Red Bands and Snorers: Sefton Bivvy
By: Sam Harrison
Tags: Story, Storytelling, Tramping, Hiking

Five girls stand on a rock, as naked as the day they were born. At the same time I am sitting on the biv’s shitter. The door is not closed, in fact, there is no door. There aren’t even any walls. In this vulnerable state I contemplated how my life choices had led me to this moment.

“Don’t worry Sam, none of us girls are hot enough for you to have anything to worry about”.

Rewind to Sunday night. I was getting stone walled by some folk who said they were keen to tramp Monday/Tuesday. This was a bugger of a thing because the forecast was a real beaut. Undeterred I flicked Jakob a message because I swear that guy is never able to turn down a good tramp. My hypothesis proved correct and by 9am the following day we were barreling towards Mt Cook under clear blue skies. If you’re ever looking on Apple Maps in the Twizel area keep an eye out for Suzi, we did our best to stick our tongues out for the camera.

I had managed to condense everything I needed into a 40L pack, leaving anything bulky to carry to Jakob as he needed the exercise. We could tell from the moment we set off that it was going to be a warm one and oh boy did it follow through on that one. It was a simple march down the Hooker Valley Track to begin with, passing the odd clump of domestic tourists rambling along the path.

Where is the Mueller Glacier hiding?

The appeal of the walk was understandable, as even in the summer sun the surrounding amphitheater of mountains were cloaked with snow. Glimpses of the mighty maunga Aoraki could be seen in the distance at the head of the valley. Crossing the Hooker river we met a party of old blokes sitting on their packs having a breather. A short conversation ensued and they informed us that there was a party of women in front of us on their way up to the biv. Maybe this should have been our warning to turn around, but instead I saw it as more of a race (much to Jakob’s dissatisfaction).

At Stocking Stream we motored off the hard beaten track onto a softly beaten track marked out by the occasional cairn. Nav was no difficulty at all and we made good time up the stream which began to steepen quickly as we approached the valley wall. In the distance we could see an unsuspecting collection of individuals enjoying a breather of their way up. This turned out to be the group of women, who on our approach began to make their way up the hill again. One carried a rifle on her back, whilst another was clad in red band gumboots. I didn’t quite know what to think.

We introduced ourselves and discovered this motley crew of females were a group of friends that originally studied at Massey University. That should have been a second warning sign, but no matter. It was clear that one of their party was significantly slower, even slower than Jakob. Whilst it was fun to have alternate company other than Jakob (we had already had enough of each other on the Dusky not too long prior), the pace was pretty slow so we powered on reassuring the girls we’d put a beer in the fridge for them.

After following Stocking Stream up for some way the worn route then wove through a series of rocky bluffs and scree. Jakob and I decided that anything was easy after our experience in the Florence. This was despite the fact that Jakob was seeing double; I told him in characteristic Prussian style that their was no stopping until we had secured a bunk, he could kark it after that.