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The Underworld Adventurers

Saturday dawned bright and clear - a perfect day for the start of a week long tramp - this has got to be a good omen! The morning was spent watching the scenery go past and finding spots of sun on the deck - then crawling after them as the ship turns.

After the obligatory long bus trip and the laughing at the first groups to go off into the threatening overcast, it's our turn to be left on the junction of the main road and a gravel road heading for the hills: "You reckon we'll need coats out?" "Nah, no worries"... "Hey - it's raining!" Off we go, keeping Harpo & Cuc's group company for the first bit of the way and then leaving them at the first farmhouse to ask for permission to cross land.

Walking down the road, thinking about places to camp the night, we spot a farmhouse - and an old, unused looking house - hmmm. Stopping to talk to the farmer we discover that nobody around here uses the place names on the map; "Manuka or Ranger Creek" is in fact Goose Creek, and what's more we're pretty crazy to be wanting to go up it in winter. Nice people tho', we are walking off on a suggested shortcut, after discussing the local campsite prospects, when we hear " ... of course you could stay in the old house..." Whooomph! Faster than the eye can follow, into the house with loud thanks. The old house turns out to have a gas stove, electricity, mattresses, a Kent fire with pre-chopped wood and even a piano! YeeHaaarrr. A very cozy night was had by all listening to the rain pour down outside, thinking about the other groups, eating scrummy stew and enjoying recitals from Geoff on the piano. The farmer came in later and showed us a big aerial photograph of the whole area including the creek were planning on following, and told us about the big flood they had had a few months before which put the farm under several feet of water.

The next morning saw us up bright and early - the first time on the trip that we were away before 8am I think - and we were off on the shortcut; thats the one that takes you about twice as long as the longcut, you've probably been there before. We followed the creek up for while and then decided it would probably be a good idea to go along the other side for a while, then we looked at the creek; hmm., maybe it gets a little less fearsome further up. After a while we decided to give it a go so off go Geoff and Justine: up to knees, no worries; thighs, yeah; waists, oh well; the movement becomes more downstream than across and back they come, after a ducking. Things don't look too good until we find a log across the creek - thank goodness. Those of us with more imagination and an eye for the raging torrent take a while, alternately cursing the camera and pointedly not looking down, but we're soon across. Further up we find the most amazing waterfall, where the creek has spread out across the 30m wide face in the last flood and plunges steeply down straight through what used to be bush - by the size of the boulders and trees it moved this would be the place to avoid in a flood.

Our campsite that night is up above the river near the junction of a small stream and it is a little cool and wet. So much so that we are all in pit very quickly, leaving our dedicated and ultra fantastic Geoff outside cooking tea. Ah well, we manage to revive him in a people sandwhich when we eventually let him back in. Great dinner thanks Geoff!

Monday morning, and guess what - it's raining. Again. But not for long, no indeed, it soon starts snowing. We head off up the creek for an assault on the pass over to the Waitahu River in the teeth of the southerly and the snow, hoping that we would warm up soon. After half an hour it becomes obvious that we are shit out of luck and serious pit bashing talk starts. The farmer mentioned an old hut up here and all hope centres on that, even though he said he hadn't been up here for years and that it would probably be a bit rough. We knew something must be near when we saw a wire strung out across a clearing - presumably to stop choppers landing (either that or a verybig clothes line in a bizarre place) and found the hut down by the creek. That made the day for us because the thought of spending a day in a snowstorm in a 4 person tent with 4 other people was looking a bit suspect. This hut has real character. It is built with rough cut slabs of wood and poles with hessian sacking filling in the gaps and has room for one to sleep on a sort of hessian cot. It is a lot cosier with five people sleeping on the floor though. Brews were had, lunch was ate and the day was pleasantly passed in literary pursuits - first we read our own books but then moved on to the much more sociable pastime of having Geoff read aloud from "Porterhouse Blue." Recommended reading. After another taste sensation for dinner we dropped off to the sound of more Porterhouse from Geoff.

Tuesday morning it wasn't snowing so we set off for the pass, following a very direct route to the top (straight up). Part way up we perched on some trees and looked back down the creek for what was to be the last view for a few days. Pity we were holding on too tightly to take pictures. The trip down the other side of the pass and along the creek to the Waitahu was pretty cruisy and it page 32even stopped raining for an hour or so, not long enough to get worried about tho and the yellow stuff that came down through the trees washed away pretty quickly. Our first sight of travel down the Waitahu was a tree lined avenue marching down a wide river bed and we were ecstatic. That didn't last long. Campsite that night was in a nice little clearing by the river and yet another culinary delight was consumed before settling back for the now customary reading from Porterhouse Blue. Geoff was saved a cold night again by the gallant action of Justine and Sarah who zipped their scorpions together and shared with Geoff - you could almost see the heat haze! It stopped raining and cleared for about four hours that night.

It was raining again in the morning and we set off down the river marvelling at the wonderfully thick bush, the tastefully placed fallen logs and the quite amazing amount of leg that would regularly dissappear between them. I don't think we saw the ground at all that day - only the logs, trees and undergrowth between them. In the summer, when normal people go down there, the route is down the river not through the bush; not a bad idea. Our original route had been to go up Shaw Stream or up onto the tops from Montgomerie Hut, but by this stage we were only covering about 1km per hour because of the grotty travel and the joke about going out to Reefton had started looking very good indeed. We passed an amazing lake on the way down the river, it had been formed by half the hillside coming across and blocking the river. Lunch was had by the junction of the Waitahu and Shaw Stream (which was about as big as the Waiohine normally is - some creek). We were quite lucky to find a campsite that night - we got what must have been the only possible site for a long way either side - but didn't have to compromise our standards and still got a flat spot overlooking a stream. We have a good real estate agent.

It was raining again on Thursday and it was starting to get us down a little bit. This morning we just bashed on down the river for an hour or so and found another river "Hey - it's the Montgomerie! Yeehaaa", and ten minutes more saw us at the hut for lunch. The road bash out to Reefton was a welcome chance to stretch our legs and we even got some sun and a brief view back to the tops. We were able to take our coats off during the day for the first time since we started - a real red letter day. Out on the tarseal and we were looking for a place to hang our hats. The first farmer wasn't home but this proved to be a blessing because a quarter of an hour down the road a ute stopped, someone leaned out and we heard the magic words "where are you going?" and "like a lift?" We piled into the fantasically warm cab (it had been hailing outside) and started talking. Our saviour was a miner and took us into the motor camp, amid many digs at our being from Wellington and being crazy for tramping in the Vic. Range in winter (and being ultra smelly). A really nice guy, he knew the owner of the camp and we got a cabin and a hot shower each for $5 each. Boy it was hard getting out of that shower! After dinner and having spread our gear out all over the cabin to dry, we headed for town and the friendliest looking pub - where we found our 'Mad Mully' drinking with his friends. We had a good time with them and talked a lot and ended up being invited down a mine the next day to see what it is like. We left, by the back door, 'later'.

Friday dawned smokey but otherwise clear and everything was draped outside to dry in the sun. Bansky's mate arrived in the van at one ish and we were off on our underworld adventure. After being fitted out with helmets and lamps we scrambled down a steep ladder/steps and immediately got disoriented. This was a hydro mine, where the coal gets crushed and pumped up to the surface as a slurry. Richard let off an explosion in a face to show us what it is like and he admitted later that he used about three times what he usually uses - it felt like the whole mine was wobbling because of the air pressure blast that came with the explosion rushing up and down the shafts and drives. Then he showed us around the old workings that are worked out and sealed up, in some of them the water is so acidic it is more like battery acid than water.

On the way back from the mine (they knock off at 3pm) we offered to shout them a round in the pub for being so kind - five hours later we just starting to think about leaving after finding a piano and having an extended singing and dancing (well, some of us were) session with the miners, to the tune of Geoffs inspired ivory tapping (when we could hear it above the singing). A lot of fun was had by all. It was there we met a DOC worker who had seen one of the other Vic. groups and given them a lift on his tractor.

The next morning we were given a lift by Richard along the road to where the bus was to pick us up complete with a tiki tour to the local sights and a stop to look at the burning mine. We were really amazed by the lengths people went to to help us, Reefton sure is a friendly place.

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On the way home in the bus we started hearing the horror stories of snow, ice and epic trips and the disbelief of all those who wished they had come out to Reefton too.

We were:	Geoff Daniels	- leader, reader and ivory tickler extraodinaire
	Justine Wright
	Iain Marshall
	Sarah Hall
	David Oborn

David Oborn