From the Psychotic to the Sublime

The Lake Waikaremoana Track

Day 5, Page 5: Waiharuru to Hopuruahine Landing

Whanganui hut must be getting close now. I stop for a moment and retell myself one of my favourite stories. I know it by heart but I enjoy listening to it again all the same. It's about the Maori sound rendered "wh" by those middle-class educated Englishmen who first transcribed Maori language into written form. They had every letter in the alphabet available to them, unlike those who transcribed Fijian, including f and v, and w, and they deliberately used a combination that equated to none of these sounds, but rather to the sound they used to pronounce when as opposed to wen, what as opposed to, say, watch, which, as opposed to witch, and so on. I think that is the sound they recognised the Maori to be using in words like Whangarei. To be sure, this particular sound varied somewhat among different iwi, but the almost political insistence on giving it an "f" value does not make sense in historical terms.

If I keep wandering off into my head like that I'm going to trip over things. That's more like it.

A small grotto. Living in muddy old Auckland I find a special pleasure in the crystal clear water than I find in streams further south.

Somewhere along here, several through hikers sprint past towards Hopuruahine.

That looks like heather. I read somewhere that it's a weed DoC would rather not see invading their territory. Personally I love it in flower beside the road through National Park.

I can hear the words, "How much further" starting to insinuate themselves into my consciousness, and I stop, take out my water bottle and down several long swallows. That is better. Rule of thumb: When my attention is turned inward to my physical discomfort, instead of outward to my surroundings, about 80% of the time a swallow of water will make all the difference.

Down we go,

and up and over again. Mossy sections like this always remind me of children's stories.

I see one of the sprinters has had the good taste to wander off track for a bit. I head on down myself for a bit and we chat briefly.

The nature of the forest has changed again.

and there's the Whanganui Hut, an oldie but a goodie, though not well placed in terms of distance from the landing. Perhaps a late refuge for those who start right at the road end of the track and walk in.

Now, if you look at these bunks, and it's DoC architects I'm talking to, you will see that a small rail prevents people from falling out of their bunk, and the mattress sits about 50-75mm proud of the edge of the bunk. This is good design, unlike the bunk edges in the new huts which are raised above the mattresses and cut into your hamstrings every time you sit down or try to get up.

Spartan but wonderfully simple. And the heaters work in such a small volume of hut in a way they don't in the vast and freezing new palaces.

Another couple, at least one of whom could write his own fathmandu reports, stop briefly, and head on out.

45 minutes. Right....

Is that all? Really.

Wow. Unless I'm mistaken, that's a chopper pad. Whanganui airport!

Off we go for a brief sidle alongside a bit of a drop. When will the clueless clowns start to put this sort of thing where it will be far more appreciated, on day 1.

Here, too, is a piece of rock that's potentially slippery with a drop of a few metres below it. So they put a small concrete ridge along the edge that will prevent slipping too far. I thoroughly approve. I hate walking on rock.