Dorset and Carkeek

Labour weekend and time for Janine's birthday trip.  These are typically slightly over-ambitious efforts to knock a peak or a hut or two off her bucket list.  

A few old maps and cold beers and we have a solid trip design.  Which changes the day before we leave.

Thursday after work into Atiwhakatu, Friday the party splits with Mike and Janine following the tops around the Kings to Girdlestone and on to Dorset Ridge while I descend the spur near South King to Dorset Creek and up to Dorset Hut.  Saturday - spur to the Waiohine River and up to Carkeek Hut.  Sunday - spur to Park Forks, down river and up to McGregor Biv.  Monday - stroll out via Jumbo.

Janine gets to tick off the Kings and a couple of huts and there's a couple of spurs and a bit of new ridgeline for me.  

It's a good plan on paper, but I'm at pains to point out that there's a few biggish days involved and with a few climbs everyone will be glad of every kilo they don't pack.  (i.e no bags of carrots and spare stoves Mike)   

 

But, actually ...

We stop at a pub in Carterton for a cheap and cheerful dinner - the clientele is a little dodgy though with Ron Marks stooging around looking for a loose electorate or mayoral seat to purloin.  

We're under headlights by the time we get to Atiwhakatu Hut around 9pm.  The occupants are all in bed, so Janine finds a bunk while Mike and I doss down on the deck - there's a bit of wind but it's a mild night. 

Friday: over the top

We get away about 7am and head up valley along a track that is a little less of a highway than last night.  Mike surprises a couple of large goats that stay just out of sight ahead of us for the next kilometer or so.  

At the swingbridge marking the short climb to the saddle I leave them having a snack as I'm keen to push on to give me good time to navigate my route.  We confirm contingency plans including Tarn Ridge Hut and what to do if anyone doesn't turn up when expected.  

The DOC sign in the saddle says 1 hr to the bushline which raises an eyebrow.  It takes me 1:10 - I'm not fit but I think it's a bit of an optimistic estimate for many parties climbing 500m. 

It's windy above the bushline but a beautiful day.  I sidle the top of Baldy and head up to the ridge just south of South King.  It's been a while since I've been here - other times have been in clag so it is quite nice to see for a change.  I get a good buffetting on the way up but the wind fades at the top.  

At the ridge a figure is coming down from South King.  It's a DOC hut inspector (Harvey) - he has just come from Mid King Biv.  He visited Tarn Ridge Hut yesterday and notes the tap is broken (still) and he had to use water from a bucket.    

He and his colleague do the entire Lower North Island between them and I'm interested that they are still allowed to travel solo in these safety conscious times.  He can't confirm if Tarn Ridge Hut is being replaced although notes that a business case has been submitted which is a good sign.  

After a good yarn he heads off for the Pinnacles and McGregor while I tuck into the tussock out of the wind for a snack and wait for Janine and Mike to appear on Baldy.

Looking down on Baldy

The wind drops away while I snooze in the sun.  At last, two tiny figures crawl over the top of Baldy and start heading for the saddle.  It's about 1.45 and I'm keen to keep moving so I flick them a Whats App message to note the Tarn Ridge water situation and I'll see them at Dorset Hut tonight or near Tarn Ridge Hut in the morning.  I'm thinking the latter is more likely given it will probably be after three by the time they get to the ridge.  I'm not too worried as the weather forecast is good, they have a tent and the common sense to fill up at a tarn if their water gets low. 

The spur I'm after is marked as a route on the old maps and it is easy to find on such a clear day (there's a wee tarn just before it, so it would be pretty straight forward in clag too).    

Looking westish - McGregor on left, the spur is behind the hummock on right

Looking down the spur - the other spur runs up to Dorset Hut on the bushline, just right of centre

It's about half an hour easy travel down to the bushline and there's enough foot trail to suggest this route receives a bit of traffic.  I'm interested to get a bit of a view across the face below the Broken Axe Pinnacles.  This is supposedly where the Sutch party came down after one of them had a fall on their epic crossing from Levin.  Having climbed a fair way up one of the streams I know parts of it would be pretty tough to get down, but there looks like a spur just past the last pinnacle that could have been a goer.  Maybe another time.  

Northern face below the Pinnacles

In the bush it is typical goblin forest with lots of cutty grass.  There are permolat markers but it's surprisingly easy to wander off line and miss the next one.  It's not difficult but also not fast as you have to be careful with your footing.  

About 50 minutes from the bushline the markers head right to a side spur and there's even an orange triangle.  From here it gets steep and the last 20 meters sees me hanging off trees (there may have been an easier route that I missed at a fallen tree).  All up it takes two hours from the ridge.

 

Somewhere above, Mike and Janine get to the ridge and start heading along past the Kings - while I cool my feet in Dorset creek.  

There are some markers for the crossing point - on the true right there are a couple of permolat markers on a tree marking where you start a steep clamber onto the spur to Dorset hut.  On the true left an orange triangle marks where you leave the creek and head towards the steep spur I've just come down.  

I take a good break and start the climb about 4pm.  The bottom is a bit of a scramble and then it's just a slow grind.  Again, it's easy to miss the markers - but no particular hardship if you do as the bush is reasonably open.   At about 1060m there's a gully in the spur (you can see the flatter spot on the contours) and the markers take a turn left to cross it to join the spur proper for the last 80m (vertical) to the hut.   

It has taken an hour 25 from the stream and the hut has just lost the afternoon sun.  

I check-in on the Inreach and peer across the valley to see two small dots inching their way towards Adkin.  I settle into the empty hut and periodically gauge their progress and work out that they will either be camping on the ridge or coming off Girdlestone in the dark.  I'm just composing a message to home base to text Mike when the Inreach beeps: "M&J camping on ridge, see you tarn ridge hut tomorrow."  Perfect.

Dorset Hut on a sunny morning

The hut is one of my favourites - it's tidy, dry and well looked after (mostly by hunters I suspect).  The vestibule is closed in with a sink - wonderfully civilised.

I've lost sight of the figures on the ridge but afterwards learn that they had water from a tarn and, while I am enjoying the evening sun outside Dorset hut, they are watching clag forming on the east side of the ridge and closing in around Girdlestone.

Yeah, let's stop now.

They find the last flattish spot on the ridge and set up camp.  Although not entirely to plan, the upside is the clag delivers the conditions for a Spectre of the Brocken.  

Mike has smuggled a birthday cake for Janine in his pack and they settle in on the cusp between the cloud and a spectacular sunset.  Janine reports not much sleep - not because of Mike's feet in her face but the limited space means the tent can't be pulled tight and it flaps in the wind all night.  

Saturday:  A change of plan 

The morning is a pearler and I can just make out the orange dot of their tent on the ridge as I head out from Dorset hut around 7.30.  I follow a trail up through the tussock but then lose and find it again as I make my way to the ridge top.  There's a cairn where I hit the ridge top so I must have been following about the right line, although Mike and Janine later report there is a signpost further west on the ridge.   

M&J's eerie - Dorset ridge on right

Up Dorset Ridge - Girdlestone at centre

As I potter up the ridge I note that the orange dot is still there - they're clearly not in a hurry this morning.  However, as I pass the tarn I hear Mike hailing me from across the valley.  I can't reply as I have started developing a cold and have no voice.  I wave cheerfully and head on up to just short of Girdlestone to wait for them.

Dorset Ridge - the hut is at the bushline on the far spur that runs left 

Although it's a beautiful day, I'm aware that the wind has changed and low cloud is forming to the west and spilling over the main range - it could be a bit claggy by the time I get around to Carkeek Ridge.

It takes about an hour and a half to get from the hut to the ridge and I have a pleasant hour snoozing in the tussock waiting for the rest of the party to make their way off Girdlestone.  

When they arrive, they've reached the same conclusion as me - dropping down the old tracks from Dorset Ridge and back up to Carkeek is no longer an option given the time, and there would be a mutiny at the prospect of following the tops to Carkeek given the long day they had yesterday.   

We change the plan - they will head to Dorset hut for a short day and bag the hut then head to Mitre Flats tomorrow.  I'll follow the tops to Carkeek and follow the original plan to exit at Holdsworth on Monday and pick them up at the Pines.  

We part our ways again and I head towards Tarn Ridge while they have their sights set firmly on a cooked lunch by the Dorset tarn.  

Tarn Ridge towards Lancaster

Time for lunch

It's hot work under the sun and I'm almost glad when the threatened clag starts to coalesce around the pinnacles.  Conscious of the lack of water on Carkeek Ridge I fill up at a tarn on Tarn ridge and chuck in a couple of aqua tabs.  

The clag spills up from the Arete Stream valley and toys with the Waiohine Pinnacles.  Views into a sun dappled upper Waiohine River Valley and Carkeek Ridge come and go.

  

I'm in clag on the top of Lancaster so take a bearing for Carkeek Ridge and after a few seconds see a cairn.  The second cairn is a bit off-line to the right and could lead to dropping towards an outcrop off the ridge - quickly remedied by another glance at the compass.   

I'm soon in clear air again and stop around 2pm for lunch on the flanks of Thompson looking back at a miraculously exposed Lancaster.  Across the Park Valley chainsaws in the mist indicate a track crew are hard at work - on a Saturday. 

Lancaster from Thompson

Carkeek Ridge

It's good travel along the ridge, there's enough ground trail to keep things flowing although you have to keep your eyes peeled in places to find it amongst the tussocks.  This time through I get to see some spectacular erosion chutes south of Carkeek - last time they just plunged away into greyness.  

I figure the rest of the party are comfortably ensconced in Dorset Hut by now tucking into whatever other illicit (and weighty) contraband they have smuggled in.  I continue along the ridge under a higher cloud ceiling that promises to be set for the duration.   Across the valley clag is now spilling over the length of Tarn Ridge.   

   

Point 1285 marks where I left this ridge last time through to do the down and up to Dorset Ridge.  I don't recall much of the route beyond seeing some old permolat markers on the way up to Dorset.  I suspect it is quite well travelled though as the trail from here to Carkeek Hut suddenly becomes fair more obvious with cairns and, in the scrub, tape.  

The route ducks in and out of the bush edge with some pretty wee clearings and, just before the hut, pieces of the helicopter that crashed here are stacked beside the path.  It's 4pm - about 2 hours from my lunch stop on Thompson and 8 and a half hours from Dorset Hut (including that long snooze below Girdlestone). 

The hut is in good nick and the last visit was in July.  Usually this just means people haven't been using the logbook, but I'm inclined to believe it as I walk through a few cobwebs inside.  The last visitor reported flying in to a snowclad ridge, shooting some deer on day one and then spending three days snowed in before flying out again.   Like Dorset, it is well provisioned, well cared for and no signs of rats chewing the food.   

It's not sunny, but warm enough and it's pleasant to lie on the cool moss in the clearing before the hut as I wait to ping a checkin message back to base and receive an updated weather forecast.

After that I have a leisurely evening and hit the sack.

Sunday:  I think I can ...

Sunday is the day there's supposed to be the odd shower - around 3pm according to Garmin.  However, as I get under way around 7.30 there is already a prickle of moisture in the air.  There wasn't any noticeable rain over night though so I'm expecting the river section to be fine.  

I'm looking forward to this next bit.  I have been along as far as pt 1080 and recall some of the most gorgeous goblin forest I'd ever seen.  I assume this ridge cops all the moisture and rain from the north and west as well as anything that spills across from the south or east.  This supports a mass of moss and lichens on the gnarly trunks.     

I've not been down here to the river, so this is another bit of red line for the trip.  There are markers and the track is mostly pretty obvious, but you have to keep your eyes open.  A little bit under an hour and a half later I'm at the improbably green point between the Waiohine and Park rivers.  Park Forks.  

Park on the left, Waiohine on the right

Meanwhile, Mike and Janine have left Dorset Hut on a similarly drizzly morning (not surprising as they are less than 3km away).  They follow a different route from the hut to the ridge and find the signpost to the hut.  Their route is up and over to Mitre then down to the flats for the night.  They've done most of it before and provided Mike doesn't fall over again they should have another leisurely day.   

For me, the section of river is marked as gorgeish on the map - I came up it some years back and don't recall any problems so I'm hopeful there won't be any swimming.  

It turns out to be pretty good travel.  Lots of river crossings and care needed but I manage to avoid the deepest pools only getting in up to my waist.  It is pretty, and even though there is a steady drizzle I'm within my comfort zone and enjoy the wander about 40 minutes downstream to Dorset Creek.  

There are markers for where to start up the spur.  It's steep and initially requires a bit of a scramble.  Then it just goes unrelentingly up with indifferent permolat marking.  I take it slowly as I figure there's plenty of time to get to McGregor and assess options for the rest of the day.  

I've travelled parts of this ridge a few times now, including in the dark, and there's always a few bits where the marking is easy to lose.  For some reason I get a bit turned around at pt 1000 but sit down for a snack and check the compass and I'm soon back on track.  About seven years ago I came down this way and had exactly the same experience.  

I've slowed somewhat today so it takes 2hr 45 from the river to the bushline.  

I drop down to McGregor hut to get out of the drizzle and have a bit of lunch.  It's exactly a year ago that Janine and I stopped here on a trip to take in the plane crash on Shingle-Slip Knob.  Another terrifying birthday adventure.   

It's not yet 1pm so I'm thinking that if it is not too bad on the tops, I could skip Jumbo or even just head all the way to the car.  I've always thought Carkeek was doable in a day with a weekender pack so it would be interesting to see.   I chuck on another layer though as it's cooler and the drizzle isn't letting up. 

 

At about the same time that I'm contemplating my next move, Mike and Janine are experiencing the clag on the way over Brockett and Mitre.  

Mitre

It's a little windy and claggy on top but once past Angle Knob it's easy going and I'm at Jumbo in about 1 hr 35.  A couple of groups are in loc trying to get soggy firewood to light.  I have a berth booked but at 2.30 it's too early to stop so I head on down to Atiwhakatu.  The drizzle has now turned into light rain.

About 10 people come up hill as I make my way down and I'm pleased not to have stayed at Jumbo. 

An hour ten from Jumbo and Atiwhakatu is heaving.  I take one look in the door and leave them to it.

By 5.10pm I'm at the carpark.  Under 10 hours from Carkeek and I'm definitely not fit so it is easily a weekender trip.  

And that's that.  I have takeaways, a shower and a comfortable bed at brother number one's place while Janine shares the Mitre Flats Hut floor with a hoard of others and Mike camps outside in a bog. Not my idea of an enjoyable evening but they bump into people they know and have some good yarns. 

In the morning I dry sodden kit, before heading out to pick them up at the Pines.  It's a nice sunny day and there's a party from HVTC waiting for a pick-up.  Mike and Janine eventually turn up and we head off for a late lunch at The Offering in Greytown (which is looking more and more like a boutique shopping street in Khandallah).

All up a successful trip.  Mike and Janine bagged some new peaks and a hut, I ticked all my boxes, and some valuable lessons about optimism bias and how to camp on ridges.

Cone SAREX - 2

An email arrives out of the blue from Wairarapa Search and Rescue (SAR) noting that I'd been a missing party for an exercise a couple of years ago (more than three as it turns out) and would I be available to do so again.

It's good to be able to help out in some small way and you always learn a thing or two on these sort of outings, so I'm more than happy to oblige. 

A few days out, Tony (Police) touches base to confirm the briefing for the missing persons party is at the Masterton SAR base at Midday Friday and we'll be heading up to Cone to camp for the night before deploying to our locations. We duly convene and receive our instructions ...

What:   SARex
Who:     Paul, Fiona, Cameron, me
Where:  Cone area - eastern Tararuas
When:   15-17 November 2019
Photo credits:   Fiona, apart from the bad ones of the inside of my fly and the clematis   
Maps:






Saturday details - camp at triangle, broken leg at arrow, F&C purple, cancelled route blue

Tony has outdone himself with the creativity of the backstory. Paul, Fiona, Cameron and I are a group of Christian aid workers just returned from Vanuatu and headed into the hills for a bit of adventure.  Paul's wife is not too thrilled about the prospect given his fitness but has dropped us at the Waiohine road end - she has some vaguely outlined intentions that will be fed to the Incident Management Team at the appropriate time.

We're supplied with written story lines, injury descriptions, RTs (with a scramble channel as well as the same channels as the rescue teams so we can follow progress), grid reference to be missing at, GPS unit and ration packs for the weekend before a member of the constabulary (in the role of Paul's wife) takes us to the road end.

In real life, Paul is an experienced tramper who has been the missing person on quite a few SAR exercises including the one I went on. Fiona and Cameron are Wellington SAR volunteers who are looking forward to the experience from the other side of the fence.

Just before we head off we take a group photo which will be supplied to the IMT.





We take it slow on the way up and over the familiar route to Cone Saddle. Although there's been a bit of rain, the mud is still el dente. We check in with Tony from the saddle and start up to Cone itself.  As we climb it gets colder and windier. The forecast bad weather is starting to come through so we keep an eye out for possible 'plan B' camping spots should the high camp be untenable - there's not much in the offing though.














At the bushline we disperse through the low goblin forest to try to find our own wee niches. The wind is whipping across the open top of Cone and driving the first of the drizzle through the sparse cover of the forest edge. It's looking like a very uncomfortable night is in the offing.

The others find their positions and I plumb for the spot I used last time - it's a bit damp underfoot but flat and has some usefully spaced trees. The fly whips in the wind and the para cord ties itself in notes to frustrate increasingly numb fingers.

Eventually I have a low pitched fly with a jury rigged wind break down the sides from a stack of branches left by the last track clearing party. It looks wholly inadequate but I will be sleeping in my bivvy bag as well so I consider it done and pop over to Fiona and Camerons' rather more salubrious digs. They have a three sided fly with some actual head room and water boiling for dinner, I cadge a cup full and we sit in the gathering gloom watching Paul's fly whip in the wind. I can feel the roots of the tree I'm sitting against lifting as the tree flexes.

Chez Paul - the lump in the middle is him

Room for two

How low can you go?

It's a restless night. The wind batters my position with rumbling signalling when a particularly strong gust is barreling in across the tops. The fly is below the worst of it but is taking a beating and there's enough rain that water starts flowing underneath. I'm warm but definitely hunkered down to endure the night and don't get a lot of sleep with the nylon flapping a few inches above my nose.

Snug?

Tony calls up on schedule in the morning to say that there will be no helicopter flying today - this means ground teams will have to walk to our location to start the search, adding about four hours. He outlines a slightly changed scenario whereby Paul will be found more quickly but the rest of us will stick to the original plan. I radio Cameron and Fiona (about 12m away) to liaise on a get up and out time - they're keen to get moving as our target locations are in the lee of the ridge. I've already had breakfast so this gives me a bit of time to contemplate my next move.

The big down side of bivs in bad weather is the logistic complexity of getting into and out of them with out getting your dry gear wet and muddy. I spend the last few warm minutes in my sleeping bag stepping through the process.

Although the wind is still strong with belts of rain coming through, it's not too cold so once we get moving it's not bad. We leave Paul under his fly - he'll wander down the track a wee way when the search team approaches and pretend to be suffering the effects of a diabetic attack. His story will confirm our direction of travel and our intention to leave the marked track.

A brief stop to pick up water from the tarn which has an active spring in it today and shortly after we are back in beech forest and out of the wind.

There's no hurry so we amble along until where my spur diverges and I say goodbye to Fiona and Cameron. They are destined for the next major spur where they will be overcome by a violent bout of Campylobacter rendering them non-responsive - me; to break my tibia off the side of my spur.

Christian aid worker Fiona prepares for the ordeal ahead

The somewhat devout Cameron and me

With plenty of time I wander down making no effort to hide my trail. It's a bit of a tricky shape to the spur in places - left to my own devices I would have just pottered along with compass and map, but I crack out the GPS in a few spots as I don't want to stuff the exercise up by ending up in the wrong spot.

Part way down an explosion of white flowers draped through a sub-canopy tree herald a clematis vine. They glow in the low light but are tricky to get a shot of due to the wind. I assume it is Clematis peniculata or puawhananga which flowers around now.

Around the 600m contour there's a wee knob, it's about where I'm supposed to have wandered off the main line of the spur and followed a side spur north east, but for now I decide to stay put knowing I have radio coverage until a search team gets close.

It's windy but the cloud cover is trying to break - I wrap up and settle down on my sleeping mat for lunch with sleeping bag and fly spread out to dry. Every hour Tony checks in and I follow the progress of the search parties. Fiona and Cameron report that they have found a lovely flat spot on their spur and set up camp.

Fiona and Cameron - very comfortable

A party eventually radios in that Paul has been found - he dutifully delivers his messages then tags along as they are redeployed along the ridge. Time for me to head for the site of my accident. I discover that my sleeping mat has a puncture - an added incentive to be found in time to get to a hut or road end.

In the end I prop a little way up slope of my final objective and sit and read my book with half an ear on the radio. At his next call in Tony agrees that the chances of finding me here tonight aren't good so I redeploy back to my previous spot around 600m - no reading though as there are spots of rain. I don't have to wait long before another change in plan - it seems one rather than two parties will be searching my spur so I need to relocate further up, and quickly as 'there are a couple of grey hounds in that group.'

I race back up, find a plausible spot to have taken a fall (on the leeside of the spur) - and settle in again. This time in clag with the bad weather feeling ominously close.  I'm worried that the team may have beaten me and headed down to 386 according to the revised search plan (blue dots on map) but Tony calls in and confirms they are still on their way.

Soon after I hear voices from up the spur - I blow my whistle and shouting ensues. I am most decidedly a responsive patient with every intention of not having to spend another night out.

The team turn up and do their thing - assessing my condition, asking what I know about the others, reporting to base etc. They are quite proud to report the signs they have found of my trail - foot prints and scuff marks (yep - should be lots of those), a wee coloured rubber band (never seen it before), and a mock camp site (sorry - not me either). They also ask if I heard their whistling (nope - just the voices).

After a while I am miraculously healed and we proceed on down the spur - apparently the team has been retasked and we will be following the spur to Totara Flats and not the side spur to 386 (so I didn't need to race back up the hill after all).  Periodically they pause and spread out, block their ears, blow their whistles then listen intently. One of them is sure he hears a whistle but as the party closing in on Fiona and Cameron are well over a kilometre away with a strong wind it wasn't from the search exercise..

The team are still looking for signs of the other missing persons so in the interests of speed I break role and point out that I've been down and up the spur so don't get too excited by all the marks. 

The search develops a twist with the notification of a real missing person on Mt Reeve - south of the search area. A teams is duly dispatched to Tutuwai  Hut with instructions to set out early and search in the morning - another couple of teams are located to the Waiohine road end for possible deployment in the morning (however the chap walks out under his own steam in the end). The rest of the exercise continues.

At 600m the spur shape gets confused so the team follow their GPS but towards the bottom we drift off and the last 40 vertical meters is through supplejack and kiekie in the gathering dark.

At the bottom we are abruptly on flat ground and within 40 meters I'm standing on the track. It's starting to rain in earnest.

The team confer on next steps - bivvy up here or head to the hut. I'm mildly interested in their conclusion as I have absolutely no intention of spending a night out in the rain and wind with a flat sleeping mat.

Fortunately they come up with the correct answer and we head out on what will be (after one wee terrace) a flat three kilometres to Totara Flats Hut.

My headtorch batteries are just about had it but I'm not going to hold the party up to change them so stick to the leader's heels, the rest of the team strung out behind. Doing a quick count we realise that there are too many lights - it looks like another team is behind us. It turns out to be Fiona and Cameron who were left behind by their rescuers to strike camp - they seem to have recovered as well from their D&V as I have from a broken leg.

Eventually a tinge of woodsmoke in the air followed by the smell of the loo herald our arrival at a crowded Totara Flats Hut.

There's quite a few of the SAR teams in loc as well as the usual punters. A Meet-up tramping group is also settled in and I exchange a few words with Scott but am a little bit more intent on getting out of the wet and into some dinner.

There's no mattresses to be had so I settle on my deflated mat on the common room floor. Outside the wind slashes rain against the hut.  The morning can wait but we are required to be at Holdsworth road end by 10am so it will be an early start.

I sleep surprisingly well - aided by the near miraculous lack of snorers (the bunk rooms didn't fare so well apparently).

The SAR parties start heading out so the missing persons link up again and set off into the elements. The Waiohine is up and turbid - there would be no crossing it today. The track up Totara Creek is mostly a running stream until the footbridge and the start of the sidle up the hill.

One of our party is not 100% so we take it slowly and let the other parties past. It's unrelentingly soggy at the start.

The track is well marked and of a good standard. After the first steep climb it ambles along and down to the saddle between Totara and Carrington creeks. This is where it hooks up with the old route that followed Totara creek. The next section is interesting because, although it is on a bit of a spur there is often a wee stream running down the track. It is also the longest climb in the Tararuas - not because it actually is, just because you want to have it over and done with but it just doesn't seem to want to end.

Our afflicted party member is making heavy weather of the climb so we redistribute some gear and I end up with a pack on front - fortunately two ridiculously light packs make up a normal pack so it is no hardship.

The end of the climb is signalled when the track flattens and sidles east across the slope - we pop out at the junction with Gentle Annie track for the long downhill. Gear is redistributed to its rightful owner and we head on down at a good pace.

Paul points out some useful side spurs to the Atiwhakatu river and links up ridge to the old track - he clearly knows these parts very well. The weather gets progressively better as we head for the valley floor and we start bumping into day and dog walkers.

At the last bridge I hear over the radio that the van is full and is leaving - bugger, we'll have to wait for another to be dispatched.  It's not so bad though as there are patches of sun breaking through and the time passes quickly.

The SAR base is a hive of activity with the IMT winding down, teams debriefing and gear being checked in. I make a beeline for 1. the car (dry clothes) then 2. the BBQ.

Pretty soon I'm warm, dry, fed and have returned the electronics. The volunteers are exchanging notes about their various taskings; they are friendly but it's a little like any club when you're not a member so I slip away and leave them to it.

Wairarapa SAREX 2019 - Missing persons team

Postscript

I said you always learn a thing or two during these events - so,what were they?

There's how SAR teams and events operate - I'm bound to need them one day and it's good to understand what to expect. On the pragmatic side, I used a GPS in anger for about the second time in the bush and I learned the hard way how robust my sleeping pad isn't. I also have a better idea about the limitations of my fly.

The main thing that struck me though was the psychological difference between SAR team members, tramping parties and me. SAR operations are large, command and control affairs; for it all to work teams have to trust that IMT will make the decisions and do the tasking - too much autonomy would be a bad thing. The team members themselves have to be able to stick to their subtasks and work together to be effective. Decision making is by necessity through group processes within externally defined parameters and religious attention to safety. Team member skill levels are definable in terms of formal training undertaken, experience and assignment to leadership roles. It's a little like working with the army but, as volunteers, the uniform/civvy divide is less pronounced.

Tramping groups share a lot of these characteristics but without the same external command and control element and with varying degrees of formality around group decision making. Competence is often harder to gauge, highly variable and leadership self-assigned. They can be great or downright dangerous.

As a solo tramper I find group process and progress to be slow - not having the advantage of group discussion I'm used to analysing a problem while I'm walking, and only really stopping to assess a hazard or make navigation decisions. Although free of the problems of group think and risk threshold shift I have to try to avoid pitfalls like personal blind spots and failing to recognise impaired decision ability. I reckon you think differently when there's no one there to watch your back and need to be mindful about how this influences how you behave when in a group.

Although my views on the net increase in risk associated with solo tramping are on record, I did observe how being in a group changed my risk exposure.  On my own I would have stayed in Cone Hut on Friday night and headed up the ridge early Sat morning - thereby avoiding a rough night out. I would also have been off the spur and to the hut in daylight hours and less exposed to the elements by being out faster on the Sunday.

So what? I'll probably carry a bit more kit when I'm in a group as there is more standing around getting cold and higher chance of getting into some situations I would avoid on my own.

But overall, the main thing was getting a better appreciation of the hours and effort that a lot of volunteers put into SAR - I sure am a helluva lot happier knowing they're out there practicing for when I might be needing them.