GBI day 8: There and Back Again

20Jun08
GBI, Kaiaraara Tramp

It's nice to spend the night in the Kaiaraara hut, even if I never get the fire lit. We sleep like logs, waking up towards morning to the sounds of rain. By 8:30 am it's no longer possible to screw our eyes tightly shut enough to ignore the hazy light filtering in through the east windows of the bunkroom. We munch granola bars mechanically and drink a bit of tea while waiting for our brains to catch on to the fact that it's daytime.

The rain sputters on and off, but is just strong enough to make us put on rain gear as we leave the hut. Inevitably, this means it stops within 5 minutes. It won't pick up to the same level until we reach Mount Hobson.

Our route back to the car follows a different track from the hut to Mount Hobson, then we plan to retrace the rest of our original path back to the parking lot. It'll be a bit different scenery-wise, and (we hope) let us avoid the worst parts of yesterday's descent.

We start out by backtracking a few steps to gaze on the last stream we forded. In the daylight, the trail entrance on the other side is blindingly obvious, and we realize that all of the crossings we struggled with were probably easy given sufficient light. Somewhat chagrined, we turn down today's path, following the Old Forest Road for perhaps 5 minutes before turning onto South Fork.

Old Forest Road is an easy walk, being an old jeep/logging trail, but it's not especially scenic or interesting, and we are glad that we've bailed on our original tramp plans which would have had us following the road for several hours today. South Fork trail is much prettier, and we are shortly walking beside rushing streams under the native nikau palms, listening to birds and evaluating the best places to cross.

Our hours following South Fork take us from low, lush wet streams up around the edges of some of GBI's higher mountains, and across a nice wire-mesh-bottomed "swing bridge". We first spy the bridge from a spot high up on a hillside. It's obvious that the bridge is not the usual wooden edifice by the very slow passage of a couple of hikers across it. We can't quite tell the details at that distance, but it's rather evident that the bridge's construction demands considerable attention to crossing.

At the point I notice this, Christina says brightly: "Oh, yeah! I read that this track has one of those bridges!" She seems a bit more excited by the prospect than I am. In the end the bridge is no big deal. It's a bit disconcerting walking across a bridge with such a sway - at the middle you find yourself several feet lower than at the ends, but other than the rocking of the wire mesh, it's not so bad. Christina does get hooted at when halfway across, though. It turns out to be the guys we saw crossing it earlier. They've bushwhacked their way up a nearby mountain and are eating lunch from a spot near the top. They yell and wave cheerily, then we are on our way.

Shortly thereafter, the South Fork trail becomes rather rougher, and we are again clambering up steep slopes writhing with exposed tree roots. Unlike Palmer's track, the last several hundred meters up Mount Hobson are not filled in with boardwalks. There are lots of tiny wooden stakes with pinkish-orange splotches to guide us, but little else in the way of help.

As we near the top of Mount Hobson, the rain comes on again, and we put our rain jackets back on. The clouds are thick and we are shortly rather wet. There'll be no grand views from the top today, either. I begin to suspect that it's pretty much always raining on Mount Hobson. A few days later the proprietor of the Claris grocery store confirms my suspicions, rolling her eyes at my question.

Though it means we're back on the same path we've already walked, we're glad to see the return of the boardwalk, as our feet are tired and we're moving slower than desired. It's nearly an hour before we're back down out of Mount Hobson's rain "halo".

Looking back at the cluster of peaks, we can see the clouds pass swiftly across them, dumping loads of moisture before drifting off across the island. Looking forward to our left and to our right, we can see the late-afternoon sun shining on the beaches and small floodplains. We are tired but happy to be past the halfway point for the day.

The rest of the tramp is a muddy trot through reddish early evening light, punctuated by the occasional stop for photos and to rest our tired feet. We pass between the high walls of Windy Canyon in virtual twilight before reaching the haven of our van.

After what seems like a long drive, we arrive at the island's pub - The Currach. I toss down a very tasty hamburger and fries, while Christina eats lamb shank and potatoes. We linger as long as we can in the welcome warmth and the feeling of anonymous sociability, half-listening to the conversations of the few locals in tonight, before driving back to the Medlands campsite and collapsing for the night.