Round Lake Rotoiti

Round Lake Rotoiti

Back to Kerr Bay camp site after tramping to Lake Angelus Hut I make friends with an English guy named Peter. We have similar plans to stay around Nelson Lakes for the next few days, as the weather is set fair. We agree to hang out together, taking a rest day tomorrow and then to do a gentle 3 day walk; making a circuit of Lake Rotoiti. The theme of the walk will be slow and relaxed, to enjoy the best of the lake in glorious weather. We will use both our vehicles to avoid an otherwise rather dull walking section along the road.

I have a quiet day catching up on e mails; my blog and going to the visitor centre, where I buy some New Zealand souvenirs for Megan and Elliot and make plans for the walk. In the afternoon when we meet up again Peter tells me that as a result of his visit to the village cafe this morning, where he got involved in some banter with a lively group of local ladies 'of a certain age', we are both invited to a local social evening. We don't really know what sort of an event it will be, but we think it might be a laugh and agree to give it a go - we can always come away early. We each make ourselves as clean and tidy as possible and clutching a bottle of red wine we find the address at the end of the village. As we walk up to the front door there is obviously a jolly gathering going on inside and it crosses my mind that this is the first time that I have ever been to a party wearing clothes that I have slept in the night before!

Inside the house we meet Sandy and Ray, the hosts. Sandy greets Peter like a long-lost friend and me as a new friend. Within 5 minutes we each have a glass of wine in our hands and are chatting away to the local characters. This is 'Friendly Friday' which takes place each week from 5-7pm and rotates around different homes. The whole village, which has a resident population of only about 100, is invited, plus weekenders and any random visitors like ourselves. Some weeks there might only be 1/2 a dozen people and tonight there are about 30. A couple of ladies tell me and Peter an hilarious story about the village's Royal Wedding celebration last year. They enacted the whole event during the afternoon, which due to the time difference was ahead of the actual event and then settled down in the evening to watch the real thing, to see how the two matched up. The rather dumpy woman of retirement age to my right was Kate, in a wedding dress made from several table cloths and the local minister conducted the service, beginning with, 'Drearly beloved...'

At around 7pm most people start to leave, but a hardcore of Sandy's friends stay on, plus a couple who are new to the village and Peter and I find ourselves staying too. The wine keeps being poured; a meal of pies, chips and salad is produced and then people start dancing (which I join in with enthusiastically, of course) and singing along to old rock and roll and country music. It is hilarious and before I know it, it is midnight and I am feeling rather drunk! We say our goodbyes and Sandy tells us to come back on Monday after our walk and we can use her shower.

Friendly Friday

 

 

This is not my usual preparation for a 3-day tramp and when I wake up in the morning I am feeling pretty ghastly. Over breakfast Peter and I recall the slowly emerging details of the previous evening and laugh about events. Fortunately we are not in any particular hurry to start walking, because it is only about 3 hours to the first hut and at the moment the clouds are hanging around on Mount Robert, where the first night's hut is located. Finally we are ready and the clouds are lifting optimistically. We leave Peter's rental van at the lakeside and drive up to the Mount Robert car park in Josephine. The first day's walk follows the Pinchgut Track up Mount Robert, which I have done before, but is worth repeating for the stunning views of the lake (and as a hang-over cure). The path zigzags steeply up the face of the mountain and we huff and puff rather more than usual and stop regularly to admire the view and to wipe the red wine sweat that is dripping off our faces.

The track levels off at the top of the first climb and we take a left turn away from the ridge that leads to Angelus Hut to follow the easy path that drops down gradually to the bush line.

Me and Lake Rotoiti

 

 

The hut is nestled neatly against the bush, with a sunny grassy space in front and views down to the lake. When we arrive there is already a Kiwi family here and they welcome us with friendly chat. This is Wayne, who is enthusiastically swinging an axe at a pile of firewood, his German wife Claudia and their 3 beautiful children aged between 5 and 10, who have Dartington-type names that I never did master. Wayne is a real Kiwi character, with a wild-man-of-the woods beard, a beanie hat, ankle gaiters and the rather-too-short shorts favoured by the Kiwi working man. Inside the hut their 5 sleeping bags are laid out side-by-side on the top sleeping platform and Wayne already has a roaring fire going in the little stove. Later in the afternoon we are joined by a lovely young French couple, Flo and Ludo. These two have just finished walking the 3000km Ta Aroroa path from the north of the north island to the south of the south island and they are here for a little relaxation before flying home. I could listen endlessly to Ludo talk in his lovely laconic french voice! As the sun starts to disappear behind the hill, Peter and I walk back towards the ridge to catch the last of the rays. We sit on some rocks and watch the light fade and the sunset as a layer of cloud blows into the valley below us, until it is too cold to sit there. As we walk back to the hut the full moon rises in front of us and lights the path back to the hut.

Full Moon Rising

 

 

A new character has arrived in the hut. This is Norbert, a rather unusual German guy, who keeps himself to himself and sits looking into space, while the rest of us chat amicably around the table in the firelight. I can’t make him out. It doesn’t seem to be a lack of English that isolates him and although we try to include and engage him in our conversation, his answers are monosyllabic. As we are settle down for bed, Norbert picks up his mattress and without a word takes himself out to sleep on the verandah. We hope he has a good sleeping bag because the temperature is already below freezing.
Norbert does survive the night and when he comes back into the hut in the morning to pack up, we enquire about how his sleep experience was and he replies, ‘Nice.’ After he has left Flo suggests that maybe he is only allocated 100 words to use each day and he is very careful how he uses them.
The warm sunny morning casts a lazy spell over us and we lounge around on the verandah, chatting with Wayne and his family and saying goodbye to Flo and Ludo.

Morning Chat at Bushline Hut

 

 

Eventually we summon enough energy to stroll down the hill and along the path beside the lake towards the head of the lake, stopping for the occasional rest and for a visit to nearby Whiskey Falls.

Me at Whiskey Falls

 

 

As evening begins to fall we arrive at Cold Water Hut, which is our destination for tonight. As we approach we can see a small boat moored up at the jetty and a man pottering around nearby. Standing inside the hut, looking out through the window is a dark-complexioned woman, who looks daggers at us as we take off our packs and give her a cheery wave. She opens the door, looks at us and says coldly,
‘Are you intending to stay here tonight?’
‘Yes,’ we reply, ‘is that a problem?’
‘Not if you don’t mind watching me make love to my husband tonight.’ She is not joking.

She turns and goes back inside and leaves us on the doorstep, with our mouths open like a couple of cod fish. But this is not a private love-hideaway, it is a Department of Conservation hut and anyone who pays the fee is able to stay here. I go in and try to reset the atmosphere with my natural charm, while staking my claim to be here by bringing in my rucksack and unpacking my sleeping bag. The couple have already unloaded a lot of gear from the boat. They have plastic boxes and dry bags; a stove and gas bottle and bedding. They have a roaring fire going in the open fireplace. I introduce myself and she replies, ‘Kia ora,’ the Maori greeting and proclaims her pride in being half Maori and then continues to sweep the floor fiercely with a broom. She starts a tirade against foreigners coming to her land and bringing in diseases and spoiling the waters and leaving a mess and not being respectful. Peter and I sit on the bench and when we can get a word in edgeways Peter assures her that we are very respectful of New Zealand and have spent a lot of time here for that very reason, tramping and enjoying the environment and culture. She goes in and out like a whirlwind and then says that she and her husband are going to leave; that it’s nothing personal, but she needs her own space and doesn’t feel like being sociable tonight. It sure feels personal. They pack up quickly and load their stuff into the boat. Just before they leave she comes back to us and presses some chocolate into my hand. She says she thinks I don’t understand her and I tell her I am upset to have received such a reception; that in my whole time and all the huts I have stayed in I have never been made to feel unwelcome. She says that it is just down to the cultural difference between us and that we should let it go and not let it spoil our evening and then they are gone back across the lake in their boat. Peter and I sit for a while, trying to make sense of what happened. We replay the little scene a few times and think of all the clever responses we could have given, which always arrive on the tongue just too late. Having played around with it for a while we decide to take her advice and let it go. Their leaving is probably a better outcome then them staying and the 4 of us spending a very awkward evening together. The experience is also in stark contrast to the otherwise overwhelming friendliness of almost everyone else we have met here. So I file it away, and won’t let it cloud my experience of New Zealand.

In the morning we have breakfast outside and enjoy watching the ducks and swans swim back and forth in front of the jetty.   

Cold Water Hut 

 

 

Morning View from Cold Water Hut

 

 

Having made sure the hut is left particularly spick and span, we set off for the last leg of our walk which takes us across the river at the lakehead and round the sunny side of the lake in a circuit back to the camp site. The river is low and can be forded here, rather than walking an additional 3 hours upstream to a bridge and back. We have both reached the point in our tramping where we are OK with wet boots, so we wade bravely in and across the several shallow streams, then squelch our way across open grass land to the hut on the opposite bank, where we can drain out our boots and wring our socks.

Crossing the River

 

 

The afternoon’s path looks out through beech trees to the turquoise lake beyond, looking like something from a  Japanese painting.

View through Beech Trees

 

We take a break at a small beach from where we can look up to Mount Robert opposite and almost see back to Bushline Hut. The sun beginning to sink behind the mountain changes the air temperature instantly and prompts us to complete the walk and we arrive back at Kerr Bay in the evening light where Peter’s van is waiting safely.

Back at Kerr Bay