By Kate Morris, 30 June 2022
Day 0.5/Day 1: Wellington > Cannibal Gorge Hut
2AM ferries: great for freight and trampers, awful in every other aspect. I passed the time by staring into space, picking at a supermarket pizza bread, losing at ultimate tic tac toe, and attempting to nap. After a long drive south and a mediocre sandwich at the only shop in Springs Junction, it was go time. It felt marvelous to be back in the bush after weeks of tests and essays - smelling the moss and the beech trees, hearing rushing water in the distance, no thoughts but putting one foot in front of the other. A South Island Robin came to greet us, bravely hopping within reach to nab some Oaty Slice. The weather turned for the worse near dusk, and we all arrived at the hut sodden, exhausted, and slightly delirious. Tramping is fun!!!
Day 2: Cannibal Gorge Hut > Christopher Hut
After a good sleep, spirits on the second day were much higher. It was a lovely day of bright blue skies and grassy plains, apart from a small section where I accidentally introduced the newer trampers to the art of bush-bashing and the wonders of matagouri when we missed a detour over a slip. Teachable moment: always check for the orange triangles. That night there was an older couple already at the hut when the ten of us unceremoniously stomped in. They very graciously agreed to sleep in the separate hut warden’s quarters. Crisis averted? Apparently not. At around 8pm, we were having a merry time chatting and playing cards when we heard an almighty hammering on the adjoining wall - the universal signal for ‘shut the hell up’. We did our best to be quiet after that, we really did - but everything is way funnier when you’re not allowed to laugh.
Day 3: Christopher Hut > Anne Hut
Another day of unbelievable scenery and semi-successful parkour over bogs and streams. On the final approach to the hut, we were treated to a very cool sight; a large herd of wild horses. Davy, walking in front of them, flung his arms out like he was in the Sound Of Music. It was truly magical. While cooking up pasta-based dishes numbers 5 and 6 that evening, we took advantage of the extensive floor space to have a dance circle around a pot on the floor (think cult ritual, but ABBA). The rest of the night was spent playing some lively rounds of Mafia. Certain members of our party started a smear campaign against yours truly, but it actually worked to my advantage because when I was the mafia they would all joke about lynching me but then never actually follow through. Teachable moment: gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss.
Day 4: Anne Hut > Boyle Flats Hut
Day four saw us tramping over grassy plains and through goblin forests over the 1136-meter Anne Saddle. This was our longest day, and it was a bit of a slog. The first time you put false hope on a solid looking patch of tussock and sink calf-deep into a bog, it’s a bit funny. The other fifty times, less so. It was a welcome reminder that we were guests in the backcountry - the horses didn’t seem to mind getting their feet a bit wet. For the last few kilometers I was hobbling, feet aching, head down. After finally making it to the hut, I collapsed in the window seat and fed myself chocolate until I felt like a human again.
Day 5: Boyle Flats Hut > Hanmer/Wellington
A wise man (i.e. sustainability officer Xanthe Smith) once told me to ‘be bold, start cold’. As a devout follower of Xanthe, I follow her advice unquestioningly - but this particular morning the single-layer-start may have been a mistake. There was a hard frost on the ground, and on Chris’ shirt which he had washed and then left outside overnight. Despite some energetic walking, my fingers and toes and face were numb for the better part of the morning. Eventually though, the sun made it over the hills and I thawed out. It was a lovely day of walking, sidling through native forest beside a river. On the way back, Jess and I got dropped off in Hanmer Springs to meet up with my family. They weren’t due to arrive until later, so we spread ourselves out on a public bench in the center of town and fixed ourselves some tuna wraps. What a life.
Many thanks to Jackson for herding a bunch of newbies and faffers through the hills, and even many-er thanks to the rest of the St James crew for being excellent company.