Heuristic traps and other fun
Whakapapaiti Hut and the Ruapehu Solstice Ball, Tongariro National Park, New Zealand
Ah, Tongariro National Park. Known for its snow-capped volcanic peaks. Home of WTMC’s Ruapehu Lodge. Rewind back half a year and I’d had this idea to get a bunch of clubbies together to have a winter-solstice ball on the mountain. The concept wasn’t original in the lease, but it had been some years since it had been attempted. Much to the horror of the general committee planning was a little ad-hoc and informal. Invites were sent out and response trickled in right up until the van departed platform 10 at Wellington Station. We sped our way up the country (some a little too literally) and through an Ohakune swarming with Mardi Gras party goers. It was well and truly dark by the time we arrived at Iwikau Village. Regan marched up first, flicking on the lights and turning up the heaters. Soon the lodge was full of activity, punters filling the bunks.
As a new day dawned over the maunga the lodge’s livingroom slowly filled with bleary eyed people seeking their caffeine fix. They were greeted with steaming quiche. This somewhat made up for the lack of views, a storm swirling on the other side of the windows. Following breakfast I marshalled my punters for my ‘easy-medium’ walk down the Whakapapaiti Track. We’d do the loop and meet Ellis running the other direction. Regan would be at the end to pick us up in the van. The others planned to go Taranaki Falls. Losers.
Whakapapaiti Track
Party members: Sam Harrison (trip leader), Claire Davis, Ultan McAdam, Anna Prokupkova, Tom Goodman, Sam Viskovic, Ayantha Abeyrathna, Nicole Wood and Rachel Blackburn.
Everyone pulled on their waterproof layers in anticipation of what was to come. Sure enough, as soon as we excited the sanctuary of the lodge we were subjected to freezing cold sideways rain. Grey clag hung to the landscape. I set my sights downhill and the others followed, with an admirable (although perhaps misplaced) trust in my navigational abilities. It was bitterly cold.
Battling the elements we reached the Whakapapaiti Track where it crossed Tawhainui Stream. Cold water filled my boots as I sloshed my way across. We said goodbye to one of the punters, Rachel, here as she walked back up the road to the shelter of the lodge. From the stream the going was more even (but no less wet). A quick traverse soon took us to the edge of the Whakapapaiti Valley. The track descended steeply, zig-zagging down the hill. Being hard-core we of course ignored these unnecessary turns and straight-lined it. At the valley floor we reached a junction and headed down-valley following the edge of a raging Whakapapaiti Stream. The shelter of the treeline was appreciated by all. The canopy did not however provide any respite from the wet, the track running deep in freezing water. It was a relief when the hut finally came into sight.
We took shelter within, leaving layers of soaking clothing by the door. A great variety of food was pulled out onto the table and we tucked in, our appetites egged on by the cold. Following lunch we reassembled our packs and went through the motions of putting our dripping garments on. At some point here I unknowingly said goodbye to my new Nalgene [:(]. Leaving the hut we headed down a river terrace before descending down a set of stairs to the river.
Normally this would be where we would have crossed. The river had other ideas, its water foaming with an icy blue tint. Its raw power was equal parts impressive and terrifying. Foolhardy as I was, I decided to go for a jog upstream in the rather unlikely event there was a spot we could cross. Afterr all, the other side was *just* over there, not far at all… After a few minutes I found a spot I thought potentially suitable at the confluence of two branches of the stream. I could see the streambed and the water was moving slower. Eager to share my news I hurried back towards the others. In the process I stepped on a wet root and felt the world begin to tumble. This momentary suspension of time was broken by the heavy thump of my thigh against a rock, my boots dangling over the bank and over the river. Insert the appropriate expletive here. I lay there on the cold wet ground for a second taking stock. Luckily the only major damage was to my pride, although my thigh ached deeply. I limped back to the rest of the group. One look at their faces convinced me that pushing a bunch of punters across an icy cold stream in flood was potentially an unwise decision. It was time to come up with a plan B.
My phone glistened with rain as I scrolled the map with my shaking fingers. If we could just get through the forest to the north it looked like we’d be able to rejoin the track lower down. I floated this with the group and they agreed with the plan. With clumsy wet digits I crudly texted Ellis and Regan to update them the best I could. Following that we turned downstream and hugged the true-right of the stream, pushing through thick undergrowth until we reached a large slip. We left the river here, climbing to reach gentler forested terrain at the top.
The forest consisted mostly of tightly packed mossy beech, with sparse undergrowth. The occasional bog and streamlet punctuated our travels. It was a relief when the bush opened up and we emerged into a large clearing. The sun even tried to shine. Things were looking up.
We wove our way between these clearings until we were traversing the wetland to the south east of the track. It was an art to avoid the deep pools that made up the landscape. Careful inspection of these revealed that they played host to shy kōura, which was a special delight.
On the far side of the wetland we found the track, a string of narrow boardwalks winding through the marshy country. This was a welcome contrast to the rough terrain we had just traversed. From here we marched north before turning to the east and back into the forest. After an hour we reached the Silica Rapids track and it wasn’t far from here to where Regan was waiting for us in the van. It was bliss to be back inside the lodge. Hot showers and snacks.
The kitchen was a hive of activity as preparations were underway for dinner. Soon outfits were getting dug out and beers were put in the “fridge” (i.e. out the back door). Dinner was a marvelous vege tagine prepared by our fabulous cooks Casey and India. The festivities that followed were kicked off with table traverses, some more successful than others.
We then gathered around for a cut-throat game of mafia where Mr Sparkles McGillicuddy narrated our blood-thirsty or ill-advised exploits. This backstabbing was only briefly interupted for dessert, fresh apple crumble.
After thoroughly ruining any friendships we had forged over the day we then topped the night off with a touch of beer pong and Articulate. It was wholesome.
One by one people trickled off to bed, the day’s toils finally hitting home.
Sunday was all about the clean up. Bathrooms were scrubbed and floors vacuumed. With terrifying efficiency we packed into vehicles, ready to depart for Wellington.
Of course there was the obligatory stop in Ohakune for eclairs and carrots. Then back on the road south, pulling up to Platform 10 in the darkness, the work week fast approaching.
It was certainly a weekend for remember for some years yet. I can’t wait for the next one.
