Howling At Howlett

by Brian Dobbie

Greasies and space invaders at Levin, petrol at Dannevirke, then we headed towards the mountains, happy to be away from it all for a brief two days.

We spent Friday night sheltered from the gale-force westerly wind in the cavernous interior of one of the biggest, best appointed huts we'd ever sleep a night in. A quick visit the next morning to the ladies powder room pausing only to read the sign "Ashley Clinton Fire Brigade" (we thoroughly recommend this place to crash a night), we drove off up Mill Road into misty rain to Morcock Base. The N.Z.F.S. ranger there gave us useful directions. Rain and epic wind on the farmland ridge could not stop us reaching Daphne hut, beside the Tukituki River by lunch time. Even Phil in his plastic climbing boots (which he insisted on bringing because our original plan had been to attempt page 82the snow saturated Sawtooth Ridge) did not slow us on our steep ascent up into thigh deep snow on the tops of the Main Range.

Sitting astride a small hollow right on the ridge at 4,400 feet was Howletts hut. A superb "A" frame style hut surrounded by deep snow, littered with comfortable mattresses and ripe for a pike. It was 3.00 pm, and after eager investigations revealed several miniature bottles were disappointingly empty, photos were taken of the hut, Hawkes Bay farmland below and the impressive snow covered ridges. The ridges swept up into the wind-torn clouds covering the mysterious Sawtooth Ridge.

By now preparations for a pike began in earnest. Peter got the Little Doris stove going so well that the temperature soared to a tropical 14°, and stayed that way for the rest of the night. Alan concocted a magnificent stomach-expanding eight pinter stew. While Phil and I did our bit by warming mattresses. The remaining evening was spent reminiscing of trips past, swopping memories of childhood and school days, solving a selection of the world's problems and surviving some of Phil's jokes. Outside the wind howled and buffetted the hut unceasingly. Inside it was snug and warm.

Piking continued in earnest until 10 am next morning when we left that memorable hut in full storm gear intending to continue south along the tops to perhaps Pohangina Saddle, if conditions permitted. Talk about wind! Soft knee deep snow made progress slow, even for 'Plastic Mac'. But after an hour and a half of storm-force wind that blew my first map and compass right out of the undone top pocket of my pack, then Phil's map out of his hand, we held a conference, shouting in ears to be heard. We decided to head straight down to the stream 2,500 feet below. It was deep snow and leatherwood-infested stuff, but Peter found us a good route down beside an evil looking steep slip. Soon we were skipping down an easy stream, heading for Daphne hut. Peter fell and badly twisted his ankle down this stream, but kept a stiff upper lip and kept Plastic Mack company at the rear.

Our second lunch at Daphne, and back along the track and farmland to the wind-scoured car by five. We strapped Peter's impressive looking swollen ankle and the powerful winds outside pursued us all the way home.

Thanks to	-	Alan Clelland Phil Mackie
		Peter Mansell