It’s hard to think of a new angle on a trip across the Southern Crossing. It’s a classic Tararua tramp, but so well traversed by so many feet that all sorts of invention is practiced to make it a more interesting story to relate. This ranges from the traditional one day and moonlight versions, through to weird stunts involving anything from boats to nudity.
This trip is prosaic; for me, a return to an old acquaintance who maybe this time will bestow a perfect day and stunning views, and a first time introduction for Mike. As for Josh, I’m afraid it’s a weekend with a cold and regrets over an opportunity missed.
As a counter point, we’ll include some exerts from another trip across in the opposite direction and in somewhat less than ideal conditions.
In the week leading up to the trip, the weather started playing chicken. Perfect clear days piled on top of each in a sequence that surely couldn't last up to and through the weekend. The laws of Wellington’s average weather meant a run of 10 good days was as likely as … well, you get the picture.
The usual sort of transport planning, taking advantage of good natured partners and sorting out group gear occurs in the last few days prior. However, the run up is blighted by uncertainty due to fitness. The first hypochondriac out of the blocks is me. A festive bout of gout has rendered me grumpy and couch bound since Christmas Eve. Not being an obese non-European male, I am understandably aggrieved by the unfairness of it all. Not only does my left foot feel like it has been chewed by a hippopotamus, I am also denying myself some of the finer culinary pleasures in life including kidneys, anchovies, mackerel and spinach. Okay, maybe some of these won’t be missed but I am smarting from having to eschew dark beer.
The foot is still in recovery mode and inflicts occasional traumatic flash backs; it is clearly the height of poor judgement to force it into a tramping boot and flog it up and down mountains for a weekend.
Josh comes up with a less embarrassing or long lasting condition and succumbs to man flu a couple days prior to take off. Not to be outdone, I throw myself over the back of a car whilst biking to work on Thursday. Despite various bruises, a road test of my helmet, and bits of skin and pride left on the Petone Esplanade I protest that the show must go on. I can still carry a walking pole in my left hand if needed and if my foot rejects my boot there’ll be a left jandal in my pack I can tape on.
To add a little more spice we decide that we will road test my new
ten cent stove. Made from a couple of Sprite cans it is a creative marvel and promises to be possibly effective and certainly entertaining. I decry Mike for cowardice and lack of faith when he suggests carrying a spare butane stove. The only admission of potential for prototype failure will be a couple of spare OSMs; the breakfast, lunch and dinner of champions.
 |
| An earlier model |
Friday
The show starts on Friday; arriving at work with a tramping pack ready to beat a hasty and early exit. I take the opportunity to show slightly bemused colleagues the marvels of a jerry-built alcohol stove. The unspoken consensus is clear: nerd.
We leave Wellington with its weird and wonderful seven’s crowd behind, and head up the coast in solid traffic. Texts confirm that Josh has grumpy man flu and is in no fit state to withstand the inevitable hoots of derision should we pop in on the way through. Instead we pick up dinner from the aptly named Heaven’s Pizzas, some of which last as long as the Otaki Forks car park.
A helicopter hunting trip is returning to the road end with at least 4 dead deer and the same number of not dead hunters. This is probably regarded as a highly successful ratio in hunting circles.
It’s just after 7pm as we cross the swing bridge and head for Judd Ridge in bright afternoon sun. As the track zig zags up the first face we catch increasing glimpses up into the Otaki River catchment with the main range behind, from below the sound of the river in the gorge drifts up. The track is very well formed and easy going, so we chat about anything from escape velocity to investment funds.
The sun sets and we pause to capture the burnt orange sky around the silhouette of Kapakapanui. There’s no wind and few clouds. Torches are out for the last few hundred meters to Field Hut, arriving just before 9.30; about 2 hr 15 after setting out.
Field is a great old classic hut. It has a warm feel and plenty of space but tonight there are only 6 staying, including a Pom and Aussie who we passed on the way up. We chat on the verandah watching the stars brighten and enjoying the warm, windless evening. Given the forecast and the early warning of good weather we are a bit surprised (and a little relieved) by the low turnout. All lights are out and the final sleeping bags rustle by 11.
The night is dead quiet and even the snorers are somewhat subdued. In the morning there are a few desultory trills from a bird by way of a dawn chorus and the hut slumbers until after 7.
Saturday
The morning brings the first test for the ten cent stove. It has no trouble heating water for coffee for two which we enjoy on the verandah as a procession of runners comes through. The Tararua Mountain Race is about a month away, so we see 6 athletes making the most of the weather to get some good training in.
They all pause for a brief chat; one turns out to be a walker (built like a Kenyan ultra runner) who is giving the runners a good walk for their money and another’s pack informs the world “Activity Paused” in tones that you could imagine could become really irritating.
A German woman also passes through, who had left Palmerston North at 4am and is also heading to Alpha. We later learn her name is Jana but more about her soon.
Eventually we tidy the hut and head on and up a little after 9. There’s a high overcast and it is still. After Table Top (1047m), the view east into Penn Creek opens up and we note a fair amount of cloud forming around the main range.
As we head from Dennan to Bridge Peak (1421m) there is a steady procession of returning runners (one with telling mud stains up his front) and a couple of parties that had stayed at Kime. One man has a massive pack that looks like a luggage trolley had crashed into his back. He and young son are returning instead of going across the tops due to son’s sore foot (who incidentally had skipped impatiently ahead down the track, hmm). Finally, the other couple from last night are returning saying they didn’t bother climbing from Kime to Hector due to the cloud. The wind is starting to rise to confirm their story.
There’s no rush so we take a few breathers and help Mike to eat all his scroggin for the weekend. The warm, moist norwester piles across Judd Ridge and up towards the main range; clouds condense in the updrafts and start to congregate around the peaks.
Breasting Hut Mound (1440m) reveals the build of the new Kime Hut in full swing. There are tonnes of gear strewn around the bowl (including a small digger) and a couple of blokes are kanga-hammering pile holes. They have completely taken over the hut and even have a fridge.
Kime hut itself is widely regarded as a miserably cold, damp fridge, but some heartfelt doggerel thumb tacked to the wall attests that it will be missed. The toilets however would not be missed by any but the several species of green slime that have taken up residence.
June 2012
It’s cold inside without a fire, and the idea of drying clothes by wearing them is soon given up as a bad job. By 1700 the sleeping bags are out and it’s only a trip to the loo that will shift me. A chocolate OSM serves for dinner.
There's little wind and the mist sits; the moon peeks fitfully through the clag but later in the night the wind comes up and showers of rain roll through. The temperature in the hut drops to about 5 degrees overnight but the new light weight sleeping bag holds up well.
... At 0820am the sopping, cold gear warms slowly on the way up Field Peak and on to Mt Hector.
Jana has managed a car key swap with some acquaintances, who tell us that it’s windy and pretty tough going from Hector. We pause for a bite and chat in the lee of Kime Hut then take a nosey around the building site. The framing is prefabricated but it looks like they are building the floor from the piles up. Although it is Saturday the workers are hard at it and we leave them alone.
The cloud closes and the wind rises as we climb up Field (1483m) then Hector (1529m). We will most definitely not being gazing around distant horizons. We agree that the wind is ‘fairly windy’ to ‘quite windy’ on the modified Wang-Beaufort scale (‘near gale’ by most other assessments).
June 2012
On the tops the wind quickly gets up, the temperature drops and the extra layers are put to good use... Glasses are quickly rendered worse than useless and stashed in a pocket on the grounds that seeing everything fuzzily is better than seeing nothing clearly. This makes following the snow poles difficult and stopping to check the map is not enticing in the cold and strong wind… With the head down and only concentrating on the track ahead it is a pleasant surprise when the cross on Mt Hector appears in the snow. It’s a bit too miserable to spare more than a passing thought for the trampers killed in WWII. … the start of the track to Neill Ridge is not obvious but there is only one possible direction. The wind is fierce making it difficult to stand, let alone travel in a straight line.
We are pleased to see the memorial on Mt Hector loom through the cloud as this is the high point of our trip and the highest Mike has been in the Tararuas. Although we can’t see much, the photo goes onto Facebook and people are already commenting before we turn our faces south down the ridge to the Beehives. It is kind of weird to be in a place where the weather has killed the unwary before, and is not behaving as predicted, whilst watching mundane comments pop up on the phone.
June 2012: arriving at Hector returning from a very inhospitable Neill Ridge
The wind is still blasting across the ridge and its very difficult regaining the lost meters so the sight of the cross at Mt Hector looming thru the clag is (once again) welcome. Now it's just the Southern Crossing to contend with.
The wind and rain have put paid to most of the snow, but not the mud. Fortunately the track is largely easy to follow, so it’s head down and plug on. The up-hills are reduced to a trudge and finding secure footing is an ongoing niggle. The level of swearing at errant wind gusts, slips, and recalcitrant gear indicates that a level of fatigue is settling in.
Although quite windy, it’s not cold or raining so we imagine worse conditions and do a bit of navigation practice whilst rehearsing the order of the peaks we pass so as to better recognise them in the other direction.
June 2012
The wind howls across the ridge from either side upsetting balance and occasionally throwing in sleet or freezing rain. The track wends over interminable knobs and peaks; at times covered in snow.
In the lee of the ridge we come across a single walker. Getting closer I recognise the face and ask him if he did the same route in June last year. Much to his credit he asks if I travelled the route with him “in the blizzard.” I’m absolutely tickled to see him again. It was a tough crossing and it had been good to have another person in view. This time I find out that his name is Reuben.
June 2012
A wiry, older Maori chap turns up [at Alpha hut]. He is doing a one day from Kaitoke and leaves Alpha first. We trade the lead across the tops and it is a comfort to know that there is someone else about, particularly as he has done this route 4 times already this year.
After saying our goodbyes I point out to Mike the totally unprompted use of the ‘B’ word, and from someone who is clearly a hard bitten veteran of the worst these Mountains can inflict upon a soul. Today however the track is dry, someone has trimmed the tussocks and the going is very easy despite the wind and lack of view.
June 2012
...As well as the driving rain, boots are soon soaked through from the ice encrusted puddles. Footing is invisible beneath the tussocks in many places with slick mud and drop offs. The result is a drunken lurching with the wind adding an unhelpful push at inopportune moments.
We take a moment at Atkinson (1472m) to look at the start of False Spur and note that track marking would make it hard to miss the right along the Dress Circle.
The cloud starts breaking and the first we see is the valley west of False Spur. It positively glows in the sun and more and more comes into view as we dip then climb to Aston (1376m). Soon after there is more blue than grey and we are looking over a sunny Wairarapa and north past False Spur to Neill Ridge, Concertina Knob (we think), and Maungahuka disappearing into the clag that is still piling over the tops from the west.
A couple then a single pass in the opposite direction on one day missions to Otaki Forks while we amble along to Alpha (1361m) knowing we have plenty of time and enjoying what was supposed to have been the conditions for the whole trip.
June 2012
Finally it is clear that the descent from Alpha has started and at long last the bush line heralds Alpha Hut around 1320. A couple have just come up from Tutuwai and are sheltering in their sleeping bags. It is not difficult to talk them out of considering the crossing to Kime. They provide a hot, sweet cocoa which helps immeasurably.
We arrive at the hut at 3.30 after a fairly leisurely 6 and half hours. It is the first time I can remember being here with dry boots. Jana arrives an hour or so later, then the Aussie and Pom an hour and a half after that. We are quite happy as it’s a good chatty bunch.
The stove works again heating water for dinner for two with no troubles. As we eat we take the opportunity to grill Jana. Her army husband doesn’t tramp, so she goes on her own and she relates stories of many tramps on Taranaki, Volcanic Plateau, Ruahines and Kahurangi. It is an impressive list accumulated in 8 years with time off for a daughter (now 3). She’s good company and clearly has no problems setting off on fairly ambitious trips on her own. She tells us on one trip she had some time to spare, so lived in the Kahurangi Park for as long as she could find food left in the huts, occasionally reaching a road end with a phone to tell her contact not to worry.
Just on twilight there’s a stamp on the verandah and a man emerges from the gloom. He has just come across the tops and describes the wind as forcing him to crab along. Tomorrow he says is going to be much worse according to the forecast (which has clearly deteriorated). Outside the wind is indeed rising and we have little difficulty believing that it is pretty harsh above the bush line.
Alpha is very comfortable; dry, warm and clean. The toilet however is disgusting. We argue whether it is worse than Kime and agree that although more brown than green, the fact that the brown is solid, caked on fly dirt gives it the edge. When one finally succumbs to the need to attend the facility, the blowflies rouse themselves to batter their way around the small cubicle until you have the good sense to turn the torch off.
Lights are off by 9.30 and we drift off to the sound of the wind which later on combines with the solid effort put in by the snorers.
Sunday
The hut starts stirring at 6. It is still somewhat windy out and we can imagine the sun rising over the Wairarapa and setting fire to the beech trees.
The solo tramper is off first and we follow him at 7.15 after a quick sweep of the hut. We catch him before Hell’s Gate and are slightly nonplussed by the hymn music emanating from his pack. He doesn’t refer to it and we are too polite to enquire whether this is some sort of miracle or has a more prosaic explanation.
He expands on his description of the conditions on the tops declaring that ‘no man would survive today’.
Having spent the last few weeks regaling Mike with descriptions of Marchant Ridge as being up hill in both directions; an interminable slog through mud and roots, and a soul destroying waterless drag, I feel it beholden on me to be as wrong as possible.
The wind has dropped to a refreshing breeze and there are enough windows in the bush to look back up at the clouds behind Alpha showing the tell tale signs of high winds, trace the emerging line of Quoin Ridge, point out Mt Reeves, Bull Mound Track disappearing down to Cone Hut, the far off Haurangis, and anything else that catches the eye. On this side of the range the day is very hot and gives the opportunity to view the landforms and fix them in the mind for future reference.
In this way we natter our way along the ridge and time passes very pleasantly. The final drop down to Kaitoke is scorching hot and dry and we see the first new people of the day just before reaching the road end at 1.40, around 6 and a half hours after setting out. The car left for us hasn’t been set fire to, which is nice, and we relocate to meet our respective partner and family at the Kaitoke water works to contemplate how nice and cool the water would be if we could be bothered to go swimming.
A quick check of the body shows that the shoulder is fine and although the foot is commenting quietly about what it has been doing, the voltarin seems to be keeping it in line. Sun strike is the worst that can be claimed out of the trip.
Gear and track notes
We normally trimmed time off the DoC estimates, although travelling with two in pretty good conditions makes it easier. The track to Kime is a doddle, across the Southern it is pretty well worn although a little eroded in places, and muddy and slippery when wet in others. Cutting the tussock back has made a huge difference from Hector to Aston. Alpha to Omega is well formed and Marchant appears to have a lot of the dead fall cleared (bar a couple of clambers over big trunks). Marchant is good travelling in the dry but the same track can be a different proposition in winter.
The stove did the job. It did need a second pre-burn to get going when started and as the jets take over the flames tend to dip quite a bit which suggests it could be very hard to start in any breeze. Need to test this. It coped for two people fine preparing hot drinks and dehy food. Anything more will likely slow things down a bit.
The gaiters that had previously worn holes in my legs have softened with washing and are now in prime condition (or I have calluses on my calves and shins).
The Zamberlan boots that both Mike and I have ended up with are good and comfy. They have needed little or no wearing-in but provide a little less ankle support than previous (heavier) foot wear. So far the verdict is: very good performance and reasonably priced.
My Swazi micro fibre T-shirt is good in normal conditions but hot in the sun and would benefit from something to protect the neck from the sun. My micro fibre bush shirt performed fine on the tops while Mike was wearing his rain jacket against the wind.
The Macpac 35l pack is just the right size and sits comfortably while walking. The back gets very hot though transferring heat directly into your water supply; there’s nothing like drinking something the temperature of urine! (Just stick it under the pack lid and it keeps cool). The opening at the top of the pack is annoyingly narrow when packing and, as recorded previously, it needs a raincoat to be water proof.
The walking poles weren’t used in the end but strapped onto the pack fine.
