Guess who got an Issuu account? I might redo these for readability on the web, as what’s currently there are the print-ready layouts. Sorry.

1. The one about the Wairarapa holidays
2. The one about beer
3. The one about those anarchist stickers I blogged over five years ago
4. The one about my dead web comic E Motel
   

Of all the stupid things I’ve done, of all the dreadful tramping experiences I’ve had, the worst has to be my attempting the Medium trip to Lewis Pass, Queen’s Birthday Weekend, 1994.

However, the Easy trip had been cancelled, and I was determined to go come hell or high water.

More fool me.

Borne on ferry and taxi
ten trampers arrive
at Lewis Pass.
Four are Mediums:
Steve, the leader,
John and Robert
and Rob. The fool.
Up Rough Creek
the going certainly is.
Then struggle down
to Robertson River(?)
and Lake Hut
A trip of eight hours.

Friday

The route was to start from Rough Creek, where we pitched fly for the night, climb to the tops, go over them, then descend to Lake View Hut near Lake Christabel the first day. Then to travel up the Robertson River (I think — hence the question mark) until we reached the saddle leading to Nina Valley and then go down to Nina Hut. From there we were to follow the road to the resort at Mahuia Springs. Probably not too serious for Mediums, but for a twit Easy like myself — help!

Climbing up along Rough Creek was steep and — well — rough! The weather was unsettled and damp — didn’t clear all weekend — which didn’t help matters. The low cloud had the soul-destroying property of hiding the actual distance remaining between you and the tops, hence my heartfelt scream of relief when we eventually did hit the tops.

Then down and down and down and along and along and along. The valley seemed endless, and I suspect (to my embarrassment) I may have driven my companions mad with my whining. I had a suspicion that the sheer massiveness of the terrain may have caused the Easy trip to be cancelled.

Lake View Hut has no view of the lake at all. Despite that we slept here that night.

A long day —
twelve hours to Nina Biv!
Along the river
and the track vanishes.
A scramble up to the saddle
and river-bash along, long, long
until the biv is reached.
Soup, and a decision
to try and reach Nina Hut,
torch bash.
The track is long,
poorly marked
fly on river flats about 10.
Dinner at 11.
Pit at midnight.

Saturday

The next day was drizzly, dreary and to get worse.

The first part of the journey up toward Nina Valley saddle was alright, but soon the track faded into the scrubby, resistant hebe bushes that almost seemed to be trying to hold us back. Eventually we ended up changing sides of the valley — we had to to get to the saddle — and now it was nice grassland, along with a viciously spiny plant called Spaniard’s Hat, or Spaniard.

By the time everyone reached the saddle, I was still lurching pitifully along, exhausted. Steve had to carry my pack up for me while I struggled up the gravel slope.

What followed was mostly down, thank God, but very wet down as we negotiated the upper reaches of the Nina River. It took us a very wet time before we made it to the tiny Nina Bivouac.

Nina Biv is just a two-bunk place, really only for emergencies. Here we drank some much-needed soup, and wondered what to do. The others wanted to try for Nina Hut, still some hours away. With night beginning to fall, it was decided to try for it.

Our efforts were doomed to failure. Guess who’s torch had gone bust, eh? Lightsticks don’t give off enough light, especially when the track lurches almost vertically from riverside to up on swampy plateaus. Eventually we had to give up and just find a place to pitch fly.

Which we did, although flying on a gravel bar in the middle of a river isn’t exactly the best place. But with the rain coming down, we had no choice. So ended a most ignominious Saturday. God save the queen — and give us a hand too.

Up from our pits we arose
Ai! Sandflies are eating us alive!
Two hours to Nina Hut
and on the road by half 3
— not bad —
then a long plod to Mahuia Springs
mercifully shortened by hitching lifts.
Ohh… that warm water…

Sunday

The next day, plagued by spitty rain, we strike our camp and continue out. Two hours later, Nina Hut hoves into view; a rather ratty-looking place, and while there we have a little lunch and I manage to gash my finger open slicing cheese. You can still see the scar, not as severe as the gash on my thumb (from lifting a toilet bowl during renovations) but a nice messy bleeder nonetheless.

Just down from the hut was the slackest two-wire bridge I have ever had the pleasure of crossing. At times I was angled at 50° from the vertical and it’s a wonder I didn’t get a dunking.

The road bash, as mentioned, was alleviated by a bloke in a big black Ford or Holden (I can’t remember) with a pair of big black dogs. So it was a short hop to Mahuia Springs after all.

Mahuia is quite a posh resort, and the springs are actually quite hot. With only a little dosh, not much beer is consumed, but at least tonight’s campsite is better than last night’s.

Monday has the taxis arrive, the other groups arrive, and soon we are heading home. It was an experience like no other I’ve had, and hopefully will never have again.