Soggy Boots and Frozen Pipes

I’d just done the first river crossing barefoot and was putting my boots back on when a hunter appeared out of the bush. “I wouldn’t bother trying to keep those dry” he said, “you’ve got a good twenty more crossings to go.” He wasn’t exaggerating, we crossed and recrossed all day. It was late when we got to Barlow Hut, the halfway point. We decided to wait until morning before tackling the rest and settled in for a lazy evening of red wine and cards. The next day, we scrambled around rapids and over bluffs, wading through waist-deep pools, packs held high. We climbed up and out of the Makaroro River and arrived at Parks Peak Hut just as snow began to fall. It was so cold that night that the pipes on the water tank froze. We each had a turn rushing outside to scrape snow off the ground so we could make a cup of tea. The last day started with blue skies and a blanketing of snow over the beech trees and spent a leisurely morning stomping through fresh powder. Before we got back to the car, we had that first river crossing to tackle. We didn’t worry about keeping our feet dry this time.