OUR BEST OF TRIPS FROM THE PAST 30 YEARS
A lot was going on in 1991. The first Gulf War began with the invasion of Iraq, the USSR was dissolved and South Africa’s apartheid era came to an end. And an outdoor magazine in a far corner of the world named Wilderness was launched.
In the years since, Wilderness has taken readers on a grand tour of the country as it has explored every nook and cranny, from the heights of Mt Aspiring to the swampy lows of Coromandel’s Table Mountain to the balmy Far North and the Roaring Forties-swept landscape of Rakiura/Stewart Island.
Finding 30 of the best trips out of the thousands that have been published has not been easy. But here, according to our writers and staff, are some of the standouts.
STORIES DATED AFTER JANUARY 2011 CAN BE READ IN FULL AT WILDERNESSMAG.CO.NZ.
Scott’s FORGOTTEN MAN
May 2012 SHAUN BARNETT
The Polar Range has three mountains named after members of the famous British Antarctic Expedition of 1910–13: Mts Wilson, Bowers and Scott. And nearby lies Mt Oates. But where is Captain Scott’s fifth man, the Welshman Edgar Evans? Wilderness sets about righting a wrong on the Polar Range.
Our peak is ahead, beyond the crumbling crest. We sidle its scree flanks, then climb the skyline ridge. It’s not technical, but steep enough, and hard work. We gasp with the effort until at last we crest the Polar Range to stand on the summit of Pt2019m.
This is one of four peaks I’d picked from the map as suitable candidates for Mt Edgar Evans, and I’m pleased to see that, although close to Mt Wilson, it has its own distinct summit. This is it.
On the return from the South Pole, Evans pulled until he could pull no more. As the largest man in the group, he was probably weakening faster than his companions. He collapsed on February 17, 1912 and was hauled by his teammates on a sledge back to camp, but he never regained consciousness and died that night, aged 35.
I’ve written ‘Mt Edgar Evans’ on two signs, and hand them to Fraser and Steve. I hold two portraits of Evans, one showing him with the polar party at the South Pole. Then it’s time to say a few words of tribute to Evans, build a cairn to house the photographs, and swig some fine single malt whisky from Steve’s hip flask.
Being an enthusiastic drinker, I think Evans would have approved.
Tararua Tramping MONOPOLY
December 2014 RICKY FRENCH
Sometimes the weather doesn’t play ball and you’re stuck at home instead of enjoying the hills. On those occasions, you’d wish for a copy of Ricky French’s Tararua Tramping Monopoly
To casual observers we’re an un-materialistic Wellington tramping family. We live and tramp modestly, save for the occasional skinny-dip in a tarn. But the time has come to reveal my family’s secret capitalist obsession: the game of Monopoly.
I’d always thought I’d like to make a personalised Monopoly board, and after discovering that Hasbro, the makers of Monopoly, allowed you to design your own board, I experienced a rare ‘light-bulb’ moment. I would design Tararua Tramping Monopoly.
The aim would be to establish intensive development in the Tararuas. Stack apartments and resorts in the bush, upon every hut-site. Bankrupt the casual tramper and send them out into the cold. Think of the benefit to the country in tourism dollars and attracting a better class of tramper. Imagine the reward of hauling yourself over the Tararua Peaks and seeing Maungahuka Hut surrounded with holiday homes, casinos and luxury spa pools….
The fun part was to rank and price the huts. Which hut would end up on the prized ‘Mayfair’ spot? Which would hang its head in shame as the cheapest and nastiest? Powell justifiably claims top spot. It’s the most popular hut in the range; the glamour hut and the go-to hut for tourism brochures, should tourism brochures for the Tararuas ever be made. The answer to the cheapest was easy: Waiotauru Hut. Cursed by its road end-accessible location, it’s long been treated as a rubbish dump by four-wheel-drive hoons. The rent for this rundown, cheerless shelter seems overpriced at $2 Monopoly money.
We gathered for the inaugural game in Waikanae. After much shouting and badgering, monopolies were established and houses went up. Three hours later we were set up for a classic, shambolic Monopoly finish.
80-DAY TRAVERSE FROM EAST CAPE TO CAPE EGMONT
March 1997 RAYMOND SALISBURY
In early 1995 I set out from the East Cape with a 35kg pack. I had not the foggiest notion of whether this self-imposed mission would succeed.
Heavy rain hammered the roof of Rurupori Hut; its warning was ominous. The heavily-dissected ravines of the rugged Raukumara Ranges were filling with water, flooding, and trapping me in this tiny, broken shelter.
I had not eaten for two days and was in no mental condition to fight through another tangled forest. The previous day – all nine hours of it – I had tramped in a circle and my confidence had been shaken. I was
