A lot was
hinging on this trip - I’m a new comer to the club, you see. The
Thursday meeting prior was short n’sweet. Gary, the leader
safely assured me, 'you’ll be right mate', so I paid up and told him
I’d see him the following day. Not only am I a new comer to OTMC,
but also to the South Island, so I hadn’t interpreted a 'bit of a drive
toward Te Anau' as meaning an arrival time post midnight!
The shelter
at The Divide (beginning of the Routeburn) was soon quickly
scattered with bodies. David set the tone for the weekend (literally
that is - b flat), breaking into snore before I was even in my
sleeping bag - still not sure how he did that! Poor Gaz had to drop
off the five other troopers tackling Giffords Crack and so didn’t
crawl into his sack until after 1am. I’d just nodded off, when there
was a squeal. I open my eyes - a fat possum lands on me full weight
and Roy is ‘giving it some’ across the shelter, intent on who knows
what once he got his hands on that piece of fur.
A few
sandflies joined us for an early brekky, then we were off, first
stop being Key Summit. From here the views were incredible,
particularly Mt Christina poking through the clearing cloud. We then
basically trotted along the range, soaking up the scene from every
angle. Lake Gunn on our right, and Greenstone Valley on our
left didn’t leave our sight for most of the day. Reaching the wind
meter (for the proposed gondola) proved an intriguing interlude with
some cunning and devious discussions being had as to a possible
‘mishap’. David appeared quite willing to take on the title of
‘Eco-Warrior’, as did in fact half the group. Nevertheless, it still
stands untouched - let’s hope the same for the Range itself.
The scurry up
and down a reasonable slope, late in the day, increased the
appreciation for both our camp site and dinner. We had a fantastic
spot, perched on a saddle high above the Greenstone Valley. Roy
nibbled on his rice crackers, while most boiled their billies. Gary
and Heather, demonstrated their extensive outdoor experience -
cooling a couple of tinnies (each!) in the tarn before gulping them
down with cheeky ‘you can’t have any’ grins.
Morning was a
tad drizzly and a lot cooler than the previous day, so not too much
time was wasted packing up. We were soon into the stream. Bill and
the boys up front went looking for an easier route, while the rest
of us plodded on. Eventually catching up, Moir’s trusty guidebook
had surfaced and the search was on for a supposedly marked trail.
Not having much luck, we then decided to stop for lunch, after
which, while relishing in a moment of well-needed solitude, if you
get my drift, my gaze was drawn to a marker! We were away - a well
blazed trail dropped steeply through the bush and into the Cascade
Creek.
There was
talk of ‘what ifs’ among the group, as the grounded helicopter was
still missing - for better or worse, we didn’t have to worry about
that one. For me, leaving the bush always seems to happen so
quickly. Within 20 seconds of reaching the main road and crossing
it, three tour busses had roared passed - no mistaking Milford Sound
was within a stones throw. The Gifford’s party soon rejoined ours
and we were on our way. Ralph shared a similar sentiment as we drove
off - 'it’s amazing how you can be hanging on for your life and with
in 30 minutes you’re in the car and on your way home'. What did he
mean exactly? When asked how their few days fared, the party of five
who headed up to Giffords Crack responded only with nervous giggles
and the repeated word 'interesting'. Ralph was obviously being quite
candid.
So that was
it, a successful first tramp and enough to draw me back again.
Eves-dropping in on a conversation nearing Dunedin, I overheard the
question, 'So, if someone asks - what exactly have I been doing this
weekend?' - maybe they better sign up for another trip, or at least
read the back of the trailer a couple of times.
Luke