Lake Waikaremoana

Neena and I usually go on at least one major tramp together every year. This year it was a four-day walk around Lake Waikaremoana, which is located in the Te Urewera National Park.

For more information check out the link…. http://www.doc.govt.nz/parks-and-recreation/tracks-and-walks/east-coast-hawkes-bay/aniwaniwa-area/lake-waikaremoana-great-walk/.

The drive up from Wellington is a pretty long one, and we were mighty relieved when we arrived at the tiny settlement of Aniwaniwa, where we stayed the night.

The weather the next day was not the best with gale force winds, and the promise of rain. The start of the walk is some way from Aniwaniwa and is usually accessed by water taxi. In this instance, the conditions on the lake were pretty nasty, so we were transported by car instead, which while perfectly acceptable, lacked the style and occasion of ariving by boat.

The first days walk was by far the toughest and involved a steep climb up to Panekire Hut (1180m). The standard of the tracks on all the “Great Walks” we have been on, of which this was one, is very high, so it was a bit of a surprise to find that the track was fairly “gnarly” with lots of tree roots to trip over. This is representative of most kiwi bush tracks, and was for me, if not for Neena, a pleasant surprise. There were a number of exposed spots when we got up onto the ridge that leads to Panekire Hut. Due to the very high winds and long drops, these were not places to linger, despite great views looking over the lake. We were both a bit tired by this stage and were relieved when we finally arrived at the hut, particularly as it was just starting to rain.

The next day’s walk was dead easy and consisting of walking along Panekire ridge before descending down to the lake and on to Waiopaoa Hut, where we stayed the night. Once again our timing was impeccable as the rain returned with a vengeance minutes after we got to the hut. Mind you our troubles weren’t totally over, as we ended up sharing the hut with a whole load of boisterous and noisy school kids from Whangarei. Early the next day a water taxi arrived at the hut and much of the kid’s gear was transported of to wherever. Somehow all of our food also ended up on the boat as well, leaving Neena and I with a couple of muesli bars for the rest of the trip! There were a number of schoolteachers at the hut, who all seemed terribly embarrassed at the situation, and who immediately organised a whip around. In the end we ended up with far more (and better quality) food than we started with. If anyone in Whangarei comes across a bag of mouldy cream cheese and salami, then it is all yours.

It was a relief to finally get away from the hut and get some walking in. The track on the third day stayed fairly close to the lake, if somewhat above most of the time. Again this was a nice easy day, even if it did rain on and off most of the time. We stayed the night at Marauiti Hut.

The final days walking was in terms of distance the longest, but was also nice and easy. The weather also put on a fine show with sunshine and lights winds. To be honest this proved a mixed blessing, as for me it was now to hot, and I quickly got nostalgic for the rain and drizzle of the previous few day’s. I guess some people are never happy unless they have got something to moan about i.e. a typical “whinging pom”.

We started off nice and early as we had pre-arranged for a water taxi to pick us up at 3pm, and weren’t terribly keen to miss it. In the end we got to the pick up point half an hour early, which left some time for some sunbathing and paddling in the lake. All in all a nice trip.

Looking over the lake.

Looking over the lake again.

Panekire Bluff.

Panekire Hut

Typical track scene.

This was taken near Aniwaniwa.

Here comes the water taxi.

New Plymouth Xmas 09

Due to Neena having to work over most of Xmas, our annual camping trip consisted of just 3 days in the Taranaki region of NZ. We stayed at New Plymouth, which we used as a base to explore the local area. My only other trip to the town was 6 years ago when I drove up in my newly acquired Mitsubishi FTO sports car. To cut a long story short, I got nicked for speeding, resulting in a rather large fine and nice collection of demerit points, and in addition thought the town was a bit rubbish. Consequently, I decided to drive the 350km straight back to Wellington, rather than sully myself and stay their the night.

This time, minus the speeding ticket and in a much better mood, I found New Plymouth to be a splendid place to visit, so unreservedly take back my above comments. Mind you it rained pretty well all the time we were there, so the town has taken its revenge.

We also visited Dawson Falls (this features in my March 09 post, but Neena hadn’t been there before) and the Bushy Park Kiwi sanctuary. Dawson Falls is situated on the slopes of Mt Taranaki and is consequently one of the North Islands wettest areas, but rather ironically is the only place we went where it didn’t rain.

Dawson Falls.

A closer look at Dawson Falls. Note the rather fine tee shirt.

Bushy Park. This is as close we came to seeing a Kiwi. The one in this picture is not real.

UKand Morocco 09

After only one week off in the last 2 years, I was really looking forward to this trip back home to Blighty, especially after the rather horrible winter we have had in NZ this year.

The plan was for Neena and I to spend a couple of weeks in England, then jet off to Morocco to check out the deserts and mountains, before returning to the UK for another week or so.

The trip over to the UK with Korean Air was uneventful enough. We had a 18hr stop over at a rather nice hotel in Incheon in Korea. This might not sound like a long stopover, but makes the two 12hr flights much more bearable. I can’t say that Incheon is up there with the great wonders of the world, or even Harlow for that matter, so 18hrs was about right.

As ever the main reason for coming over was to see family and friends, which obviously means a lot to me, but not much to anyone else, so I won’t bore you with any of that stuff. I will bore you with some other stuff instead.

To give Neena a break from the wonders of Harlow, we hired a car and headed off on a little road trip to Oxford and the Cotswold’s. I have been on a number of tramping trips in the Cotswold’s and have fond memories of the area, so was more than happy to show Neena around. We drove out to Oxford where we intended to spend the night, before heading off to the Cotswold’s. To be honest, we both found Oxford a little disappointing and after spending the afternoon there, decided to head straight off to Stow in the Wold and stay there instead. There is nothing particularly wrong with Oxford mind you, it just that if you fancy spending time in a rather nice university town, and fancy going to Oxford, then go to Cambridge instead.

Stow on the Wold on the other hand, was a really nice place to stay. We stayed at the YHA there and used the town as a base to explore the rest of the Cotswold’s. Bourton on the Water was especially nice.

Yours truly at Bourton on the Water.

After spending some more time in Harlow it was time to head off for two weeks in Morocco.

We went to Morocco two years ago and had a tremendous time. When Neena announced that she wanted to go back there again I was initially rather skeptical as I wasn’t that keen on visiting the same place twice, fearing that the it wouldn’t live up to expectations a second time around. In some ways I only had myself to blame, as our original plan had been to spend a month in Bolivia and Peru before heading off to the UK. Unfortunately, I got cold feet on going to South America, as I felt that it was going to stretch me a little to much financially, particularly as I would be taking unpaid leave.

The first time around we visited mostly the big cities, namely Marrakech, Fez and Meknes. This time around the plan was to again spend some time in Marrakech, before heading off to the Sahara desert and then on to the Atlas Mountains, before heading off back to Marrakech again.

As soon as we arrived in Marrakech, my negative fears melted away, as we were once again subjected to the shear assault on the senses that Marrakech’s medieval Medina provides. The sights, sounds, smells and the Islamic culture in general make for a wonderfully refreshing change from ones everyday life, which for me is what traveling is all about. There is to be fair, plenty of hassle from touts, though ultimately most Moroccans are friendly and hospitable.

We stayed at the Riad Ghallia. We have stayed here before and the place comes highly recommended. The hosts Thierry and Thierry were charming and very helpful and also provided a much-needed map, as the Riad is a fair way out from the Djemaa el Fna Square, where much of the action is. To give you an idea, the Medina has something like 9000 roads and alleyways crammed into just a few square miles, with few if any signs. Even with a map it was difficult to avoid getting lost, though this is where the touts and local kids came into there own, and who for a few Dirhams, will gladly point you in the right direction.

Our routine in Marrakech was very much to look through the Souks during the day, before retiring back to the Riad for the afternoon, and then heading to the square in the evening. The Djemaa el Fna Square covers a large area and really comes alive at night when hundreds of food vendors, along with all manner of entertainers set up shop.
A quick note on the Marrakech weather, which is supposed to be hot and dry in September, but was actually rather cool, wet and windy. This was to be a feature of the first half of the trip.

Traders in the Djemaa el Fna sqaure.

The Riad Ghallia.

After a couple of days chilling it out it was time to move on. We decided to visit the sand dunes at Merzouga in the Sahara desert for a spot of camel trekking. We would normally do our own thing and make our own way there, but in this instance we decided to book on a 3-day tour with one of the local operators. This does rather go against the grain for us, but turned out to be a good move.

We set off for the desert with about dozen other backpackers on a small, rather cramped bus. Comfort was definitely not high on the agenda, but that was OK as the tour was real cheap. The first part of the journey involves crossing the High Atlas mountain range, whose foothills start an hour or so’s drive from Marrakech. The scenery and views were superb.

After crossing the High Atlas we stopped off at the Ouarzazate Kasbah for a look around and a spot of Tiffin. After this the bus headed north, skirting the edges of the mountains. We had had rain on and off for the last couple of days with lots of lightning visible up in the mountains. The rain in the high Atlas must have been pretty torrential as after a couple of hours the bus came to an abrupt halt as one of the local rivers had burst its banks and flooded the road. After an hour or so the waters subsided enough for the bus to edge across, though it still felt pretty dicey to me. After numerous more flooded sections of road we eventually made it to the mountain town of Boumagne du Dades, where we stayed the night.
After a night of yet more rain and lightening it was back onto the bus for the long drive to Merzouga and camel trekking heaven.

Looking acroos the valley from the Ouarzazate Kasbah .

The Ouarzazate Kasbah.

One of the many sections of flooded road.

We arrived in Merzouga a couple of hours before dark, and without much ceremony were plonked on to some camels and set off into the desert. The sand dunes were pretty amazing and just what you would expect a desert to look like; real Lawrence of Arabia stuff. The fact that most of the of the Sahara Desert is rocky rather than sandy is neither here nor there. I enjoyed the trek, but camels are not the most comfortable beasts to ride, and my bum and I were quietly relieved when we arrived at our campsite.

The campsite consisted of a number of Berber tents pitched in the sand. After the ubiquitous and rather good mint tea, Neena and I decided to climb one of the sand dunes and watch the sun set. When we got back it was time for dinner, which consisted of the even more ubiquitous Tagine. Now I love Tagine’s, as much as the next guy, but boy we got real sick of them (quite literally as it turned out) by the end of the trip and were dreaming of some proper food, like McDonalds or KFC.

The next day we set off early on the camels, to see the sunrise, and then headed back to Merzouga. I really enjoyed the desert, but all things must come to an end, and it was time to head back to Marrakech.

Off we head into the desert.

Just like the deserts you see in the movies.

It doesn't look much, but it took us ages to climb this dune.

Nighttime in the desert.

We stayed in Marrakech for another day before traveling on to the village of Imlil, which is situated at an altitude of 1800m in the High Atlas. We had no firm plans beyond using the place as a base to explore the local mountains, though as tends to happen, things sort of worked themselves out. On the way up to Imlil in a Grand taxi it turned out the taxi’s drivers brother was a local mountain guide and his mother ran a local guesthouse. The guesthouse was pretty basic, but perfectly acceptable and above all cheap, which suited us nicely. It was a bit more of a luxury, but we decided to hire the guide for a couple of days and have a go at climbing up to the Mt Toubkal refuge at an altitude of 3500m. Hiring a guide was probably not strictly necessary, but very useful, if like me you have absolutely no sense of direction, and certainly useful if we got into any trouble. A quick note on Mt Toubkal, which at 4167m, is North Africa’s highest peak.

The trip to Toubkal refuge didn’t really go as planned. We had intended to spend the night there, but ended up turning back someway from our goal and eventually ended back in Imlil. Neena doesn’t do as much tramping as me, and got very tired on the long climb and would have struggled to make it the refuge, on top of this the weather which had been lovely and sunny, quickly deteriorated to heavy, cold rain. One advantage of having a guide was that he came with a free donkey, which was supposed to be used for transporting our bags, but which in this instance also ended transporting Neena back down again!

Turning back was entirely the correct thing to do, though I did find it frustrating, as I was still feeling pretty strong and would have certainly had a go at the summit if we had made it to the refuge. Unfinished business, me thinks.

On the plus side, and it is a big plus, the scenery and crisp mountain air was lovely.

On the way up to the Toubkal refuge.

This is as far as we got, and just before the weather turned to custard.

On the way back down again.

We decided to take it easy for the rest of our time in Imlil and do some lower level walks as well a drink copious amounts of mint tea at the guest house.

Looking over toward Imlil.

A small village near Imlil. These houses are pretty typical.

Not sure where I took this one, but somewhere in the mountains above Imlil.

A rather nice waterfull.

This one was taken at a restored Kasbah near Imlil. A room here costs something like $2000 a night. Needless to say, we didn't stay there.

Taken from the garden of our guesthouse in Imlil.

After Imlil we decided on a complete change of tack and headed off to the fortified town of Essaouira, which is situated on the Atlantic coast. This is a really chilled out place and the atmosphere was notably less frenetic than Marrakech, with nothing like as much hassle from touts. We stayed at a Riad in the towns Medina, though this particular Riad, unlike the one in Marrakech was pretty uninspiring, but I guess that is what you get if you are bit of a tight wad like me.

The whole town had a chilled out feel, with the Medina and port area being particularly nice. The weather in contrast to the mountains was sunny and warm and made the rather nice looking beach look very inviting for a spot of swimming. A quick dip of the toe established that the water wasn’t as warm as it looked, so I Neena and I contended ourselves with some good old-fashioned paddling. In my case, I am sure the locals were eternally grateful to be spared the sight of a “pasty pom” in his lime green Speedos.

On the subject of exposed flesh, Essaouira, though still Muslim, is much more tolerant in this respect than the other areas we visited, especially the very conservative Medina’s where showing excess flesh is unacceptable for either sex. It was a shame that a significant minority of western tourists showed little respect in this regard.

We had three pleasant days in Essaouira, before once again heading back to Marrakech.

Looking along the harbour wall with the Essaouira Medinad in the distance.

Essaouiras port.

We stayed at the Riad Ghallia for another 3 nights. The weather this time round was stinking hot with temperatures in the high 30’s.

Pretty well all the time we eat at cheap restaurants, food stalls or bought fruit and nuts at the local markets. Seeing as we only had a few nights to go, we decided to splash out a bit and have a meal at the Riad. Judging by the comments in the guest book their food was excellent, if jolly expensive, but what the heck you only live once.

To cut to the chase, we both ended up with a very unpleasant bout of food poisoning, which did rather spoil the last few days, as I suddenly became far more interested in Moroccan plumbing than Moroccan culture.

Overall we had a great time, though if you do end staying where we did, I would avoid the Honey and Almond Tagine like the plague!

Riad Ghallia. Whatever you do dont touch that Tagine!

It was cold, wet and miserable when we arrived back in the UK, which was just fine by me.

We had but one day to sample the joys of Harlow, before setting off to the Peak District for a 4-day tramping trip with three friends; Kevin, Eddie and Robin. I haven’t been to this area for years, but have fond memories of the place, so was more than happy to be going back there.

I have to say that my first impressions were no that great as the landscape, despite being pretty high by UK standards, seemed relatively flat and under-whelming, particularly after living in such a mountainous county as NZ. As so often in life, first impressions turn out to be completely wrong.

After a while the scenery, the pretty villages and general feel of the place gets under your skin. The Peak District turned out to be both Neena’s and my favourite destination, helped no end by the food, beer and above all the excellent company of Robin, Eddie, Kevin and Nick (who visited us for one day).

Somewhere in the Peak Distict

Eddie, Kevin, Me, Nick, Neena and Robin.

We had another few days back in the UK, before heading off back down under. I am already missing family, friends and the beer and hope to be back again in a couple of years.

On the positive side, at least I can now get a decent latte and date scone.

My Wheels

A short section on my current modes of transportation.

Eat your heart out Scooby owners - presenting the awesome Toyota Corona 2.0GL. Capable of 0 – 60 in under a minute, and with a 3 speed fan, the car is a veritable powerhouse.

My previous car was this rather lovely Mitsubishi FTO. Almost as sexy as the Corona and is included here for sentimental reasons.

Much though I like cars, motorbikes are my real passion. This is my current bike, a Suzuki SV1000S. I have pimped it up a little with some Two Brothers exhausts, a pack rack and an iridium screen. The exhausts give the bike that lovely V-twin sound, and are also very good at setting off car alarms.

My main form of transport is actually my Specialized Sirrus bicycle that I use both for pleasure trips and my 25km commute to work in Lower Hutt. The trip into work is not without its dangers courtesy of dozy car drivers and Wellingtons, at times, horrible weather, but overall is a real fun way of getting from A to B.

Mt Ruapehu

Last weekend I went on a Wellington Tramping Club trip to Mt Ruapehu. As with my last tramping trip to Mt Taranaki, the aim was to climb to the top of the volcano, take a few photos, and then head off back to Wellington.

On Friday after work I traveled with my fellow trampers in the club bus up to the ski resort of Whakapapa (1600m), where we stayed the night at the club’s lodge.

The lodge was just great and deserves a special mention as, to someone who primarily stays in bush huts, it contained many wonders, such as flush toilets, electricity, heating and even showers.

The plan was to set off early the next day, in order to give us plenty of time to get up too the summit (2797m).

Unfortunately, Saturday morning dawned misty, wet and miserable, and as the upper half of the route to the summit is not marked it was decided to do a low level walk instead.

This was entirely the correct decision, as with a large group safety must always come first. It was all the same, a bit of a blow, particularly as the weather was forecast to improve later on in the day. It was doubly frustrating as under other circumstances I would have just gone for it anyway; if things looked to dicey further up then I would just have turned back. One of the things I have always disliked about clubs or large groups is that while one has the undoubted benefit of the company and camaraderie of like minded individuals, the shear numbers can constrain what can be achieved (i.e. I cant get my own way!).

It turned out that our day walk to Whakapapaiti Hut was very pleasant indeed, particularly once the rain had stopped, and the sun came out.

The weather on Sunday was warm and sunny making for perfect tramping weather. Unfortunately the group could only do a half-day walk, as we had to rendezvous with some other club members in Wanganui later on in the day. The decision taken was to walk half way up the mountain to a place called the Pinnacle Ridge. I have been to this area before, so in a display of true group spirit and solidarity, decided to do my own thing.

I had had my eye on the very jagged ridge situated opposite the hut, so this is where I headed. This turned out to be a good move, as scrambling up the volcanic rock was great fun and also afforded some splendid views of the surrounding area. The weather up on the mountain was perfect, but looking down onto the lower-lying land revealed that a sea of cloud surrounded the area. After firing off a few photographs I walked back to the Whakapapa ski resort, had a latte, and read my book in the sun until the rest of the group tuned up from their tramp.

From what I was told the walk they did was pretty hard, so I was doubly glad that I didn’t go, as quite frankly I wasn’t really in the mood for it, even though I guess it must have made me look a bit of a miserable bugger.

Anway, hope you enjoy the pics.

Taken on the walk to Whakapapaiti Hut

Whakapapaiti Hut

This was taken towards the end of the walk on the way back to Whakapapa.

So was this one.

The jagged ridge.

Looking down from the ridge.

Looking over towards Mt Ngauruhoe.

The view from the club hut, with Mt Taranaki visible in the distance.

Mt Taranaki

As long as I have been in New Zealand I have wanted to climb the North Islands two highest peaks, Mt Taranaki and Mt Ruapehu. Up until recently it has been all talk and no action, so my New Year’s resolution was to have a crack at both of them.

We are now into autumn and before long the mountains will be covered in snow and out of bounds until next summer, so time was of the essence. The forecast for the coming weekend was good, and I had run out of excuses, so I decided it was time to give Mt Taranaki a try.

After much arm-twisting, and at rather short notice I managed to convince my friend Simon that he really did want to subject himself to the murderous slog needed to climb to the summit. Not wanting to suffer alone, Simon also roped in a couple of his friends, namely Bruce and Kevin.

The plan was to travel to the Dawson Falls (900m) road-end and from there walk up to Fanthams Peak where we planned to spend the night at Syme Hut (1966m), before climbing to the summit (2518m) the next day.

The weather on the 5hr drive up to Dawson Falls was glorious, with hardly a cloud in the sky all the up from Wellington, but was otherwise, uneventful enough.

We arrived at the road-end early afternoon and wasted no time setting off on what we thought was the track to the Syme Hut. Turns out we should have maybe taken a bit more time, as we had somehow got onto the wrong track, despite there being a dirty great sign pointing us in the right direction. We only wasted half an hour or so, but it was a rather inauspicious start.

Mt Taranaki taken from the Dawson Falls roadend

The proper track started off relatively gently, and for the first half hour or so passed through some really lovely bush; real Lord of the Rings stuff. From this point the vegetation started thinning out, and we eventually found ourselves out in the open above the bush line. The bush line in New Zealand is relatively low at around 1200m and I always find it fascinating to watch how rapidly the flora changes, when climbing up onto the tops.

This one was taken near the start of the walk

At this point the track became much steeper and we ascended up a long staircase before eventually arriving at the base of a steep scoria slope, which led up to Fanthams Peak, and our hut for the night. As well as being steep, the scoria was very loose, which made the going rather difficult. It really was a case of a case of two steps forward and one step back, and that was when I wasn’t actually falling over or dodging the, at times, rather sizeable rocks, that the person above had kindly dislodged. After an hour or so we reached the top of the slope and from here to the hut the going was much easier.

Syme Hut was a welcome sight and we immediately set up home there and got the obligatory brew up going. We shared the hut with just one other person; a young guy, who, like us intended to climb the summit the next day. He however didn’t hold out that much hope as he had heard from another tramper that the snow that had fallen on the summit a few days previously, had frozen and turned to sheet ice. This didn’t bode too well as we had no ice axe’s or crampons, but what the hell, we had come all this way, and were going to give it our best shot.

Syme Hut.

I took some nice pictures of the sunset, but didn’t linger to long as it soon got pretty cold. After that, all that remained was to cook up the evening meal (spaghetti and stew), have another brew up and go to bed.

Sunset at Kyme Hut.

We woke up to a lovely, still, clear day.

We set off relatively late in the morning in the hope that the snow higher up would have had a chance to soften up a bit. From the hut the ground drops away a little, before coming to the base of yet another steep scoria slope which leads right up to the summit. I was really dreading this bit, as it looked even steeper than the previous days scoria slope that I had found so difficult and tiring. It was indeed hard work, but overall was a lot easier going than I expected. As we climbed higher we started encountering patches of icy snow. These were easy to avoid at first, but gradually there was less scoria and more ice, until we reached a point around 100m below the summit, where the ice was pretty well continuous. It was at this point that we unanimously decided to call it quits - we had given it a real good go, but it wasn’t worth risking life and limb for.

The scoria slope leading up to the summit.

As we got closer to the top we encoutered more and more snow and ice.

This was just about as far as I got.

In any case, whilst we had been climbing up, the cloud had started to roll in and had covered the summit, so we wouldn’t have got a view anyway.

The cloud had really reduced the visibility, and as the upper part of the route is not marked, it was time to beat a hasty retreat back down the mountain.

This one was taken on the way back down again as we got down to the bush line.

By the time we got back to the roadend my legs ached like hell, but it was a small price to pay, for what turned out to be a very nice trip. Thanks also to Simon, Bruce and Kevin for being such good company.