Thanks for the tip about Jordan’s book, I’ll add it to my list of books to look up.

Mike.

Cheers
Rob

@Andrew — Hello Andrew. Yes I remember things about them having claimed fire risks on a few occasions. I don’t think DoC would be able to leave up facilities that were unsafe to that extent without a legislative nightmare , at least if someone there deemed it necessary to go to the effort of pulling a bunk out of the 6 bunk huts. What a mess! (Not necessarily DoC’s fault so much as a law change for which nobody had realised the implications.)

I would prefer to have old huts left intact rather than removed. and live with the risk of fire. Older huts should just have a doc sign saying that the building is unsafe and use at own risk.
Its sad when old but still strong and weather proof huts with nice open fires are removed.

The only potential argument I can think of here that might stand up is with very young babies (maybe a few months?), where if anything goes randomly wrong that needs urgent specialist medical attention, help will often be up to a few hours away, or possibly longer, even with an EPIRB. (Certainly longer than the 10 minutes that an ambulance might take to arrive in a reasonably populated place.)

If I had a very young baby, I’m not sure I’d feel comfortable taking them too far away from short-notice medical help… but once they reach a certain stage I imagine it just becomes more a question of preparing things properly, as you say. Making good decisions for a group, whoever it includes, should be part of all outdoor recreation, to be honest. It’s a shame it often gets overlooked.

I should also clarify that the statement was not any official line from the NZDA whatsoever, and it’s not an exact quote. It’s my interpretation of what I thought I heard from one of the members we met from the NZDA’s Manawatu branch. Any direct statement from the NZDA about what happened from their perspective would trump what I’ve written here. I think it was an off-hand comment that would probably have been more clear and specific if it were stated in a less conversational context. I just included the note in my original trip report as an aside.

Cheers.
Mike.

I think some of what’s freaking me out about these Schedule 4 happenings isn’t just the idea of reversing Schedule 4 status. It’s that the bulk of places in the lower North Island that I visit for tramping and very much enjoy aren’t protected by Schedule 4 at all. Someone could quite easily decide to apply for damming parts of the Tararuas, north of Wellington, and although there would be a lot of opposition, they’d still have a shot at it because many of the places that are wonderful to visit are still not considered important or unique enough to be “New Zealand’s greatest treasures”. This happened in the earlier parts of the 20th Century (not too surprising) but there was still investigation going on as recently as the 1990s. Somewhere like the Ruahines further north, which has a similar status and is also a wonderful place, but less visited, could face similar kinds of applications on a whim… and might be more likely to succeed just through having less forceful opposition.

I dunno. Lignite and coal mines feel like catering to the industrial age. Gold and gold mines just seem illogical to me, which sadly is a distinctly different thing from unprofitable. The metal has practical uses here and there, but by far the biggest reason it’s considered so valuable, and has always been valuable, is that people think a rare shiny metal makes them look rich or feel beautiful, and they’ll pay for it! It’s the appetite for self-vanity of anonymous people overseas that’s somehow driving us to dig up and degrade our back yard. Vanity drives a lot of screwed up thinking in the world. The mind boggles.

I’m guessing that part of this is because DoC is a massive and very distributed organisation that has a variety of responsibilities that don’t always cross clearly. Maybe it’s not completely clear from inside the system that DoC’s getting less money because lots of people refuse to pay at all, rather than because those who pay aren’t paying enough. Or maybe it is clear, but the organisation’s simply so tangled internally that it’s hard for the left hand to affect what the right hand’s doing. I still think it’s reasonable for me to feel let down, and to wish someone higher up the chain could look at and deal with this problem of people not paying with a wider perspective.

Meanwhile I’ll just keep paying for other people who can’t be bothered to pay up themselves. You’re right, it’s still very affordable.

came across this site for other articles, but am very much enjoying this place – keep up the good work!

As to this video clip: I absolutely agree with the general message that probably the majority of people in the outdoors are badly equipped and prepared.

I do take objection of the example given of the two women carrying six month old babies on the Tongariro Crossing though. Without any more information on how they were doing it, the fact that they had babies with them alone does NOT mean that they were doing anything irresponsible whatsoever. This kind of generalised journalism, making statements about something without spending much thought or research on the topic, breeds simplified thinking and doesn’t help anyone.

I am a member of the Christchurch Trailbabies, an independent group of young families that do anything from day walks to overnighters and multi day trips with their babies, toddlers and young children. All of us know from experience that it does not so much depend on what you do with your children, but more on how you do it. Sure there are things I wouldn’t do – but it is entirely possible to spend two weeks of autonomous tramping in the mountains with babies, toddlers or young children, safely and enjoyably – if you do it right!

That means you need to have sound wilderness skills, you need to be equipped and skilled to handle anything nature can throw at you safely, and you need to be able and willing to make good decisions in a timely manner. So no, you can’t just pack your baby and a muesli bar and go into the mountains – but if you do it right, there is nothing wrong with showing your baby or toddler the wilds.

Cheers,

Matt

I dont’ know what drove the NZDA to make your quoted statement “apparently after some visitors let the fireplace get too hot and then packed up and left”, but it really makes me angry. Were they involved in the maintenance of the chimney?

A chimney fire is not caused by the user of the fireplace or logburner; it is caused by bad or absent chimney maintenance and cleaning, resulting in buildup of combustible materials inside the chimney, which eventually WILL start to burn; the chimney effect will then drive that fire to very high intensity very quickly, burning down the hut.

A properly maintained chimney will NOT develop a chimney fire no matter how hot the fire is in the fireplace or logburner – simply because the chimney itself is not combustible!

This incident was a very close call for DOC, and I think and hope they know that. If lives would have been lost, there would have been such a full blown investigation that they would not have had a chance to convince anyone that it was user error.

Stay safe everyone!

Cheers,

Matt

As I’ve explained in the updated text, I no longer see hut tickets as a token gesture, and (to be honest) I think if anything my belief that those who don’t paying are probably being subsidised quite heavily by people who do pay. It’s still difficult to tell without much more information, of course, such as how many people free-load… and that’s very hard to measure.

It’s important to recognise that a large part of hut maintenance is still taxpayer-funded (taxes of people who use them, taxes of people who don’t use them, etc). Hut fees cover the part of the maintenance that isn’t covered by taxpayers. I don’t know exactly what this is but I’m hoping to hear something back from DoC at some point, mostly through curiosity. I’m sure the fees wouldn’t have gone up if there weren’t a need.

My gripe here is that it feels as if fees are being pushed upwards to get more money out of the honest people who pay, rather than to try and get the dishonest people to pay up in the first place. To put it another way, I’m already subsidising people’s free-loading on the non-public funded part of the maintenance, so why should I subsidise them even more? (I will, of course, because I won’t sink to their level.) Wouldn’t it be much more fair to try to get the due fees out of tourists and locals who rip off the system at others’ expense?

I say ‘feels’ because I don’t have objective data around this. I don’t know if the number of free-loaders is actually significant, or if it’s being mis-represented by anecdotes. The number of anecdotes that float around the place from annoyed people, though, implies to me that perception is a factor here. If the anecdotes give a false impression then it’d be good for someone in the know to clear it up.

I personally think that if DoC’s pushing up the hut fees so that the people who already pay have to pay more, it owes those people to either make a clear improved effort to more effectively extract fees from non-paying users, or otherwise try to demonstrate that free-loaders aren’t significantly ripping off the system as anecdotes suggest. Assuming the anecdotes are representative, it’d be nice to see some more resourcing put into this area to figure out why people don’t pay what they’re supposed to, and figure out how to deal with it.

Just finally to round up, I’m sure some people in DoC spend lots of time trying to track down people who don’t pay, and I don’t wish to bag them for it. It just appears that it’s not as effective as it should be, which bothers me when I’m being asked to fork out more.

@Amelia, thanks I hadn’t realised they changed the serviced hut definitions.

@Ian, no doubt about that. I agree that it’s still good value for money, as long we never get back-country ticket prices spiraling out of control. It was meant to be a charge that’s not too different from being free to make sure outdoor recreation is still very affordable for as many as possible, and hopefully it stays that way. (Keeping in mind that many who pays the user-pays part of hut use are also taxpayers.)

I’ll take DoC’s word on it that they need some extra cash in their budget to help maintain huts. I’m not sure if you were responding to myself or Amelia, but my main gripe here is that hut ticket prices are being pushed upwards when there are clearly still lots of people who ignore them completely. The user-pays part of the cost is getting lumped on people who are honest, and the price rises might not have been necessary if there were more effective means in place to stop people abusing others’ honesty in the first place. I’m sure DoC does try (eg. there are always signs in huts telling people they should have bought a hut ticket before they left), but whatever it’s trying doesn’t give an impression of being very effective.

At $120 a year, and assuming that FMC still get 30% off, thats about $84 for the year. Average out staying at mainly Serviced Huts (for me at least) and I would need to stay 6 nights to have paid back my pass. I dont know that I actually DO that much tramping each year at the moment!
(I know, you consider it a donation, and so do I, but I – like you – object to having this donation forcibly increased to pay for those who dont pay at all!)

I too have only met a hut warden once off a great walk – at Powell Hut back in about 1997. Nice guy. Had a sideline running in cool fizzy drinks Other than that, its been great walks, including at Ketetahi when I stayed there one easter.

I have to say we never even thought of walking down the river from Crow Hut. I think if there’d been a hope of it going down enough to do that, we’d have quite happily have walked up and around and crossed back next to the cableway.

I exchanged emails (and a photograph) with one of the people at DoC last Tuesday morning, and he confirmed they knew about it (from Dirk’s relayed message over the weekend) and they’d tried to get out to see it on Monday, but couldn’t get over the river. At that time they planned to try again on Wednesday. From what I saw, it didn’t look like an easy fix unless they have a spare pulley wheel, which seems unlikely. I think the cable cut through the wheel because something was out of alignment and stress was going onto the wrong part of the groove in the wheel (pardon my lack of mechanical-speak), so they’ll probably have to be fairly careful about fixing and reinstalling it. I guess at least it was just the drive pulley and not one of the load-bearing ones that the trolley was hanging from. That could’ve been much worse.

I hope they do manage to fix it, rather than just decomission it and tell people to cross the river instead. I think notes about it should show up in the DoC alerts for the Wanganui Conservancy, probably under the Palmerston North Area Office section. That page hasn’t mentioned anything of the problem for all of this week, though, which probably means it’s not being updated. I suppose if you or anyone plan to visit during wet weather in the coming months and don’t hear about progress, it’d be wise to contact DoC directly and check if the cableway is there.

We quite possibly would have tried to get down the same way except that it was mid-day before we realised there was a problem (they had 4 or 5 hours on us), and we just didn’t want to take a risk on the reputation of the Ruahines around the bush-line.

It was a lot of fun by the end of it, just a relief to know we were actually going to get out rather than be stuck for several days. Certainly a good trip for decision making — it helps to be out with people who are all very good and clear-headed about this kind of stuff.

A nice man at DoC has since told me that they went to check the cable-way on Monday but couldn’t get over the river, so they were planning to return this morning.

All in all though, it sounds a lot like the story Mark had to tell of the weekend, and its great to read it from your trips perspective. And apparently, McKinnon hut was cold all night because all the wood was wet.

I’m just glad you guys all made it out ok on Sunday night. On the plus side, at least Dirk was only carrying one of the three cookers in the split group (and the car keys, so had access to the vehicle), and not a tent fly or the beacon!

The note in my post “apparently after some visitors let the fireplace get too hot and then packed up and left” is interpreted information from conversing with the NZDA people we met at the lodge on this occasion. They were quite closely involved with looking after and maintaining the hut, and eventually rebuilding it. To them it was far more than a template DoC-provided facility (which it never was anyway) and they would have been affected quite personally by the fire, and likely had a different view. They were really chuffed with their new lodge, though, and were very keen to show the whole thing off to us when we randomly walked up.

All this said, it’s true as Robb pointed out that it would have been a devastating tragedy if you guys had still been inside it. As it happened it was lost property. I guess the important thing is that sometimes these things happen and property can be replaced.

We (myself and 5 young women I was taking into the bush) had come in the late afternoon on a very rainy day and started a fire in the fireplace to dry our clothes and thaw out around.

We noticed at about 10pm that embers were falling from the chimney, so put the fire out and tried to put the chimney fire out as well. The fireplace was very large, so we couldn’t cover it to lessen the oxygen to the fire, but there were two very old-style hand-pump fire extinguishers that we used to squirt the inside and outside chimney with, as well as passing buckets up and down the line to throw water at it. The chimney on the outside was so old that we could see fire burning through the many chinks, but we just couldn’t put it out.

All this time, we were not too concerned, since it was pouring with rain outside and we doubted the fire could last long in the wet.

I had asked my companions to pack their things up in case we had to evacuate, and after about 15 minutes of our continuous trying to put the chimney embers out, the smoke increased to a point that we had to evacuate.

Some army personnel were camping as part of a training exercise at the car park, so I sent two of the party on ahead to get help from them, while the rest of us walked carefully out. It was pitch black and pouring with rain – not so easy to see by torch light.

Anyway, some army guys met us on the way out but soon rejoined us at the carpark, saying there was nothing they could do.

A few minutes later we saw a flash of orange light and realised that the hut had gone up in flames. Such a shock!

I called 111, not thinking they could do anything, but still good to let them know. Not long afterwards, two fire-engines came screaming to the carpark and all these volunteer firefighters bundled out in full gear, asking, ‘where’s the fire?’ We pointed to the glow in the hills and said ‘half an hour that way!’ They then took out their cigarettes and joined us in watching it burn. None of us were able to do anything.

About 1:30 that morning, a DOC representative came to the carpark, where we’d set up tents to sleep in instead, and interviewed me about what had happened. He said the hut was a disaster waiting to happen because it was so poorly maintained, and that he was grateful that we handled it in the way we did.

So, anyway, that’s what really happened. Just so you get the other side of the story. It was some adventure for sure, one that I hope I NEVER repeat. Still love the bush though!!

@John — ouch, thanks for that chilling story. The last and only time I walked the Tongariro Crossing (about September 2006), it wasn’t crampon material but there was still a fair amount of snow, maybe 5 metres visibility in some places, and some very freezing and strong wind in certain places that would have badly gotten to anyone with exposed skin. Yet every so often the mist would open up, and there would somehow be 50 people above and behind us, none especially well prepared. A friend of mine’s been doing geology field work in that area and seen people trying to walk it with skirts and Glassons bags! As you’ve implied, I’ve also heard some disturbing things about how some of the drop-off pick-up tour companies have operated in the past, but also claims that the operators often just get ignored by people when they give advice to not go ahead, or to not go far, or whatever.

So far my impression’s been that the majority of people who walk the crossing do so with no bail-out plan for bad weather. So lots of tourists factor in exactly one day of their trip when they’ll walk what they’ve been told is one of the best and unmissable walks in New Zealand. Then the weather disintegrates on them, and people go anyway. They’ve already arranged so many other things around it that there’s no easy way to change their plans, they really don’t want to miss it. I guess people see it as unrealisitically safe, maybe an impression resulting from it being so accessible and well promoted, and because it’s a day-walk. Also because when visiting some of the other places world-wide where young people go on their world trips (at least from what I’ve seen), the dangerous places are usually away from the main tourist trails, or at least locked behind guided tours or other kinds of excessive supervision from countries’ governments or otherwise… which isn’t quite the case here (and I hope it never is!).

These days if people ask me about the Tongariro Crossing, I try to suggest they should have plans to spend a few days in the area if they can, and know what they’ll do instead if the conditions aren’t great, and just don’t expect to go. It’s not exactly easy in that area, though, especially for anyone without their own transport. I’m not sure how much has changed in the last few years, and I know that since then DoC’s at least been trying to change certain things (like referring to it as the Tongariro Alpine Crossing), but I did honestly come away from that experience with a firm opinion that probably nothing serious will change until 30+ tourists get wiped off the mountain.

Cheers and thanks for the comment. Personally I wouldn’t want to choose death in the mountains. It’d probably mean I screwed up somehow.

Previously though, I saw trampers in chucks and jeans with cotton tees at Easter (and it got cold across the tops that day too) and at Winter Solstice one year we came across a fairly-well equipped tourist who was solo-ing and had broken her ankle. She was in good spirits though, and had warm clothes and stuff…

MIKE – any chance I could borrow this book off you? Sounds like a great read!

After reading this blog, picked Hersey’s book up and read it in a sitting, found it pretty riveting – will need to re-read for a second, more savoured approach.

I’m definitely more tramper than mountaineer, but have experienced basic alpine technique and try to climb North Island mountains in winter every few years

On one such occasion, in June 2007, we set out for a early winter weekend Tongariro crossing – snow had fallen during the week, with the Desert Road getting it’s first closure of the year – so were looking forward ‘cramponing up’ and enjoying a crunchy stroll in the white stuff.

The weather forecast was great for the Saturday and then to deteriorate on the Sunday Afternoon – turning to custard overnight Sunday – we figured we would, with a night at Mangatepopo Hut on Saturday be cutting it fine – but be fairly comfortable. We arrived at the hut on Saturday afternoon after a quick stroll from Whakapapa village – and settled in.

Amazing night with the star lit silhouette of Ngauruhoe omnipresent – drawing some of us out of the hut to sleep on the deck. However morning arrived with a change in the weather – and the front heading in perhaps a little earlier than first predicted – however we set off fairly comfortable with our ability, knowledge of the track and the appropriate gear. Others (mainly Kiwi’s in the Hut) decided to walk up to the staircase – but go no further without the appropriate gear.

It had been a few years since my last Tongariro jaunt and what amazed me on the Saturday morning when we departed the hut was the endless stream of day walking Tourists, clad fairly lightly, even for a summer trip! Cotton, jeans, fingerless gloves, sneakers and shock horror even ugg boots.

They all seemed pretty jolly as we all climbed in unison up the devils staircase (now literally a staircase) but as we reached the top the temperature had plummeted with light snow falling, and fairly slippery conditions on the South Crater – we sat down for a bite, donned crampons and were asked by many of the Day walking Tourist what are those things on out feet – to which we answered crampons, you need them here today. Some asked if they should turn back – with which we answered an emphatic yes. And some did – but a good number 40 plus had already gone ahead as we had a rather leisurely breakkie and start out from Mangatepopo Hut.

On the way up from South Crater to the top of the Red Crater is where thinks got a bit interesting. We came across the main group of 40 plus people, imobilized due to the plummeting temperature and the snow which had turned to rock hard, slippery ice. There was one guy with a broken ankle from slipping and further ahead it got even worse with a young French couple in a hypothermic state – luckily three Kiwi guys (who also stayed in the Hut with us the night before) had them in their sleeping bags and were in contact with the police on cellphones (these guys were undoubtedly the hero’s of the day as they definitely saved lives) – we had a quick recce with them and decided that as we had crampons and ice axes that we would cut steps back down to the South Crater for the remaining Day Trippers, as they were really not clothed properly to stay there much longer and some were staring to suffer from the cold – they also mentioned that a strong and fit Swiss day tripper had already gone up and over the top of Red Crater towards Ketetahi – which was worrying. So we successfully cut steps and got the main group down to the South Crater – by this stage their sole guide/bus driver had arrived with a single ice axe and no crampons – so was ineffective in helping.

So we carried on – with the aim now to look ahead for the Swiss guy who had soloed across the tops and indeed to complete our weekend goal of an early winter Tongariro Crossing. On the way over the tops we heard the thud thud of the Rescue helicopters coming in for the hypothermic French couple and as we headed down into the Central Crater and Blue Lakes we were hit with blizzard like conditions with driving snow, sleet and gusting winds. Worryingly too we noticed specs of blood through the snow, these continued all the way to Ketatahi hut – where thankfully the Swiss Soloist had made it to after slipping and falling on the steep descent off Red Crater – he sustained serious cuts/abrasions and a broken arm – probably fairly lucky in hindsight, and was airlifted to Taupo.

The French couple with Hypothermia were airlifted off the mountain too as was the guy with the broken ankle, and one other English tourist who had broken his ribs in a fall on the ice – so not too serious – but it could well of been a lot worse if a few keen Kiwi’s had stayed home that weekend to watch the Allblacks.

I know now (since that trip) regulation on the crossing has tightened – and this event may be less likely to happen – but I was astonished that all those lovely tourists were sheep loaded onto a bus, paid good money and then were basically led (or not led as the case was) into a possible tragedy and maybe another chapter for Hersey’s book.

In consideration of all this and I guess back to one of the central themes of the book – one thought that I consider from time to time, and as that well heard cliché goes “death and taxes are inevitable” – I guess if I could choose mine – it would probably be (hopefully at little or no cost to the taxpayer) in the hills or mountains.

Regards
John (Auckland Man)

A few years ago (as was well publicised) Mark Inglis was criticised for walking past a dying climber 300 metres from the Everest summit, and doing nothing. He’s defended it and claimed there was nothing that could be done, and was even quoted saying “My sherpa sort of just pushed me on . . . that was the end of the situation really. I did nothing. I did nothing, you know. I did everything that I possibly could, which was essentially nothing,”. (I don’t want to single out Inglis with this — he’s obviously not alone, and I just think it’s the easiest example of the situation.)

This is someone who’s a very experienced mountaineer, but even he was being influenced by a sherpa in this instance (apparently) according to what he said. Probably he didn’t have the time or facilities to spend years invested in doing it by himself, as is also the case with so many others. Interestingly enough the guy they walked past was someone climbing independently, who’d elected to climb on his own without relying on the guiding expedition infrastructure. It may or may not be true that he couldn’t do anything. It probably was true, but I don’t think I’ll ever be certain no matter what’s said about it. I find it a terribly discomforting situation to hear about. It’s well and good to complain that critics don’t understand what it’s really like up there. I bet many don’t, and I’m certainly not someone with first-hand experience either, but I think it’s reasonable to question why it’s like that up there at all. I’d be very surprised if it’s entirely to do with a harsh environment.

Several decades ago, a climbing team might well have stopped regardless, and done whatever they could to help or at least comfort someone in that situation. Finding someone in such a state would have been unusual and very possibly a person the team knew or cared about. These days, the guiding infrastructure makes things a conveyor belt whereby people with reasonably appropriate skills and enough money can pay a company to guide them to the top, and the expeditions have financial incentives (both for their current and future customers) to give priority to their own and their goals. It opens that level of climbing to all sorts of extra people who’d never have made it on their own, but perhaps have always dreamed or wanted to for a lifetime. It’s also designed, however, so that people will spend a lot of money (perhaps their life savings) and quite possibly only have one chance, all the time knowing that they “might not” reach the top. I have trouble imagining how anyone could have this kind of buildup and still think rationally in such a situation. How many people actually would give up on their colossally expensive life-long never-having-another-chance dream because they happen to walk past someone who’ll probably die anyway? Especially when the sherpa for the expedition company pushes them on and justifies that decision for them.

Today there’s so much guiding infrastructure and commercial infrastructure and political incentive to encourage rich mountaineers to pour money into some of these places. The possibilities are open for so many more people to attempt what would once have been restricted to the elite who had time to invest in building all the skills and knowledge on their own, but you also end up with stunts like this one (why??). I suppose New Zealand has its share which Paul Hersey’s book also gets at one way or another, and it sounds as if Kieran Kelly’s book does too.

I don’t think there’s a problem with having a guide to show you around a place. Guides are how you can learn things. But they should be there primarily to teach with a goal so you can do things independently with a comparable competence for yourself, not to babysit and walk you through.

I was surprised with a quick search just now to find that it’s not a well described incident around the internet, as you’ve pointed out, maybe because it occurred before the internet was available. It’s certainly well remembered in the outdoor community, especially among people who were actively doing things outdoors during the late 1970′s. There are also many people, probably mostly younger, who have heard about it but know little except that the hut blew away with people inside (I was one until recently). It’s an understanding that brings people’s assumptions about total safety down to earth either way.

I think it’s remembered because it shocked so many people at the time, and it still does shock a few people when they hear of it. Typically in New Zealand’s outdoors, back-country huts are assumed to be safe-havens that are immune to bad things happening. This is virtually always the case, but I guess this accident thwarted some people’s fundamental assumptions.

If you’d like to learn more and haven’t yet looked it up, I’d definitely suggest Paul Hersey’s book (which I’ve discussed in this post) as a good starting point. It was published recently (2009) and you’ll find it in a library or otherwise somewhere like Whitcoulls or another bookshop. He’s devoted 11.5 pages to Three Johns Hut, although about half is his insights and comments around the expectations of such huts, and related stories. I think it’s the only occasion in his book where he’s not been able to interview first-hand witnesses, but he’s still put in a lot of research and interviewed others who were involved to describe more detail about what happened at the time.