Ruahine CORNERED
We meet Joe Nawalaniec at the shelter, a concrete block affair named after Hawke’s Bay hunter Lester Masters. My two lads, Tom (15) and Lee (13), are disappointed not to find Sushi and Floyd, Joe’s two dogs, with him. After all, that had been part of my bribe to entice them on a four-day tramp in the northern Ruahine Range.
“Sorry boys,” Joe says. “The mutts are up ahead with Vicky and Kate.”
From the farmland, the Ruahine foothills rear up in an unforgivingly steep escarpment, up which you toil when your pack is heaviest. It’s been 30 years since I’ve walked up Golden Crown Ridge. Then, I was near the same age as Tom is now. It’s hard to recall many details from that long ago, but it seems the bush has regenerated, making a slow but steady transition from burnt scrub to thin forest.
At the top of the ridge, the gradient eases and at Aranga Hut we finally catch up with Vicky, Joe’s partner, and their friend Kate, who make up our party of six. Not counting
