Day 111 - ice water, tussock death traps and prickly holes of misery

Commyns hut ——> Manuka hut 21km

Today was horrendous. By far the absolute worst day we’d had on trail.

The day actually started off quite amusingly. After washing our breakfast bowls in the river, Josh’s hands, frozen from the bitterly cold water, dropped one of the bowls back into the river. After a desperate ten minute attempt to chase it down, he waved goodbye to it as it floated off to a new home somewhere downstream.

My pack now a little bit lighter, we set off from Commyns hut around 8am and immediately started following the river up into the mountains. Maybe it was snow melt, maybe this river was always cold, but it was beyond anything I had ever experienced before. After crossing it a couple of times, my feet had turned to ice and every step forward was like a dagger into my soles. Just as they began to thaw out, we’d cross the river again. There was no avoiding the water. For two hours we dragged our feet across the rocks, the pain so horrendous I had to uncontrollably cry to get through it.

The second the sun shone into the valley, we stopped to bask in the heat and attempt to de-ice our toes.

The heat from the sun soon dried up the tears and half an hour later we were back on our feet trudging up through the valley. Still getting wet feet but thankfully the sun had started to warm the water up a bit. Or at least that’s what we told ourselves.

When we eventually left the river, the trail traded out demon ice water for demon tussock.

Tall thick grasses covered any sort of path we were supposed to be following. Chest high in places - you couldn’t see what you were stepping on. It could be ground, it could be a hole that was posing as ground.

Josh’s feet were already painful from the river and now with the unevenness of the terrain, and after many a fall into the secret tussock lairs he was on the verge of sitting down and not getting up again.

We stopped for lunch after what felt like the longest 8km in the world. We’d averaged about 2km an hour, slower than some of the huge climbs we’d done in the Richmonds. Our lunch spot was atop the highest point for the day on Clent hills saddle and for the first time we could look around and appreciate how epically beautiful this place was.

Slightly rejuvenated after a feed, we set off across the skree slope in front of us, a wonderfully welcome change from this morning’s terrain.

The views across the valley only got better as we neared the edge of the slope.

But the momentary joy of the skree soon faded as the tussock returned and we battled to find a way through without breaking our ankles. A solitary tear rolled down Josh’s face after he fell into yet another hidden abyss under the grass.

Tunnels of Matagouri followed, our voices hoarse from the yells of expletives as we were pricked and jabbed by the worst plant ever to exist.

We passed a NOBO mid-afternoon and he must have regretted asking us what the terrain was like up ahead once we launched into a tirade of abuse about the day we’d had. It was actually quite therapeutic for us.

Only the last hour of the day’s walking provided any sort of calm. We reached the valley floor and joined up with a 4WD track…

…and took us all the way into Manuka hut.

After the day we’d had we were half expecting the hut to be derelict, a final kick in the face but instead it was the most welcome surprise. A lovingly restored historical hut, it had a solid Manuka door with upcycled vintage furniture inside. A cupboard made from army boxes and a shelving unit constructed from a oil drum. It had more character than most huts combined and like the previous night, we had it all to ourselves.