Before you head away on a trip often there are a number of things for the trip leader to sort out. The group gear is divided up, the menu planned and dinner ingredients dished out, transport organised, the emergency contact person informed and the route planned.
So when you find out that the road access to the roadend has been washed out just 90 min before you are due to leave on a 4 hour drive to the roadend and two members of the party won’t be joining the party, a lot of that planning goes out the window. I was glad to have found out before we had started driving.
A few phonecalls later, Sunrise Hut has become Field Hut and a forecast of lots of rain had significantly improved to one mentioning sunshine. How radical for a tramp into the Tararuas.
The traffic out of Wellington was bad, nearly two hours to Otaki. A quick takeaway dinner was followed by the drive to Otaki Forks and the long ten minute walk to Parawai Lodge. We had company for our walk. A local dog decided he liked the smell of our packs and accompanied us to Parawai Lodge. The kids certainly enjoyed playing with a friendly dog and he liked the attention too. The dog (now named Storm, and when kids name things, getting rid of the thing is a dangerous and fraught activity as any parent will tell you) was a bit miffed, as were the kids, when he wasn’t invited inside the hut to sleep. Eventually “Storm” wandered off chasing some other scent.
Every time somebody went outside during the night, the door would squeak and clunk, that was the cue for “Storm” to race out of the woodshed around to the front door to be ready to greet whoever was lucky enough to be awake during a cool clear starry September night.
In the morning, “Storm” was ready and willing to go, but the kids needed breakfast first. Once packed up we headed back to the bridge to pick up the Judd Ridge track to Field Hut. “Storm” picked up another scent and dashed off into the scrub, relieving us of the decision of how to get him to go back home.
The first hour or so climbing up through the regenerating scrub was hot and thirsty work with a lot of stops to adjust layers, have a drink, seek out the favourite lollies in the scrog or to shuffle pack loads. Once within the bush a more consistent pace was maintained over the steady climb up to Field hut.
Field Hut was empty save the daytrippers passing through. Over the afternoon Field hut slowly accumulated people staying the night until twenty eight crammed in for the night. The kids kept themselves entertained using the hut as a climbing wall, and intense games of cards with the other kids gathered at the hut were played out upstairs in a corner.
The odd snow flurry that drifted down from the main range sent the kids charging outside hoping for a snowball fight only to be bitterly disappointed. A fire was slowly coaxed out of the wet wood collected, eventually managing to make the old hut pleasantly warm. A trail-running group aiming for a moonlight southern crossing impressed with their keenness firstly by attempting a cool trip, and later on their return due to poor weather on the tops by running back out to Otaki Forks via headlamps. A huge dinner of chicken satay noodles and rocky road mousse was devoured. Further games of cards preceded bedtime and parents sighing at the relative quiet that followed.
The next morning dawned warm and sunny again and a plan was hatched to head up Table Top and take in the view. The main range looked spectacular sugar-dusted with snow. The kids were all very keen to continue on up to the main range and refused to believe it was still a couple of hours tramping to the snow. Future trips for the schedule were dreamed up including the classic southern crossing.
With no great urgency we spent until mid-afternoon relaxing around Field hut. A whole gang of kids disappeared down the side of the hill on some grand bushbashing adventure that the adults weren’t privy to, only to return when lunch was expected.
The walk back to the cars flew by, until we hit the regenerating bush again. The kids would run off ahead, hide and try to surprise the adults as they walked by. Once or twice the parents were caught out but usually giggles gave the game away. The last of the lollies and chocolate were consumed. The Waiotauru river was a siren for sore hot feet, until the said feet actually touched the highly chilled waters. Then it was a simple matter of chucking kids and gear into the car and seeking post-tramp refreshments for a great end to a great weekend away.