Have you ever met a cook who has never ever prepared one single meal and, lives with a hooker?
Waitangi weekend had us pointing our noses south to again spend time with whanau-in-laws at Twizel.
An opportunity in tune with our pursued habits to venture out onto the landscape was one not to be missed notching up. Aoraki / Mount Cook, where at its base to the west, is the Hooker Glacier.
The 90 minute walk was easy and certainly popular. Finding a solitude spot to eat the fuel carried and view the 3,724 metre mountain was unanimous – noise from the glacier headwaters muffled human chit chat.
Activity of late has been restricted to that of which accommodates the healing of the shoulder. Making memories of this type, was something welcomed with open arms. Okay, with one good arm in my situation.
The cook and the hooker – a co-habitation relationship you have just got to meet.
Cameron’s pack contained 2 x 1.5 litres of water; 1 x 1.5 litre Coca Cola; 2 x hip flasks of rum; 4 x stubbies of Speights beer; bacon, eggs, mushrooms for breakfast; jet aeroplane sugar lollies, 2 cakes of chocolate; cheese/biscuit snacks; and cooking oil that by the time we reached our destination – had leaked!
Sleeping bag and gear and additional apparel made up the remainder of his worldly possessions stuffed into his back pack.
What he thought was a three hour tramp, was. Except, that it just got us to the junction point before the next three hours of serious up to reach Black Hill Hut at 1335 metres above sea level.
Huh, it wasn’t the altitude that had him sleeping like a baby soon after the boots came off, it was share exhaustion from the crap he lugged for 14 kilometres. It was the first time in years that we had done an overnight tramp together.
His youthful cockiness as we stepped out our first strides had him admit in his sleep talk that perhaps the old man’s travel experience had some weight of experience after all – “pack light ya twit!”
Even more so, we have lived more summers to understand that the old tradition of hard work does pay off in the end.
And this was realized after a good night’s rest.
Families of forest coral lichens, Birch trees that weep sweet tasting sap and the tiny bird – the Wren, just a plump of fur with a beak whose chirp is more like a mouse squeak.
Not a squeak from Cameron neither as we retraced out boot prints to exit the hectares of timeless awe the next morning.
A weekend walk that had wisdom, wonder and wit … and wally!
At 919 metres, Mount Herbert is the highest point on Banks Peninsula. The Maori name is Te Ahu Pātiki.
A nice day climb to view Pantagonia from. Accessed from Orton Bradley Park – watch out for rocks that are crusted cow shit pads, and the sea of yellow is very prickly.
Stunning views of mountains, plains and water … right on our back door step.
Walking through a plantation after leaving Orton Bradley Park.
What is it?
Now that looks like fun at height!
A dream can always be realised if you keep going, no matter the obstacle :0)
Apartment living, insect style.
Too much sun for this lazy cow!
Which is the rock and which is the foot print thinking a cow shit pad was a rock … clever photography though, same finger used twice!
Must get some walking shoes/boots as the toe nails were stink.
View from Mt Herbert shelter toward Christchurch.
The hills are alive with the sound of ‘yeeooowwww’ as this is gorse in full bloom. And it’s prickly so bloomin hurts!
An extinct volcano of Lyttelton harbour.
Looking south toward Lake Forsyth where big eels live!
Cuddle at 919 metres :0)
Last glimpse of awe – some – awe.
Reflection of the top.