We departed from
the OTMC building sharp on time picking up two hitch-hiking members
en-route. We journeyed in silence until we had our first fix of fish
and chips at Alexandra. There, we bumped into other members of the
OTMC mulling around the thoroughfare. Also mulling around and showing
off their tolerance of sub zero weather conditions by wearing shorts
and flexing their tattoos, were the local youth. We became aware of
one particular group, as their vamped up Capri with lowered suspension
cruised up behind the mini bus. Their cool cruising machine throbbed
with the dud, dud, dud, of their sound system. Our curious stares
were acknowledged with a Speights salute and a "good on ye" cry. They
obviously thought that we were a weird bunch going off into the mountains
on such a cold evening.
Fish and chips proved
to be good brain food as our party, now fed, began to chatter and
show signs of excitement as our trip leader pulled out an array of
weather forecasts. They all varied in their predictions but illustrated
that there was a cluster of mean looking southerly isobars ganging
together to either blow over the southern ocean or creep in towards
the mainland and dump on the higher regions with hail and snow. Apparently,
the previous night, a local weather observer was contacted and informed
the club of the view from their living room window that the Sugarloaf
mountain was just iced with a sprinkling of snow. With this re-assurance,
we headed west to the mountains.
We travelled through
a quiet Queenstown and then onto the unsealed/sealed road to Glenorchy.
Progress has been made over the last two months with the road works.
This time there were less noticeable road slides. We arrived at the
Routeburn shelter late that evening in the rain. All disembarked to
doss down in the shelter with one member, who forgot her Karrimat,
settling down in the minibus to catch some condensation for the evening.
The next morning
arrived as foretold with the wet southerlies. A disarray of trampers
swaggered around the shelter, organising their breakfast, personal
hygiene and what socks to wear over the next few days. All were dressed
in the tramping trend of stripey thermo trouser underneath shorts.
My first impression of this attire was that there was a select following
of the superman look of wearing shorts over tights/thermos. I latterly
found that this was a Kiwi trampers dressed code. One member of the
group took this trend further by introducing a new blue mini skirt
look. Who said that you could not look sexy on the slopes! This fashion
statement had a more practical basis of being made from a plastic
bin liner and not leather and it was to allow the rain to drain off
without wetting her undergarments. Fashion parade complete, we headed
north up the Routeburn track. The more adventurous party forged onwards
to the northern pass to pick the way up their route with ice-axes
and crampons.
The other group
took a sharp and steep right up an unmarked track leading over the
Sugarloaf Pass. Our group was the latter and consisted of Malcolm,
Kirsty, Chris and Fiona. The ascent up the Sugarloaf pass was arduous
with an exciting moment traversing along a slippery tree trunk over
a river in spate. We used the well known tramping technique of bumping
along on your bottom. This resulted in a soaking wet and very cold
behind for the rest of the ascent. One particularly lanky member of
the group merely bounded over the aforementioned obstacle. He then
flew up the hill and down again to see what was keeping the others
who were fighting for air on the slippery slope. We later found the
secret of his excess energy by being reared on Milo and Weetbix. We
decided to call him the "Kiwi Kid".
Eventually, we reached
the top off Sugarloaf Pass which was covered in ankle deep snow. The
views over the other snow covered mountains were impressive when they
quickly appeared out of the clouds. This is where we played spot the
mountain with our cameras. We hastily moved on and followed the iron
rusted poles towards the well defined shelter stone and then steeply
down towards the Rockburn track.
We decided to take
the right turn down towards the Rockburn hut instead of Theatre Flat.
The hut seemed more appealing compared to camping 4 in a 3 man tent
in the cold and wet. We met 11 other trampers on the track tramping
their way towards Theatre Flat. We were relieved not to add to the
overcrowding of this scenic spot. It also satisfied our comfort zones,
especially mine after the Scott Creek/Greenstone weekend. The Kiwi
kid appeared disappointed, we decided as a group to let him bound
on in search of the hut. A few hours later we arrived at the DOC grade
3 Rockburn hut. It was situated not far from the banks of the river
Dart.
The hut was well
equipped with bunks, benches, wood, a lamp and pots. It was obviously
been used by hunters. This is where we burst into domestic activity
of chopping wood, fire making and gourmet meal cooking. A comfortable
time was had by all with a warm fire, good food, wine, whisky and
scary Scottish ghost stories (all true) to pass the evening through.
The evening ended in high jinks for one member of the group who had
to pole vault onto the top bunk. It was amusing to watch his legs
dangle over the side as he attempted to mantle shelve onto the mattress.
We settled down
for the night, lulled to sleep with the sound of rain on the tin roof
and the hut mouse smacking its lips over the gourmet left overs. Snores
filled the air as we contented trampers drifted off to peaceful dreams.
All except one, who from the top bunk cried for help and then leaped
off the bunk and was found cowering on the floor holding onto a sandal
for dear life. Was it a scary ghost story too many or a dream about
a 6 foot mouse eating his weetbix? We never did find out from this
sleep walking, bunk bungying, Milo addict.
The next day arrived
with clear blue skies. It was amazing to sit on the river bank eating
breakfast whilst watching the sun slowly creep over the ridge of Mt.
Earnslaw. Personal grooming appeared to be the next priority of the
morning with washing of hair and cleaning of teeth. The males of the
group appeared to be particularly hygiene conscious. One had brought
some Lynx "Java" deodorant. The females, less well groomed, shamed
by this effort of personal hygiene from the boys, asked to borrow
the deodorant as not to feel too grubby and left out.
Smelling sweet or
less sweaty, we decided to move on and have an shorter but more adventurous
day. Wearing lighter sacks, we decided to follow an animal track through
the bush along the river Dart towards Lake unknown. We took the bridge
over an impressive gorge and then followed a deer track into the bush.
This was full of fauna and bird life with Wood Pigeons cooing and
cheeky Waxeyes playing tag with us along the track. We reached to
bottom of the hill where Lake Unknown was situated. We looked up at
the overhanging cliffs and decided to rename it Lake Impossible.
We cut out of the
bush and practise some river crossing by following the river back
to the hut. One party member had little experience of doing so and
was getting into the swing of it when two Shotover speed boats blasted
up the river. One passed by with passive passengers peering curiously
at this water nymph. The other jet boat roared to an abrupt halt putting
her off her stride and them off their momentum. Confidence building
stuff, usually you warn people of fast rivers, not to go above your
knees but not playing "chicken" with raging speed boats would be one
to remember.
A warm fire greeted
us with some new company for the evening. The owner of the Glenorchy
Cafe and her son were settling in for the evening. Another pleasant
evening progressed with more gourmet meals, wine, whisky and more
scary ghost stories. This proved too much for our Milo addict who
had another disturbed dream and unplanned bunk bungy. I decided that
in future that I would refrain from telling scary Scottish ghost stories.
However, I personally think that he should cut down on the Milo.
Our walk out the
next day was leisurely and involved a sunbath en route on the banks
of Lake Sylvan. A particularly bold bush Robin decided to come out
and eat some leftover apricots. We passed by the road end of Kinloch
and up to the Routeburn shelter for some more basking in the sunshine.
We watched the other group tirelessly troop towards the shelter. It
appeared that a good time was had by all.
Our travel back
to Dunedin was scenic to say the least. We had a civilised coffee
stop in quiet Queenstown (must be the Japanese off season) then onto
an uneventful fish and chip stop in Alexandra. Arriving back in Dunedin
more refreshed than how I left, I looked at the trip card, Queen’s
Birthday, seems worth celebrating.
Fiona Mains
Ghost Story Expert
Back
to 1997 Trip Report Archive - Back
to OTMC Bulletin Archive