The First Seventy Years: 138 - On The Tramp
...I was nevertheless, somewhat surprised to be told to follow the tramp leader downstream. As this was a new experience I enquired why the leader had chosen to have us treading water. I was told that the law relating to footpaths and tracks was not as liberal as in the UK. We had reached a boundary where the only option was to retrace our footprints or walk in the stream...
Eric Biddulph and his wife Mary got somewhat damp on a hike in New Zealand.
Eric’s book The First Seventy Years can be obtained for £10 by contacting http://mary@bike2.wanadoo.co.uk or telephoning 01484-658175.
All the cash raised by the book goes to a water aid project in Malawi.
I had acquired a cyclist's tour guide on the advice of a friend from Huddersfield who was working in the country and who I had arranged to visit a week or two into the four weeks tour. I picked up on one of the routes and this took us to the lovely location of Kawakawa Bay. Over the next two days we rode through pleasant but unspectacular landscape until we came within striking distance of the small town of Cambridge.
Our son Paul, had met Greg, a Kiwi, whilst working in Leeds. Greg, having learned of our intended visit to his country of birth had invited us to stay at his parent's farm near Cambridge. I telephoned Greg's parents to find direction. Learning that they lived 20Kms on the other side of town we found ourselves struggling on a tough route, much of it earth surface, before locating the farm and arrived in a shattered state well after nightfall.
Greg took us on a tour of his father's farm on a Honda run-about with each of the tyres about thirty centimetres wide. Mary and myself sat on the rear wheel arches; Greg in the driving seat. Clinging firmly to the guardrails we sped across acres of land to the far reaches of the farm. We were invited to join Greg and his father on a 'tramp'; that's a 'ramble' to you and me.
There were around twenty people in the party; three non-natives amongst them; Mary, myself and a rather tall attractive Japanese girl. Most of the morning was taken up with the ascent of a hill through thick undergrowth with a profusion of fern. It was almost impossible to survey the landscape even from a high altitude. After a picnic lunch at the summit we began the descent, again through dense woodland until eventually reaching a stream. Although we were all pretty muddied up by this time I was nevertheless, somewhat surprised to be told to follow the tramp leader downstream. As this was a new experience I enquired why the leader had chosen to have us treading water. I was told that the law relating to footpaths and tracks was not as liberal as in the UK. We had reached a boundary where the only option was to retrace our footprints or walk in the stream.
Within a few hundred metres the water level was lapping around the bottom of my shorts; the shorter trampers amongst us experiencing wet loins. Although I was wearing walking boots I surrendered any pretence about keeping my feet dry. As if to demonstrate the hardy Kiwi character we were led through a pool which required me to lift my rucksack above my head. Meanwhile, the Japanese girl continued to look serene, much to the annoyance of her companions. When we got back to the cars all the Kiwis changed their clothes. We had to endure another hour of extreme dampness before we could enjoy the same pleasure. Did Greg and his dad know about the water tramp? Probably; deciding not to tell us knowing how soft the English can be.
