the budget put out by the government the day prior, no good news really and to be honest working away from home up in the Taranaki has kept me a bit distant from the news this week. An older gentleman was working behind the counter as the owners were away on a well deserved holiday - running a dairy, or local neighborhood market, is a time consuming and rather thankless prospect so I always chuck some of our weekly business their way. The older gentleman looked at the blaring headline in the paper and said, "not much good news there mate", to which I made some sort of perfunctory reply. I looked him in the eye as I took my change and I saw fear there, I saw the essence of so much of what is happening in our world, and I could see he needed to talk. So we did, and he told me how his business had gone south, how he was stuffed financially working in the dairy to supplement his retirement government pension, and how he felt even more sorry for people my age. Finally, another customer walked into the store and I walked back home. I wanted to give him a hug.

I have been seeing this often in my job, this uncertainty, this fear, this helplessness at certain parts of so many lives. The women I meet, particularly those whom have raised families, worked in the business, seen good times and bad, are much stronger than most men. There seems to be a calm wisdom in women, whereas most men exude anger and frustration. Not so different from what I consider the central theme of John Steinbeck's novel, The Grapes of Wrath, which in the midst of depression and chaos, it is the women whom hold it all together at the most basic family level.

As the old blues tune, What is the Soul of a Man, best version by Bruce Cockburn, states , "a man ain't nothing but his mind", which these days is pretty powerful stuff. So much of what we have been told is Right and Normal has been proved to be pure bull shit. The men with sharp haircuts and suits are liars and crooks, the career corporate ladder has been chopped off many rungs short of "success", so many of us listen to the lowest common denominator talk back radio hosts to vent our frustration in anger and racism, to express our need to Blame somebody, usually somebody of a different colour or religion. I would like to hug these men as well.

It is winter here now in Aotearoa. I drove back from Taranaki yesterday on a day so clear that, at times, I could see in the far distance snow covered peaks on the south island, and when I turned towards home the Ruahine glistened and shown in the sun with her peaks, glistening like white satin covering exposed and inviting flanks . It was beautiful. Soon I will be amongst them, first with Taylor, and not long after with John, both fine companions. It is the place I Connect, where the stuff that I wrote about above has no relevance, no place in my life. The simplicity of living amongst Wild Places is what we all need most right now. Or at least being able to drive down a highway, look over for a brief moment at Living Monuments, and even if never amongst them, simply appreciate they are there. If there is Anything I have tried to get across here at this meandering place it is that.

I was in Taranaki concluding some business with a client, a lovely lady running a small family business, and as she looked over the final contract to sign it, I looked outside her office window and saw the mountain in full glory right in view of her office. "That is just a fantastic scene", I stated, "It makes me want to go up there and climb it". She put down her pen and looked at me, then the mountain and said," You know Robb, I've never been on that mountain and probably never will, but at least once a day I look out my window and take in that view, even if I can't see it, and I just take a moment to appreciate it. So many people stop seeing it".

I wanted to hug her too.

View of Mount Taranaki from Stratford.

Troubled Waters

A few weeks back Charlie and I were a bit bored on a late Sunday morning and decided to rectify the situation. We jumped in the car and drove out to the Totara Reserve, which lies in the Pohangina valley as it emerges from the Ruahine ranges, still clean and relatively pure as it enters the real world of man and her ultimate destiny already foretold in the path beyond Charlie pictured above. It is a great spot to have a roam and a swim, though even here the danger of wild rivers still is present. Three years ago three beautiful children were drowned less than 400 metres from Charlie above, when some huge cliffs that lie beyond sent a fall down from above the river. A place where so many people have frolicked and swam for generations. It now lies empty, sign posted to warn against entry. It really should read - Swim at Your Own Risk.

I am not trying to trivialize the death of those kids. Losing either of my boys, even the teenager, would quite possibly damage me beyond all repair. I still will teach my boys to swim in mountain rivers, already have.



There was still a heavy feeling of unease that accompanied me on our little journey, this nagging feeling that came over me while Listening to the Song of the Pohangina. At one point Charlie and I came to a bend in the river with a huge amount of log jam gathered up against the true left shore, the side we were on. Which meant a deeply gouged out river below the jam and the possibility of getting mired amongst this tangle. We would have to cross it to get to a point where we could cross the river. To get across such a tangle of vegetation and logs slowly rotting means testing every footstep, at least for me and as I kept an eye on Charlie and his path, and chatted to him, constantly warning him and guiding him, he suddenly stopped and said, "dad, I know you are just trying to help me, but I am actually better at this than you". I realized he was far ahead of me, and picking my route carefully with my pole and bad hip, my beautiful son was only concerned with being six, and his steps much more confident than mine. That literally stopped me in my tracks.









The Pohangina valley is beautiful. It is even more beautiful up in those mountains, its head waters sheer grey wacke, so steep it allows little vegetation to gather way up there. After you get down the water falls and the forest emerges it is stunning. A few hours walk from there will bring you to Top Gorge hut, really just a good camp site as the hut is an old three bunk affair not in the greatest of condition and not being maintained, and due to lack of visitors is to be removed, but a pretty amazing spot in the Ruahines. It would take me at least two more days to walk to farmland, another good stretch to where Charlie and I were.

I would dip my tin cup in any part of the Pohangina river before it leaves the Ruahine ranges. I would not dip it in any part after that. By the time it arrives less than a few miles down river from where Charlie and I are, quite often the human fecal measurements should close swimming in areas where people picnic and perceive they are getting in touch with nature. How out of touch are We?




Every once in a great while we may get a chance to enjoy a mountain river. Above is me a few summers ago enjoying a water fall on the Maropea river just below Otukota hut. The day was hot - the river low, and I truly believe I am the first person to sit in this whirlpool Gifted by Nature for this one brief moment. How can water be so pure here? Why can I slake my thirst here just raising my clenched hand to mouth? What happens to this river, this water, between here and there?



Pool and waterfall on the Makaroro river.


Makaroro river.


Oroua river just above Triangle hut.

Just playing in the Pourangaki river.

The Waikamaka river.

Thoughts of rivers roll through my head, as they have recently. A sunny day on the Upper Makaroro. I take my bivvy sack and lay it down upon the moist green moss to enjoy the brief sunshine before it passes over the valley. I lie upon it and read John Muir, I eat dried meat and when thirsty dip my tin cup in the river. There never seems to be any reason to do anything except what I am doing Right Now in this Very Moment. The pureness of this river, the lullabye of her song and I soon drift off to sleep.

I was trying to come up with a point to make about these beautiful rivers as they flow out of the mountains looking for the sea, and instead are pressed into servitude to man, their water rights even sold as a product that someone is arrogant enough to OWN. My friend Anne-Marie from http://mightier-than-any-sword.blogspot.com/ wrote a post last year called Healing the Tuki Tuki, and has allowed me to share part of it here:

One foot on the shingle

One foot gingerly in the river

A sudden leap

The clear green water closes over me

Nudges me downstream

To where the willows

Dabble their fingers in the river

And dragonflies hover

Like tiny helicopters

Across the river

Poplars dot the scorched hillside

And Te Mata rears like

Some ancient taniwha

Against the cloudless sky

I wallow on the water's edge

Eating peaches

And picking out bright stones

From the shallows

If it wasn't for my reddening shoulders

I could be in heaven

" I never intended to post any of my poetry on this blog, but just this once I've made an exception. I wrote this poem when I was 15. It's about swimming in the Tuki Tuki river in Hawkes Bay, something I loved to do when I was a kid. My family frequented several swimming spots that were perfect for cooling off in the heat of the day, or we'd take a picnic dinner down after work and school had finished for the day. This poem is about my favourite place to swim.

I wouldn't swim in the Tuki Tuki now. This once beautiful river is now a very sick river. Farming along its banks and the presence of two oxidation ponds at Waipawa and Waipukurau have polluted the river to the extent that last month the Hawkes Bay District Health Board issued a warning. Don't fish, don't swim, don't even touch the water. Any of these activities could result in serious illness, even death." - written by Anne-Marie 17 March 2008.

And we panic about the Swine Flu?

Nigel by the Tuki Tuki still protected by the mountain cocoon, at least for now. Anne-Marie writes about this very river perhaps less than 50 kilometres from here. The Oroua is much the same, unswimmable, unfishable before it reaches the sea. What are we doing?


I am not sure what can be done to help these rivers, to reverse the damage done already. We have come to view them as a commodity and the waste we dump in them, the dams we erect, the flow we alter are simply part of our way of life. How long will it be before we need to intrude further and further into more and more wild places to sustain our needs? The Mokihinui river, on the West Coast of the South Island, and ranked 7th in all of New Zealand in terms of natural value, has been lost to a Meridian energy hydro scheme, and now Contact Energy is after the Clutha Mata-Au river where it wants to erect up to four hydro schemes. The Clutha Mata-Au is New Zealands largest river, and a significant treasure to this land. Rather than write here I will direct those interested to the Clutha Mata-Au River Walkway project, whose mission is to protect and improve the Clutha Mata-Au by establishing New Zealand's largest regional river park, including a river length Clutha river trail. http://www.cmrp.org.nz/ . Please visit as well Donald at http://www.likeminds.co.nz , and go to his weekly blog where his most recent post is on the Clutha. It is his backyard.


The Pohangina. Photo by Pohangina Pete.


"Song of the Makaroro"

I lie beside this river
basking in the sunlight
I Listen to Her Song
Here where she is young and beautiful
sparkling like a jewel
Precious nectar which sustains Life
The crystal clear magnificence
of Her symphony lulls me to sleep
wrapped in Her embrace
Enjoy beautiful river
all too soon you leave this paradise
and your Freedom
Servitude and Slavery to man awaits
as we foist upon you
all we no longer need
we steal your song, your essence
and before you reach the sea
your soul
I lean over you
and let my tears fall down upon you
and create briefly
a Ripple
I become you
and my Voice is yours

7 April, 2009

Aroha

Meandering in the Makaroro

There is always, for me, a slight sense of forboding and unease when I undertake solo journeys into the mountains. A recent run of comments on my last post addressed solo travel, and the book by Aat Vervoorn, Mountain Solitudes, a book I read at least once a year. Don from over at Like Minds - New Zealand Landscape and Thoughts - http://www.likeminds.co.nz/ , I thought summed it up pretty well writing he has recognized when on solo trips that "this is not the day, nor the time to continue Donald", and that as Aat alludes to about traveling alone in rugged country that "we need to have all our ducks in a row emotionally and mentally". And physically as well.



So for a few reasons I felt somewhat reluctant to take on my planned trip to the Ruahines, in spite of having the time to do so, a rare enough occurrence these days. The arthritis in my hip has been acting up, it is the roar or deer mating season meaning the mountains will be filled with hunters so the chances of a completely solitude filled journey I thought fairly remote, the weather which had been lovely was meant to turn while I planned being away. All easy enough reasons to postpone, yet I also had reason to celebrate. The wind mill farm proposed for the Puketoi ranges has been defeated, a battle won in a big war. And as always in the fall I want to roam in the mountains and feel and taste the change in the seasons. They seem more wild and more moody for some reason. And so, after changing my route 3-4 times, I simply chose a route that would let me move in any weather, packed my swag and left early in the morning. When the sun rose is was a most beautiful day.




Beech forest at the bottom of Parks Peak ridge after climbing the connecting spur.



Looking across Makaroro valley to the main Ruahine range, Maroparea and Te Atua Mahuru are the high points.




South from the ridge looking back at the main range and Te Atuaoparapara and the Three Johns.

Looking back south on Parks Peak ridge. A lot of climbing, and a ways to go yet!

6 April

Parks Peak

Sitting out on the ridge looking across to the Totara spur and main range, wee dram in hand. I am not, as I thought, to be alone in the hut. Back in 2004, on a similar fall excursion I met two hunters in the old hut and spent some time with them. And here was one of them again, and he recognized me straight off - though there probably are very few big Yanks running around these hills to be fair. His mate Adam, had a 9 point stag head he had shot after a grueling stalk. I also ran into a guy fly camping way back on the ridge and a nice chat with him as well. So instead of being miffed my solitude is impacted, I am just going to enjoy the company and my time here. It seems pretty clear in my formerly doubtful head up here. I have my bivvy bag but it is pretty chilly already and that hut fire seems to be calling me.

It was a long walk, it always is. This is the 10th time I have done it, Nigel, John, Taylor, Gyro, Jeremy, Jacob, all have done the hard yards. And now 5 times on my own. Another reason for celebration, and each one of those people would acknowledge it has never been easy. On a day like today, all my doubts faded when I finally got up that spur and I just toughed it out and made sure I stopped to smell the roses.

Pete, left, and Adam with the 9 point stag head.




North west from the ridge, in the distance is Ngauruhoe, one of the active volcano's in the north island.


6 April
Evening
Parks Peak hut


I got back in the hut and was handed a cup of tea by Adam. We all sat down by the fire, and pretty much the first thing Pete asks me is "How do I feel about all this wind mill stuff going on?". Pretty amazing really, and after he, Adam and I thrashed that one around, we also got into talking about 1080 poison, conservation, and loving Wild Places. Not religion, or politics. Pete has hunted here at Parks Peak for 9 years now, Adam for 4 - today was his first well earned stag. These guys have history here, they have things to say, as do I. The interesting aspect I think I just observed here was that being amongst a wild place, becoming immersed in it, almost part of it, doesn't make it less wild, it makes us love it more, and thus make us more aware, and more sensitive to how easily it is to impact that, to change it forever and irrevocably. I am moved to find these guys who care as much as I do. I have found that from far away, and it is so beautiful to find it within.

We feasted on fresh venison back steaks and tenderloins that Pete and Adam most generously shared with me, and toasted our astute observations a few times as well. It is after all, a Celebration, and any moments in these mountains are ones to enjoy. The tough ones make the easy ones better.



Almost a full moon at Parks Peak hut.



7 April, 2009
Afternoon
Upper Makaroro hut


Even on the longest of summer days the sun never lasts long on this narrow part of Upper Makaroro valley. In the fall and winter the afternoons grow short. Here I linger by the river, I am free to relish and roam this remote flat. The Makaroro rolls by gently, its song muted by the recent lack of rain. She starts to reveal her symphony, steady and beat keeping up on the calmer straighter end of the flat, then gathering into a higher string section gathering into the small rapid below, and releasing into a final crescendo below. From above an ominous wind reaches down from the high tops, out of sight far above, and rolls through the beeches and river grasses. I get to sit here the rest of this day and just Listen.

Makaroro river and pool across from the hut

The view down river from the flat in front of the hut

The Makaroro quietly rolls by.


7April
Upper Makaroro
Late Afternoon

My son Charlie, 6, asked me a few days ago if I could "understand" birds because I whistle a lot, and in particular to the tui's which live amongst our little patch of unruly bush we call a yard. Charlie has learned to whistle and so has a lot of questions and observations about whistling. So I was sitting down here by the river thinking about that and I decided to practice my very bad imitation of a Whio call.

As if by fate, within 30 seconds a Whio came whistling around the corner of the above black and white photo, and flew directly over my head and landed at the upper end of the flat. I was stunned, I was shaking, it is the first Whio I have seen in over 2 years and I have missed their presence enormously. They, to me, represent the Heart and Soul of these mountains. They are reason enough for me to wander these mountains, to care for them, to love them. With tears in my eyes I crept quietly up the flat and just watched him, perfectly in sync and in tune with his mountain home. He flew off up river in that marvelous unerring flight, and even more to my delight flew back a few minutes later, followed by another pair! A few moments with the Whio. All the doubt and fear and worry I may have felt in my solo journey is now gone, these few moments have validated the other side of those emotions, and I am filled beyond words with Joy and Love for these mountains.

Whio above photographed by Pohangina Pete. More of Pete's outstanding photos can be viewed at http://worldsenz.blogspot.com/ , or his equally outstanding writing and photos at: http://pohanginapete.blogspot.com/ .

The start of the track from the Makaroro river to the top of Parks peak ridge. In almost dead center on the dark beech is the next marker. A very steep climb of over 2 hours awaits. Through one of the most beautiful forest walks in the Ruahines.

It climbs.......

And climbs......

And climbs........


And then climbs some more.....


And finally there! The Makaroro now lies below and Parks Peak hut only a few minutes away. Time to boil the billy for a well earned cup of tea.


"Makaroro Climb"

I roamed high above the pristine waters
the whio's domain still within
as up hard and relentlessly I am pulled
till the river is but a gentle murmur far below
and the forest emerges and encompasses my soul
Shafts of sunlight paint colours
beyond my words
Stunted beech hold their weary appendages to the sky
beseeching but never yielding
to the familiar brutal gales
even now whistling high above
Cold, snow, and sleet greet my presence here
and I meet the rough and beautiful leatherwood
the most resilient of all
I roam amongst this place and smile
These last few moments mine alone
and I look down upon this intimate Journey

Pete and Adam getting stuck into chopping and sawing firewood. A hut bound day for hunters with gale like nor'west winds, and a storm about to blow in.

Moss and lichen covered stunted beech, a stunning feature of this damp and wind blown ridge.





Stunted beech forest and track on Parks Peak ridge near the hut.

The storm rolls in over the main Ruahine range.

This guy accompanied me the whole time. He didn't say much but was a pretty good guy. I liked him!

8 April Parks

Parks Peak

The sun sets on this day, on this trip. I have been wandering around outside all through this stormy day just being amongst the mountain paradise and this magical place. It is easy enough to retreat back to the hut for hot cup of tea or soup, then head out again. The wild weather just adds to the ambience. I have had moments of doubt and moments of unequaled joy. Moments to reflect upon already as I sit here writing by candle light gazing out the window of Parks peak hut and upon this place I love so much. She whispers gently in my ear.

Aroha.

p.s. - To those whom may read here and took the time to read and sign our petition against the Puketoi wind farm project I offer my humble thanks and gratitude. The project has been defeated and I firmly believe we helped create awareness. As Abbey wrote, "We stand for what we stand on". Kia kaha!

Dweller on the Threshold*

Cloud and mist moving in the headwaters of Pourangaki valley

" I'm a dweller on the Threshold, and I'm waiting at the door, and I'm standing in the Darkness, I don't want to wait no more". - words written by Van Morrison from the song Dweller on the Threshold and the album Beautiful Vision.

I keep Listening to this song, to this album. It speaks to me. I have two more weeks of frenetic paced, high pressure results driven work until I can escape into the mountains to regroup and gather myself. In these times of economic stress the strain from both buyer and seller is not far beneath the surface. The importance of what I do is trivial in comparison with most, yet it is the bread and butter of our ticking world, something I am not entirely comfortable with, but that is a subject for another time. So right now when I crawl into bed at night I imagine myself in my tent, or a hut, a mountain river running close by, a Corker stove crackling as the embers die from the evening fire, and thoughts of a another day ahead in the mountains.....

Above: Nigel and John in the mist and cloud below Tiraha

All these thoughts bring to mind a nostalgic recollection of my earlier adventures into the Ruahines beginning way back in 1993 when I first arrived in New Zealand. That very first walk with John and Nigel climbing up the steep Gold Crown Ridge and arriving on these beautiful rolling tussock tops, seeing crystal clear water falls far below, I was entranced, captured, as if somehow I knew my life had changed that day, and it had. I hardly knew Nigel, and it was first time I met John. Both are to this day among the best friends I have.

These are the earliest photos I have of my time in the Ruahines, taken on my second outing with Nigel back in autumn of 1994. We did a crossing of the southern Ruahines over Maharahara. The ranges are relatively narrow at that point and it took us about 8 hours to cross over where Tara was waiting for us with food and cold beers. It was another eye opening experience into traveling in such country. I recall Nige and I heading up through farmland on the western side in a persistent drizzle looking up very concerned at the grey and forboding looking hills above. I was carrying a rubber pack I used for canoeing in the Boundary Waters, wearing a very sub standard pair of boots, and a heavy cotton sweat shirt! Nigel was wearing blue jeans. And check out that authentic Russian hat Nigel is wearing. We had a bit to learn yet we headed on up into the mist where it began to snow. As the snow fell the sun also poked out in places at times illuminating the droplets of moisture in a myriad of colours that simply took our breath away. Once again I knew I had entered a place that was never going to let me go. Nige and I probably got away with making a few mistakes back in those days, bad gear, wrong gear, dubious navigation skills, yet we always came through and we always were eager for more. The Ruahines had entered my soul.

In the winter of 1995 Nigel and I began to explore a bit deeper into the Ruahines, still doing day trips though we had done a camping trip or two into the Tararuas by then as well. Something about these ranges to the north kept calling us back. We did a thorough exploration of the Ngamoko tops around the Knights and Shorts track areas. Beautiful steep beech forest giving way to twisted and stunted Kaikawaka before emerging into Leatherwood and finally the golden tussock tops. On our first trip we were stopped short of tops by wind and completely cloud hidden tops. I recall finding it very mystical being up high in that cloud and wind, knowing I was in some fairly serious country. We were climbing up and suddenly ahead of me Nigel stopped and as I came up to him a bit up the track from him stood a great Red Deer stag, in full glory as it would have been just before the roar. I have seen more than a few white tail deer hunting in Wisconsin, but this was something else. We could see the steam on his breath, then he turned, walked up the track a bit then silently disappeared into the Kaikawaka.

Our second trip, with pictures above, was on my 35th birthday, and I have celebrated each birthday since in the Ruahines, back then just a walk for the day, now for 3-4 days. We stopped where the Kaikawaka merges into the leatherwood and filled Nigel's now well traveled billy with snow for a cup of tea. I can still put myself in that exact spot with that cup of tea warm in my hand, above us a wonderful mountain world of snow surrounded by a flawless blue sky. Our equipment and experience was slowly improving, we were starting to understand what traveling in these ranges was all about. Our enthusiasm continued to grow.

Nige standing above the Pohangina river and Leon Kingvig hut, a long steep climb up the Ngamokos awaits!

Robb, just outside Leon Kingvig hut after a very long day.

Nige by a tarn up on top of the Ngamokos, a quick task to refill the water bottles in a gale like wind.

In 1996 we upped the ante, having decided that while doing day trips was a rewarding experience, the buzz we got being amongst such places would be better served by venturing further into the mountains, to some of the many huts contained in this wonderful place, and staying for a night, or even longer.

The first trip we attempted I found out later was, is, called the Apiti track, and is another crossing of the ranges from a much wider point than Maharahara. We would go in from the east side of the ranges, climb up and down, up and down, and drop into Pohangina valley and Leon Kingvig hut. Then the next day climb up to the Ngamokos and out to the western side via the now familiar Knights track. Once again we had a steep learning curve. Our gear and food were mostly fine, but we badly under estimated how much water we might need, especially me. It was a brutally hot day, and a lot of up and down steep climbing and dropping, and hell, even then and pretty fit, it is just a long way from the road end to Leon Kingvig hut. I am sure I was quite dehydrated when I finally stumbled down to the hut, and straight into the river where I tried to drink it all! And as I have since come to relish, a change of clothes, a cup of tea and some salty chicken soup and the world comes right, a very simple recipe. There were hunters at the hut so Nigel and I set up his tent a ways down river, built a little fire and had a lovely time. I was just buzzing. I remember thinking how I wish we did not just have to pack up and go the next day, that we should have more time here to wander and explore, and enjoy this wonderful feeling that comes to me. The next day was beautiful, though very windy and we battled through it to meet up with Knights track and down to where the beautiful Tara, with 3 year old Taylor in tow, once again met us with cold beers at the road end. As we drove away I looked back at those Ngamokos looking golden and majestic, and I was more in love than ever.

Nigel and I at Lake Colenso, perhaps one of the remotest parts of the Ruahines. Once that Leon Kingvig trip was under our belts we came into our own really. we started covering some fairly extensive ground, going out for days at a time moving from place to place. I developed a very cool rhythm with Nige, we became true tramping partners, from planning, to gathering supplies, to navigation and decision making, and that silent unspoken but very prevalent communication that is developed in such places. It allowed me to develop not only a lasting and important relationship with this man, but also the silence between us allowed me to find the Spiritual place that Nature and these mountains fill in my life. And I never once ever felt like I was not talking with Nige, he was always there. He still is.

Perhaps the greatest gift of having such a person in my life was the confidence it gave me in bringing my son Taylor, now almost 16, but then 7, on his first mountain tramps. Nige had, has, his own bond with Taylor, and to have him along was again a silent blessing, another pair of experienced eyes, ears, and hands to help guide this precious boy. And man we took him on some trips! Places not many 7-8 year olds would normally go. Maropea Forks, Parks Peak, Triangle, Daphne to name a few. Taylor earned his stripes. Now Charlie awaits as well.

Taylor, age 7, on way to Top Maropea.

Taylor and Nigel above Armstrong saddle in inclement weather. This was on our return trip from Top Maropea on a decidedly unpleasant day. Another group of far more well attired trampers appeared not long after this photo, coming from Waikamaka and a different direction. They were very impressed by Taylor's efforts. It was a proud moment for me really, and for Nigel too, knowing we had come from such humble beginnings here in these ranges, to confidently taking others.

Taylor, age 12, and Robb, on Camel Back ridge.

The Journey Continues! Kia ora Nige!

Aroha