[The stars have finally aligned - i.e. I am home, alone, and not completely dead from jetlag. My blog site is up and running. And I have fresh content!]
You know, there’s a reason the West Coast is so nice and green. It rains there. A lot. Now, rain on the roof is a nice comforting sound when you are home snug in bed, be it in Wellington or Paris. However, when you have to get out of your sleeping bag, roll it up and walk for six or seven hours in the rain before you get to the next hut… the drumming on the roof takes on a more ominous tinge.
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| From Dec 2010-Jan 2011 Xmas holiday |
It was raining when we woke up, rained while we had breakfast, and was still raining when we set off from the hut. You get the idea. But in the middle of the Heaphy Track, there’s no bus to catch, no-one to give you a lift, so you just zip up your raincoat and get on with it. There’s something very zen about walking in the rain – the world reduces to the track and the dripping trees on either side, the sound and feel of the rain, the weight of the pack on your back, one foot in front of the other – and the faint possibility that you might get hypothermia.
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| Totem to the god of tramping - a tramper lives or dies by their feet. |
The path goes over tussocky downs for three or four hours. We plodded on, and got to the Gouland Downs hut in time for morning tea. Finally, some respite. As we walked up to the hut, a ranger approached me. Did you come from Perry Saddle hut? Are you the last people off the track? He was standing between me and shelter from the rain, so I sidestepped him and headed for the awning. Oh to dump my pack and get warm. Dad came up a few seconds later and the ranger interrogated him too.
Turns out there was a severe rain warning in place for the area, and there was a danger zone further down the track. If we got to a particular bridge, and the track on the other side was waist-deep in water, we were to turn back. But if it was only knee-deep, it was probably ok to cross. Riiiiiiight. This area was after the next hut, so I figured we could deal with that on a full stomach.
We had a cup of tea and caught our breath, and I pulled on polypro tights under my sopping wet trousers before we headed back out into the rain. I was still wet, but now I was warm. The creeks were now rivers and the rivers were foaming and pounding. I almost expected Liv Tyler to step out from behind a tree and calm the water horses down.
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| Gouland Downs. It was a bit wet. |
To cross anything wider than a footpath, DOC had helpfully put up a swing bridge. Now these seemed pretty robust, and you have to assume after Cave Creek they are on top of the maintenance. However, it is still an act of faith setting one foot in front of the other on a narrow metal platform which sways and wobbles, while below several thousand litres of water roil and churn. Halfway across the first one I just decided to put myself in the hands of fate, and be at peace with the universe. This may not make any difference to the outcome, but it did keep the panic at bay.
Two more hours of plodding brought us to Saxon Hut. We walked into a wall of heat – the wood stove was already going. Tramping makes you very unselfconscious - I stripped off my wet layers and hung them up over the drying rack above the stove. Took off my boots, propped them up outside the hut, and watched the water run out of them.
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| Helpful weather forecast left by the ranger. |
We took our time over lunch, with the 1000 mile stare of soldiers after battle. I fell asleep on the hard wooden bench next to the fire – and when I woke up, the sun had come out!
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| From Dec 2010-Jan 2011 Xmas holiday |
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| From Dec 2010-Jan 2011 Xmas holiday |
On the other side of the bridge we had our eyes peeled for a swollen torrent, but in fact all we saw was a big puddle. Waist-deep? Knee-deep? I raised one foot – sploosh! The water covered my boot and tickled my ankle… and that was it. Sploosh splosh sploosh. And the most danger we encountered was wet boots. Of course after three hours this translated into some quite impressive blisters.
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| From Dec 2010-Jan 2011 Xmas holiday |
The James Mackay hut is off to the side of the main track. After the day’s walking, the extra 50 metres seemed like the last straw. We were greeted by the ranger – a very chirpy woman who proceeded to give us chapter and verse on the weather forecast and the state of the track before we’d even put our packs down. What is it with these rangers? It’s great that they’re so enthusiastic, but couldn’t DOC include a page in the manual on how to mix a gin and tonic?
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| Drying the boots at James Mackay hut. |
James Mackay hut is on the ridge that marks the edge of the downs, and on the other side the hill drops away to the sea. From the kitchen you can see the next day’s route, all the way to the mouth of the Heaphy river, six hours walk away. The forecast was for rain, but right now it was dry and still. The sea was silver in the evening light.
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| From Dec 2010-Jan 2011 Xmas holiday |
A few words about dinner. Dad bought these nifty bag meals – you boil the billy and pour hot water in, fold the top of the bag over, and leave for ten minutes. At the end of a day’s walking, most of it with rain sluicing down our legs, it seemed almost miraculous that hot, tasty food could be produced with so little effort. The first night was sweet and sour lamb. Tonight was honey soy chicken. And the best part was that I didn’t even have to lift a finger! I got it all served up for me. Thanks Dad.
Six hours walking doesn’t sound like a lot, but actually it’s plenty with a pack on your back. Add the rain factor and there was a severe risk I would faceplant in the honey soy chicken. So going out into the bush to listen for kiwi was out of the question – I think then we hit the sack before it even got dark, and I got a solid 11 hours sleep, the most I’d had in a long time.
Things I was glad we had brought:
- Raro (masks the taste of the hut water supply)
- Swiss army knife (to get into the meal bags)
- Whittakers Dark Chocolate with Orange Bits (self-explanatory really)
Things I wish we’d had brought:
- More dried fruit
- Milo (I never drink Milo, but for some reason it was exactly what I wanted at the end of a long day)
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