FRIDAY 25th JANUARY - MINI SPONSOR

Just as I was leaving Kathy’s house her 8yr old son Jamie ran out of the door and presented me with a $2 coin. It was completely unprompted (Kathy assured me) and unexpected and he definitely takes the prize for my youngest sponsor. Inflated I jumped in the car and Kathy ran me back to where I had finished the day before. How many 8yr olds would do something like that under their own volition? I know my 8yr old sister is far too precious with her piggy bank!
 
It was going to be a hectic day today. I had my website to update, mail to check, about 15km to walk and I had also arranged an interview with the Waikato Times. I was walking down the misty Hamilton river walkway by 7am and the rising sun picked out the ducks wake through the haze. I shed many an enthusiastic “morning” on the early power-walkers and by 9am I was fumble typing my web updates. A reporter phoned and we arranger a rendezvous at midday down by the river but, getting lost in the flickering screen, I left it a bit late and before I left the reporter rang and reiterated his, “busy schedule.” Legging it up the river, I met Bruce and the photographer, Iain, twiddling their thumbs on the grassy bank. It was a speed interview and I stuttered my way through it, trying to impart as much information in as comprehensible a fashion I could manage. A few posed snaps and they were off but not before I had the chance to ask for any spare change. On the way back to the web I approached a few lunching workers for donations. Most declined politely but I managed a few bucks. Definitely easier than it would have been in England I mused.
 
I had to get out to West Hamilton to meet up with Trish, the sister of a family friend I had had a wonderful stay with up in Auckland, but I was running late already. Doing my usual trick of trying to squeeze too much into too short a time I passed another newspaper office and decided to drop in and offer my scoop. A quick interview with me darting glances to the clock on the wall and I burst from the mirrored doors in a mad dash across town, not knowing where the hell I was going. An hour late, I gasped my way to the rendezvous to find no Trish but after a few minutes I heard a holler and swung to see her on the other side of the lollypop kids. We drove out West to Trish and her husband, John’s, house in the country. They were a kind and interesting couple and we had a nice evening eating delicious casserole, chatting and watching the full yellow moon melt up from the horizon. I even got an ice cream! It was my fourth night inside in five days on the road; I was tramping in style but with all of my contacts almost used up it was back to basics after tonight.
 
SATURDAY 26th FEBRUARY - ALMOST FAMOUS
Kathy and I started up the Kanwhaniwha track at a leisurely 9am. It has been a fantastic morning already as I had raced to the post box to grab the Waikato Times as soon as my lids had separated. I had been given a half page article on page two no less. I was even higher up the news roster than the Pope’s emergency operation. Using Trish and John’s computer I frantically scanned and e-mailed off the article to all those I could. I had never been in a paper before and I certainly hadn’t expected such a prominent article. If it had been a naked walk I would have expected page 3 at best!!
 
My newfound fame had gone straight to my head and I swanned along the track gabbling away. Pirongia was famed for being a mud-ridden bog of a mountain but it was hard to imagine mud on such a lovely day. It was actually only a really big hill as it was a few meters short of being termed a mountain, standing at 959m tall. Regardless, it was going to be my biggest ascent so far and I was eager to conquer its waterlogged heights.
 
Kathy, being a mountain safety instructor and an avid tramper, was a wealth of information and as we passed through the forest she reeled off all the plants names and regaled me with bush tales. My spongiform brain didn’t retain much but what I did remember was a story about what a Maori guide had told her on a visit to an ancient Marae. The guide had been given the Maori name for a wagtail bird due to his position. This was because Maori folk law tells of how when one walks through the forest, wagtails come and fly next to you to escort you through their territory. Lo and behold, seconds later a wagtail flashed into view and began darting between the branches beside us, wagging its tail inquisitively. It left us to continue about 10m later and soon after another escort joined us. As the climb got steeper the forest merger into lower lying bush and our escort service petered out.
 
I had allowed the paper to print my mobile number and as we reached about half way my pocket vibrated and I answered to a soft toned Fijian lady commending me on my efforts. She was really sweet, telling me how good I was to be doing my walk and she asked for me bank details so she could make a donation. This was turning into one of my best days ever. Not only was I famous, I had people ringing me up wanting to deposit money into my account. I didn’t even have to go through the painful process of asking. I was well chuffed, as you can tell, and I cooed to myself, remonstrating the sweet and generous act that was just microwaved into my day.
 
As we climbed the bush around us changed continuously. The higher we got the thicker the moss covering the trees became. We were walking through a mythical green moss-scape and the atmosphere surrounding us was softened in all directions. We reached the summit with barely any contact with the dreaded mud and I was assured that I had had a privileged experience. The views were stunning from the viewing platform and the passing clouds added dramatic effect to the scene before us. Kathy headed on to the hut to get us some beds while I stayed, lying on my back on the platform watching the clouds dance over me in their condensing chorus.
 
There were two other people in the hut when I arrived so our hoped for an empty hut were dashed already. By the time the sun was setting there were 10 people there and I had to pitch my tent to make room inside. It was my first DOC hut and it was a luxurious one although I didn’t get to sleep in it. There was a toilet, running drinkable water, beds worktops and even a covered eating area. They got far more basic than this and I think this was an exception to the rule.
 
I ate my army ration beef stew that Pat had kindly furnished me with and crashed out. All the early starts had caught up with me and now was the chance to catch up on some well-needed rest. It was either that or risk getting cornered by the overly chatty chap in the hut and yakked at until being forced to wedge the huts logbook down his throat. He wasn’t that bad but sleep was the only thing on my mind and I would have gone to any means to get it.

SUNDAY 27th FEBRUARY - MUD, MUD, LOTS OF MUD, MUD, WHAT'LL I DO?

Mr Yak’s dull tones woke me at dawn. He had found someone to chat to even at this early hour or maybe he was talking to himself. I went over and the chap he had been talking to recognized me from the newspaper article. I had a quick rant about my walk, ending it with a plea for loose change but to no avail. “Trampers don’t carry cash,” they said. Oh well, always worth a try.
 
The descent was shorter so Kathy and I had a relaxed start. The heavens opened a few times before we left the huts shelter but they were only half-hearted attempts and I wasn’t fooled. Setting off, Pirongia wasted no time in introducing us to its infamous attribute, mud and lots of it. Kathy faltered first and I heard the squelch and pop of her boot taking the brown plunge. I followed fast and we soon both had mud up to our knees, the fetid goop smearing us like half hearted jungle commandoes. We had Kathy’s GPS and we had programmed in a few waypoints to navigate for. Despite it being relatively accurate it only measured the distance between two points without factoring in the lay of the land. 500m easily turned into 1500m with the track following the path of a drunken crow rather than a flying one.
 
Reaching our first waypoint, the junction between two tracks, we had a quick snack break before launching into the next leg. We were following a closed track from now on and years of neglect had left it wild and overgrown rather like my beard was getting. I had heard of someone successfully making it through recently so it was definitely possible to follow. How lost could we get with Kathy’s bushcraft skills, a GPS and my finely honed tramping instincts! It was hard going hacking our way through but it was fun to be off the beaten track and having to beat one ourselves. The markers were easy to loose and towards the end we had to retrace our steps every few minutes.
 
The moss covered everything and a million shades of green welcomed us. Our noisy descent, breaking branches and ripping through undergrowth, seemed to be disturbing the age-old air untouched for centuries. The forest air was intoxicating and I was slipping, sliding and tumbling every other footstep. At one point I was turtled on my back with my head downhill and my legs and arms splayed helplessly. We eventually climbed out onto the road, blinded by the suns unfiltered rays. We had beaten Pirongia and I will look back with fond memories unlike the majority that slide down her bog ridden sides. A week of rain and im sure all the tracks would resemble the bog of eternal stench but recent sun kissed weather had blessed our crossing.
 
Kath’s husband Peter picked her up and I stole all her left over nibbles and refilled my bottles before they motored on. I had no destination to reach and just had to strike as far south as my mud caked boots wanted to carry me. It was all roads but they were mostly unsealed and empty of traffic. All around me it was open country but the hills were deep and twisted like they had been put in a blender. The sheep didn’t care and munched on unperturbed by their certain fate if they should so topple. As the forest closed in again I found a side road and camped next to some deserted car carcasses. Not quite natures finest camping spot but I slept like a baby all the same.

Kathy and I, Pirongi proud		Almost Famous! Click the image to download the article in Adobe pdf format.

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