Day 66 – Mid Wairoa Hut to Mt. Rintoul Hut

I began today with a steep climb through beech forest to reach the ridgeline leading to Mt Rintoul. I felt strong and happy, a one-eighty degree change from yesterday’s dejection. I’m not sure whether the difficulty had been in me or in the trail, but whatever it was, it was gone. Possibly I was excited because I had more ridge-walking ahead, and I was not disappointed. Once I reached the top of the ridge, the stunted beech allowed me intermittent views of the landscape, and their low branches brought many a bellbird perching low within my sight. Stopping at a clearing, I was investigated by a bold weka. When I sat still long enough, the cheeky bird stole up behind me and tried to snatch a strap that was attached to my backpack.

Tarn Hut, where I stopped for lunch, was amazing. The generous clearing provided great views to the south, and sitting to the north was a cute little tarn. I sat by it as I ate lunch and read the hut book, another old one. I think this region may not have its hut books collected as often as some others, because many of the hut books go back years and years. There was an odd comment in the book about a big storm that knocked over the kennels, so I looked around and sure enough, there were a number of little shelters around the hut, too small to be woodsheds, but just the right size for a dog.

I was reluctant to leave such an adorable hut, but I had plenty more miles to reach Mt. Rintoul Hut. I made easy, pleasant miles across the ridge and arrived with a good solid hour before dark. The hut had an adorable little Oregon pot belly stove, and I spent my time chopping wood into the short pieces required to fit inside it. The stove was a clever thing, lots of fun to play with, and once I figured out the damper, flue, and several other knobs and widgets, it roared to life. DoC has installed stoves in a number of huts because by limiting air intake they can provide more efficient heat output than a fireplace. They are also much easier to cook on, and tonight I used my little fire instead of my alcohol stove, because I was getting low on fuel. I had plenty of food though, so I took advantage of the “free” heat to cook a second meal.

The windows of the hut faced north across a clearing, and I could see the lights of Motueka and Nelson twinkling on the shores of Tasman Bay. My ambivalence on first seeing the water has faded, and now it was a pleasant, reassuring sight. Novel, too, as I’d never been able to see a town at night from the trail.

I was reading the hut book when something caught my eye.  Almost exactly two months ago, a tramper named Edward Reynolds from Hanover, PA had signed the book.  This is the same American that search-and-rescue teams were searching for along the St. James trail, the one who was planning to cross the Waiau Pass, had a beard and glasses like me, and had been missing for a month.  I figured “Interesting.  I’ll take a picture of the page in case DoC wants to know he checked in here.”  Then I looked again at what he had written under “Principal Activity on This Trip,” and I felt as if somebody had walked over my grave.  Already this man had so much in common with me that I had been mistaken for him on the trail.  When I saw he had written “Te Araroa” as his primary activity a shiver ran down my spine.  He had been trying to do exactly what I am doing.  I kept thinking how easily it could have been me.  I half-joked to myself that he was probably a twenty-eight year old computer programmer, too.  I resolved to be especially careful during these last few days of remote tramping in the Richmond Range.