Trip Photos

The Mod-Hard Team	The Nina Throneroom	Brass Monkey Biv
Brass Monkey Biv closeup	KT @ Brass Monkey Biv	Emerging from Deer Valley

Trip Report

“Get the facts or the facts will get you. And when you get them, get them right, or they will get you wrong.” - Thomas Fuller.

With cars judiciously parked to cover all eventualities (well, two of them anyway), closely studied maps and one carefully calibrated GPS in hand, six of us set off up the Nina Valley to make our way to the tops via Lucretia Stream.

Setting off at a cracking pace from the start in order to sort the boys from the girls, we reached the swingbridge that promised access to the Nina Hut in no time at all. “Hang on,” cautioned Trip Leader, “We’ve come a bridge too far.” Aware that the two “walkwires” marked on the map were no longer, we figured this was the bridge that crossed the Nina just before its junction with Duchess Stream. Doh, clearly we were too quick for our boots and had galloped right past the Lucretia, even though the GPS said we still had 120 metres (or thereabouts) to go. Stoopid technology – what would it know? Back we tracked, fossicking around “Lucretia” for the unmaintained and over-grown track. We didn’t find it, but our noses led us up and we had a satisfying bush bash to near the bushline, where we concluded that we had, in fact, headed up the wrong stream. Sending Carl and his GPS down a bushless gully until it found a satellite to wink at, confirmed this (wonderful technology, very useful). No worries, mate, the forecast was turning out to be very accurate, gloomily predicting ‘weather’ about the tops, and it was an easy bush bash back to the track and thence the Nina Hut. Should be only ten, maybe 20 minutes from the swingbridge according to the map.

Ok, make that 60. We knew the hut had been relocated (to the true right of the Nina) but this relocated? Turns out our freshly baked bridge was somewhat downstream of the old walkwire, and the hut somewhat further up. For six so-called mod-hard trampers, the family-grade walk into the hut proved quite tiring and some of us pouted sulkily at the prospect of dossing down on the floor of the full-to-capacity hut (full of children and their parents, I might add).

But dinner was illuminating and revitalizing. Try boiling dried mango til it’s fat and juicy, add a fruity herbal tea bag and drink the result: nectar of gods. It’ll make your pupils pop with pleasure (thanks Martin).

Day two dawned as forecast: calm and clear. Geographically challenged no longer, we headed up the Duchess Stream and, at last, the tops. Beautiful. And windy. And cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. We boiled ourselves a hot drink at the appropriately named biv and carried on to explore our various options and aerodynamics (did I mention it was windy?). One option was up, so we went up, in a NE direction, to look down on the elusive Lucretia. I gained a new respect for my ice axe. We found some snow so applied crampons (completely incident-free: no one’s fell off or anything). The wind had mercifully dropped and we saluted Mt Technical, cloaked in grey, wet stuff and were glad we weren’t up there. But we were up and it was getting late and there was that wind again, with thunderous-looking weather descending as forecast. We found a spot, down a bit, above Deer Valley, and pitched our tents. I scored a nice mossy hollow safe inside Martin’s tent which stayed up, and slept. Others didn’t.

The following morning we took the only sensible option and scarpered out down Deer Valley. Brilliant navigating by Trip Leader led us through the forest glade, safely past raging waterfalls, unerringly to the main highway (what an unwelcome din the traffic made. I’m not sure what the traffic made of six disheveled trampers emerging like Vietnam vets from the jungle)… right between the two judiciously parked cars. Eight kilometers that way, and eight kilometres t’other. Right on cue, the ambivalent spit and drizzle made a firm decision and bucketed down in true West Coasterly fashion. Miraculously, Uncle Bernie (aka God) came to the rescue a couple of k’s down the road, on his way home from his own tramping exploits, giving the drivers a lift and sparing the war-weary veterans a mind-numbing slog.

What a great trip. I liked the tent that stayed up, and didn’t want to go home (at least, not once home was safely in my sights). Thank you, guys, for being such a great bunch. I hereby pronounce you honorary girls. And thanks, long-suffering souls, for teaching me the basics of Five Hundred. I’ll remember to play my Joker next time.

Trampers: Martin Brown, Mike Ng, Kate Taylor (Scribe), Andrew Wedlake, Carl Hoffman, Antony White (Navigator)

-- Uploaded by Antony White on 2 December, 2009