New Zealand South Island. 9-13 March, 2005
Stalwarts
attending: Neil
(Bwana Nilo) and Sue Stiles, Mike (Mad) and Verena (Muesli) Petzold, Jean
(Cheeky) Hayward.
Base camp: Formerly the Blackball Hilton
Hotel, Blackball, South Island, New Zealand.
Where: The Croeses Track, Ces Clark Hut
(20 bunks), Paparoa Ranges.
FTBH Hotel is a great
place to stay, whatever your reasons for visiting this part of the West Coast
of New Zealand. Blackball was an important gold and coal mining area in the
late 1800s, and it was here that the Labour Party had its early beginnings. Mr
Hilton was the mine manager and therefore the local hotel was named after him.
However, many years after his passing, some 'suits' representing a hotel chain
of the same name, turned up on the hotel doorstep and suggested strongly that
the owners drop the name of 'Hilton Hotel'. West Coasters are well known for
not taking much notice of what people tell them to do and not to do, so the
name was only slightly changed to the current 'Formerly the Blackball Hilton
Hotel'. A bit of a mouthful, but there you go. This little story and hundreds
of other stories are kept in bulging scrapbooks which lie around the public bar
and lounge area alongside all sorts of quirky art, rude cartoons and
interesting dιcor. We were able to choose our rooms the blue one with fish on
the walls, the yellow and black one with bumble bees, the bright orange and red
one, and so on. But the rooms were warm and the beds comfortable. And the food
was fantastic. This put us in good stead for the walk ahead of us...
The day of our walk
dawned wet and miserable. The hotel manager kindly gave us a lift in her van to
the start of the track 7.5km up the road. She left us sorting out rainproofs
and sprinted off up the track in training for some marathon in London or
Boston or somewhere. We met her hurtling back down the hill half an hour later.
The walk was easy as it followed the old tramway used by the miners. The forest
has regenerated well since the end of mining in the 1940s, and there are some
superb rimu and beech trees to be seen. The dense forest gave good shelter from
the rain. Lunch stop was in an old miner's hut out of the rain, but very
drafty. Our goal, the Ces Clark hut, was reached with relief and enthusiasm
some five hours after setting off. A delightful hut named after the forest
ranger who got the track reopened in the 1980s. Four keen campers took turns to
try lighting the fire, but it was Sue whose patience got it going after a mere
1½ hours! As the storm raged around the hut all night, we were very pleased to
feel so warm and comfortable.
The next morning
dawned with great promise and we set off to knock off our chosen peaks. It took
some scrambling and route finding, but we made it to Croeses Knob
(1,204m/3,950ft), trig point 1,127m/3,697ft (obviously not important enough to
be named) and another of the same altitude. The day was fine but cloud
prevented long-distance views to Mount Cook and down the West Coast. We spent
about four hours messing around the tops, returning via an old wreck of
something, we weren't quite sure what, it looked like a helicopter, or maybe a
combine harvester (on a ridge at 1,200m?!), or some sort of winch.
It was wonderful
returning to 'our' hut where we'd spread ourselves out the Stiles taking an
entire five-man sleeping platform, Petzolds and Cheeky taking the other one.
Food and drink spread everywhere, the cards and scrabble all over the table,
and then a lone Israeli tramper arrived... Bugger. We slotted him into a corner
and then, dammit, another three Israelis arrived. Where were these people
coming from?!! How dare they?! Mad Mike continued playing his harmonica and
then... the strains of some other music from a CD player penetrated the brain.
There was almost an international incident as they were politely asked to turn
it off. 'This is not Las Vegas' was Mad Mike's comment in his shy and retiring
way, and he hauled his sleeping bag off to a small shelter down the track
where, we understand, he spent a cold and rather uncomfortable night! Our
little group retired early and left our young Israelis chatting happily until
all hours.
Our day of departure
dawned with little promise: wet and windy. Our route was to take us across an
exposed ridge and drop into forest on the West Coast side of the Paparoa
Ranges. Just four hours down to Barrytown... ha ha. We were well along the
ridge and well wet through when the wind and rain started lashing around us.
Visibility was just about nil; we could only just make out the snow poles along
the route. Walking upright and staying on the track became a mission. Mt Ryall
(1,220m/4,002ft) was acknowledged long enough for a quick photo before crashing
on down the ridge. 'Crashing' being the operative word as, just after this
point, Mad Mike was knocked by a particularly strong gust and he was tossed
about 25ft down the slope! Bwana Nilo scrambled down to his rescue whilst I was
doing quick calculations in my head as to how long it would take to get down to
Barrytown and get the emergency services back up to this spot. No way would
there be a helicopter able to fly in. Fortunately, Mike shook himself off and
after correctly answering questions about his name, age and rank, we were able
to continue on our way. We stumbled on through the swirling mist and, by then,
hail, wondering if we'd ever get to the shelter of the forest. I began to
seriously doubt my route-finding abilities not that I said as much to
anybody! But, what a glorious sight when we finally saw the dark patch of
trees just below us. We were at last able to stop for lunch in the relative
shelter of the trees. On this side of the coast, the trees are stunted and
gnarled and, in the mist, looked somewhat ethereal. Our track took us
inexorably down, down, until we finally burst out onto the main highway at
Barrytown. There was our bus driver patiently waiting for us with her lovely
warm, dry bus, and the promise of hot showers and food back in Blackball. Our
lovely hostess had prepared roast lamb especially for us!
The big news on our
return to 'civilisation' was that there had been a tornado rip through
Greymouth on the coast that day at the same time as our struggle across that
blasted ridge! No wonder we struggled but we survived! What should have been
a four-hour walk out, took us nearly six. I have to commend my fellow trampers
for bravely plodding on in my footsteps and not mutineering and returning to
the hut for another night.
The weather was back
to glorious sunshine the next day, as it had been just before the Meet. Sod's
Law, isn't it. Bwana Nilo and Sue headed off to a campsite at Punakaiki. The
Petzolds and I explored Blackball which took about 10 minutes, and bought
some excellent salamis and black pudding from the Blackball Meat Company, and
followed the Stiles to Punakaiki, where we stopped for coffee. On we went up
the coast to Westport, stopping for excellent seafood chowder, and returning to
Murchison where poor Andrew had had to hold the fort and the farm while I'd
been away 'enjoying' myself.
As usual, it was great
to be with fellow ex-Malawians again. We all speak the same language and laugh
at the same silly things. It's a great pity NZ comes under the 'toofartodrive'
category for most Methophiles. Why don't you guys over there make a conscious
plan to include NZ in your travels and coincide your trip with our Mini-meet,
as the Scotts, Wallaces and Gasbag did a few years ago? We have heaps of great
countryside to explore and would love to show you some of it.
WDYFO Jean (Cheeky)
Hayward
Click here
for a report of last year's meet.
©
WDYFO, 2005