I am a hobbling wreck. My immediate reaction to my housemate's proposal for a trip to Lake Nerine was "Sure, it'll be a perfect opportunity for me to test out those too-small mountaineerinng boots you've been trying to sell". You can tell where this is heading. Despite a less than ideal weather forecast, we headed up through Queenstown on Friday afternoon to the fancy Routeburn shelter, prepared for three days of tramping and camping. We climbed through the forest, winding our way towards Sugarloaf Pass. Within 30 minutes, the skin on both of my heels had rubbed away; I figured that a piling-on of strapping tape would see me through the trip.
The drizzle and cold Northerlies dissuaded us from camping on the pass; instead we retreated to the South and camped just below the treeline, working hard to cook our dinner outside of the tent and eat inside, whilst keeping the tent dry. In the morning, we continued over Sugarloaf, destined for Park Pass. After a miserable morning through drizzle and damp, dense forest, we were blessed with a parting of the clouds and were treated to a day of sunshine. My partner reached Theatre Flat a full 30 minutes before me, as by then I had fully succumbed to the endless pain of tight-binding footwear, and was hobbling along as best as I could. I had already given up hope of reaching the next pass, and was disappointed and ashamed to have let my partner down on such a glorious day.
The afternoon was wonderful, however. Under blue skies and a warm sun, we wandered up to Point 908 (I wore thongs; sorry, I meant jandals), and were treated to stunning views of Amphion Peak; this alone was enough for me to justify the trip. The sun went down, and the sandflies came out, feasting themselves on my exposed legs and feet. Half the size of mosquitoes, but twice as vicious, they ensured that most of my night would be spent scratching the bites in a futile attempt to relieve the itchiness. A campfire provided some relief before we retired for the night, to our dried and aired tent.
Around 4am I noticed that I could no longer see the stars; a telling omen for the horrid weather we would face when we started back for the car at 7:15. Despite another dose of strapping tape for my seeping heels, my partner shot ahead; I next saw him at the bivvy rock to the North of Sugarloaf, where he had been waiting patiently for me, for 45 minutes, sheltering from the rain that had begun shortly after we'd left the Flat. Urging him to go ahead and leave me to suffer, I started the tedious ascent up to Sugarloaf, cursing the tree-roots and rocks as I climbed. The wind increased as I approached the treeline, and as I stepped out on to the boggy tussock, I was subjected to a bitterly cold Northerly which whipped raindrops over my head. I scurried over the pass to the safety of the South. Ironically, we were both glad that we hadn't made it to Lake Nerine as, given the weather, it would have been horrendous.
The descent back to the Routeburn took forever. I continually checked my watch for the passage of time as I stumbled over tree roots, fallen trunks, and rocky stream beds, utilising ice-axe and no-feet climbing techinques most of the way down. Dragging my feet behind me, I finally made it on to the Routeburn highway after 2.5 hours of agonising descent from the pass, and immediately donned my thongs (sorry, I meant jandals) for the short walk back to the car. A sorry sight, I'm sure, in the eyes of the decked-out Routeburn trekkers I passed on the way out.
I decided not to buy the boots. Photos taken with my crappy mobile phone, as I no longer own a camera due to a recent drowning in the Hopkins River.
