Backwards round the Temple – 2000

The sound of laughter drifted up from the creek, waking us from our light sleep.  There seemed to be a lot of joviality among the late comers, given the hour, 11.05pm.
A very wet Bill appears in the candlelight.  No it isn’t raining.  An unplanned dip in the river virtually at journey’s end, after having made good time up the valley by torch light, seemed to set the scene for what was going to be a weekend of adventure.  “We know you like to freshen up after a tramp Bill, but you usually take your clothes off first!” someone fires from the top bunk.

Ross and I had taken up the suggestion of an earlier departure and leisurely tramp in, to a hut still bathing in late afternoon sunshine, so plenty of time for gathering firewood, cooking a meal, and ‘hanging a billie’ for the late comers.

The club programme read “Nth Temple – Sth Huxley – Sth Temple round trip”, but that would involve pitching tents the first night at the head of the Nth Temple, then carry them more than likely wet, over the mountain range tomorrow, so Bill decided to do the trip in reverse and stay in the Sth Temple hut the first night.  He had done the circuit in anti-clockwise direction last time, and it had seemed to be pretty straight forward, but how often had he looked over his shoulder?

Perfect tramping weather, and we were off to the head off the Sth Temple valley, but woops, not even mid-morning and we’re up to our necks in scrub and no track, but fortunately, not for long.  Soon we’re peering up the slopes ahead for the best route to the saddle and oh, it looks so close.  There is no ‘best route’ to the saddle and we soon remember also that distances in this kind of country are deceptive.  As the scree gets steeper, we deliberately choose slightly different routes to minimise the risk of falling rocks.  Eventually, one by one we reach the saddle, albeit in different places, and with differing degrees of elation, as for some the usual excitement of “the view” is overtaken by “where the hell do we go from here?”  We are slightly separated from each other on the ridge, so it is a matter of finding our own down and “whew” it is steep in places.  Thirty minutes later however, it’s not so bad after all, as we’ve found an excellent camp site, exposed, but what a view at 5000ft.  A perfect evening with food to match and a sun that almost refuses to set.

Our easy traverse high above the Sth Huxley next morning is interrupted rather savagely by a large gash in the mountainside, so it’s down, down, down, fill the water bottles and up, up, up, to resume at about the same elevation until we get closer to the crossing point into the Nth Temple.  Once again we’re gaining height at an ever increasing angle, so we pause for lunch in the middle of a huge rocky basin, surrounded by scree, above which are almost continuous cliffs.  Bill’s lunch stop is short, as he sets out to find a route to the top, and it’s not long ‘til he’s out of site, so one by one we set out after him.  “What’s it like up there?” someone shouts.  “A bit hairy.  Can you see a better way up?” was the reply we didn’t want to hear.  By now, Colin, Margie, and Bill had all scaled ‘the chimney’, so there was no point in our not following, or at least trying to.  Following Ross and Jim, I   was last but not least, up the chimney.  Santa would have handled it better I’m sure, as part way up I’m  ‘stuck’, but after a call for help from above (that is, from trampers as well as from He from further above!) I’m soon standing with the others, looking down into the Nth Temple.

Just like yesterday however, the interest in the view was overtaken by the more pressing question of “Bill, how do we get down from here?”  The question was somewhat answered as Bill got out his cellphone, and with a forced  calmness explained to Pat that we “may” be late home. However, while we tail-enders had been playing Santa Claus in the chimney, Bill had been ‘exploring’ and with a casual wave of the arm said “We can get down there, it’s okay, I’ve been down for a look.’ I’m sure the rest of us thought “You don’t say, and what’s your next joke Bill!”

This was certainly adventure at its best.  With butterflies rampant in the stomach, we each moved tentatively over the edge, each watching the one in front for the sometimes elusive foot and hand placements needed for the descent, while all the time trying to avoid dislodging the ever present rocks. And so with the afternoon fast disappearing, we descended, ever so slowly at first, but later, much more quickly, as the going became easier, that is until we reached ‘the ramp’.  Bill confessed later that his biggest apprehension of the whole trip was finding the top of the ramp, an absolutely vital spot from which to make the final but very steep drop to the valley floor.   Good luck or good management, we came right onto the cairn marking the spot but, for those who hadn’t been here before, the adventure looked to be far from over as there appeared to be no way down that last 100m. Bill by now, knew exactly where we had to go, and led off confidently down an inconspicuous, but very steep route, where in places there were the signs off the odd step having been cut in the rock. Valley floor at last.

After a quick snack and a short rest on the beautifully soft coprosma mattress we were off on a real track, telling the bodies it wouldn’t be long now. Just as the trip had begun, the head torches were out for the last hour or so back to the vehicles.

This turned out to be a full weekend (some would say fool) but also enjoyable, and one which will stay in the memories of the participants long after the blisters and aching feet have healed.

By John Hore (with serious alterations and poetic licence by Bill Bews.)