Bog holes and an achy knee

When the opportunity came up to head to the hills for an overnighter, I couldn’t say no. I had a long, expensive gear list that needed justification, and my logic is that every trip you do, you half the bill. I will say that this covers both bike-packing and gear for the hills on foot, as it’s good for both, you’ve got to have hobbies. A suspicious forecast awaited us, and we were gifted what it said on the box. We were greeted with rain, shortly followed by sunshine, then drizzle again. We even witnessed brief hail on our walk out the following morning.

A quiet Remutaka Hill Road.

6:45 am rolled around, and my friend Eliza arrived, having woken up at my usual time of 5 am, I had ample time to organise myself and have breakfast and a coffee before we left. I spent the next hour trying to remember if I’d managed to forget anything of importance. A quiet drive over the hill followed, given it was a Saturday before a public holiday. We stopped for a few forgotten supplies at the Featherston supermarket and a coffee in Carterton and headed to the hills, where we met Charlotte, who had travelled from Palmerston North.

Charlotte and Eliza crossing the first swing bridge.

The size of the trees stuck in the river shows how stormy it’s been up this way recently.

We set off relatively early to beat (in our heads) the hordes of people headed into Roaring Stag hut with both a positive attitude and an eye to the sky. The first section of track followed the river, crossing it once near the start, and apart from dodging the odd washout and climbing over a fallen tree or two, it was relatively easy going. The track then turned sharply and headed straight up the hill, following what seemed like a creek bed full of tree roots. We climbed the 400m up to the ridge, where the track forks Right to Herepai Hut and left towards Roaring Stag. In the next section, we were greeted with a track that can only be described at best as bog holes with the odd stick in it. We got pretty good at figuring out the least muddy way around each one, or hopping from sunken log to log, but we all failed once or twice and ended up shin-deep in mud. it paid to be the tail end Charlie for this part.

Tree roots on Tree roots.

We lost some more elevation into the valley and were greeted with a chance to get our feet wet. Eliza was so excited at the prospect of a creek crossing that she fell in before she even got there. After one more hop, skip, and a jump across some well-placed rocks, we had made it to Roaring Stag. fashionably early and not a person in sight! This has got to be one of the nicest ones around, a wood burner with a nice supply of relatively dry wood, multiple decks of cards and some quality reading material for those who forgot entertainment. We settled in with a coffee, followed by a nap and a game or two of Bananagrams, not a bad way to spend an afternoon.

Seeking out the best route.

Wine bottle candlestick holders and all.

As evening approached, a few other trampers rocked up, two had gone for a day walk up to Cattle Ridge Hut and had said it’s not a place you would want to be unprepared. The occasional sunshine had made way for a howling wind and sideways rain, and the next few groups who came in hadn’t managed to dodge the rain as we had. The hut was now busy with people cooking their pre-prepared meals, and a quiet chatter grew into a game of cards. Kings and Assholes gained momentum, and we all felt like we were winning as the fire crackled away in the corner and books were read in sleeping bags, the day making way for dusk.

Hard to complain with views like this. (Cattle Ridge Hut is placed on the far ridge in the top right-hand corner of this photo)

Straight out of a magazine.

As night fell, the sounds of rustling sleeping bags and the lights of head torches danced around the hut as people’s bedtime routines began, pretty easy to brush your teeth for 2 minutes with a view like this! As everyone settled, the only noise left was the swollen river running and the wind ripping through the trees outside.

Morning came, as it does, and the dance began, coffees were made and breakfasts consumed (some better than others), we kitted up, said our goodbyes, and headed off up the trail. For some reason, my knee decided it didn’t want to do knee things anymore, and the next three hours were filled with what felt like someone driving a screwdriver into my knee joint with every step taken. With some pain meds on board, a new straight left leg walking technique, and some much-needed positivity from my friends, we battled up the trail. Three hours and multiple layer changes later, we had made it to the car.

A cooler morning meant Jackets were needed for the walk out.

A quick stop at the French bakery in Greytown for a pie and a coffee on the way home marked the end of the trip, and we began the two-and-a-half-hour drive back to the city, with talk of other trips we could plan, gear we forgot, and gear we needed. We reflected on different ways people spend weekends, and how the weather could have been better or worse.

Till next time.