Respect the Mountain

Thank you Marshall. We will pay it forward.

Thank you Kay. I hope you're working today to see that we're okay.

Thank you Janine & Sarah. You are like home to us right now.

Thank you Ms. Stratford cab driver. Even though you cost us $120, you got us to Huntington and you made the drive enjoyable and warm.

Sipping tea in front of a roaring fire place in our socks, sitting on a rug in a swiss themed mountain lodge. When I woke up this morning, I never pictured this moment. You really never know where your day will take you once you wake up.

"Here's a biscuit for each of you", Marshall offers.

At that moment, that was the best tasting anything I'd ever eaten in my life. Staring at them on the place, I was in heaven. I couldn't wait to get my hands on my own. I'm sorry for Brent, I called the bigger biscuit. I think I get hungrier out on the tracks. I don't know how to explain that as we both expend a similar amount of energy between the two of us - we're both walking the same track, carrying different weight ratios on our backs however I know his pack is heavier by weight (but maybe not by ratio), he's bigger than me so I would imagine he would get hungrier, yet I am the first to ask for a food break when I'm getting dizzy. And because he loves me so much, in that moment he let me have the bigger cookie. :)

Enjoying every bite of this biscuit. All I want to do is call home and let my parents know how much I love them. All I can think about is everyone I know and love back home. It was between 11pm and 1am Ontario time. We were talking a lot on this part of the track to calm ourselves down. Talking about the things we missed from home. The comforts. The people. Talking about anything.

The warm fire. In warm dry clothes.

One hour prior to this moment, we didn't know if we would live or die.

Anyone will tell you this mountain is different. We made the right decision to turn around, but found ourselves in deeper waters than that first river. Every step was a decision. The rain wasn't going to let up. It was only getting worse. I couldn't turn around to watch Brent follow my track.

What if he didn't make it.



"Why is it that meteorologists don't provide people with a proper weather forecast of the mountain?", I asked Marshall as we drove down to Stratford. "Ah, this mountain, he's different. Unpredictable." Marshall has been climbing mountains for 30years. He knows Ruapehu and the Tongariro mountains very well. Predictable mountains he calls them. They act as mountains should. Mt. Taranaki is out on a peninsula surrounded by the ocean. Meteorologists don't want to stick out their necks and confirm any weather pattern, because it's always changing around the mountain. So far, every met service weather forecast we have received has been wrong. On the 'rainy days', it's sunny and dry. On the 'it's going to be a great day' forecasts, it's pouring rain and dreadful. Unpredictable. It creates its own weather. In a heartbeat, things can change. The sun will disappear behind a cloud, the snow will move in in the summer months, rain can clear up in a flash and the rivers can drop down in depth.

Walking the Pouakai Range a week prior to this track, we watched the mountain pull in clouds from all around. The storms swarm to this mountain and hover around the peak. The weather is different on any one side of this mountain. It's an incredible site to see in person. Warning signs are all around you. The weather can change in the drop of a hat. You MUST never climb this mountain or walk a track without being 100% prepared or you could run into serious problems. Even a simple day hike can be deadly.

Many people have died on this mountain. A sign in the North Egmont visitor centre: Approx every two weeks a search and rescue team is deployed on this mountain. People who are doing the summit run into injuries a lot of the time. There are people with inexperience who attempt things they shouldn't be trying, not heading to the warnings of the DOC staff. People set out in cotton clothing for a 12hr hike and run into bad weather. Hypothermia can happen quickly.

We spent two hours in the North Egmont Visitor Centre on Sunday, August 24th. We were waiting out the rain. It was heavy at the moment. We spent it with Kay, our favorite DOC staff member. She's this wonderful woman who we spoke to the week before. She has this infectious laugh and this wonderful smile. I bet she's an amazing grandmother. We spoke to her about the around the mountain circuit (AMC) we were going to walk. We decided to spend six nights out in the mountain. Walk to Maketawa Hut, Waingongoro Hut, Lake Dive Hut then Waiaua Gorge Hut before returning to Lake Dive Hut, spending our last night in Waingongoro before tramping the last day straight to the visitor centre. It's almost the full AMC. We chose not to continue to Kahui Hut or Holly Hut due to some major erosion that had taken out part of the trails and made them both unstable and at some points unmarked and untramped.

We talked through every day with Kay. The DOC staff at these visitor centres are there to inform you of any weather updates and trail information. They are a vital part of the start of any track. They have information that a topo map will not give you. And some people don't listen to the DOC staff. And some people never make it off the mountain. We value our time with these staff members. At the North Egmont VC it's fantastic, they have a 3D model of the national park and you can walk through the route with the staff. We spent our time at the model and the larger topo map at the front desk.

We waited from approx 11am until 1pm for the rain to die down. We weren't in a rush. The first day's hike was quite quick. I think it took us 2 1/2 hours in the end.

Snacking on our crackers and cheese we stood at a display board reading about search and rescues. There was also a list of the number of people who have died on this mountain up until 2003. It listed the cause of death, time of year, number of people. Some stories were published on this display board of terrible stories of people who did not survive. This is there to remind people, that experience or not, this mountain has claimed a wide range of people's lives.

I asked Kay if the DOC staff ever worry about the people they see heading out to the mountains. "Oh yes, all the time. You don't want to, but you do. When you've been involved in a group going up the mountain who never came back, you just worry.", she said looking out towards the road. I told her when we were hiking the Pouakai range we were thinking about her and wondering if she was thinking about us, that's why we were asking. She said she wasn't working the day we came off the mountain, but the first thing she did the next day (we filled out intentions to be back by 5pm that time, after the VC is closed) was called up the DOC staff member on duty and ask if we made it off the mountain and signed out.

SIGN OUT PEOPLE!!!!

Some people fill out intention cards and don't sign out when they leave. And that leaves people to call around and try to find you. They have to account for you. They send out helicopters if they everyone they contact for you says they haven't heard from you. If they can't find your car, they can't assume you've driven off with it. What if it was stolen from you? They fly to each hut to see your intentions. They deploy search and rescue teams between any two points where communication/intentions cease.

All you had to do was get to the VC and sign out.

Kay can sleep better when she knows the people have made it safely off the mountain. She told us about a couple who were doing I believe the AMC. They were coming up to Holly Hut. The last hut of the circuit. Not far from the hut there is a river crossing. We've never seen this river, but it can be a wild river. Strong currents. Add a little run off from the mountain, and it's just not a safe option to cross. But when you've hiked for hours, and you find yourself very far from your last hut, and a warm fire and shelter await you probably 30 mins, maybe less, down the trail your mind could be convinced that it can cross things that it shouldn't. The couple crossed the river. The current must have been torrential. They were swept away. I don't remember if their bodies were recovered.

Swept away. Ripped down the mountain side by flooded rock beds. Deep whirlpools that were never there the day before. The hour before.

I think this is why Kay worries. When you're involved with a group of people who do not make it off the mountain, how could you not worry. We didn't want to worry Kay.

We look the part in our gear. Us walking out of Auckland in all of our gear - we looked soooooo out of place. Us walking into a DOC visitor center, we look the part of trampers. We are researched. We respect our limits. But we come prepared. Some people enter visitor centers in cotton shirts, shorts and sandals with day packs and no water supply asking the DOC people about a summit track. (seriously - carrying no drinking water) Kay told us that she has turned people away when they do not have the right gear. You get a sense of people and you know if they will make it or not.

Your safety is your responsibility. It's written everywhere. Every DOC staff member will reiterate this to you before you tramp.

Kay updated us with weather during our two hours at the centre. Once the rain started to fade away, we headed out. We took the higher road to the hut. The lower trail has several river crossings and by this time would have deep flooding. The higher trail was a huge ascent and it didn't shelter you from the rain, but it was definitely the safer route. A 4x4 road that leads up to a mountain lodge. We would take this until our trail started near the top.

It was snow covered. Not like the last time. This time, the snow was breaking down due to the rain. It was harder to walk on. Slippery. I would never have done our first treck to Holly Hut in this type of snow. We surely would have slipped down those narrow steep tracks. On a clear day, I bet the view from this road would be spectacular. Overcast today. No view.

We came across three people on the road. They were heading down from the lodge. Kay suggested we take the high road and even side trip it to the lodge to speak to someone about the conditions of the snow. Hiking on the higher circuit might be safer if the rain continued through tomorrow. She thought we might cross paths with people on this road. There were two women and one man. He was holding his ice pick. They were mountaineers for sure. A lovely group of people. Locals who knew the mountain. We asked about the snow conditions and how the weather had been for them. They gave us a good amount of advice. One woman made a passing comment that stuck more to me. The DOC told us that the weather was going to drop tonight with a southeasterly wind coming through. (we NOW understand that when a southeasterly wind comes through NZ, it's not a good thing...back home that might mean nice warm weather, in NZ it's reverse - wind from south = bad weather usually - cold, wet, on Mt. Taranaki, not good) When I told the woman this, she told us to watch the snow as it would all freeze up in that case and would be deadly. Note taken. "If it continues to rain tomorrow, just turn back!", the other woman said. We parted ways and continued in our own directions.

We came upon two water crossings. When we spoke to Kay about taking upper circuit tracks (cause there is a lower level AMC and a higher lever AMC), she said it could be a safer option on our first and second day as you do not have any river crossings. But then again, she said, you will have to cross waterfalls from the mountain. And on the road, we came across two waterfall crossings. The water falls off the rockcliff and rolls across the 4x4 road up here. It's an easy crossing. But knowing that from up here, you wonder what it's like on the ground. We were happy to be doing the higher track.

Maketawa Hut. Our 4th hut. Nice. Again, rat free. So wonderful. This hut has a front and back porch. At the moment, no view, but it's still cloudy. This hut is equipped with an indoor gas heater. Nice. If only we got it working. Which we couldn't. The dang thing just wouldn't ignite. No heat for us.

Routine sets in. Boil water to make dinner. Tonight we feast on trident noodles. Basically Mr. Noodles. We carried half these noodle meals and half backpacker meals. The backpacker meals are expensive and we find do not necessarily offer a high calorie intake for either of us. One of the meals only gives off 250 calories each. Not exactly what you expect after a long hike. But you feel full, so you don't really notice. The trident noodles offer 488 calories. Much higher.

After dinner, we filter/clean water to fill the Dromedary to the brink and both our water bottles. Then we wash dishes and use the excess Dromedary water to rinse if necessary. Put everything away, hang up food and our rubbish drysack on the rack provided, and with no heater working and no fire place, we get our sleeping bags out and get cozy and play cards until we get bored.

We need to learn more card games. We go through this routine of crazy eight countdown (one game), maybe a game of war (maybe), then we play two-man euchre - once or twice. By the end, we're just bored and decide to go to bed. Sadly, we're talking 7.30-8.00pm here.

Needless to say, we're definitely sleeping enough in the mountains. It's because the days are still so short here. But they are getting longer, you can see it at night. The evening doesn't set in quite as quickly. But I guess it depends where you are. In a field, you are dusky until 6.00pm maybe 6.30pm. In a covered forest, it feels like night at 5.15pm still.

At night, I sit and listen to the animals trying to get into the hut. Gnawing and scrapping at the wood. When you see no mention of animal problems in the intentions book and you see no trace of wee and poo in the hut, you're good to go. They probably haven't found a way in yet. They are trying, but haven't succeeded.

I sleep on and off. 11hrs of sleep is not my ideal at all. I can't sleep consistently past 6hrs. I will definitely wake up at some point wanting to get up. But I'm not going to hang out in a pitch dark hut alone, so I just toss and turn around in the mummy bag thinking about the day ahead.

It stopped raining. I take notice of the weather pattern through the night. I spend enough of it awake to gage the weather.

The next day we set out on the Curtis Falls track. This track encompassed everything I haven't enjoyed from Egmont National park's tracks. Mainly poorly marked river crossings (which could be partly due to erosion and track markers being washed away - but at some points, when you cross onto land - you expect a certain amount of clear markers, and you begin to wonder if they are just not clearly marked), overgrown vegetation that wants to eat you as you tramp and land slips that take out the track as well as hang over your head as you attempt alternate routes.

Scary tramping stuff.

It was a beautiful day. Thank goodness. I don't think we would have attempted this track in the rain. CF track lead us up and down several steep gorges through dry river beds. In the rain, I can't imagine the water level. Tracks were awash. There was no point in imagining where they were anymore. You were sliding down partly snow covered tracks that could use a helping hand. Slick mud drops. They might be building stairs there in the summer, who knows. We passed a few piles of lumber and stakes. Future operations of the park. Probably when the weather dries up.

Rocky pathways. Unmarked river crossings. A map can only help you so far. If you can't see the trail on the other side, you could follow a riverbed for a long time. Every time we crossed a river, I spent some time scoping out the entire area from high up on the track. An attempt to find any possible indication on the other side of the river, further down the river or whatnot. You didn't know if you had to follow the river for a section or two. Once you dropped down to the water's level, there was no way you could see the track markers or any indicators.

This was challenging. And slowed us down considerably.

Stoat traps. These become your route markers. Where they have predator control in place (part of the Egmont National Park), you find on certain tracks these stoat traps - all numbered and coded for the trail and all 100m apart from the other. After an unmarked river crossing, as you start to follow a semblance of a track, it's glorious to find a stoat trap - because then you know you're on the right track. And if the traps are counting down (as they did the day we left Maketawa hut to Waingongoro hut - from 51 or 52 to 1), you can guage your distance. 52 = 5.2km. Not a bad guide. It's only for the tracks they are used on. And in one day you can follow several different tracks, but this distance guaging is a nice treat sometimes.

Then you add the overgrowing vegetation. I fully understand in the woods, I am in their domain. But when you are trying to follow a path, mind you a steep ladder none the less bolted into the side of the hill (which you begin to doubt due to the rainfall and erosion), you want nothing more than a clear view of where your footing should go. There are these monster plants, can't identify them as I am not a horticulturist (spelling?). Brent calls them spider plants. They are just giant long grass stem like plants. Almost like an aloe plant, but thinner, more limber, and the stems get super long and big. They are so challenging!!! You step on the tip and your other foot gets tripped as you try to cross the area. Try not tripping up steep ladders on a hill side with a pack on your back. At one point, half way up a ladder, I was overtaken by these plants from each side of me. I couldn't move they were impeding my footing and movement so much.



Funny enough, at the end of the track there lies a sign saying that 'vegetation clearance is underway'. Maybe in the spring my friend. Not today.

Then there are our favorite 'gortex eating plants'. We don't know if they eat gortex, but they have an affinity for it. They cling onto our gortex and don't let go. Mind you, if my gortex wasn't covering my skin, I have a feeling we'd be bleeding a heck of a lot more. They have these minute thorns that latch on to you so well. It can pull you back. We would pass by them with our rain hoods on, and they could literally rip it off your head.

These plants, these forests, they are fierce!

Through the trails to East Egmont. We dined on crackers and cheese, yummy smokey bacon, at a picnic table and had the luxury of public toilets. Brent says they are better then the "long drops" at the hut. They don't smell as toxic, that's for sure. :)

After lunch, a treat, our track follows a walkway - the Enchanted walkway. A walkway is an easier track that is set up for a wider range of people to use. More stairways, bridges, clearer pathways. A tramper's cheat track. But a welcome break.

More bush and an unexpected swing bridge. Uh?

For someone with a deep fear of heights, I have had to do a lot of things I don't necessarily enjoy on some of these tramps. I love a great view from a hillside, mountaintop or what have you. I can't wrap my head around the idea of falling off a cliff and feeling the pain of the fall, however I trust nature and don't think it will throw me off willingly. Man made track items such as bridges that are starting to erode away with the weather, staircases that are falling apart, tall steep ladders that are starting to pull away from the hillsides - those are things that scare me.

Thin metal swing bridges standing 30m over a rushing river below, yup, that's definitely on the list of scary things to do. An unexpected swing bridge that leads us 26.5m across to the tip of the track that leads us to our next hut. A must do. Thank goodness I am not holding up any trampers. It's one at a time in these woods. You try to put your feet on the metal bars on the bottom, which leads you to stare down your fear and look directly in the direction you ultimately wanted to avoid.

Fun times. But I'm starting to get used to it. Not enjoying it, but you have to do what you have to do. And at the end of the day, a nice warm fire in a hut by the mountainside is reason enough to cross.

Another side note about the tracks. Staircases. We're beginning to wonder if the stairs that the DOC people have built help or hinder your step? Some are shallow and filled with rocks. If the rocks are still there, amazing. If the rocks have slipped away, these stairs become mud or water holes which you try hard to avoid. Leading one to step on the wooden casing, which is usually slippery in the rain, and has trampers sliding around. Some of the stairs are being pulled apart as the ground erodes from under them or along side them. Some the staircases are solid wood - great only in dry weather. Water makes them slick. Even with the greatest treads, you run into problems. There are others with fencing/chicken wire on them. Amazing - they maintain traction even in the rain. Some are metal - which we only ran into on the Pouakai range so far - which was a hidden blessing that we enjoyed for a moment in time. Might be hazardous in icy conditions. Or the wooden stairs with the rubber steps - that was probably the best option. The same thing goes with the ladders. Some have meshing, some don't. You really have to watch your step and know what your foot is landing on. You can't assume because it is set in the track that you will be problem free. These things all depend on budget and time. You walk into areas where you wonder how a bridge or ladder was never installed - then you hit areas that seem so simple that have built in long stairways.

Across the swing bridge to the Waingongoro Hut. Another nice hut brought to you by the DOC. We enter our routine mode. For dinner, we plan on beef stew. We were both thinking about Beef Teriyaki, but we forgot it back at the hostel. I start to set up a fire in the stove (this time cheating a little and using a fire starter that was generously donated by some other trampers) while Brent plucked away at the stove.

Pluck, pluck, pffffffffffffffffff.

Is it not our luck on a 6 night hike to lose our stove on the 2nd evening?

The stove dudded out on us. It just stopped working. Pressurizing the gas didn't help, opening the valves didn't help. Checking the jet didn't help. Pulling the entire thing apart and reassembling it didn't help. We got droplets of gas in the jet, a minor flame and then pffffffffffffff.

No hot food tonight. Dry trident noodles. No beef stew. I guess it was meant to be.

Then came the discussion. As we filtered our water, cleaned our dishes before sitting by the fire to eat our dinner - what are we going to do next. We have enough food for our six night hike, but without the stove, we do not have cooked dinners. We have two nights worth of dry noodles, and three more of cooked backpacking food. I want to go to Lake Dive Hut and then return, cutting our trip down to 4 nights (which I thought was a good compromise since we had enough food to do this safely without going hungry - I did not think going 6 nights was an option any more) and Brent wanted to simply return to New Plymouth the next day. We discussed the pros and cons and unanimously agreed that we needed to make it to Lake Dive Hut. Kay told us it was her favorite hut, and we wanted to see why. :) And besides, it is a hut in the mountain right beside a lake - could anything sound more picturesque?

We chose our room tonight based on the fact that there was a gnat nest in the other room. A slew of gnat like insects were hovering in the window sill. We slowly took a mattress from this room and closed the door to keep these guys away from us at night.

We ate and cleared the hut with our nightly routine and settled in to play cards.

SHRIEK!!!

Silence.

What the hell was that?

It sounded like a baby screaming/dog barking/foreign animal surprise.

And again. Right underneath of the hut. Through the vent in our room's floor. This is what haunts you in the dark. Foreign sounds of mystery animals. I have no idea what that was. I heard it several times throughout the night. Along with the gnawing and scratching.

It was like that night we drove down the forgotten highway 43. At one point we turned a corner and there was this animal in the road. I have no idea what it was. Stripy tail like a raccoon. Big body like a capybara. Pointy face, long snoutish - not like a pig. Who knows what it was. Describe it to a local here, they think you're crazy!

All night long, you had your moments of complete silence and darkness (the moon did not shine through the clouds on this night), shrieking in the distance, gnawing underneath you...it's enough to drive some people mad. Knowing that you're not alone is comforting. :) At least Brent is sound asleep right beside me. At least I'm safe nestled into my mummy sleeping bag. That'll protect me. You feel safe...when the shrieking animals can't get in.

The morning we woke up in Maketawa hut (we wake up before dawn to get ready and set out as early as possible/safe) we had the most gorgeous view of Taranaki and a clear view of New Plymouth at night. It was wonderful. Again, a huge reason that tramping is worth it in this country - the views alone that these huts provide. The morning we woke up from Waingongoro hut was sadly not the same. The day before, I got a snapshot of the mountain for like 10mins. That's all she wrote before clouds set in around the peak. And eventually around the entire side of the mountain.

The rain started before we woke up. On most days when the rain starts, it will eventually clear, but not today. Funny enough, if we had decided to return to our car on this day - the weather would have quickly changed that idea. We did not want to be crossing those gorges with rainfall. They were deep and the water levels could be dreadfully deep, and with a swift current, impossible.

We set out by 7.45am. A rough time we usually end up leaving a hut by. We wake up around 6/6.30 in the morning. Right now, it's still dark at that time here. Especially when it's overcast. Eat breakfast in bed (heh, heh) - bumper bars from the warehouse or OSM (one square meal) bars. We truly miss hearty breakfasts we used to make back home on these days - but these bars are high calorie and much lighter then a box of pancake mix. :) Then we sort out everything we need for the day (food and what have you), stuff our sleeping bags, get ready and pack our bags. Check the whole hut, ensure fire is out, put packs on and say goodbye to the hut (signing the intention book if not done the day before).

Today, a treat. At the junction from the hut towards the fork of two tracks, a weta sits on the soaking wet sign. I don't know how many times I tried to take a picture - when it's dark in the canopy forests, even at ISO 800 the shutter speed is like 1 second. I think one turned out. Our first weta. We did see a cave weta on our rap, raft & rock tour, but this was our first forest weta. When we went to Puke Ariki (the museum in NP) we found out that the giant wetas are really only found on the islands off the mainland in NZ - I guess since they are less disturbed and they adapted to the environment differently? But in mainland NZ you can still get a meaty little bugger. This one was larger then any grasshopper I ever caught in my backyard.

The walk to Dawson Falls (a visitor center on the other side of the mountain from North Egmont) was quick enough. Maybe 2 hours. We're getting closer to the DOC times with our walking. Maybe we're getting quicker? We are definitely used to hoisting 30-40lbs (me) and 50-65lbs (brent) on our backs. Our shoulders only get soar much later in the day. An improvement. We spent some time in the visitor center's public shelter. This DOC office is only open from Thursdays-Sunday. The information is posted on the outside of the doors for trampers who come off hours to see. You can learn a lot about the area and the trails in this park.

The most important topo map available to trampers is found posted outside both Egmont visitor centres. A topo map of the park with changes to the tracks marked in sharpie. Erosion - biggest problem. Tracks closed. Slips. Missing connections - like the swingbridge indicated on the map that leads you to Waiaua Gorge Hut - the last hut we were going to visit but had to cut short due to our dysfunctional stove - WASHED AWAY!!!! My faith in swingbridges has dissipated from this moment on. You must now follow route markers. Swing bridges are over some pretty intense rivers - I can't imagine crossing this one on a good day. So if we hadn't made a decision to turn around after Lake Dive Hut, that information was enough to make me turn around.

It was the driest summer they've ever had. A great tramping season probably. Endless. Seven weeks with no rain. Farmers' worst fear. Trampers' dream summer. We have had some great days with no rain on our hikes, but it's always muddy and wet. Now, eight weeks with non stop rain. We've been here for four of them. Take a dried up and brittle hillside and dump heaps of buckets of water on it, and you will get most of the parks we are coming across in the north island. Slips everywhere. We can imagine it might be different in the Fiords, because it always rains down there. But not up here. This topo map at Dawson Falls showed just how extensive the erosion is. They acquire their information from trampers just like us - then a DOC staff member will go investigate the situation. You're walking on thin land half of the time, and when you descend down a cliff, that is the only time you see how dangerous the track really is. Or you find the track on the riverbed like we did on the Pouakai circuit.

Erosion postings riddled this topo map. There is nowhere safe to truly climb. You're on your hands and knees in the mud, but it's the safest place to be at times.

Morning snack and another day with a luxurious public bathroom. A treat from the outhouse and the simple trail squat. A shelter from the rain. We were damp, not wet cause we have the gear, but we were covered in water. The rain wasn't always heavy, but it was consistent. It hadn't stopped yet. We normally don't hike with our hoods up in the rain to be able to see/hear the trail better. Today, we had no choice. To be dry/warm at the hut tonight, it was best to keep the hood up to avoid the dampness sinking into our upper fleece jackets.

We set out enjoying some nicer tracks from the center. Wet, but smooth, river crossings were bridged or if you crossed a rocky river bed, it was actually barely a trickle. It was 10amish when we set on the trail again. Supposedly 2.5-3hrs to the hut (in good weather, with no eroded tracks I would imagine).

Nothing too memorable. I think at one point in this trail I was thinking about how nothing too drastic has happened in our trip this time. Okay, so the stove doesn't work, but nothing big had happened to shape this tramp. Quiet. Nice. We walked along, fighting with vegetation at times. I would lead and after being bitch-slapped by a plant with a mouthful of water and a gasp escaping my lips, Brent would lecture the plant and threaten to beat it up. And then he would tell me about how he took care of that plant for me. These are the things that amuse us on our trail. 24/7 we're together. These stories can be quite creative and extensive. You hear about how plants were plotting to trip either of us all night long and how the story will end upon our return down the trail when we encounter these rude plants once again.

I notice the different challenges we each undertake on these tracks. I would easily hop down a hillside, while Brent might have to do it in stages and lower to the ground. He reminded me that he has a different centre of gravity then I do. I never thought of that until he mentioned it, and now I look for it. It's interesting to see the hurdles we each overcome and knowing that the other person doesn't quite understand what you might be going through or why it is a struggle for you. Every step, something new.

We were nearing Lake Dive Hut. Probably an hour (our time) out. We started our way down a long decent to a river crossing. It sounded big, it sounded fierce. But we were at the top of the descent, so you never know. We both continued to hike listening to the rushing water. Finally silence is broken and we ask the other what we think. From past experiences, we know that sound can be deceiving, but today it feels different. On the map I notice that it's where two rivers/streams merge. Maybe we're just at the height of a waterfall. Those are loud. We have a steady descent for about 10-15mins. Long. The sound is not changing. It starts to fade as we wind through more forest, but upon a cliff's clearing, it roars just as strong.

We have to get down to the river crossing to gage it ourselves. You just don't know from up high.

All the same, you're praying for a surprise swingbridge at moments like these.

Nothing. No bridge. Just rocks.

Or semblances of rocks. Really just rushing water. 6 1/2 hours from our last hut, 45mins from the next hut, a nice warm fire (my right foot was really wet at this point - fire sounds nice), food. Crap. A flooded river. Standing on the rocky river bed, you find yourself surrounded by water. Cascading from the sides of the mountains are endless waterfalls. Strong waterfalls. Beautiful to look at. You would think you were in a wonderful oasis of an area. A hidden place that only you get to enjoy. Until you quickly realize your situation, surrounded by a full day of rain, water that is falling from the top of the mountain, snow that is melting from the top of the mountain, and a deep river bed that once trickled earlier that day. A deadly mix.

The rain is finally starting to have an affect on a river. We had been hiking all day and passing some of the trickles, we were beginning to think this is what these rivers/streams might look like flooded. The rain never let up, yet the levels were reasonable.

Add to the mix snow melt. You don't know what weather patterns are hitting the mountain. And we're currently hiking on the side with the most snow. It obviously takes time for the water to build and start pouring down the mountainside. It pools at the top until it overflows. It finds any which way down the mountain. That's where these beautiful waterfalls come from. The quickest way down. Draining the top. If we took the higher AMC, we would be contending with crossing the tops of these waterfalls. Maybe safer if the snow levels were lower and the track wasn't so narrow. Down here, you get the rushing waterways all combined into one.

Your mind just dies. You're so close to that hut. You're so far from the other hut. The last 'safe place' was Dawson Falls - 4 1/2 hours from where you are. It's 2.16pm. You have maybe 3 good hours left of daylight. With the canopy in this forest, the rain, and absolute lack of sun, you're lucky if you get 3. You start to wonder if it's better to get across this river and just make that hut, or turn around and face a certain night hike.

We stared at that river until 2.38pm. I could see a path to one rock in the middle of the river crossing, but beyond that I would only be able to see from that rock. Not a clear path. Not a safe option, but it was the only path we could even see. The rocks disappear under the flow of the river. Brent threw a rock to see how deep one crevice was. Too deep. Your pole would be lost if you dropped it there.

Crossing the river. If I trust the depth and the flow, I'm fine. It isn't my own safety I'm concerned about, it's Brent's. And he's thinking the same thing about me. What if I make it across and they don't. What if they are swept away. Do you want to let a desire to make a hut claim a life? We're sitting in the same situation as the story Kay told us about the couple crossing to Holly Hut. You're right there - if you just get across this river. That's all we had to do. That's all they had to do. They crossed it and were lost forever.

"Let's turn back", Brent says. I take a deep breath. Okay.

You want to cross, but your mind and body aren't letting you. An hour ago, this might have been crossable. It's turned far too dangerous. A mountain can do that to you. Rain water can do that to you. It can build up a river so fast it will blind side you if you are not prepared or respectful. As quickly as it will rise, it will once again fall. Mountain river crossings are intense. Water comes down from all around you. You can't predict where the water will come from - which means you will never know how much is feeding into it.

A deep river crossing is not the concern. I can wade waist deep in a calm river. It might have to happen one day, and it's just how it goes.

The current/flow is what you must respect and understand. It's never just the depth. The flow will sweep you away. Who cares how good a swimmer you are when a current is pushing you into a whirlpool of water and slamming your body into the rocks. In the cave in Waitomo, that was one of the things our guide Allan was saying. If the rapids/water flow starts to take you away, just go with it. He will be there to stop you from disappearing down the dark cave. But fighting it can cause injury. The flow is stronger then you are. They wouldn't go down into the caves if the water was too high and the current was too strong.

If it's only your feet in the strong current but you have clear footing (elevated rocks), you're golden. If you find yourself waist deep in water with a strong current, it could be good bye tramper.

We have packs on, we are heavy in an off balance kind of way. Our weight is not centrally balanced on us.

This river crossing was not going to happen today.

We scurried up the mountain once again ascending twice as fast as we descended. At the top, we break for lunch. We were starving. And now we need a plan. We have roughly two and a half hours of daylight. We need to get to Dawson Falls. We can either pitch a tent in the public shelter (due to the violent vandalism occuring at night in this area, it was decided this might not be the best place to pitch a tent - if someone were to come up the mountain, they would surely come and say hello - it's supposedly drunk bored teenagers/young adults looting the area), we could stay at the lodge we saw near the centre, there is a DOC lodge but with the office closed, no access to keys. At least there is a lodge where we could stay at for the night before hiking back to the car the next day. From Dawson Falls to North Egmont, it would be a full day of tramping, but doable. To know you end up at your car (safely tucked away to appear like a DOC worker's vehicle), any long day of hiking is worth it.

Up and down we went. This trail is very wet. Deep bogs and puddles pollute the track itself. You try your best to skirt these areas, but it's difficult to. This is why my stupid right foot is wet in the first place. I blame the puddles.

A stream crossing. One we crossed a mere hour before. Flooded. Unexpected. We thought it was already at a high level. We realize our situation at this moment.

"How many river crossings do we have?"

Probably about 4-5 streams and rivers from here to the centre. Those are the larger ones. The trickles that offer larger rock beds. There are smaller ones, and then there are crossings with bridges.

Shit.

This river is lower then the one we just turned away from AND we know this one since we just crossed it not too long ago. I remember our route. This crossing involved climbing up river a bit before heading across. Our pathway alongside the river is also underwater. You skirt around rocks and hug the crap out of them when you have to fling your body over it. Probing the depth of the water pools with your pole. I can see our rocks from further up. If we cross just behind our previous rock path, the water will push us towards our rocks and we should be fine.

The flow wasn't too strong. Don't get me wrong, we were crossing at a good spot. Further down, the rapids kick in. If you slip, the rapids is where you will end up.

We both make it across. I lead the river crossings because I remembered our pathway. I holler back to Brent to give him a status on my footing and where (if anywhere) I ran into problems. The stupid map clipped onto my pole nearly tripped me - which would have meant falling into the river. Stupid, stupid map.

He makes it across. Phew.

One down.

I soaked my left foot on that crossing. Brent, dry as day. Lucky poo.

Another flooded river. Another chunk of time spent assessing the situation. This was the crossing where Brent actually found a solid piece of land where we could pitch our tent if need be. One place on the entire trail that was decent to pitch a tent. It's on a cliff side, so don't move. It's under a loose mud/dirt cliff side which could slip in the night, especially with all this rainfall. It's beside a ladder which also could dislodge from the side (the slips are claiming a lot of DOC track items). Things that run through your head. But it's an option that we both observe.

At this point in time, I just want to be somewhere with a warm fire. I was too wet at this point to not need to dry out. Brent was still dry. My motivation was ensuring that I didn't get cold. Merino socks = amazing. I didn't feel cold yet. But the temperature was dropping. It could get worse tonight.

Again, we remembered our pathway and successfully got through this one. And the next, and the next.

Home free.

Thank goodness. Bridged crossings, one flooded trickly stream with elevated rocks. We're golden.

Until we meet our friend, land slip river. I call this one landslip river because of the amount of land this gorge has claimed. Trees are fallen all around, up and down the river. They are handles to hold onto. They are hinderences for footing. They could save your life, but if you depend on a branch to hold your weight in the current, it could snap off and send you flying. This river was deep. Are we stuck? This has to be the last one. If only we make it to the other side, I think we're just around the corner from Dawson Falls.

We made it here. And again you sit and look at a river and wonder if you cross it, will you regret it. We're soooooo close to our exit point. Time is ticking, the night is setting in. No matter what we do, we have to think fast. I remember our path, but it's flooded badly. This flow is stronger then the last. Add to that the depth.

We look at each other. What would the other do. We both want to make it across. We both don't want the other one to die. We both worry about the other's safety. I'm not afraid to cross it, but if my decision to cross this stupid waterway pulls Brent from my life, I will not be able to live with myself. Brent's thinking the same thing. It's a horrible thing to go through in your head. All the while trying to make the safest decision and a quick one. You are working against the elements here.

Looking down the river with the land slips, all I could think about is as long as I can unclip from my bag I could definitely hold onto those logs. There are fallen trees as far down as I can see. But if there is a pool just below the tree, you'd be sunk by the flow, you'd never make the tree. The rapids will drop you down the rocks before helping you to safety.

A route. A fallen tree to maybe help. We waded up the river side to cross higher than we had before. At two points, the river's flow was safer. In the middle, it was rapid. It sounded torrential. You had to clear your mind and stop thinking about the sound or the rapids further down, you had to just cross.

The river quickly dropped our bodies into waist deep water. The current was ripping through our bodies.

Was this the right decision. Just an hour earlier, this was nothing more than a trickle. An hour. How fast it can change.

Trudging through waist deep water is challenging enough. The stupid map. Acting as a sail in the water (it's encased in a medium format waterproof map enclosure), then clipping onto a tree branch to my left. I'm caught in almost the splits and I have to lean back with the weight of my pack trying to pull me down the river, to unclip this stupid little map. It has my pole which is looped around my wrist. There is no getting out of this situation. My entire body is pulling in water at this point. Feeling heavier, it's more difficult to push across.

I skirt a rock and pull myself out of the current but continue to wade through deep waters before hoisting myself up a muddy ledge. Tree roots that once stood above the river. My saving grace.

I can't watch Brent who is almost directly behind me. Usually we're really good about doing things one at a time. Ladders, bridges, river crossings - one goes ahead and once safely across the other follows. We didn't want to be pulled apart on these crossings. We kept a safe distance, but the sooner we could cross these things the better.

He is also wading waist deep. Water pounding against is off centered body. He is more top heavy with his pack and this affects his crossing. It's pouring rain. The sound of the river is numbing. The rapids are ripping to your right.

You hate your life at that moment.

It could go either way. You could be fine and live to tell the story. You could just as easily become another statistic in the mountain. Others have been in the same situation, in the same current, in the same depth. Not everyone makes it across.

When I finally found my way onto the track again, I just started sobbing. You're physically, emotionally and mentally destroyed. Your decision to cross these rivers could be your last. That's the only thing running through your head. We had two river crossings to go to the hut. We had to just trudge through like 5 to make it back here.

Brent is finally safe and sound. Soaked to the bone. Dripping wet. Weighing probably 20lbs more with all this water. We have to keep going.

We have no idea how much further we still have to go. We don't waste time looking at the map from this point on. We just need to get there.

We're swift. At this point, who cares if you walk through knee deep puddles. We're already wet.

The path winds up and down. The night is still creeping into your future. The canopy is thick at this point.

A bridge. Warning maximum 5 people. We're almost there.

When you spot that clearing through the woods, it's the most glorious moment. It's foggy, it's raining, it's beautiful. 5.26pm. Darkness fell early tonight.

We came upon the lodge. Exhausted. Spent. It was quiet. A few people could be seen from a window. The first few doors we tried we locked and then we found the reception area. A towel on the floor. We stand still and try not to move. I don't want to dampen anyone's floor.

"Hello. How can I help you", Marshall greets us.

"Well, I would really love to say that we would enjoy spending the night up in this beautiful lodge, but I think we want to get back to our car. Do you know if we could get a taxi to drive us from here to North Egmont?"

"Surely. It will cost you a great deal of money."

At this point in time, money was almost not an option.

Marshall opened up his cafe to offer us a place to change into our dry clothes. "Do you drink tea or coffee?" he asked as we slowly and carefully pulled off our soaked clothing. "When you're finished changing, just come through the kitchen and fix yourself up a cup of tea. Then come by the fireplace and warm up."

We were freezing cold. My two thermal upper layers, my fleece - all soaked. I only had my hoodie, a pair of pants and dry socks. Brent was smarter, he brought extra thermal bottoms, but only a thin top. We peeled away the layers and got dressed. That alone is enough to warm you up. Packed our wet clothes in our dry sack to contain our drip trail. It was a beautiful lodge and we would hate to ruin it with puddles of water.

Through the kitchen, two cups of tea with tea bags sitting inside, milk, sugar and a hot kettle. I don't even drink tea, but I couldn't have wanted it more tonight. We shuffled our bodies through the restaurant to the fireplace in the sitting room. Marshall was in the middle of a business deal with two other people. We quietly sat sipping tea enjoying the hot fire and the swiss themed lodge. When we woke up this morning, we never expected this to be how we would spend our evening.

We warmed up for half an hour. When the meeting ended, Marshall bid the couple farewell and came to offer us a biscuit.

"After you're done with that, let's get your gear and pack it into my car. I'll drive you to Stratford."

A city about 1/2 hr from New Plymouth. So much closer to Egmont Village, which is where the road leads you to the North Egmont Visitor Centre. This was a half hour's drive for Marshall, but he gladly offered his services. The lodge was quiet tonight, he would only be gone an hour.

We were so thankful. We actually couldn't stop thanking him for his kindness. "I've been stuck up a mountain before. I've been in your situation, and people have helped me out. This is my way to pay them back. Mountain folk will always help you out. They understand."

Once in Stratford, we called for a cab at the gas station. We tried to pay for Marshall's gas for him, but he wouldn't have it. He was happy to have helped.

Two weeks ago he was sitting in the Dawson Falls lodge having wine with some friends. He noticed one of the workers was distraught and asked her if she was okay. There was no management at the lodge, and things were falling apart. Marshall, with 35 years of experience in hotel/restaurant management offered to assist her saying that he could stay for a month to help. She pulled him in to the owner and said that they needed him here.

Two weeks ago, by chance he was here on a crazy night.

If he hadn't been there two weeks ago, there might not have been anyone at the lodge to assist us.

Things happen for a reason.

The cab ride to the car was wonderful. Warm. That's what mattered most, because the temperature had dropped enough, and we weren't in our usual layers of warmth. When I made the call, this lovely woman answered the phone "I'll be there in a minute, love.".

Small town, small cab company. You call the drivers direct. Amazing.

She was lovely. We didn't even care that it cost $2.80/km at this point. From Egmont Village, there is a 16km road that leads to the park, then another 6.5km to the visitor centre. That's just once you get to Egmont Village. She was pleasant and we were just so blessed already with Marshall's kindness. The conversation was wonderful.

Once we got to our car, we packed up our gear and headed around the corner to sign out at the visitor's centre. The cab driver followed us to the visitor centre parking lot to make sure we were okay, then she was on her way. We were almost at the visitor's centre door when we realized that her van's lights were the only lights lighting the area. We had to stop jogging to the center's doorway, we couldn't see a thing.

Ran back to our car - whose interior light doesn't work, and I pulled out the hand crank lantern and flashlight. It was raining still and cold. We just wanted to get back to NP.

The drive back is windy and steep. And tonight was foggy.

Oh yeah, and at the VC on our way out, our fabulous car stalled. And it took him a while to start up again. We actually thought we were going to be stuck up there. We have AA membership, but so not where we wanted to be anymore.

We were so happy to be in our car driving back to the Seaspray. Our trip cut down by 4 nights. We were done with river crossings. We don't want to deal with that right now. The rain just isn't stopping. We need a break. Whanganui NP is running into similar slip situation, the Ruapehu AMC is an option for the FALL - we don't want to deal with snow run off at the moment. Let's let the mountains return to summer mode before attempting these hikes.

And then there was that wee little bunny that crossed the road. I couldn't stop. But he did - right in front of our stupid car. Wee little bunny meets headlights of Sir Huntington. I didn't feel him hit the car, and I hope he made it across the street, but we just couldn't stop.

Back in New Plymouth, we walked up to the Seaspray at the same time that Janine was locking the door. Surprised to see us, she opened up the door and asked why we were back so soon. And it's like we just starting pouring out all this information about everything we had just gone through. Jabber. So much information. She grabbed us a key and told us to get our gear and go get some food.

Burger joints were just closed - so the dinner we had been dreaming about from when we turned away from that one river was gone. Domino's it is. Nice, cheap, multi mealed dinner.

You get really hungry after a tramp. We did a day hike TWICE in the same day to make it back to safety. Everyone said we were lucky. Everyone said we made the right decision. It is supposed to rain all night on that side of the mountain, and we would have been trapped at that hut. We did our research, we knew enough. You have to use your common sense. That last river crossing was dreadful and it could have turned out terrible. But it didn't. And we were safe. We were out of the river and into a dry warm place. Like home, the Seaspray house has been here for us.

We're done with Taranaki for now. Maybe we'll be back in the late summer/early fall. But this mountain conquered us. Janine says we have done amazingly well, being able to do some of the tramps we did in the worst weather. They don't see a lot of backpackers who are ACTUALLY backpackers at their hostel. She was impressed.

Eating pizza, enjoying much needed liquids, snacking on duette chocolate sticks and starting yet another Wasgij, blindside playing on life fm, the radio station they play at this hostel (this is how we found out they were Christians). A comfortable evening. We were so happy.

And for our last day in New Plymouth, hosing down of all our gear (to help stop the spread of Didymo), to wash out all the riverness, laundry to clean our soaked gear, a trip to Kiwi Outdoors to figure out our stove problem, grocery shop for future tramps, and time with puzzles just chilling out.

We started a competition between us. We each have our own wasgij puzzle. I don't think we'll finish them in time before we leave this morning. There is still much to do.

Speaking to Janine last night, she suggested we head to the south island. We want to tramp through the fiords at the beginning of October - the tramping season starts October 28th. So the earlier, the better. She suggested heading down now to enjoy the long drive. We might just do that. Save the forest parks and remaining national parks of the north island for a better season.

Tomorrow, who knows where we will wake up. It's all part of the adventure.


Oh, and did I mention that our dear car, Sir Huntington III, is infested with ants??

Cause that's normal.