A Sideline View - the call of the wild

Brenda, Ed and Scarlett Vowden head into the bush on Easter Monday.

One of my all-time favourite things to do when I have a day to spare, apart from lazing about reading, or obviously doing nothing, is head into the bush.

And as we know in Hawke’s Bay, that means a fairly long drive before you even set foot on a track. So, on Easter Monday, which also happened to be husband Ed’s birthday, we thought we’d venture a bit further south and check out a bush walk none of us had done before - Rokaiwhana. Or is it Rokaiwhenua? I’m glad Ed was on map duty - I get lost up my own driveway. With different spellings for presumably the same place, I was already a little confused.

We checked out the reviews before we left home. They varied from ‘an easy walk’, ‘boring’, ‘my 4 and 8-year-olds did it no problem’ to ‘second half to the stream is steep’. I liked the first three, but the last comment had me worried. Although I’m semi fit, there’s something disturbing about the word ‘steep’.

It was time to put it to the test. We found the place easily enough - about 10 to 15 minutes towards the ranges from Dannevirke. A nice stop-off at the fabulous Norsewood Cafe en route had our tummies full and the trio of intrepid trekkers feeling energised for a mid-range stroll through the bush.

Well as it turned out it was neither boring nor an easy walk, and I’m not sure where those two little guys had been living, but I can’t imagine any of my kids at that age dragging their tired bones up there.

Ed and Brenda Vowden about to launch on to the Rokaiwhana track.

It started off pretty well - for a few metres anyway. And then off she went, meandering up and up and up. Then the track flattened out briefly before the odd downhill and then up, up, up she went again. Hells bells, this wasn’t what we were expecting.

Ed treks ahead at a steady pace.

Youngest daughter Scarlett was accompanying us, just out of Covid iso and feeling a renewed connection to the world. Quite possibly a bit overenthusiastic.

As it turned out, we’re happy she came along, as after finally arriving at the ‘beautiful stream’, its course clearly altered by Cyclone Gabrielle and possibly unrecognisable, we scoffed our sandwiches, fruit and chockie, and turned back. Across the large river stones, under the low-hanging branches, around a few stumps, over a puddle or two and then, hang on. Where the hell are we?

We had found ourselves on a vaguely familiar opening of fallen trees and dried riverbed. Ed went off in one direction to find signs of the track, Scarlett was certain it was the other way and silly old Mum stayed put. I could feel that nagging churn in my gut - how easy it is to get lost.

Scarlett was right - we were back on track.

It transpired that Scarlett’s instincts paid off, as did her insistence, and before long we were back on the straight and narrow - well the undulating and slippery. We were sure all those uphill trudges on the way there would be reversed on the homeward traverse, but alas. Nature was playing dirty tricks on us.

On the final descent - yes, there was a nice longish one, albeit a bit skiddy for the less shore-footed amongst us (me) - I looked up from my intense concentration to see a man with a gun. He was holding it across his body and chatting to Ed.

I have to say I was slightly startled but managed to stay calm. It turned out he had reassured Ed as soon as they came into contact that the gun was not in a position to shoot anyone - or something like that.

So after listening to tall stories of the ones that got away, and those less fortunate, we carried on towards the end of our track, craning my head backwards many times to make sure the gunman was still walking in the opposite direction.

I thought no more of it, apart from enjoying a sense of relief, when alas, what did we encounter in the carpark? Several utes with their owners, dressed in camo, mulling about with rifles aloft, excited whispers carried on the breeze. Get a grip woman, there’s a theme here. What month is it again? Maybe we’ll plan things a little better next time before we go bush in the middle of the roar.