Underneath Centre City New World Jakob and I pondered if going to the Clinton Valley on the Milford would be a good idea. The weather had been a bit psychotic recently and from the sounds of it DOC had no idea what state the mountains were in. Screw it, we’ll just snow-shoe the Kepler we said. With that settled, we sallied forth into the supermarket, grabbing anything that looked vaguely useful. Weight doesn’t matter we reasoned, it is only a Great Walk. Curled up in our sleeping bags in Lower Princester Hut we pondered what the following days would bring.
Our plan consisted of leaving the packs (and Jakob) at the Control Gate end of the track; me driving the car to the Rainbow Reach carpark; and finally me running the 9.5km back to the packs before starting our way on the circuit. This was logical, maybe even prudent, but screwed me over from the start. It took about an hour for me to crash down the track and reunite with Jakob. In the process I had inflicted intense pain on myself by making my feet lug my boots quickly over such a distance. Jakob was having a plush time of it chilling out in the shelter when I arrived. He’d been chatting to passersby, which included a group of Japanese guides who were having a merry go at a bottle of…
