(Record of trip, as kept by Alex. Luke and Jack Ussher.)

"And there in Mire and puddle have I stood." – Marlowe.

Contrary to expectations (?) all arrived at the station on time, packs were loaded into the Guard’s van, and seats obtained without a hitch. Jack Murray and Rudwin France were there to see up off. Entertained the occupants of our coach by singing, lead by Jack U. Despite the crowd and our hob-nailed boots we were among the first to reach the Refreshment Room at Clinton. Mr. and Mrs. Luke were there to see us.

At Gore Jack and a few helpers scoured the town for a few pies while the rest transferred the packs on to the Kingston train. Bill said farewell to his newly found Uncle. No singing on the Central train – the seats were too hard and besides, the audience wasn’t very appreciative. Tom was quite happy tho’ talking to the ex. General Manager of Railways (or something).

Trip through the Waimea Plains not very interesting, except for the fact that we passed close to the Ussher ancestral home. Comment by someone to the effect that "Funny things happen in Timbuctoo sometimes, also!"

At Athol we were greeted by a great big smile, beneath which was Jen Cowan with some eggs but no ice-cream. After Lumsden, where we had afternoon tea the journey was remarkable only for the discussion by certain members of the party on the evidences of past glaciation, and the general speculation as to the amount of snow we were likely to encounter on the Harris Saddle, since all the peaks surrounding the valley were quite thickly covered.

Arrived at Kinston and were more or less pushed onto the "Earnslaw" by the pressure of the crowd behind us, although some good work by Tom on the Ticket Collector didn’t exactly pass unnoticed, especially by some other passengers! Calm and pleasant trip up the lake.

Met at Queenstown by Malcom Templeton and Col. Angus, who provided transport for our packs from the wharf to the School, where were to spend the night in company of the S.S. Teachers Conference people. Mild panic when it was discovered, just after we arrived that the corned-beef was missing. Tom disappeared at the height of the commotion but returned half an hour later from the direction of the "Earnslaw" with the missing victuals "tucked underneath ‘is arm."

After tea, the party split up into two’s and three’s – each group going its own way. Some claimed afterwards (when challenged) that they’d spent the entire evening watching trout and the Teal ducks at the water-front. Fascinating things, ducks! After some initial disturbances, most of us got to ‘sleep’ on the straw mattresses.

FRIDAY, DECEMBER, 27th 1946:

Up early, breakfast of bacon and eggs with the S.S. folk and away to the wharf, Col again taking our packs in his car. Big crowd travelling on the boat, including many other tramping parties, most of whom, however, were going up the Dart and the Rees Valleys. Very cold wind on the lake so we provided ourselves with a shelter by tying an old tarpaulin across the deck in the ship’s bows. Crouched behind this, we passed the time away by singing: This helped to keep the crowd away too. When we say 'we crouched’ behind our windbreak, we should say ‘all but Tom crouched’. Tom persisted in bobbing up every mile or so to see weather Mt. Earnslaw was still there or not, each time banging his head on a block. When eventually we did see Earnslaw, it was indeed a grand sight – snow-capped, but free of cloud and gleaming white at the head of the lake. Nevertheless, only Tom considered it worth banging his head to see. The boat made several calls on the way – delivering mail and shearers to the various sheep stations. At our second-last stop, Elfin Bay, we suspect that there were few among up who harboured treasonous thoughts – wishing that they were seeing the Bay for the last time! At Kinlock we were informed by the bus proprietor that it would be several hours before he could take us to the head of the valley, since he had to take the sight-seers up and back first. We had lunch beside the lake (amid the millions of sand-flies fluttering and dancing in the breeze) and decided to leave our packs with some other trampers and set off on foot, arranging for the bus to pick us up where it found us. This we did, and had walked for about 8 miles before being picked up. Rewarded by a 3pound reduction in the fare.

Because of the delay it was well after 5.30 when we left the road for the Routeburn Huts – the sun had left the valley’s and consequently we missed much of the reputed beauty of the beech forest through which the track passed. Packs averaged 50 lbs. and not a few found the going rather heavy, although the walk was only five miles long. Finally we crossed the Routeburn River – we say again – we crossed the Routeburn River and reached the huts, to find them full almost to capacity. It appears that these huts are never quite full, tho’ because we all manages to squeeze in. It was necessary for some to sleep on the floor but with the prospect of worse to come this they did without murmur.

SATURDAY, DECEMBER, 28th 1946:

Three parties left for Howden, via the Harris Saddle early in the morning, leaving us the Huts to ourselves. Spent the day "Rambling" up the right branch of the Routeburn Valley – a rugged, narrow, but rather pretty valley flanked by high peaks and numerous water-falls. Had light lunch in a sheltered sub-valley. Three of the keener types climbed to the snow-line on one of the peaks and returned a couple of hours later sadder and wiser (and more tired), stoutly maintaining that distances and heights are very deceptive. Returned to the Huts in time for tea after a number of unexplained deviations in the bush. Just before we retired to the night some highly discouraged trampers returned from the Harris Saddle. It was far too dangerous, they said.

SUNDAY, DECEMBER, 29th 1946:

Rose at 4.30, had breakfast and were ready for the track by 6.30. Bill not well. It must have been something he’d eaten!!! (That taught him to respect the sausage ration!) He decided not to hold the trip up, though, and so pressed on regardless (and reward less). Spent some 30 minutes looking for the "wicked (t)" gate which wasn’t. Steady and very steep climb for about an hour until we cleared the bush-line. Rewarded by a magnificent view down both arms of the Routeburn Valley into which the sun had recently crept, dispersing the last of the early morning mist. Next hour or so easy going but monotonous, through shallow, swampy valley leading to Lake Harris. The lake was roughly half covered with ice and the faces above it – in the direction of the route to the saddle – appeared to be well coated with both ice and relatively new snow. Spent 30 minutes beside the lake resting, eating, re-arranging packs and surveying the route to the saddle for the easiest ‘path’. To the left of the Lake was a cliff some 150’ high, surmounted by a sloping, rounded spur, completely covered with ice and directly on the route to the saddle. Some misgivings by most, except Jack, who seemed to revel in the thought of the crossing. (All sorts of predictions made as to the end Jack will meet some day).

First snow-field encountered was easy of ascent, although rope was used – more for practice than anything else. Even with the rope Ken managed to slide quite a way. Ken not amused! The second – the one immediately above the cliff which formed the lake wall was not so easy. It appeared to be about 200’ across, although we couldn’t see its entire extent, and had some rather rotten patches at intervals along its visible length. A party of six, - Jack, Alex, Bill, Keith, Doug. Walton and Charlie – with Jack lending set out to cross it with the aid of rope and axe. Slow going, and after a bit of indecision they finally reached the spur which would take them out of sight, to find that only a few yards remained. They then moved down towards the edge of the cliff to a big overhanging rock while the others, not wishing to attempt the crossing if another way offered skirted the cliff-top where the water running off the ice had cleared the rock. To a position immediately below the first party. By means of the rope Tom was hauled up in the angle formed by the rock and the ice, cutting steps for the others as he went. After the packs had been hauled up by those on top the process of getting the remaining five members up was completed without difficulty. The whole crossing had taken about an hour, so only a few minutes spent resting before we pressed on again. Had only gone a few yards when Tom crumpled up with cramp in his legs. Stout kicking by the Rugby cum Medical section soon had him on his feet. Once through the saddle and on to the western side we had a marvellous view of the entire length of the Lower Hollyford Valley, from Christina to the West Coast. Scarcely a cloud in the sky. After a short rest we set off on the long pull to Lake Mackenzie, travelling almost due South towards the junction of the Upper and Lower Hollyford Valleys. Caught occasional glimpses of P.W.D. camps, and the Hollyford road, as well as views of the openings of the Greenstone and Eglington Valleys. By the time we came in sight of Mackenzie, Bill was badly in need of a meal, but it was decided in the mist – in any case, wood was almost unobtainable. Nine of the party began the 2000’odd feet descent intending to have a meal ready when Bill arrived at the Lake. They underestimated the distance and in addition, lost themselves in the dense bush, and finally sat down to a meal of hard-boiled eggs, raisins etc. Meanwhile the remaining three had also had a light ‘snack’ of dried apples and biscuits and were almost at the Lake’s edge when they heard the others shouting in the distance. Result, both parties reached the Lake at the same time. Too late to go to Howden so prepared to spend the night in the open, the weather looking quite settled. Despite our forecast, rain fell during the night and Jack Ussher wakened at 12.30 to find his bag wet. He went the rounds of the sleeping ‘bods’ and found three others in a similar state. With these, he spent three hours drying out before the fire, getting back to bed again somewhere about 4 a.m.

MONDAY, DECEMBER, 30th 1946:

Rain had ceased when we arose but were glad to leave the place behind us all the same. Packs in the region of 40lbs. so that goodtime was made although the climb out of the valley was rather stiff. Kept above the bush-line and just below the mist all morning. By midday we were in sight of the Earland Falls. Had light lunch while admiring them, and then on once more, gradually descending into the bush shortly after we passed them. At Howden we were greeted by millions of sandflies who showed their appreciation of the good show we put on when approaching the hut by becoming closely attached to us. Myllol proved its worth. Wood was scarce but we soon collected enough for ourselves and every other party likely to come there for ourselves and every other party likely to come there for months to come. After dinner we were forced to move on by the sandflies. Climbed out of the valley and on to the track once more, with the party tramping in much better order, keeping close together all the way till we reached the road from Cascade to Marion at a point just short of the Great Divide. At this point, 1,740 ft above sea level, the streams part – one going west to the coast, the other east to the opposite coast. The three miles from this spot to Camp Marion was the hardest on the feet we’d encountered. Marion Camp would have housed several hundred men in its prime days but now contains a mere dozen or so. It is a dismal spot – in the shadow of Mt. Christina – and absolutely alive with sandflies. We were allotted a three-roomed, rather dingy hut by the supervisor, but were thankful for the fact that the roof was sound. During the course of our preparation for the evening meal Alex. Drove a none-too-small nail into his foot, severing a small artery. Prompt action by himself in stopping the bleeding and by Doug. In getting the wound dressed prevented any complications; but for several days, although he wouldn’t admit it, his foot must have given him considerable pain. Stores we were to have picked up at Marion had not arrived, and after a phone call to Cascade had brought no results we had to resign ourselves to spending a whole day waiting for them.

During the night Jack Ussher developed symptoms similar to those displayed by Bill two days before and consequently spent the day resting in his bag – company for Alex. Anyway even if his playfulness was missed by the others. After lunch Tom, Henry, Doug. Walton and Jack Keen set out for Cascade to get the missing supplies. They were given a ride by a passing motorist after having walked for a couple of miles. They left Cascade at 6.30 with packs weighing approximately 40 lbs. each, and again after walking for 4-5 miles, were given a ride. They reported that in contrast to Marion, where it had been more or less damp and overcast all day, they had enjoyed bright sunshine at Cascade. During their absence a couple of the party more or less distinguished themselves in the field of dietetics. Ken fought a noble, though losing battle with a billy-full of carefully washed dried peas but no blame was attached to him, because, it was not the first time the peas had tried to escape, Ken wasn’t too happy about it but no one wanted the peas, anyway. Keith, on the other hand made his name – not by depriving us of our food value – but by discovering an ingenious way of administering vitamins, proteins, carbohydrates, fats, mineral salts and roughage all in the one dose, or dish, whichever one prefers to call it. This took the form of a "Breading Pudding". The fact that several useful articles and commodities were missing the next day wasn’t complained about, because some of those who partook on the "pudding" attribute their feats of strength and endurance to its potency.

After another good breakfast, Henry trying to outdo Keith with his ration of prunes, we set off on the long uphill tramp to Homer Camp and Tunnel. By the time we reached Monkey Flat and sat down to lunch it began to rain and so when we set off again we had our raincoats on for the first time. They made the walking hot work. By the time Homer was reached we were straddling somewhat and feeling a bit the worse for wear under our 55-60 lbs. Soon recovered, however, and after tea had a look-see at the tunnel and surroundings. Greatly impressed by the damage done by the 1939 avalanche; almost incredible when one remembers that it was not snow which caused the collapse of the tunnel approach, but merely pressure of air preceding the snow. The former P.W.D camp – twice the size of Marion – is now in a bad state of disrepair, much damage having been done by snow and falling rocks, etc. The camp was situated at the head of a typical glacial cirque, immediately at the foot of the talus slopes descending from the surrounding peaks. From the door of the Alpine Club’s Hut the mountains from left to right are: MacPherson, Barrier, Crosscut, Christina, Park and Talbot – the last being behind the hut. Played cards in the evening, and had a discussion on the merits or demerits of the freedom allowed children in the public schools today. Jack vainly tried to point our (backed up in small degree by Doug. Waugh) that the word freedom was, if not a misnomer, at least misunderstood by the average ‘outsider’. Tom not convinced. More lively debate on "Make-up and the Modern Girl" – Jack Ussher again in the fore.

THURSDAY, JANUARY, 2nd 1947:

Set out in brilliant sunshine. The tunnel wasn’t as bad to negotiate as we’d been led to expect; the floor was rough, and the roof not far above Keith’s head, but by hanging on to each other’s packs and straining to catch a glimpse of the elusive torches we managed to stumble our way through, without accident or without getting unduly wet. Although some expressed doubt at the wisdom of putting the tunnel through at all, we were all agreed that it was better than the old method of getting to Milford down a 400 foot sheer cliff on the end of a rope. Road from the tunnel to Milford very steep on parts and exceedingly rough on the feet. Many half wrecked P.W.D. Camps on the wayside as well as piles of equipment – wheel barrows and the like. Had lunch at a spot just over half way to the Milford wharf. Made our first acquaintance with the ferocious Milford sandflies. Late in the afternoon the advance party ‘overshot’ the camp by half a mile and had to retrace their steps, meeting the slow pack just at the camp entrance. Excellent camp, ¾ mile from the Hotel, on the bank of the Cleddau River; several small huts, and one large one as well as a kitchen provided with a huge table and good fireplace etc. After tea walked to the Hotel to enquire about the possibility of getting to the Sutherland Falls, and about launch trips. Launch trips O.K. but no chance of reaching the Sutherlands.

Friday, JANUARY, 3rd 1947:

Raining – dozens of waterfalls appeared on the slopes above and around the camp. Walked to the Hotel and saw the Bowen Falls in action. Not a great volume of water but what there was, was shooting out over the ledge into the sound with considerable force. A great sight. Apres midi walked across the mud flats to the Arthur River. Saw a raft consisting of four 44 gal. drums, wood and wire, constructed by the Tararua Tramping Club when refused a passage across the river. Made arrangements for a launch trip the next day. Mitre Peak shrouded in mist all day.

SATURDAY, JANUARY,4th 1947:

Early breakfast and off to the wharf. Launch set out at 10.30 for the mouth of the sound on a sight-seeing and fishing trip. Weather imperfect, with occasional rain, much low cloud and a cold wind blowing. Were taken to the entrance and back again almost immediately. Spent the rest of the time till 5 p.m. fishing. Had difficulty in finding bottom with our lines. Caught several blue cod, two soldiers, one butterfish, and some Jock Stuarts. A few played cards in the evening, the others doing some ‘spine-bashing’ in the sleeping quarters. Rae McNicol invited to the Hotel to entertain the guests on the piano for the evening. Reputed to have returned about 11 p.m. but since he brought some badly needed cigarettes very few questions were asked. All others in bed by 10 o’clock.

SUNDAY, JANUARY, 5th 1947:

The main course at breakfast, for those who liked it, was boiled fish – for those who didn’t the smell sufficed. Quiet morning largely devoted to domestic duties. Took a slow stroll in the afternoon and were impressed by the lack of variety among the birds inhabiting the valleys. A few tuis and bell-birds, some grey warblers, and for the rest, all that could be spotted were wood-pigeons, keas and ducks. At the camp itself, however, a weak was in almost constant attendance – for obvious motives. (What did happen to Ken’s spoon?) It was the size of a large bantam, light brown in colour, with a large beak, no wings, and a pair of legs that could outpace anyone of us. On several occasions it managed to dodge the efforts to catch it made by up to half a dozen of us. In the evening it was resolved not to shave until we returned to Dunedin. Diary brought up to date (for the first time) after tea.

MONDAY, JANUARY, 6th 1947:

The early risers found it to be an almost perfect day and so rushed to the sound to take photos of Mitre Peak etc., before it could cloud over. Rather hurried breakfast and a smart trot to the wharf to catch the launch, but as usual it was late in leaving. Called first at Sandfly to drop a small party, leaving a couple in the sound in a dingy to fish on the way across. Crossed then to Harrison’s Cove with Alex. At the helm. In response to a signal fire sighted on the beach of the Cove in the skipper went ashore returning with two mountaineers. Rest of the morning spent fishing and listening to the ‘line-shoots’ of the two climbers. Very little variety in the fish caught: Doug. Walton and Keith caught a blue cod each but the rest succeeded only in getting Jock Stuarts. Lazy afternoon reading and dodging the sandflies. Henry went to great pains (!!!) to get tea. Rae McNicol in particular raved about it. Walked around the Sound near the Bowen falls after tea, but Doug. Walton, Henry and Jack. Keen were not satisfied. They set off through the bush to get to the top of the Falls. They returned about 9.15, scratched, and out of breath just as a search party was about to go out. Once again distances and heights proved deceptive.

TUESDAY, JANUARY, 7th 1947:

On the road to Homer by 7.15; a glorious morning and until the sun came over the peaks onto the road it was ideal for tramping. Some great views through the trees of hither to obscured mountains, including Tutoki. We had covered half the distance in excellent time before the sun reached the road. The walk up-hill through the tunnel was rather unpleasant and slow as we were proceeded by a Bull-dozer towing a broken down P.W.D. truck. Bags of panic near the top when the bull-dozer stopped suddenly and the truck began to run backwards. Out party apparently contained some who were suffering from claustrophobia or something. Certainly there was little enough room to spare on either side of the truck. Arrived at the Homer end of the tunnel at 12 o’clock to find the huts unoccupied. As usual a good meal and an afternoon spent lazing in the brilliant sunshine reading and watching the many avalanches. Tom in a moment of weakness, or something, gave away some of his precious cheese to a couple of half starved climbers. Bed at 9 p.m.

WEDNESDAY, JANUARY, 8th 1947:

At 5.15 a.m. Jack Ussher was greeted by Tom’s voice – "Come on Jack, get those lazy couts up!" ringing through the dark and frosty air, from the direction of the one and only water tap. Left the camp at 7.15 with Jack Keen a mile or so in the lead, and made excellent time (almost record) to Marion. Doug’s whistling seemed to do the trick. Charlie suffering from a sprained ankle, but he pressed on regardless. Met some of J.S.U’s female friends on the road, and at Marion, Peter Dykes and Nigel Watson. Stayed at Marion only long enough to have lunch and pick up further supplies. Spent a couple of hours on the way to Howden in a diversion to the Key Summit, over looking the Eglington Valley. With its two lakes, Fergus and Gunn. Choral evening at Howden brought to a sudden close when Ken attempted to sin "I don’t want to -----" The highlight of the evening apart from its dramatic close was Ken and Bill’s rendition of "Nymphs and Shepherds".

THURSDAY, JANUARY, 9th 1947:

When we set out the weather was rather bleak but it improved somewhat in the middle of the happenings of the trip took place. Our long – jumper took the water on the first straight of the steeple chase. Reminiscent of the "Olympia" film Shaw’s second hut took some finding. It was alleged to be at the top of a gravel slope above the river. It was, but to find it the party had to split up and search dozens of gravel slopes, all of which were about a mile from the river. Raining by the time we located it. Athletic "meeting" held outside the hut in the evening, while some three or four went looking for wild geese and finding none came back and told us they’d seen some deer! Accommodation rather limited so six slept under a tree.

FRIDAY, JANUARY, 10th 1947:

Weather again somewhat dull, but it improved all day. The old "Lilliputan" argument developed between the "bare-footers" and the "boot-clads" soon after we set out on reaching the Greenstone river. Complications set in when a third faction advocated crossing in gym shoes. No agreement, so each crossed his own way, Tom, somehow or other being first across, and consequently almost able to spend an extra day in Queenstown waiting for the rest. The bush track to Lake Rere was very pretty and sufficiently easy to follow to allow the beauty to be seen and appreciated. Rather similar to the Routeburn Valley. Arrived at Rere ahead of schedule so spent a couple of hours there having lunch, a final wash before returning to civilization, followed by some more athletics. Further discussion on education, this time commending the school teachers for working such short hours (!) and being so mercenary as to take such high salaries (!!). Easy walk to Elfin Bay followed by a long wait for the boat, during which several walked to the mouth of the Greenstone. Elaborate plans for spending the evening (and the money) in Queenstown – the majority of which didn’t eventuate. Greeted in Queenstown by many unfriendly scowls and murmurings of "What hempen home-spuns have we swaggering here".

SATURDAY, JANUARY, 11th 1947:

More scowls and much laughter when we reached Dunedin on the Express.

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"Heureux qui; comme Ulysse, a fait un beau voyage." Du Bellay.

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