WEDNESDAY 6th APRIL - FOLLOW THE SAUSAGES
With lots to do and considering the exceptional hospitality of my hosts, Tony and Leonie, my stay in Palmerston extended itself to three days. During that time I regretfully managed to flood my hosts house with an assortment of visitors including a reporter and photographer from the local paper who wanted to get a photo of me with my feet up and Ian Argyle, the local Te Araroe representative. My route from here on in remained unplanned and I met up with Ian to get an idea of the state of the tracks heading South with the hope that I could walk some of them. Ian was what I have come to realise country folk out here look like, shorts, sturdy legs and a strong kiwi accent, and he arrived at the door armed with maps and a video camera to assault my task of route finding. I discovered that there had been a new track cut heading towards Shannon through the Tararua foothills but from the end of that no progress had been made between Shannon and Levin. The video camera was to show me the end of the track to give me a few landmarks so I knew if I reached the end. I was going to be the first person besides the track cutters to walk this section of virgin track which I felt to be quite an honour and I was already imagining the plaque emblazoned with my name marking the beginning! It was still, however, in its embryonic stages and was only roughly cut and marked so no orange triangles and swing bridges, just sausage wrappers and wet river crossings. Sausage wrappers I hear you say! One of the guys putting this section on place worked for a sausage company and he got hold of hundreds of metres of unused pork braun sausage wrapper so all I had to do was follow the sausages.

During my respite I also had to do some street collecting to boost the charity funds and I was hoping my newspaper article would be printed while I was there so I had some ammunition for the more skeptical. Sadly the Pope went and snuffed it, scuppering my plans. This time I wasn't going to beat him up the news ladder like I had done previously. Feebly toting my most recent article I hit the pavements of Palmerston feeling a bit out of practice. Struggling to get started, I eventually plucked up the courage to ask a few people but to little avail. A few more cold shoulders later and I was beginning to have a crisis of confidence, not even being able to approach people. I wandered the streets looking for a good spot and each time I tried to talk to someone the words got stuck in my throat and I failed to even ask them. Frustrated at my sudden confidence block, I sat on a bench, head in hands, and tried to force a bit of positive mental attitude. Slightly more composed, I tried again but no one was biting. A few more turned backs and I was back at the bottom of the mental pit that I had been digging. Frustrated at myself more than anything I was about to get the bus back having only collected about $1.50 when I gave myself one last mental kick up the backside. Who cared of people said, 'no', I would just have to ask more people. It wasn't as if they were spitting in my face and ridiculing me. Dragging myself to an appropriate spot opposite the bus station I resolved myself to asking everyone that passed and taking no notice of those that carried on walking. At last the shrapnel began rattling in and for every person that parted with their hard earned bullion my confidence was boosted immeasurably. The knot of frustration that had wedged itself at the top of my chest slowly began to dislodge itself as my nervous energy was burnt up by adrenalin. I netted about $30 before I had to jump on the bus and despite my difficulties I was happy that I had persisted and overcome my crisis. There if few thing more difficult than asking strangers for money especially when most are unresponsive, however, as with most things, the less you care about people reactions the more successful you will be.

The last bit of preparation I managed was to go over maps of the Tararua's with Tony and Leonie's son, Michael, who had done a lot of tramping up in the range. It was Michael with which I left my route intentions and I said that if I hadn't contacted him by a certain date that he should call the search and rescue. It was all just an extra safety net and one I was certainly grateful to have considering the many warnings I have had regarding the Tararua's.

I got a lift with Michael to where I started walking and was going by about 8am. The morning was promising with sun and blue sky and the forecast was good for a few days with rain after that. The forecasts out here are patchy at best but for some reason I always believe the sunny bits. I guess bad news is harder to accept. At least it was good weather to begin again and my beginning started on farm roads trough relatively steep farmland and patches of native bush. The rough farm roads lead me to a sealed road which lead to the beginning of the Backs Track, a well formed track which zig-zagged up through the undergrowth and joined onto a farm road on the otherside. I wasn't totally sure I had reached the right road but a minute after I had started following it I heard the buzz of a quad bike and over the hill rolled a farmer who confirmed I was on course.
Dropping down into forestry where the track was meant to begin I followed some orange spray paint markers in the direction Ian had told me. Approaching a split in the road I noticed a hunter sitting at the base of a tree, his rifle propped up next to him. He had been deer hunting up in the bush where I was heading and on seeing him I remembered we were now well into the roar. The roar is basically deer hunting season and its name comes from the fact that at this time of year the stags roar to attract females to mate. New Zealand is hunting country and earlier this century hunters were even paid by the government to shoot deer as the amount of them was damaging the native bush. The statistics were on my side, no tramper had ever been shot by hunters and those that do get shot are hunters themselves. "One had already been shot in the head up in round Taupo," the hunter said. I was about to walk a newly cut track where there hadn't been trampers before so maybe I was at a higher risk. To be safe I cut off some strips from the top of my yellow packliner and tied them to my shoulder straps. What I really needed was a bit fluorescent nat but I would have to make do. The hunters advice was to just make loads of noise or whistle while I walked, both of which I did anyway so I was going to be OK.

Where the road split there was orange markers on both sets of fence posts but remembering Ian's directions I kept right and had to scale a padlocked gate leading up into the bush. I hadn't stopped whistling since leaving the hunter but I soon discovered puffing uphill and whistling together is rather difficult. Just as I was beginning to feel unsure about the track I spotted a sausage around a punga branch. The markers were very sporadic but I kept following the well defined 4x4 track through the hills. It had been about 20 minutes since I had seen a sausage so I stopped and checked the compass. I was heading in the wrong direction but as tracks in the hill have a tendency to twist and turn I wasn't completely sure I had gone wrong. The track was meant to have turned off but not having seen any markers signaling the turning I had just assumed I was still following it. I begrudgingly, as I had climbed a fair way, decided to go back to the last markers for another look. Getting back, there was no sign of a turning so I carried on slowly the way I had returned and after about 100m, by sheer chance, I spotted a roll of sausages in the grass on the otherside of the fence. Next to them was a hole in the bush, the turning I had missed.

I tied some wrapper on the fence for the next tramper and headed into the hole following the pork trail through the bush and down to the river. Letting out a large burp I suddenly thought it might have sounded like a roar so I followed it with some loud, frantic whistles. I was getting a bit paranoid until I heard a real roar further up the valley. It had sounded like a distressed sea lion and nothing like any of my bodily noises. I had two more worries now though. One was running into hunters following the roar and the other was running into the roar itself. Hopefully my noisily tone deaf whistling would scare both away.

The track was now following the river and as it was nearing dusk I found a perfect grassy bank to pitch my tent. I had been in four different peoples houses over the last week so being back camping in the wild was a little odd. I soon, as if by clockwork, fell back into the old routine getting dinner boiling while rolling out my bed. It was dark by the time I had finished eating and not wanting to waste valuable battery power writing by torch light there was little else to do but drift away on the rising gurgles and splashes from the river beside me.

THURSDAY 7th APRIL - SOGGY SUNRISE
I awoke in the night to the disheartening sound of heavy raindrops colliding with my tent fabric. The drops persisted until my alarm went off and not wanting to face packing up in it I dozed off back into semi-consciousness. Coming to an hour later it still hadn't stopped so I began cooking some porridge, one of my treats Brian and Trish had furnished me with a week earlier. When I finally de-tented I discovered it wasn't raining as hard as it sounded as my tent was directly under a leafy branch shedding its collected bounty over me. Any rain is too much though and as I pushed my way through the bushes and ferns I gradually absorbed their collections until I was as saturated as them. The markers were sporadic but my sticking by the river I kept picking them up again. As the valley sides got steeper the track got tougher as it attempted to cut along the gradient. This part of the track needed a fair bit of work especially after I had traversed it, the fresh soil giving way underneath me as I picked my way between solid footholds. It didn't feel like a long time before the path hit a vehicle track and I recognized a gate that Ian had shown me on his video.

Hitting the Mangahao Rd, the rain had stopped and I paused to consider my options. I could either follow the road back down to Shannon for a day of road walking or I could follow it up past several big dams and hit a track going down the middle of the Tararua's. If it had been pouring down I would have headed for town but as it appeared to be brightening and forever the optimist I headed up into the range. Whether it was brightening now I still had another four whole days up in the range until I hit civilization again and the weather could do anything in between. I could always turn back, wait out a storm in my tent or a hut or exit the range down a few escape routes Michael had pointed out for me. It was enough options for me to feel safe. I had enough food for a few extra days as long as I didn't pig my way through it so I was basically well prepared. The only thing letting me down was my boots. They had been getting tatty for a while and one had now started splitting along the sole from the toe about quarter of the way down the side and getting larger. The soles themselves were also almost worn through around the balls of my feet and reaching the final dam I punctured a hole right through one of them on a screw sticking out of the concrete. They both felt solid enough though and despite leaking like an old ship I was confident they had another range in them.

I was counting on getting to a hut tonight as my boots were soggy and I desperately fancied a fire to warm myself by. Once on the track it was nice to see the orange triangles again sporadic bits or pork offal that just made me crave a full English. Soon, out of the foliage popped a hunter who was close enough not to mistake me for a stag. He reasoned I would easily make it to the hut before dark which was nice to hear. Heading off he told me I would bump into his brother further up. Just what I needed to know! I was bored of whistling although the Nina Samone track I had stuck on my lips could never get tiresome. The path followed the wide bolder clogged Mangahao River and when I got glimpses I could see deep pools of the clearest water imaginable. It was so clear that it was hard to tell how deep they were as it was as if there wasn't even any water there. When I passed the brother he sounded sure that I wouldn't make the hut, dashing my hopes on the many shaded rocks shimmering below the surface of the rivers translucent sheen. By 4.30, it got dark shortly after 6, I passed a good camp spot and although I had pinned my hopes on a fire I decided to pitch up with enough light to cook. The last thing I wanted to do was have to try and pitch up in the dark in a boggy and rough forest where there isn't a patch of ground flat enough that isn't a mud pond. This wasn't the place to be taking risks, besides I had a beautiful camp spot next to the confluence of two rivers overlooking the flax covered flats. I pitched my soggy tent and had dinner. It was a lovely still evening and before hitting the sack I stood for a while by the rivers taking in the last of the dying sunset, the orange tinted clouds finally fading into the new nights sky.

FRIDAY 8th APRIL - SLIPS AND SLOPS
Not a drop on my tent all night. It was encouraging and I was infinitely glad to not have the chore of packing up in the rain two days running. I only had the slightly grim task of putting my soppy clothes back on but the slowly smoldering sunrise made it all the less painful. Today's aim was to get to Te Matawai hut, an estimated three hours tramp from the hut I failed to reach yesterday. First I would find out if I would have made the hut before dark but to be honest I had had a very peaceful and not too soggy night by the rivers so I wasn't bothered either way.

The forest was quiet and cool and I gradually warmed up hopping over the muddy tangle of roots. After an hour or so I reached a big U bend in the river with slips all around the outside bank making a track impassable. Instead it looked as if I had to cross the river twice to get back to the same bank but I couldn't see any markers on either of the opposite sides. I definitely had to cross once as someone had tied a sock to a branch where the track dropped to the waters edge so, not wanting to get my boots even wetter, I took my shoes and socks off and waded in. The water was icy cols and I hurried over as the numbing water gripped my legs in a vice hold. I would have to be dying of heat exhaustion to consider swimming in that and a quick paddle was more than enough. It was a pity though as I had spied some lovely spots for a splash while tramping up river.
One more bracing crossing and I spied an orange marker through the branches leading me on. It wasn't long before the modern Mangahao Flats hut loomed through the branches and had I taken the risk the night before it would have just paid off unless I had lost the path. I didn't hang around except to write in the log book that I had passed through and where I intended to go. I could see through the tree tops that the nice days was holding as I climbed over fallen trees and scrambled up the steep banks using exposed roots to haul myself up. This part of the track was the hardest yet and I reached the most dangerous part when the bushes gave way to a huge scar in the hillside. The slip had taken the track with it and two huge goliath sized boulders lay across river below. It was about seven meters to the other side and I could see a few boot marks leading to way. Being as light footed as I could I stepped out onto the 60degree dirt, taking small steps to avoid stamping down heavily. It was precarious going as if I slipped I wouldn't stop until I reached the bottom 20m below. It wouldn't be fatal unless the shock of the water killed me but I didn't fancy testing out what plethora of injuries I could sustain. Inch by inch I nervously made my way over and eventually I stepped onto solid ground, breathing a deep sigh of relief to re-oxygenate my tense muscles. The Tararua's were beginning to live up to their reputation and I feared this was only a taster of what was to come.

I was going to push onto the hut for lunch but as the sun was out I stopped by the river. With the tall forest surrounding the grassy clearing I couldn't see any of the country around me and it wasn't until I started climbing the ridge up from Girdlestone Saddle that the mountains came into view. Everything was covered in bush so it wasn't the mountain-scape of Ruapehu but the peaks still jutted into the cloud in spectacular fashion. Looking out in a NW direction the hills parted to give a view of the flat land leading to the Tasman Sea and whereby half an hour previously I felt as if I was deep in the range I now felt a bit closer to civilization. Its nice to get away from everything in the bush but its always comforting to know that its not too far to escape if the necessity arises.

Hitting a track junction I turned left towards Te Matawai which I had just caught a glimpse of through the now stubby tree cover. To the right lay the route up over the 1432m peak of Pukematewai. I would, weather permitting, be heading that way tomorrow and I looked forward to climbing what looked to be a precipitous ridge up to the monstrous summit that kissed the clouds before me. All in good time tough and all I wanted to do now was get to the hut, make a fire and get cozy while all my stuff dried out. Being Friday I expected to be sharing the hut but after struggling for hours with wet wood and eventually getting a blaze going it was almost dark and no one had arrived. The wind had started howling outside and just as the sun set a huge rainbow encircled Pukematewai in its dancing bulls eye. It hung timelessly in the mist before fading to its ends and vanishing into the swirling currents.

SATURDAY 9th APRIL - CABIN FEVER
It was a cold night and I had cocooned myself tightly in my sleeping bag careful not to let any heat escape. My alarm chimed at 5.30am and the first thing I heard was the rain hammering down outside. Snug and warm, the last thing I wanted to do was break my shell to the cold, shiver myself up in the dark and have to listed to the deluge outside while getting ready. I had decided that if there was bad weather I would wait it out for a day if necessary as it just isn't worth risking heading out into what could be an oncoming storm. Still debating whether to get up I dozed for a while and finally got up in the hope that the rain would clear by the time I was ready to leave. In hindsight I wish I had stayed in bed as the downpour persisted of much of the day and I stayed in the hut being tortured by it.

The idea of a day in a hut, fire roaring and weather beating away outside seemed quite appealing in a romantic kind of way but in reality it drove me a little loopy. Had I had some company it would have been fine but being alone with my thoughts and the grim weather I started getting a little anxious about everything and anything. Throughout this trip I have been noticing how sensitive my moods are to the weather and although rain doesn't usually get me down, being cooped up alone in a big mountain hut in the clouds with the rain lashing away I began to feel, well, under the weather I suppose. I kept myself occupied though and didn't let it get to me too much. Most of the day, in fact, I was fighting an ultimately losing battle with the wet wood and although I kept it going most of the day it needed constant attention and the various high point of the day were the head rushes I got due to oxygen starvation from being a bellows for hours on end.

Throughout the day I assessed my food supplies, my lack of fuel and the state of my rapidly declining boots all of which looked more gloomy in the dim hut. I had enough food to last but I didn't have enough fuel to cook it. I experimented during the day with luke warm porridge and cold water noodles and although they were edible I didn't fancy another three days on cold rations. My boots, on the other had, were both now split in the same place and leaked worse then ever. I had been determined to make it to the end of the walk with the same pair of boots but it was now looking unlikely. All factors put together and I slowly decided that whatever the weather tomorrow I would escape from the range to Levin where I could restock and maybe purchase some new boots although the though still pained me.

My plans decided I felt a bit better but to get rid of the pent up anxious energy I had a stretch and attempted a bit of meditation. It was almost successful and although I could almost clear my head of thoughts, the rain falling outside still managed to pierce the plain of peace that was my mind state. I still felt better afterwards despite the ceaseless precipitation. One can control his or her mind state but one will never be able to control the weather. Bless or cure it, it would always do what it would do and all we can do is roll with the punches. At least I was warm and dry and had ample supplies. Speaking of supplies, its amazing how hungry you get doing nothing. My appetite in inversely proportional to the amount of energy I burn off. I was peckish all day which was one of the reason I experimented with the cold water noodles. My ravenous stomach was one of the swaying factors in my decision to bail out of the range as knowing I could restock allowed me to gorge all day. It certainly made me think about those with little to eat in this unjust world. Whereas I can generally flow with my bottomless stomachs whims I probably eat more in a day than many do in a week. A very sobering though indeed.

There was a few points in the day when I thought it was brightening but the weather was just playing with me to see if I would break. By about 5pm, however, the clouds parted and I glimpsed some blue sky. A few minutes later and the whole sky opened up and shone colour down into my grey world while I stood on top of the water tank platform and re energized. I felt better all of a sudden seeing the sky and the sun on the clouds above. The mountains around me rolled with mist and cloud creating the most joyous sight after my bleached day up till now. I just stood watching for about half an hour before heading indoors as it began to cloud over again. I had been reborn. How fickle my moods were, after all, life need both water and sunlight to survive.

As darkness drew in I lit one of the huts candles and, headphones on, sat down to write up the days events. Pausing momentarily to gobble up some more fuel my pen slid across the page, word by word, catching up with the present. I just realized it hasn't rained for about three hours. Looking out of the window the stars stared brightly back at me. The day had come full circle and who knew what tomorrow would hold.

SUNDAY 10th APRIL - THE MEDIOCRE ESCAPE
No rain all night! Not that I heard anyway through the down filled walls of my slumber sack. I got up promptly, wanting to make the most of the dry while it lasted. It was a stunning sunrise of vivid lipstick red layered clouds hanging over the hilltops and while admiring, 'shepherd's warning' flashed through my head. Hurriedly I packed up and set out through the still sodden bush at a speedy pace. After slipping onto my jacksie a few times I slowed to normal speed not wanting to hurt myself. I was going to get out of the range today whatever happened and half an hour wasn't going to make a lot of difference except that I could get half an hour wetter if it decided to rain again.

My escape route was dropping steeply down to the Ohau River and following it all the way out. As I descended towards the sound of cascading water far below I heard a deer crashing through the bush away from me. I must have startled it like I did a huge black horned goat minutes later. Joining the river I looked all around for a track but in the end just followed the rocky banks having to cross regularly when bank turned to impassable cliff. Doing very well keeping my boots dry I made steady progress down river until a slimy rock upended me into the water. I stayed on my feet, just, but soaked both my feet and almost fell chin first into the bank. What was I doing pussy footing around?!! Wet boot could dry and they needed a wash anyway. All going to plan they would be in the bin tomorrow so I didn't hold back in trying not to damage them anymore. It was liberating actually and I just splashed on down the river rather than tip toeing along the edges like a scared rabbit. You just gotta get in there in the end.

A stone cairn on the shingle bank signaled where the track started again but I was having so much fun walking with the current that I was a bit sad to leave the water. The mud and roots just didn't appeal anymore. When I started following the river I was wishing I had taken the ridge route out rather than being extra safe in the sheltered valley exit. It had been described to me as "idiot proof" and I had felt like an idiot until I had just waded in after my stumble and now I didn't want to leave it. After following the track for a while I passed a huge tramping party going the other way. It was nice to see people after a few days seeing no one and although I didn't stop to chat, just the contact was nice.

Just by chance there was an Ozzie guy and his two daughters just leaving the car park towards town as I arrived so I jumped in for a ride. Ever since leaving the hut I had been backtracking further North which was a little annoying but with a bit of hitching I could rejoin the range further South. All this was weather permitting as the 'Southern Crossing' across the Tararua's involved a day above the bush line on an exposed ridge that in high winds could be extremely treacherous. I was also getting itchy feet to get to the end and rather than wait for good weather I could be walking around the range and heading towards my target. It would be nice to go over some more mountains but I still had the beauty of the cape to look forward to and I no longer had to look too far. If I did get to go over the crossing I would actually be able to see the cape from the top if it was clear. Either way, I would be seeing it soon and the excitement was beginning to build up inside me to bursting point.

Mangahao River		Where's Zippy

Hutbound		Moody Mountains

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