Out in the rabbit patch

Undaunted by drizzly rain, the Monday Walkers headed to the northern end of the Kaimanawa State Forest Park to walk several tracks off Clements Mill Rd.

Today the forest was peaceful, but in the years between 1937-1972 it bustled with hard working bushmen splitting the durable red beech into post lengths and using wedges and a mall to form posts and battens for farming and even bridge logs and railway sleepers.

We threaded our way amidst stately, buttressed tawhairaunui, or red beech, and tawhai trees. Stumps of the felled trees, some scarred by jigger-board cuts, and switchback tracks reminded us of the forest’s history.

Apparently untouched by milling, rimu with its scaly brown-grey bark and matai with its bark’s hammered appearance also stood tall in the canopy.

Epiphytes nestled in large trees in such profusion one walker remarked they were like a garden in a tree.

Soon the foliage turned to scrub and we came out in the open of the Rabbit Patch.

Both the east and west patches are strangely clear grassy areas now slowly being encroached by small shrubs.

We inched our way alongside an overflowing stream frequented by stags in the roar, narrowly avoiding wet feet.

The circular route we have used previously is now so overgrown we returned the way we came.

At times the track is very close to the edge of a steep drop down to a stream far below.

The water was clear, hard ferns stood erect and bright green, while tight curls of lambskin-like pale green moss smothered fallen trunks and delicate old man’s beard hung from branches above.

Large groves of umbrella ferns with their delicate fronds were found in some well-lit areas.

A tiny speck of colour alerted us to walk carefully. We soon located a few purple pouched fungi. This genus of fungi have lost their ability to shed their spores in the wind and it is possible birds, insects or slugs have assumed this role.

A kaka whistled in the tree. It’s call soon turned into a more annoyed harsh grating noise as it flew over, no doubt warning us away from its territory.

Decaying battens and planks placed trackside indicated our destination was near and Dooley’s hut soon appeared out of the gloom.

Although clean and dry inside, nature is claiming the exterior with moss slowly and persistently decorating the walls and roof.