Rolling thunder and rain on a hut roof. Two of my favourite tramping sounds, though admittedly not on the morning of a mountain pass. I grumbled internally, stretched worn legs and blinked the bunkroom into focus. A few companions were already awake, reading or staring at the ceiling. One good thing about the rain, nobody was in a hurry.
Having crossed our fingers for a bunk on Easter weekend, my group of eight had managed to score an entire bunkhouse at Shelter Rock Hut. Spacious, tidy and quiet, it felt more an Airbnb sleepout than a DOC hut.
Hoisting my camera from the floor, I reviewed photos of our walk up the Rees Valley – a dreamy stop-motion of golden hues that already felt nostalgic against the background pitter-patter of morning rain.
The previous morning we had a freezing wait for a car shuffle in the sunless Rees Valley Road car park. ‘Shop closed’ signs had ruined our plans for a hot bakery breakfast in Queenstown, so, like a real grown-up, I
