On Sunday I drove north and walked, almost non-stop, for five-and-a-half hours over the tops to a bitterly cold bivvy in the northern Ruahine. I arrived just before dark, surprising Jono and Laura, who'd assumed I hadn't managed to get away. They'd walked in on Friday from a different direction, and had endured an icy walk up the river to the biv. At least I'd had no rivers to wade. We survived the night, although anything damp — socks, boots, etc. — froze overnight.
This photograph shows a section of the track along the tops during my walk in.