Up to another great day. Cannot believe how lucky we have been with the weather - 4 days in a row without rain - hope it holds until evening. I have some trepidation about doing this hike, the off-track part is beyond my experience. The pack feels tall but not heavy. I borrow a walking stick from the company gear pile.
Tussocks, billowing clouds, easy hiking on the ridge line
The trailhead is the Borland Track, south, near as I can tell from Lake Monopurai. Ruth tells us about the national revolt, where the government quietly installed hydroelectric capacity on the lake, and as they prepared to start raising the water level to produce power, the populace began a petition drive to object. First petition, second petition ignored. The locals organized a third petition, and got something like 1 in 10 NZers to sign, and again the government went ahead with the plans. Lake Monopurai is renowned as the most beautiful lake in NZ, and the government was voted soundly out of office as the opposition campaigned on the issue. The hydroelectric production was scaled back to prevent the change in lake levels whent he new government took office. The road we take to the track was cut to place the powerlines from the dam, bringing the whole tale to mind for Ruth.
Ruth shows us the map, it seems like a 500 m climb in a very short distance, doable, but tough. First we play a warm up game like twister called back-to-back, and then upward. The first 30 minutes is on a well established track, but soon we are choosing our own routes along the ridge line amongst the tussocks. I don't like it when I can't see my footing, but there isn't much choice. The weather and the views are fantastic. I'm lagging, but staying positive - I've never been one to feel like it's a race, and I see a lot more than most.
After 2 hours we reach the lunch spot. I'm tired, and don't join the 8 who drop their packs and hike up to the summit of Mt. Burns for a view of Stewart Island south of the mainland. Instead I shoot a roll of film on the alpine mosses and lichens while Marco and Marlene nap nearby. I can hear the rest of the group long before I see them, tricky windblown sound. They take a lunch break and rest a bit, then we put the packs back on.
Another short ascent to the next ridge line, where the footing is easier, the wind blowing hard up the south-facing snow face, and there is no obvious way down the steep slope to the lake below. I joke with Ruth, "Are we going to luge down?" and only when we get to the end of the ridge and there is still snow do I realize that luging is exactly what she has in mind. Finally, something I can excel at - no one wants to go first. I sit on my raincoat, holding the hood between my legs and scoot down feet first. Before halfway down I am laughing and hollering. Sabastian slides past me and soon, one by one, the rest of them are standing at the bottom of the hill. Ruth says the snow saved us two hours of route finding down the slope.
The luge team
Another ridge line and then we start our descent to the lake - I am trying to stay cool, this is harder than anything I have ever done. She puts us in a line so that if we fall we don't wipe out the rest of the group. I consider sliding down the tussocks, falling so many times. The stick is a blessing. R and Marcel team up to help me cross the snow melt ravines - narrow but deep. It's a strangely beautiful ecotome and I wish we had more time to enjoy it. She says it will take us 4 hours to drop about 300 meters and I don't see how it's possible. It is - every step needs consideration. Ruth finds an early blooming Mt. Cook Lily, the world's largest buttercup (why did they call it a lily?). As the slope gets more shallow, the plants get taller and it doesn't get any easier. I'm tired.
There are two fingers of forest to cross before we reach the hut. I have a Lords of the Ring moment and think I am in Fanghorn forest. Mosses hanging, mosses underfoot, mosses on beech trunks. It is green and mystical and I promise myself that once we reach the hut I will go back and take some photos. As we clear the hut, Ruth is cutting firewood for us to carry back. We are last to reach the camp, about 6:00 pm. R is in front of me. Within 30 m of the hut, he goes down.
He yells, at first just sounds and then the words "I broke my ankle, I heard it snap." I want to throw up, I heard it too. I don't tell him that. I start yelling, "Help! Get Ruth! Help!" The world is moving slowly, far too slowly. The non-native English speakers are slow to understand there is a problem. Finally people start coming from all directions. I tell R to keep breathing - he's hurting badly. Pull off his pack. He has fallen off the edge of the last ravine before camp, straight down almost hip high, took the full weight straight-legged and straight down, did not roll the ankle at all. No real hope that this is "only" a sprain.
Ruth comes up from behind, makes a quick assessment and starts organizing people to help. Get the packs to the hut, carry R to the lake where we can soak his foot in the cold water before we take off his boot. Ruth is wonderful. She doesn't panic and sets the tone which the rest of the group adopts, that this is bad but not a crisis.
The swelling looks awful. I do what I can to keep R warm and comfortable from the ankle up. She and I huddle up - Ruth is going to have to walk out, tonight if she can. R is not going to get out under his own power. But she has responsibilities for 9 other people and has to look to settle them in first. Sarah is put in charge of operating the cooker. Natalie and Dawn are assigned as acting trip leaders. She shows them the map for the return hike in the morning. Ruth won't ask for a volunteer, but Marco steps up and says he'll go with her - it's another 3 hours back to the van, and they may have to drive for cell phone reception.
We put R in the bunk in the hut, out of the wind, where he can be still. He is so calm, stoic, no one really has any idea how much he is sucking it up. Ruth fills out her accident paperwork, something she has only done in training. By 7:15, she and Marco are back on the trail, and the rest of the group is quietly employed on preparing dinner, building a fire and lashing down the sleeping fly. Ruth says they have put it in the ideal spot for a helicopter landing. I try not to think that far ahead.
R shot this view from the hut as Ruth and Marco are leaving to get help.
Recipe for dinner - pasta, pesto, sausages, sundried tomatoes, olives. We both eat. I sort the gear, repacking with a fading hope that Ruth can get them to agree to launch a copter and to do it before dark. I really don't want to think about any of the options at this point - copter tonight, copter tomorrow, or that they would try to carry him out. It stays light until 10:00 pm, and at 10:15 I resign myself to try to sleep.
