Jimmy Learns to Let Go

“Hey, you guys, how about we go for a hike up in the Tararua Range”, Jimmy says while he and his younger brother Trevor and their friend DeeMac are cleaning up after an afternoon exploring the local hills, a mixture of plantation pine trees and some regenerating native forest. 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” says DeeMac. “But it’s tough country up there, my dad says. He won’t take me up there on his hunting trips. He says I need to be older and stronger, and I should go on properly organised club trips first.”

“I think I’d agree with that,” says Trevor. “Based on what I’ve heard, anyway.”

“Oh yeah,” sneers Jimmy. “Who have you been talking to? Who do you know who hikes up there?”

“My geography teacher at school. He belongs to the Hutt Valley Tramping Club and leads club trips into the mountains. He’s told us a lot about how the mountains and rivers were formed, and the types of trees and other plants that grow there. He wants to run school trips but says the Board of Trustees won’t let him. They say it’s too risky.”

“I still reckon we can do it,” says Jimmy. 

“Let’s see what Dad thinks,” says Trevor. “He used to hike up there when he was younger. Before he had a family, he says.”

“When did he tell you that,” demands Jimmy, showing a sudden flash of anger. “He’s never mentioned it to me.”

“You should talk to him more then. You have to catch him when he’s in a good mood. If you go out and help him in the vege garden, he’ll start telling you about his childhood and other stuff.”

“I hate gardening,” says Jimmy. 

“You hate everything that isn’t your own idea,” says Trevor. “And you don’t listen to what people are saying anyway. If it’s not your idea and you can’t be in charge, you just walk away.”

“Do not.”

“Do too.”

“Stop acting like three year olds,” says DeeMac. “Anyway, I have to go. Talk to your father and see what he thinks about heading into the hills. I’ll talk to my dad.”

Gordon says he has no problems with the boys joining a club and going on properly organised, well-lead hikes. But he bans any trips on their own into the Tararua Forest Park. DeeMac’s father says much the same thing, so the trio join a hiking club. They take a few organised trips, learn what to pack and what not to pack, how to cross rivers, negotiate steep riverbanks, how and where to set up camps if they’re not using the huts, and how to spot the numerous risks.

Jimmy keeps pressing his parents to let them hike into the ranges on their own. The answer is always “not yet”. His frustration grows. Gordon is suspicious when Jimmy tells him the club safety officer has said they are ready to venture out on their own. Gordon checks with the club and is told they could do trips up to the point where two rivers merge as one: it’s an overnight weekend expedition with a few challenges to keep it interesting. Beyond that would still be beyond their skills at this stage. The area has a reputation for treacherous weather and difficult terrain. Trevor gets even more offside with his older brother when he says he feels they are not yet ready. 

Finally, the club safety officer says they are ready to do the basic overnight trek. Jimmy insists on being trip leader. He is a speed tramper. His sole desire is to get from one place to another as quickly as possible. That’s the only plan they need, he says.

Trevor and DeeMac want to stop, camp, take it slowly, explore the forest around them. Catch a trout or an eel and have a good feed. 

They start taking the weekend hikes for granted. Gordon warns them that their hasty decisions and lack of preparation will get them into trouble. They tell him to stop fretting. Jimmy argues with him and says he knows what he’s doing. They make several trips into the mountains during summer, with no problems or drama. 

But on the last trip before winter closes in Jimmy, the self-designated Trip Leader, persuades them to head for the hills at short notice. “We all know what to pack,” he tells them. “Just bring what you want.” 

Gordon drops them off at the start of the track early in the morning. “Pick you up here at 5 o’clock tomorrow afternoon” he tells them. 

 The walk up the lower reaches of the river valley is uneventful. 

“This is getting boring,” says Jimmy. “We need to find new routes. Explore further in.”

The others agree, but say they think they need to go on more organised club trips before they tackle the more difficult terrain up river. Jimmy starts sulking, and marches on ahead of the other two.

They catch up him as the sun drops below the ridge line, about an hour before it gets properly dark. Jimmy has chosen a camping spot not far from the track, a high spot across a dried-up river channel on a clear patch in otherwise rock-strewn higher ground in the river valley. The river itself is flowing about thirty metres away, in a channel following the far bank. The sky is clear, and there is no wind. It isn’t raining. They all agree it is a safe place to stop for the night.

Then the bickering starts. “Did anyone pack milk powder,” Jimmy asks. “I thought you had it,” says Trevor. DeeMac says he hasn’t got any. No-one has packed the chocolate drink either. But they do have three servings of freeze-dried beef stew, some oatmeal for breakfast, a packet of digestive biscuits, and some dried fruit that can be soaked overnight to go with the oatmeal. Also on the plus side, they have two small tents, and they have all packed their own plates and eating utensils, sleeping bags and ground sheets. 

Jimmy blames the others for not “thinking it through”. “Someone should have made a list of all the things we would need,” he screams at them. “And given all of us our own lists of what we would be responsible for.”

“You’re the trip leader,” says DeeMac. “That was your job. I packed the stuff I thought I would need and assumed you and Trev would organise everything else. You do live in the same house, after all.”

Jimmy starts shouting again. Trev interrupts, suggests they should all calm down and just make the best of what they have. They have enough food for that night and the next morning. They can cut the trip short and hike out by lunchtime tomorrow if they want to.

DeeMac agrees, privately thinking it’s better to keep the peace than attack Jimmy. That can be left until they get home and have a proper debrief.

They are tucking into their dinner when a solo hiker walks quickly into the camp.

“You’re not settling here for the night, are you?” he asks.

“Sure” says Jimmy. “Looks safe enough.”

“You should move. It’s raining up top. This place will be under water later tonight.”

“Looks good enough to me,” says Jimmy again. The others agree. Cloudless sky, gentle breeze, nothing to suggest there might be problems.

“Suit yourselves” says the tramper. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” he adds as he walks on. “I’ll let people know where I last saw you.”

The veiled warning doesn’t deter Jimmy. DeeMac and Trevor aren’t too concerned either, even when it starts raining not long after sunset.

But about two o’clock the next morning, Jimmy is halfway into the tent shared by DeeMac and Trevor. “There’s water in my tent,” he says. “We have to get out of here.”

“Shit,” say Trevor and DeeMac.

Rushing, stuffing essentials into packs. Putting wet-weather gear on. Leaving the tents behind. Trip Leader sets out to see if they can get onto the track.

“Can’t do it,” he says. “The channel is too deep. It’s really rushing.”

Stumbling, tripping, heading for the other bank.

Water rushing along the channel on that side, too.

“It’s probably not too deep yet” says DeeMac. “I took a look at it after we set up the tents, and there’s higher ground on the other side of the channel.”

They find a drift-wood branch long and sturdy enough for the three of them to hold on to. Trip Leader as anchor upstream. DeeMac in the middle. Trevor downstream.

Jimmy stumbles. DeeMac keeps him upright. Then stumbles. Trevor’s left hand lets go of the pole, reaches out to steady DeeMac. Trevor’s feet are swept out from under him.

He starts bouncing down the swollen river. Bumping into rocks. Training kicks in. Yes, his pack is still keeping him afloat. Don’t ditch it yet. Keep your legs up, but relaxed. Use them to bounce you around the boulders. Stay calm.

Then, the sounds of water off to front-left. Another stream. Entering the one Trevor is bouncing down. 

“So, this is how it ends,” he thinks.

Then, a shout to his left. DeeMac is running along the bank, dodging saplings and rocks. He has the pole in his hands. He stops on the bank near where the tributary joins the river. The tip of the pole appears on Trevor’s left. He reaches out, misses. DeeMac takes a few steps into the rushing water, tries again. Trevor grasps the tip of the pole. Jimmy is standing behind DeeMac, holding him upright. DeeMac is braced, struggling to hold the weight at the end of the pole. Trevor swings, slowly, across the flow of water toward the bank. One hand loses its grip on the pole. Regains it. Knees hit rocks. He keeps hold. Now they are pulling him out of the water. Up the bank.

Trembling, he leans against a tree. Water is flowing around him still.

“We’ll have to climb trees,” says Trip Leader. “We’re on an island.”

Next morning, cold, hungry, miserable, with only the gear they have in their packs, they wait until the water is calm enough to cross to the track on the other side. It would normally be less than a day’s walk to get to their pick-up point. There are a couple of basic huts along the way, usually with a stock of basic foods for hikers in situations like theirs. Trevor is in good spirits, which worries DeeMac. “I think you’re in shock, he says. “I’ll keep an eye on you.”

“And you’re limping,” says Trevor.

“Banged my knee,” says DeeMac. “It’s not too bad.”

Trip Leader says nothing, walks on ahead, picks up the pace. “I’ll wait for you at the second hut,” he says.

DeeMac is struggling. He finds a suitable branch to use as a crutch. They transfer some of the DeeMac’s gear to Trev’s pack, to lighten his load. With Trevor supporting him, he can keep going.

They reach the first hut. No sign of Jimmy. He hasn’t left a note in the logbook saying he was there. They find some food in the hut. Boil the billy. Find some chocolate powder. Get hot drinks inside them. Move on.

Jimmy is not in the second hut, built close to the start of the track so weekend hikers can stay there overnight on Friday and get a quick start up the valley the next morning.  There is no note in the book. The sun is low.

Trevor and DeeMac are exhausted.

“Only an hour to the pick-up,” says Trevor.

“Let’s do it,” says DeeMac.

No Jimmy at the pick-up. Gordon is there, waiting for them. “Useless bugger,” he says, when they tell him they don’t know where Jimmy is.

“Looks like I have to get you guys home,” he says. “Somewhere dry and warm, anyway.”

The nearest farmhouse is a couple of kilometres away. They stop there. The police are called. Trevor and DeeMac are given baths and food. Gordon leaves them there, goes back to the pick-up point. Jimmy is waiting. 

“I took a wrong turn” he says. “Hope I haven’t caused any problems.”

The advance guard of the search and rescue team arrives, in the form of a local constable driving his own car.

“All correct and present now, are we,” he says, seeing Jimmy.

“Yes,” says Gordon. “Everyone accounted for now.”

“I’ll stand everyone down,” says the constable. “And I’ll be talking to you tomorrow, trip leader. And your mates.”

A couple of days later, at the Tramping Club rooms, the trio are debriefed, given a good bollocking, and strongly advised to go on several more organised trips with proper leadership and planning before setting out on their own again. Trevor and DeeMac go on a few more easy day trips, then leave the club. Jimmy says he’s been bitten by the hiking bug and stays on. A decade later, he becomes the club’s search and rescue co-ordinator.

But he still holds the record for being the most-rescued member of the club, ever.