Buckland Peaks - Organiser: Mark Stevens
"Buckland Peaks, shrouded in mystery and cloud..with stupendous views of the coast and surrounding areas and with the view of Mt Cook Massif in the south." This is what the guide books promise, but it was not to be. Buckland Peaks did not reveal their mystery. As we ventured forth from sunny Nelson to the "Wet" Coast (picking up Mike on his bike at the Kohatu Hotel), there was alternating cloud then clear skies. Having reached the carpark destination with cloud looming above the peaks, we set off for an hour walk across rather dull farmland. Upon entering the bush, we stopped for lunch with some nice tannin-coloured water, then ventured higher up. The going was easy and we reached the Half Way sign in another hour. Then the going became steeper and the forest became stunted and twisted, until we reached the bushline. Still the peaks were shrouded in cloud. Another short stint through the scrub to the ridgetop and then down into the basin to Venturers Hut where there were cries of "oh no, there's no fire". The hut is modern (erected 2002): double-glazing, fully insulated, and comfortable bunks - no need for a fire.
As it was 3.30pm, and with a slight break in the cloud, three stunted twisted trampers ventured forth to the ridge for vistas unknown, but were to be thwarted once again by the mist. So with bottom lips a-quiver it was back down to the hut for dinner. With Ian with his chef's hat on as usual, bags of goodies were placed upon the cooker, and five hungry trampers placed their bowls in a row and were served up a cuisine delight. With bellies afull, chocolate liquers and hot choccie drinks consumed, it was little wonder there were snoring sounds later.
Then it was up at the crack of Ian's dawn, hoping for the mystic mountain scene, only to see yet more cloud. The navigators discussed the unmaintained track we were to take down the ridge. We headed off with the skies clearing slightly, Ruth with her compass, Mike with his GPS, and the rest of us unaware. Mike with "a little bit left" and "a little bit right", and Ruth right up the front again, we carried on and on and on, and down the ridge we went. And slowly but slowly we were out of the cloud and looking for route markers, the permalap variety. The forest became twisted and stunted again and the track definitely unmaintained, we made our way down the ridge, lower and lower. Lunch was had at a suitable spot as we watched the disappearing dot on the railway line on the far side of the Buller River. Then it was further down, again looking for markers - the book had said that this would be hard. But with five sets of eagle eyes, we sniffed them out, those faded white permalap markers. As we were going down, we thought with relief of how the West Coast holds few wasps, so on we went until about 100m from the road when someone yells "I thought I heard a little buzzy sound" and someone else yelled "ouch, I've been stung - run like hell". But alas it was too late, the stinging was done.
Then at last we emerged on State Highway 6 after 7.5 hours of bushbashing to find Mike's bike, well hidden across the road in the bush. He rode with vigour, he rode with intentness, to get our chariot to return us to sunny Nelson.
Many thanks to my fellow "Wet" Coast wanderers: Mike Drake, Ruth Hesselyn, Ian Pavitt, and visitor Marguerite.