Category Archives: food

bikepacking, bikes, food, friends, NZ

Four Peaks and Orari Gorge via Blue Mountain Station

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Due to the excellence of the two previous bikepacking trips Andrew had invited me on this year (this one possibly the best I’ve been on, this one not far behind), I was a deadset starter for a much less ambitious overnighter as we head into winter. Since dislocating my shoulder again (I may get around to telling that story) on the last day of summer, long days on the bike have been absent. That was in part due to a month off the bike and in part finally getting my new mountain bike together – this autumn, conditions have begged for as much trail riding as possible.

As the plan was only for a hundred kilometres and staying in farm accommodation meant no need to carry camping gear, thoughts turned to how much extra space there would be for food. Fond memories of the feast on this trip to Apiti spurred discussions that we needn’t all eat individual rehydrated meals from pouches – instead we could cook and eat together. Closer to the time, I also realised such a weekend would be a good test of my new bike’s bikepacking suitability – by no means what it was designed for, but something that was in the back of my mind when choosing it. I’d have to carry a backpack full of food and water, and any riding on the road would be a chore, but it seemed a fortuitous opportunity – plus I’m still loving riding it as much as possible.

Assembling in Geraldine Saturday morning, the purple patch of weather had truly ended – after riding straight to a cafe, we eventually got going into the cool and damp gloom. Gradually climbing from the plains into the foothills, I was soon lagging – finally succumbing to putting my raincoat on, only for the rain to stop shortly after, didn’t help.

Nor did stopping for the occasional photo of little note.

Road turning to gravel, there was finally some gradient to help me keep up and engage my riding brain a bit more. Leaving Te Moana River and following Leishmans Stream past some recent logging (my digger-spotting antennae on high alert after much time recently with my nephew) the deteriorating surface soon kicked savagely. A rocky creek crossing entry and exit had me off the bike and pushing briefly. Around a couple more corners, the surface and renewed steepness were too much for both my legs and bikepacking tyres (by design, the wheels for each of my bikes can go on the other). This was the longest and only sustained push of the trip.

The track on the other side of the stream looks a far kinder gradient.

At the top of the big push, we easily cut across the saddle to find a recently bulldozed track down.

Looking over to Doughboy Saddle – not even 900 m, Andrew definitely going easier on us this trip.

Thanks Jo for the almost-group photo.

Such a smooth descent for a farm track! Still, good fun with the occasional creek crossing in the corners. Also Jo’s photo.

A bit of route consideration at the bottom and we were soon on the half hour climb to the saddle – most enjoyable chatting away as the day brightened a bit. Halfway through the distance, after noon and at our highest point – lightening the load of food seemed reasonable. Cue lunch.

Down to the Opuha Valley, with the Sherwood Range sitting in front of the Two Thumbs.

Not looking too weighed down by bags.

Another long descent on farm track. Looking back to Doughboy Saddle, even getting sunny now; we came down the track on the left.

Much fun had on those downhills on a bike far different to the rigid frame one I usually bikepack on. A silly amount of fun really. The phrase “gun to a knife fight” kept crossing my mind. Pleasingly also, for such a bike, loaded, it climbs pretty well without a full lockout – even with the narrower gear range than is common meaning a harder high gear (32:11-42 if anyone cares).

Rob conquering another climb as Devil’s Peak watches over us.

Andrew looking pleased – perhaps with another plan coming together, the weather coming around to his usual standards, or just another long downhill ahead.

Bryan also pleased – perhaps that hut was not overnight accommodation for eight bikepackers.

Another saddle gained, the last sizeable one through Four Peaks Station.

Looking green suddenly for the descent to the Opuha.

Out of the station, we had the opportunity to witness some truly extraordinary feats of navigation before turning for the twenty-two kilometres to Blue Mountain Station for the night. The last section of climb out of the Clayton Valley demanded a surprising amount of effort to gain Meikleburn Saddle.

Rewarded with a fast descent, we were soon cruising down the upper Orari Valley to the Cook House.

Over a shed to the other side of Mt Peel – to that usually seen, that is.

Decent old woolshed too.

Woolshed photos for Andrew Watts.

We settled into our accommodation for the night – The Cook Shop. It wasn’t difficult – wood in from the shed and soon a fire was roaring (down to base layers despite the cold outside), heritage apples were collected from the carpet beneath two big trees (many hundreds more still to fall) and stewed (kudos to Jo for the tedious looking prep), hot drinks were sipped while many snacks were devoured (can there be too much chocolate?) from the comfort of the sleep-inducing recliners.

In one of the more remarkable bikepacking cuisine episodes I’ve seen, Andrew pulled two loaf tins and about two kilograms of dry ingredients from his bags and set to making two loaves of bread! As the evening drew in, various groups moved through the kitchen as the kettle seemed to be constantly boiled for more tea – a big salad was prepared, jambalaya appeared, and a large vege curry cooked all while the aroma of fresh bread permeated.

No danger of a calorie deficit on this trip. Another of Jo’s photos.

Although too full to move, it was a lively evening of much chat. Perhaps helped by those committed to the cause who hauled in cans of beer, about a litre of port, bourbon and coke (although I hear there is a new line of bourbon-scented bikepacking bags about to be released), a wee dram and Glayva. We were so full, we almost forgot the apples for dessert. The riding can’t have been too much for anyone – no one was in bed by nine o’clock.

I’m unsure if it was the bathroom calling or just rearing to get going on another day of riding new places, but everyone was up well before dawn on an overcast, damp morning. Not ideal. But first the serious business of lightening the day’s loads. The second loaf of bread mostly went into tasty French toast/eggy bread, but still ample remained for the jam and honey that appeared from somewhere. More of that tasty apple also disappeared. Packed up and the Cook Shop tidied, eight-thirty seemed very reasonable as there wasn’t even three hours of riding down the Orari and back to Geraldine.

Another almost-group photo, this time by Andrew as he amused us with creative ways of failing to get the camera to sit on the gate.

First up – avoiding wet feet where the track had washed out with a little hike-a-bike. Bryan’s photo.

Not raining yet, but damp still.

Half an hour of easy riding took us to the confluence with Basin Stream. We took a small detour to check out the hut, which seven years ago had been restored to its former late-1800s glory. It had been done so that the restoration was barely noticeable, but those that had visited before told of what a vast improvement it was over the old damp, infested freezer box it was.

I took a photo of the hut. But this is Bryan’s photo.

Here is that photo, as the cloud continues to come and go.

After poking around a bit and deciding that this would be a great base for a few days of exploring the station’s tracks and terrain further, during warmer and longer days, we continued up the valley (jettisoning bags in the hut) to see what we might see. More hills, clouds and some nice little climbs.

No one was tempted to continue gain another five hundred metres in the gloom to the peak of Mt Frances – that can wait for the next visit – so we turned and flew down the hill. The clouds cleared from Mt Peel, and the ridge down to Middle Mt Peel, but clung in the valleys a bit more.

Bryan on the descent back to the hut.

On the way to reclaim my bags from the hut. Another of Bryan’s pictures.

Back beside the Orari, the valley narrowed into a gorge – this gave us numerous pinch climbs to make us earn our descent to the plains. All were rideable, but not quite by me.

I watched from afar at the so-called Gates of Orari as much of the group attempted this particularly tough little ascent.

Carrying as much speed as I could as the approach flattened only carried me a fraction of the way up. The surface was a bit loose, more my rear tyre not well-suited, and it became a low-speed grunt while trying to keep a line with some traction.

Almost there! Another of Bryan’s photos.

Just made it, surprised to get a small applause – heaving lungs showing this one as the most effort I put in all weekend.

An enjoyable descent (see further below for video of me having too much fun on the bike I insisted on dragging around) to the flats, before more testing little climbs.

The rain set in, waterproof layers went on and the camera went away for most of the rest of the ride.

Crossing Andrews Stream (the naming of this didn’t get enough attention really), we were off the wet grassy farm track onto a faster gravel surface which continued to improve for the last hour back to town. While the rain stopped, my fingers didn’t warm much – so it was nice to get back to the vehicles and get into warm, dry clothes. Our excellent weekend together ending with more tasty food and hot drinks in a local cafe.

What a great little trip to get back into bikepacking after ten or so weeks, a fun bunch of riders that all contributed much to the enjoyment, of both riding and sustenance. Thanks especially to Andrew for organising another ripper of a trip; hopefully I can speak for all in looking forward to the next one, wherever that may be.

Well done for making it this far, even if you’ve just scrolled through looking at the pictures. As usual, Andrew has told the story of the trip better with far less text and more pictures…

bikepacking, bikes, event, food, friends, GPS, NZ

Mega GGG 2019

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With a hilly and tough HBAT only two weeks behind us, I was pleased to see six of us backing up on the 200 km longer Mega. This turned the start into a bit of a HBAT-reminisce and catch-up before Pete sprung the honour of leading the forty-odd riders out through the Rotorua morning “traffic”.

Time for a few stories with some HBATers.

A bit more time for a group photo.

This is a bit different to my usual dithering and chatting at the back of the start group.

A few kilometres in we regrouped off the road and headed out of town on the easy cycle trail to Ngongotaha – much time for meeting new faces riding towards the climb up the Mamakus. The route familiar to me, I figured I may as well cut my stops out until the resupply 120 kilometres in at Mangakino. A mild morning with no wind to haunt my memory, the riding was good as riders ebbed and flowed relative to me. Knees still noticeably achey from charging up too many Hawke’s Bay hills, I determined to spend far less time standing on the pedals uphill – which is tough, as I do like climbing.

I allowed myself a brief photo stop; tellingly, my best photo of the day is of a giant scar of a quarry contrasting with the more picturesque backdrop.

Subsequently, I was in no rush over the stretch of the Waikato River Trail that is notoriously punishing with plenty of sharp climbs. As the day warmed I continued to take it easy and walked far more of the sharp climbs than I ordinarily would.

Not stopping had me in the first few into Mangakino where I had plenty to eat and drink, including a big bottle of electrolytes. Many others arrived before I headed for the infamous wire-bridge at the end of Arataki Rd. Mid-afternoon it was hot by now, so much for the forecast 20ºC. While it was toasty, I’d not got it into my head that it was well above that temperature – most reports came back around 30ºC. Mentally, and therefore physically, I was not prepared for such heat and quite rapidly I was cooked. Succumbing to the dehydration of which I seem particularly prone (a disadvantage of having little mass and barrier against such swings?), a rest in the shade was in order as the waves of nausea swept over me and suddenly most of the food I’d eaten that day was rejected.

Completely spent, I tried not to berate myself too much. With some more electrolytes to sip on and cooling a little, almost an hour later I could face limping towards the cabins at Pureora – only twenty-five kilometres, but with most of a 400 metre climb. Moving so slowly, walking much and generally feeling awful gave me far too much time to question why and how I like to ride long distances. Having read my post of the first Mega two years prior recently to remind me of the course, I recalled a discussion about how such rides need to be fun. I wasn’t having much fun as thoughts turned to neglected friends in the Bay of Plenty I could be visiting instead of punishing myself. What’s more, with too many people close to me having significant medical diagnoses recently riding seemed a little selfish and pointless. On the other hand, if I could continue I would – what a privilege to have the time, health, means and freedom to explore our fair land. There was much to see and I knew I’d soon be back enjoying myself; I was really looking forward to seeing the roads from Taumarunui to Kawhia Habour – the most significant change to the course. Also, after last year’s magpie incident I was really keen to avoid another DNF – even if it meant adjusting my expectations, and taking more time off work.

The first time I’ve had to put the much-repeated lesson of “don’t pull the pin at the end of a bad day, wait for morning to decide” to good use, it paid dividends. After taking two hours to crawl to the cabins, some downtime, plenty of food and a thoroughly poor, but just sufficient sleep I was good to go again before five-thirty Saturday morning, albeit a little tentatively. But first, where did this rain come from? The lightest of misty rain, it set in for the gloomy climb to the summit of the Timber Trail. Only near the top did it get sufficiently heavy to have full raingear on. Relaxed enough, the trail was in the best condition I’d seen it and I reminded myself yet again to come back and ride it over more than half a day.

Eighty-odd kilometres of trail went by in a bit of a blur, I passed the lodge and campground mid-trail at around the time those that stay in such places hit the trail – so different people to chat to. Comments above aside, the last part from the Ongarue Spiral to the end was a fair mess. Nice to get off that and ride the deserted gravel to town and a big lunch. Many other riders were coming, eating and going from town; I enjoyed a Full English in good company at the same place I stopped on the Tour Aotearoa. Time for new roads!

Two sustained gravel climbs followed in quick succession and my legs were back – the refuelling must have helped, as did the mild closer-to-forecast temperatures, as I caught up to, chatted with and eventually passed a fair collection of riders. Yesterday’s dehydration effects were long gone, but the memory wasn’t – I ate and drink even more. Dropping into Ohura, I finally got to visit the much-vaunted Fiesta Food Cart. In a town where very little seems to be, let alone be open – a food cart that serves a large plate of fresh Mexican food is quite a novelty.

Thirty kilometres, mostly deserted gravel, had only the slightest of gradients to contend with. The northerly wasn’t too bad to contend with, unfortunately it was rather cloudy. A sudden drop took us down to Aria, before the last little bit of climbing for the day. Here the wind picked up and 200 kilometres into the day, the last stretch became pretty slow. I was pleased to get into Piopio (delightfully pronounced locally “Pew Pew”) in daylight. Well aware of the upcoming downpours, I scouted out some shelter on the way to find the Cossie Club – where a truly massive burger, fries and ice cream sundae were demolished. This was clearly the local and with four of us there in our riding gear devouring large volumes of food, we attracted plenty of good-humoured attention. A local dot-watcher came down to chat all things bikepacking and local AB rounds before we headed off to get out of the incoming weather. That was a far more successful day.

The rain didn’t arrive that night and I caught plenty of sleep with the wind blowing around and through my shelter. Up early and straight into a big climb out of town, it promptly started raining. The lightest rain imaginable as dark slowly gave way to a grey gloom. Gravel, native bush, farmland – all on the winding path north. At times the rain was heavy enough to don full raingear, but that didn’t usually last long. Raingear was promptly removed as, while it was head-windy, it was never cold. I’d love to go back and ride these roads again and see a bit more – so quiet and they felt so remote. Four and a half hours into the day, the first car passed me.

Shortly before ten o’clock was just in time for the breakfast menu at the Oparau Roadhouse. I arrived as the heavens opened again.

Catching up for the last five hours, and fuelling for the next six.

A few of the riders I’d passed with my early start, and that I’d not seen since Rotorua, arrived with various tales – most involving rain. With a good rest and meal in, I was ready to leave. The heavens promptly opened, so I retreated inside before eventually setting off in the rain – it soon abated and by the end of the climb up to Raglan Road I had to delayer without delay.

More great gravel backroads heading to my favourite part of the 2017 course – the coastal detour around to Raglan. Mostly dry, mostly into the wind; out of nowhere, boom, torrential downpour. From the first spits I stopped and couldn’t get my jacket on in time. Good fun, and it abated after ten minutes for the scenic coastal foray of repeated climbs and descents. Raglan by mid-afternoon for a short refuel and to get going while it was dry. That didn’t last long, another big downpour, but at least briefly the wind was less of a hindrance as the course turned east. Old Mountain Road was a new section, and being the steepest long climb of the route one of my favourite parts.

From the summit, Hamilton was within touching distance east; we promptly turned north, back into the wind for quite the dog leg to Ngaruawahia. Just the sort of thing I’d do, and did do, when course-setting. Joining the paved river trail at the northern-most point of the ride, the whole day’s toil into the wind paid back in spades. A very helpful push had me in Hamilton as dark descended, in time for a large dinner. It may have rained again. I’d long ago lost count of the raingear-on, raingear-off routine.

I was definitely making a point of eating well, and all was well on a big day.

Into the dark through the tedious cycle-path route out of Hamilton to Cambridge, it rained again but the wind was still mostly helpful. Nearing eleven o’clock I considered the last hundred-plus kilometres back to Rotorua, the ominous thunder-storm heavy forecast, crossing the Mamakus at night and opted for finding some shelter and finishing this thing in the daylight. Very happy with a big 255 km day in less than ideal conditions – just a pity about the lack of photos.

To my surprise I slept late and was not properly going until six-thirty, keen for the familiar path back to Rotorua. The multitude of small hills to Arapuni felt good, I was disappointed not to see my magpie nemesis. Second breakfast at the Cow Cafe in Putaruru is now a tradition, and a thoroughly good one. The wind was still at my back and I hardly even got rained on – it was a grand morning to finish up, especially learning later of all the thunderstorms I’d managed to avoid the previous night. Even the blockades on Cecil Rd weren’t as bad as expected and running down the hill to town I was pleased to find I had plenty left in the tank.

Finishing in three days and six hours-ish, it was great to see Pete, Roger and Chris there and just sit in some sunshine for a while sharing stories, before another big meal. While things didn’t go quite as planned that first afternoon, I got to ride my bike a lot, see plenty, learn loads, share the ride with others and actually finish it this year – fantastic. Thanks to Pete for organising it all, I look forward to the next such ride.

Thanks to Roger for bordered photos.

around home, food, friends, hiking, NZ, shoulder

Whirinaki Hiking

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Before heading south to ride the Great Southern Brevet, Steve and I had set aside the following weekend to go hiking in the Whirinaki Forest. Still fatigued all week from the brevet, it didn’t seem like a good idea. But as it happened, a weekend walking with a light pack through beautiful native forest was just the tonic.

Perusing maps and brochures, I came up with this vague plan; it happened to be what Steve had in mind too.

I had Friday off work for my shoulder MRI in Hastings (the dye injection was horrible, the MRI went well – completely different in details to the one I had in the UK seven years ago), so was left in charge of food. Planning only a two night summer trip, there was plenty of room for fresh items – I made sure we would not starve.

The ache in my shoulder lessened enough to drive out and meet Steve at work; an hour of Napier-Taupo Road before turning north for forty minutes of gravel brought us to the trailhead right on the Hawke’s Bay – Bay of Plenty boundary, having climbed to the watershed at about 900 m. The walk into Central Whirinaki Hut that evening was a glorious and easy ten kilometres. From the start, we lost altitude over half the distance on a wide well-maintained trail to reach the Whirinaki River, which we followed to the hut.

It was a balmy evening for walking, and we were soon impressed by the number and variety of both large native trees and ferns. I don’t know that I’ve seen so many different ferns in such number in one place that I saw over the next two days and fifty kilometres. My left thigh gave me a bit of gip that evening going downhill, most unusual – thankfully I’d put in my ski/hiking poles and they helped no end, that niggle didn’t bother me the following days.

Friday evening and we didn’t see another soul that night – so we had the entire large hut to ourselves, a bunk room each. Luxury. It also meant we didn’t have to worry about disturbing anyone’s slumber as we turned up, cooked and ate a small pile of nachos well after dark.

I got outside in the morning for a hut photo before the rain came in.

A stone’s throw away from the hut was the river and wonderfully there were two pairs of whio (blue ducks) slowly making their way upstream finding breakfast as they went.

Endangered, these ducks are also rare among water birds in that they live year-round on fast flowing rivers.

Thanks to Steve for the video.

The rain persisted as we set off, but it was inconsequential under the vast canopy. The trail tended down as we loosely followed the river. It seemed that a lot of the cuttings made to smooth the gradient weren’t really necessary – the walking was easy. There was even a tunnel!

Outrageous.

Did I mention there were ferns?

A short diversion had us standing on a bridge above the thundering Whirinaki Falls, alas there was no lookout spot. We left the Whirinaki River to turn to walk up a tributary – Mangamate Stream. With that we left the crowds behind; that morning we’d seen two men (and a dog) heading up to do some pest control and a group of five walking up to Central Hut, we were to see no one else for another twenty-four hours. Knowing we were about to get our feet wet, it seemed a good time break for lunch.

Quite a spread it was too; hooray for short hiking trips when much fresh food can be carried.

The trail notes told us we’d be following the stream most of the way up to the hut and to expect more than sixty crossings.

Finding the orange marker, I contemplated all the crossings to come before wading in. It was luxuriously warm, and like most of the crossings to come – around my knee-height.

I took to counting stream crossings, but that became difficult when much of the time the trail was simply walking up the watercourse. I was well pleased that we were doing this in the height of summer and it was a clear, warm day. For about six kilometres we did our best to follow the elusive orange markers upstream. Along the way the trail often disappeared and we were left immersed in toe-toe (cutty grass, pronounced “toy-toy”), failing to avoid nettles and, most of all, brushing increasingly-sensitive leg hairs across hook grass.

Oh, there’s the marker. I guess we’re walking up the stream again. A welcome respite from the hook grass.

We escaped from the sea of toe-toe!

Finding the site of the previous hut, we left the now-much-smaller stream and climbed to the hut. A couple of hundred metres to climb was a nice change from picking our way through water, rocks and grass and a suitable way to work up an appetite before suddenly emerging from the bush at a saddle to find the hut. For the record, I stopped counting at eighty stream crossings when the stream became small enough to barely get my boots wet.

Once again, our digs for the night were otherwise deserted. (Mangamate Hut)

Looking north as the day ends, in much more friendly grass.

Not a bad spot to devour more of the food we’d hauled in, all in the name of lightening the load for the following day of course.

Reading in fading light back-issues of the Auckland University Tramping Club magazine left in the hut showed a few things. Firstly, this area had been well visited by the club. Secondly, hunting orange markers, masses of hook grass and having wet feet were all part of getting here. Thirdly, I really should have done/do more hiking – while it’s not biking, it can be surprisingly good fun (I can imagine the eye-rolls that comment is getting from certain people).

With an earlier night’s sleep, we got away a bit earlier the next morning to walk down from the other side of the saddle. The morning would mostly be spent following a stream down a valley, before picking up another to walk up the next valley. At times the trail was wide and well-defined, but mostly it was not and occasionally downright difficult to find. Two more hours of hook grass exclamations and I decided it wasn’t too hot to wear trousers and save my hair – why did I not do that earlier? I could just walk straight through everything non-plussed and use far less energy not carefully maneuvering legs to avoid the dreaded hooks.

Steve carrying a relatively low inventory.

Upper Whirinaki Hut – only subtlety different to the previous night’s hut.

Stopping to lunch at the hut, we met the group of five that we’d seen the previous morning. We were lucky to escape with our lives, as our ample lunch consisting of such delicacies as fresh produce and cheese had our new acquaintances turning green. We didn’t hang around to see if we’d be skinned alive for daring to pull such items out of our packs.

Another kilometre of river walking, we crossed the Whirinaki River one last time and contemplated the climb back to the car. It was steep, but the most challenging and enjoyable hiking of the weekend. Climbing over three hundred metres in less than a mile probably should have been harder and less fun than it was. Thankfully we’d eaten most of the food by then and our packs were light, also the trail, while steep, was easy enough to follow.

The birdlife changed too, wood pigeon (kereru) up here.

Disappearing in seas of ferns is preferable to cutty grass.

Up on the ridge, we began to get a better impression of the vastness and density of the bush we’d walked through. As well as finding it was a pretty warm day.

One final pose, near another big tree – there were plenty of those.

Slight undulations took us back to the main track just short of the car with plenty of time to get home before dark. A fantastic weekend of walking in sublime native New Zealand forest; great food, company, birdlife and weather really helped more. I may have to do a bit more hiking – if only to recover after a week of intense bikepacking! Now to get back there again and do a longer loop, or take the bike.

family, food, friends, NZ, snow

A Birthday Trip – Finally

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After fifteen years of annual Birthday Trips (Adele and her friend Theresa share a birth date and have marked the occasion with various wilderness trips since the start of university), I finally made it along to one.

Otago is a long way to go for just a weekend, so I took a week off work and headed down for the Birthday Trip and other winter adventures. My first snow holiday in six and a half years – well overdue.

Meadow Hut out the back of the Snow Farm on the Pisa Range was booked out way back in February. Saturday morning, nineteen of us (including five intrepid children) left Snow Farm on the four kilometre route to the hut. Some of us were on touring skis with skins, others on skinnier skis and some on snowshoes. I assume due to differences in pace, we separated into two groups – skiers and snowshoers (which did have a couple of skiers along to help corral children).

The weather started to turn as we left and quickly deteriorated. Thankfully, we weren’t carrying heavy packs – most of our gear and food was coming in by snowmobile. The clouds rolled in and it started snowing, big wet heavy flakes. On the final stretch to the hut the wind funneled down the valley and the situation rather turned into a blizzard. The wind so strong and the snow so wet, every flake hitting one in the face elicited distinct pain.

Thankfully, the hut was not really that far away. We bundled in and got the fire going as we thawed out. Some hardier souls than I, and more experienced & useful, headed back out into the storm to help the families. Drama ensued due to the horrible conditions; children were bundled into backpacks and arrived in the hut rather quiet. The snowmobile was somehow rolled off the side of the trail, landing on the staff member’s head. He was OK. Those of us out there had to help right it, unpack the trailer, move all the luggage up the bank and reload it.

Eventually, all were safely in the hut and warming up. Finally there, a lovely afternoon and evening sheltering from the storm around the fire commenced. The beauty of the luggage being carted in for us was that we had hearty amounts of food and drink. Sharing numerous different curries, we ate well, chatted and played card games.

Most slept well, the storm blew out during the night, the snow groomer drove past at some horrendously early hour and woke us, and a bluebird day dawned. A lazy start to the day was spent breakfasting, packing and assembling for Sunday adventures. Those on snowshoes headed out to play in the snow; while those on skis also left to enjoy a bit of ski-touring further out on the Pisas.

With plenty of skinning up hills, we found some nice turns and fantastic views back over the Cardrona Valley. I enjoyed my first ski-touring in over seven years as exploring various routes over the hills, down into little valleys and eventually back to the route we’d skied in on the previous day. All made it back to the cars suitably spent.

A fun little trip with great people – excellent to finally make it on such a trip. For the actual birthday, we headed up to Treble Cone for a day of resort skiing. The snow was good, although the visibility worsened in the afternoon – we headed back to Naseby for birthday dinner.