AUTC Frampton’s Hut Poker Night

Location: Waima Forest, Northland

Date: 24th - 25th May 2025

Author: Ed Allison

Participants: Ashwin, Will, Lucas, Natalie, Ben, Mira, Daphne, Katelyn, Grace (guest), Ed

The plan was ambitious.

Anzac weekend. “Finish the uni break with a bang”. A 43 kilometre run in Waima forest under the leadership of the no-nonsense, formidable Captain Will Griffiths. Support crew required. Only briefly pausing at Frampton’s Hut - no fun and games. Hopeful participants to upload their Strava histories to prove they were up for the challenge. It would be gruelling, technical, and muddy, and its most attractive selling point was sightseeing of “the biggest pile of dirt in Northland”.

Except, the forecast said it might rain that weekend so Will canceled the trip.

Instead, a month later, we went with Ashwin’s plan which was much more fun!

This plan was woefully un-ambitious. A one hour walk into Frampton’s Hut for a poker night. The absolute minimum to qualify to use the AUTC mailing list for marketing. The must-brings were: Suit jacket, $20 in coins of various denominations, Cocktail supplies, and, oh yeah, overnight tramping gear. The trip email even included the phrases “take our time”, “not particularly challenging”, and “meandering”.

The trip began with the loading of twice as much stuff as you’d usually take on a tramping trip into the mighty waka (a pair of Toyota Fielders), which were then aimed northward.

Approaching Wellsford for breakfast, Natalie declared her preference for McDonald’s from the passenger seat. Will, in the driver’s seat, exclaimed that this was a ridiculous idea and that McDonald’s is nowhere near the appropriate standard for breakfast food. Under Will’s helmsmanship, we arrived at the Wellsford bakehouse where he promptly ordered a sausage wrapped in bacon.

On the drive up, we wondered what we would do if anyone else arrived, as the plan of a cocktail poker night probably doesn’t mesh well with the presence of a delightful family of four on a quiet wilderness getaway. The hut did not facilitate bookings, and there were only six beds (and nine of us).

Who needs a 43 km run when you’ve got a sausage wrapped in bacon for breakfast

Our journey into the depths of Northland was about four times longer than the actual walk, giving Will plenty of time to preach about the problems of urbanism in Auckland from his commanding driver’s seat. After we’d all been convinced to put down payments on high-density housing in Christchurch, we finally heard the “ahoy!” from Lucas up ahead. We moored the waka at the “carpark”, which is to say the side of the road opposite someone’s caravan home. And of course, a van pulled up behind us at the same time. The driver, and sole occupant, turned out to be Grace - a Dutch traveller who had presumably done every other hike in the North Island if she was going out of her way for this one. Thankfully, she was on board with our plan and joined us on the walk.

Because of the proximity of the carpark to the hut, we carried with us everything we could think of that might be useful. To give you an idea, Ashwin had bought a poker table (not a mat, a table) off FB marketplace the previous weekend, and this was carried by Lucas. I was carrying Ashwin’s cooler bag of meat and ice (Author’s Note: I now know why Ashwin was so springy underfoot).

The walk was nice but it really wasn’t much to write home about, nor was it the focus of the trip. Imagine the bush. Throw in a couple of minor stream crossings and a fallen tree to climb over. Now imagine walking through that for about 58 minutes.

We arrived at Frampton’s hut at about 3pm. Being accustomed to arriving at huts in the dark and immediately going to sleep after a long day’s walking, there was a moment where we didn’t really know what to do with ourselves. Will and Ben went for a run. Some people sat and reflected. I stood with my hands behind my back, staring thoughtlessly at the wall.

The hut had some cool features including a fireplace with ample firewood, and a door that went into a bunk room (pretty snazzy for a six bed hut). The centrepiece of the hut was, as expected by nobody, a bath. It was actually nowhere near the centre and was in fact outside. It was also full of dirt and spiders. Will had a bath in it.

Lucas got inspired to take his shirt off and chop firewood. I’m not sure why he took his shirt off. I’m not even sure why he started chopping firewood - there was already heaps. Something about the outdoors and a young man’s brain chemistry.

Men at work

We enjoyed a nice shared dinner, which was executed pretty quickly because we were keen to get the pleasantries out of the way in order to move onto the next part (the so-called “fun part”).

Brightly coloured, utilitarian tramping clothes were replaced by undoubtedly the most fashionable dresses and suit jackets that Frampton’s hut (or the entirety of Northland) has ever seen. A variety of cocktails began being proudly presented in turn by their amateur bartender creators.

The A-listers of Waima forest

We set up the poker table and got all ready to commence a wickedly energetic and high-stakes tournament, after which the victors would walk away with the bunk beds that they had clawed from the losers, who would freeze during their sleep in the bath.

As it turned out, no one really knew the rules, so we spent a while learning. This was done at a leisurely pace owing to the cocktails. The height of the tournament involved Will betting all in with the AUTC Social Officers’ annual budget - he didn’t have a bunk bed left to bargain with, and ended up sleeping on the deck out the front.

Things were heating up..

Without the risk of noise complaints, we kicked off a raging house party in Frampton’s Hut (thanks, Frampton, for letting us have the place for the weekend). There was a wilderness-inappropriate JBL speaker, dancing, singing, a multi-coloured party-mode head torch, and a stream of sausages being Will-grilled in unison with the now less-steady stream of cocktails. The fire, as the proud culmination of the afternoon’s work, burned unwaveringly. The party, on the other hand, paused proceedings three times throughout the night. The first pause was so we could all go and stand outside in the grass and look at the stars (aww). The second pause was brought on by Natalie somehow ending up on the roof. And the third pause was because I accidentally queued a Phoebe Bridgers song, triggering an inebriated Lucas to slowly wrap himself in the AUTC flag and sit down with his head in his hands. I’m not sure what Grace the Dutch traveller was expecting from her otherwise-solo night in the hut, but maybe she’s writing a trip report of her own right now just to process it.

In the easy-going morning, we cleaned up the hut and took a nice group photo in front of it with the AUTC flag as if nothing had ever happened. The walk back to the car was pretty similar to the walk in, except for an enticing freezing waterfall drawing in a few of the group who felt like cooling off after walking for half an hour in the rain in the middle of winter.

.. and cooling down

On the way back to Auckland, we made a few stops to round out the trip.

The first was at Kiwi icon Opo Takeaways, which serves as the sole revenue producer of the Opononi CBD. It features a microphone for the guy to announce that orders are ready because it has deservedly reached that status as an institution. If anyone else ever looks to enter the Opononi market, they’ve got some catching up to do.

We then stopped by Tāne Mahuta to pay the old boy a visit. There was a cheerful and passionate conservation guide guarding the big tree who told us about the history of Kauri dieback disease. Will made sure to diligently scrub and spray his bare feet as we left.

I don’t know the name of the last location that we stopped at on the drive back to Auckland. It might not have a name. It was a pointed geographical feature of rock and dirt sticking out of the ground that Will claimed was a magma core of an ancient volcano and insisted that we make the detour for. We climbed it in our civilian shoes and crocs, which added to what was already a steep and slippery challenge.

As we stood at the top of the unnamed magma mound, waving the AUTC flag around and overlooking the Northland region that we had now thoroughly explored, we felt justified in declaring it conquered (omitting a 43 kilometre run).

Chur Whānau.